Age of zombies

[43] Comfort

The night was cold, colder than usual, as we gathered around the dying campfire, gnawing on the jerky Daisy had made earlier. The tough, salty meat filled my stomach, but it didn't do much for the growing sense of exhaustion that had settled over all of us. The day had been long, and after the encounter with those zombies in hiking gear, we were all on edge. Even the jerky, despite being a much-needed meal, tasted like ash in my mouth.

Everyone else was winding down, preparing for another night of uneasy sleep. Yabe was curled up near the fire, her eyes already half-closed as she drifted off. Ethan lay nearby, mumbling something incoherent before rolling over and falling into a restless sleep. Daisy was as vigilant as ever, but even she eventually settled in, her rifle close by, just in case.

It was my turn to take the first watch, and Liza was up with me. The two of us sat near the fire, the quiet crackle of the flames the only sound breaking the heavy silence of the forest around us. The mist from earlier had mostly cleared, but the trees still loomed large in the darkness, their shadows stretching long and eerie.

Liza poked at the fire with a stick, her eyes fixed on the embers as they glowed dimly in the fading light. She hadn't said much since the zombie attack, which was unusual for her. Normally, she'd be making sarcastic comments, poking fun at the rest of us, or complaining about something. But tonight, she was quiet. Too quiet.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice low, not wanting to wake the others.

She didn't look at me, just kept poking at the fire. "Yeah, I guess."

I raised an eyebrow, not buying it. "You sure? You've been pretty quiet since we took down those zombies."

Liza let out a small snort, shaking her head. "Nah, it's not that. I've seen worse. Just... can't sleep."

I nodded, understanding the feeling. Sleep didn't come easy these days, not with the constant fear of the undead or worse creeping around every corner. "Anything in particular keeping you up?"

For a moment, she didn't answer, just stared into the fire. Then, she sighed, the sound heavy, like she was carrying more than just today's stress.

"When I was a kid," she started, her voice quieter than usual, "my parents got divorced. Messy shit. They were always fighting, and I ended up living with my mom most of the time. My dad was barely around."

I listened, not saying anything, just letting her talk. This was the first time Liza had ever really opened up about her past. I'd always figured there was more to her than the sarcastic, tough-girl attitude she put on, but she never let anyone see that side of her. Until now.

"Anyway," she continued, "a couple of years after the divorce, my mom and I were driving back from this stupid family reunion thing. We were both in a shitty mood—she was pissed about my dad, and I was pissed about... well, everything, I guess."

She paused, poking at the fire again, her jaw clenched. I could tell she was trying to keep her emotions in check, but it was hard for her.

"We were arguing, and she wasn't paying attention to the road. Next thing I know, a car comes out of nowhere and slams into us. Total fucking wreck. Car flipped, glass everywhere... it was a mess."

I winced, the image of the crash flashing in my mind. "Shit, Liza. That's awful."

"Yeah," she muttered, her voice tight. "No one died, thank God. My mom was okay, just banged up. But I broke my arm. Shattered it, actually. It healed, obviously, but... I still have nightmares about it. About the crash. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, thinking I'm back in that car, waiting for it to hit."

Her voice cracked slightly, and I could see her grip on the stick tighten, her knuckles white. For all her bravado, Liza was just as scared and scarred as the rest of us.

I didn't know what to say at first. Comforting people wasn't exactly my strong suit, but I couldn't just sit there and let her feel alone in this.

"Liza... I'm really sorry you went through that," I said softly, shifting a little closer to her. "That sounds terrifying."

She didn't say anything, just kept staring into the fire, her face hard but vulnerable at the same time. I could tell she was trying not to let the emotions overwhelm her.

"And, y'know, it makes sense that you'd have nightmares about it," I added, hoping my words wouldn't sound hollow. "Stuff like that stays with you, even after you've healed physically."

Liza let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, it sucks. I'm supposed to be tough, y'know? I don't want to be one of those people who cries over their past or gets freaked out by old memories. But... sometimes it's hard to shake."

"Tough doesn't mean you can't feel shit," I said, keeping my voice gentle but firm. "You've been through a lot—hell, we all have. It's okay to feel messed up about it."

For the first time that night, Liza looked up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She blinked them away quickly, but I could see how much she was hurting beneath the surface.

"I just... I don't talk about it," she admitted, her voice shaky. "I don't want people to think I'm weak."

"You're not weak," I said, my tone firm. "Far from it. It takes a lot of strength to deal with shit like that and still keep going. And you don't have to go through it alone. We're here. I'm here."

That seemed to break something in her, because a moment later, she let out a shaky breath and wiped at her eyes, trying to keep herself from crying. But it was too late. The tears started falling, and she couldn't stop them.

"Fk," she muttered, her voice cracking. "I hate this. I hate crying."

Without thinking, I reached out and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. She didn't resist, just leaned into me, her body shaking with quiet sobs. I held her tightly, feeling her tears soak into my shirt, but I didn't care. All I cared about was making sure she didn't feel so alone in that moment.

"It's okay," I whispered, rubbing her back gently. "You're okay."

For a while, we just sat like that, her crying softly into my chest while I held her, offering what little comfort I could. The cold night air swirled around us, but it didn't matter. Right now, all that mattered was that she knew someone was there for her.

Eventually, her sobs quieted, and she pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes and sniffling. "Sorry," she muttered, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to... y'know, break down like that."

I shook my head, giving her a small smile. "Don't apologize. You needed it. And like I said, you don't have to do this alone."

Liza managed a weak smile, though her eyes were still red and puffy from crying. "Thanks, Jake. I... I appreciate it."

"Anytime," I said, my voice soft.

For a while, we sat in silence, just staring at the fire as the embers glowed softly in the darkness. The rest of the camp was still quiet, everyone else asleep, oblivious to what had just happened. But it didn't matter. In that moment, it was just me and Liza, sharing a rare moment of vulnerability in a world that had become too harsh.

Eventually, Liza leaned back, letting out a long breath. "You're not so bad, you know that?"

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Coming from you, that's high praise."

She smirked, nudging me lightly with her elbow. "Don't let it go to your head."

For the rest of our shift, we didn't talk much. But the tension between us had eased, replaced by something quieter, more understanding. And in the cold, unforgiving world we lived in, that small moment of connection was enough to keep us going.

Q: Would you talk to someone about your troubles?