Zombie survivor

[62] The eternal rest

The RV came to a slow, grumbling halt, the sound of the engine cutting out and leaving behind an oppressive silence. The group had driven for what felt like hours but was only about 10 kilometers into the empty expanse of the desert. The night stretched out around them, cold and still, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire they set up beside the vehicle.

No one spoke as they sat around the fire. The flames flickered and cast long, distorted shadows on their weary faces. Despite the growling of empty stomachs, no one touched the cans of food they had salvaged earlier. Hunger was there, gnawing at them, but none of them had the energy—or the spirit—to eat.

Jean sat closest to the fire, his elbows on his knees, his hands gripping his head as if trying to hold himself together. His shoulders trembled slightly, and his eyes were fixed on the flames, unfocused and distant.

Akira sat beside him, quiet but watchful. She didn't say anything at first, just kept close, her presence a steady anchor in the tension-filled silence.

Ms. Heather fidgeted with her hands, staring down at them as if they'd betrayed her. "I should've said something," she murmured, breaking the quiet. Her voice wavered, and she didn't look up. "I should've stopped him."

"You couldn't have," Morgan said from where she leaned against the RV, her arms crossed and a cigarette burning between her fingers. Her voice was calm but flat, the words clipped. "He made his choice."

"But—"

"He chose," Morgan interrupted sharply. "You can't carry that. You'll crack under the weight."

Ms. Heather nodded shakily but didn't look convinced. She hugged her knees to her chest and bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

Chloe kicked a rock near the fire, her arms crossed tightly. "Why the hell did he have to do it like that? All dramatic, like he's some kind of hero."

"Because he was a fucking hero," Tyler shot back, his voice sharper than usual. He sat with his back against a crate, fiddling with the strap of his gun. "And I guess he figured someone had to step up since none of us did."

"Don't start with that shit," Brad growled, glaring at Tyler from across the fire. "It's not like we didn't want to help. We just—"

"We just what?" Tyler cut him off, his voice rising. "Stood there? Froze? Let him die?"

"Shut up!" Brittney snapped, her voice cracking. "Just shut the fuck up! None of this helps!"

Silence fell again, heavy and suffocating. Jean's trembling grew more pronounced, and Akira finally moved closer, her hand resting gently on his back.

"Jean," she said softly. "It's okay to let it out."

He didn't respond at first, his head still buried in his hands. Then a ragged, choked sob escaped him, and the dam broke. Jean's shoulders heaved as the tears came, hot and uncontrollable. He covered his face with his hands, trying to stifle the sounds, but they came anyway—raw and gut-wrenching.

"I should've stopped him," Jean gasped through the sobs. "I—I should've said something! He shouldn't have gone out there alone!"

Akira's expression softened, and she slid closer, wrapping her arms around him. "You couldn't have stopped him," she said gently. "He did it because he wanted us to survive. Because he believed in us."

Jean shook his head, his voice muffled against his hands. "But it's not fair. It's not fucking fair. He didn't have to die!"

"I know," Akira murmured, holding him tighter. "I know it's not fair. None of this is. But Luca... he made his choice. And he saved us. He'd want us to keep going. For him."

Jean's cries filled the quiet night, and no one moved to stop him. Chloe's eyes glistened, but she looked away, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Brittney wiped at her own face, trying and failing to keep her composure.

Even Jordan, usually the first to crack a joke, sat with his head bowed, his hands clenched into fists.

"I didn't even say thanks," Jean choked out, his voice breaking. "I didn't—I didn't say anything."

Akira pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his shoulders. "He knew," she said firmly. "Luca knew. And I think... I think he wanted to go out the way he did. Doing something that mattered."

Morgan's voice came from the shadows, quiet but clear. "He was scared. Anyone would've been. But he didn't let that stop him. That's what counts."

Jean wiped at his face, his sobs slowing but his breathing still ragged. "I just... I don't know how we're supposed to keep going after this."

Akira offered him a small, sad smile. "We don't have a choice. But we can make it mean something."

The group fell into a somber silence again, the fire crackling as the only sound. After a moment, Brad sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "He was a pain in the ass, but... I guess he had guts."

"More than most," Jordan added quietly, staring into the flames.

Tyler leaned his head back against the crate, his usual smirk replaced by a grim expression. "We're all still here because of him. That's gotta mean something, right?"

Chloe let out a shaky breath, her voice low. "It better. Otherwise, this whole thing is pointless."

Morgan's cigarette glowed faintly as she took another drag, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's only pointless if we let it be," she said. "Get some rest. We move at first light."

No one argued, but no one moved to lie down either. The fire burned low, its warmth barely cutting through the chill of the desert night. The group sat in the glow, their grief shared but unspoken, each of them carrying the weight of Luca's sacrifice in their own way.

And as the night stretched on, they all knew one thing for certain: the world wasn't going to give them time to heal. Survival would demand more, and it wasn't finished with them yet.

Q: How would you honor a deceased loved one?