If We Survive

Chapter 40

My dreams have been getting stanger and stranger lately. A bit ago, I mentioned that I usually know that I'm dreaming when I am, but it's simply not like that anyone. 

Well, sometimes it is. 

God, I'm making less and less since by the second, so let me just back up a bit. 

Ever since I started tapping into my whole psyicic magical voodoo crap, the dreams have gotten weider. Some of them are terrifying and violent, but not so much anymore. I'm not sure if I've just gotten used to them, or if I'm actually getting batter from whatever ails me. I don't want to get my hopes up, but how can I not? 

It's not easy, though, and I'm not just saying that because I don't want to sound perfect. As for as I'm concerned, being perfect would suck and also require major amounts of leadership skills which I do not possess. Half the time I feel like this is some sort if intuition deal in a video game, and the other half, I'm dealing with Anna. 

The two of us walk out of the convenience shop arms piled with food. I could've moved all of our non-parishables into the flat with us, but I feel like I need to keep myself preoccupied. If not, well... 

I hear something, which I am not sure of, for a heatbeat. It's such a forgin noise that it seems almost too good to be ture- there's no way- and my head snaps up to the sky. After living the majority of my life next to an airport, I know that noise. 

All there is blue sky, and I can't see a thing. I furrow my eyebrows, shading my face from the bright Spring sun. 

Then, I spot it, the tail of a jet, like a real-life... "Oh my God." I mutter, grinning from ear to ear. "That bastard right there is heading for Denver!" My voice comes out as a squeal, becuase what I see right now is pure hope. There are people out there, airplanes that can fly, a thousand other things. For a second, I think that maybe this is a dream- maybe I'll just wake up, and- no, it can't be. It's not. 

"Hey you!" It's been like a month since i've heard another person's voice, and I jump out of my skin. I turn on my heel, dropping my duffel to the ground and raising my shotgun in one quick motion. I feel badass. 

But I nearly fumble my gun when I see who's standing right there, twenty yeards in front of me. 

"Holy fucking shit." I say in one quick breath. If I wasn't so scared for my life, I would've been more selective with my speech, due to Anna's precnece. 

"Achilles." I shout, a half-grin spreading across my face. I'm not exactly sure as to why I'm smiling- you never know how people can react to certain things at the end of the world, but as far as I can see my little friend isn't armed. 

He squints at me, even though the sun is behind him. I'm puzzled, and then I remeber that I've changed in the past, what has it been, four months? 

Realization dawns on his face, and horror quickly follows. "Cassidy." 

"Feeling guilty? I really should blow your guts out." I say, a smirk playing on my lips. "Yeah, fucktrack, I know all about... everything. Your little acts of treason? Figured it out in like a day." That's a lie; I didn't. I had a dream, not long before the creepers showed up at the farm. 

He takes a step twords us- I cock the gun.

"I know I messed majorly, and nither of us can change that." He holds one hand out, daring two more steps. 

Anna seems to recover from her shock at that exact moment, wich may or may not be a good thing, because my finger was tensing on that trigger. 

"She's not Cassidy." Her voice is high-pitched and suprisingly enough, defiant. "That's Lee. Her name is Lee."

"Lee?" He's buying time. 

Shoot him. My brain screams, pumping so much adrinaline through my veins that my fingers are quivering. I could run a mile in like four minutes right now. 

"Ok Lee." He looks so different, that I lower my weapon. This surly cannot be than man- boy- whatever that killed all those people, can it? The one who blamed it on me? 

I've always been one to notice the littler things; the little scar beneath his lip that isn't entirely healed, a triple-tear right across the chest of his greyish shirt and blood welling up from underneath, and I realize- Achilles is dying. I can see it in his manner now, leaning to the left and trying not to breathe too deeply. 

"Did you see that airplane," I nod behind me, in the direction of the jet tail, which has espanded to make it obvious. 

"Yes." He replies. "That's why- it's going back to Colorado, or farthur north, maybe Canada. That would be logical for the summer." 

"And to come back south in the winter- that does sound smart, but everyone between us and their destination would notice it. That doesn't seem smart to me." He wiggles his eyebrows. That isn't a normally agravating thing, but I'm just about done. 

"Achilles." I say, turning myself slightly. "Start running. I'll give you thirty seconds to get out of my damn town." 

For a whole second in there I feel like Clint Eastwood. I'm more of a John Wayne fan myself, but still. When used correctly, cowboy hats are awesome. 

The sound of Achilles' footsteps fade into the afternoon, Anna asks, "Who was he?" She sounds careful, like she's beating around the bush. 

"He was part of a group of survivors that I was with before I found you." I reply bluntly, leaning on my gun. There's a deep ache in my chest again. I cough into my sleeve. I recignize the warm metallic taste of blood in my mouth again. I heal unnaturally fast. Back in like the fourth grade, I broke three ribs in a biking accedent. It took like a month and half for them to heal even a little bit. 

I started walking with my bullet in a week. Given I still can hardly run, but that's been an issue for me since I started walking. I still have to use a crutch sometimes, like now. I feel like collapsing onto the dirt. 

Back at the store, I lean haphazardly against the wall. If I dare look in the mirror, I fear that I will look like some kind of drug addict. 

In the stark reality, I am. Not drugs- drink. I tried, Goddman it, I tried. I did. And maybe I'm a dick for making a promise to Ernist like that, but it's just not the kind of thing that you can break. I've cut back, certainly, but I can't go too far without it. I think maybe it subdues pain, too. I haven't experemented without it. This tiny place had its own cheap-ass liquor store. There isn't anything quite like Whiskey out of a plastic bottle.