The Dead Among Us

75. Her Magic

It's a longer chapter 😅 I didn't know where to end it. Also first bonus since I created the schedule. Enjoy ❤️

Fabia's POV

I step into the warm embrace of the shower before joining the men outside, letting the water cascade over me, washing away the remnants of last night.

    Afterward, as I emerge into the brisk morning air, the coolness wraps around me like a thin mist. I spot Manny crouched on the frosty grass, intently measuring the ground with a long tape measure that glints in the pale sunlight. His brow furrows in concentration as he carefully marks the dry, brittle patches of brown grass with vibrant splashes of paint, each blob a bright contrast against the muted landscape.

    If I'm being honest, I'm not really looking forward to this. I don't want to mess them up, and the biting wind only adds to my discomfort, cutting through my layers like a knife. Flurries of tiny snowflakes dance in the chilled air, swirling around me like playful ghosts. I'm huddling my arms tightly around my torso, seeking warmth as I walk.

    As I approach, Sabin has this long tool with two handles, almost a scissor shape, and two shovel-like blades at the end. He's closing the handles, slamming the blades into the dirt where Manny has marked. He then spreads the handles, and when he lifts the tool back up, a pile of dirt is caught inside, which he dumps nearby into a neat pile.

    Each strike is accompanied by a heavy exhale, a plume of breath that billows out like a small cloud, swirling before dissipating into the crisp atmosphere.

    As I draw closer, his eyes catch mine, and a smile breaks across his face, lighting up his features and softening the lines of labor etched there. The moment feels warm and welcoming, but it fades almost as quickly as it appears, giving way to an expression of concern that deepens the furrow of his brow. 

    "You washed your hair?" he asks as he takes in my damp strands, glistening under the light.

    Oh shit, he's right! Have I forgotten everything my father taught me?! I'm gonna get colder with my head all wet!

    He sets the tool down with a clatter, letting it tumble to the ground, and motions for me to follow him into the house.

    Once inside, we make our way back up into our room. He swings open the closet door and begins to rummage through a box tucked away at the back, the sound of shifting cardboard filling the air.

    "Go dry your hair as best you can with a towel," he instructs, prompting me to head back to the bathroom.

    I grab the towel I used earlier, the fabric still warm and damp from my use. Bending my head forward, I let my hair fall freely, draping the towel over it like a turban. I twist the fabric tightly, squeezing out the excess water until it clings snugly to my head, absorbing every drop.

    When I walk back into the room, the towel still on my head, I ask, "Do you have a hairdryer?"

    His attention snaps to me, eyes widening slightly with bewilderment. "Why on earth would I have a hairdryer?" he replies, his tone flat.

    "Okay, maybe not you...but maybe... B-Bri... had one?"

    For the first time, at the mention of her name, his eyes don't cloud with the storm of sorrow and grief that usually haunts him.

    He shakes his head, saying, "No, she didn't. When the devils came, we were in a rush. There wasn't time to think about packing— a hairdryer was the least of our concerns," he admits.

    After that, he goes back to searching in the box, and I'm left stunned.

    He's accepting the fact she's gone and starting to move on, I think.