Fear the Walking Dead [Nick Clark]

13. [Season 1]

❝THIS THING'S GETTING WORST, NOT BETTER. IT'S NOT SAFE. ❞ 

Things were slowly going back to the way it was. A small sense of false normalcy was established around the neighbourhood; people felt safe with the Military around them 24/7, patrolling the streets, and the houses, making promises about food, medicine, electricity and water. All the families were slowly trying to get back to their routines, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

But not Allison.

She stood in front of Peter's grave, -Travis had buried him on the yard the night it happened- she held a small lily she had gotten from the Tran's yard on her hand. It has been nine whole days since the Military settled in, not allowing anyone to enter the community nor leave it. And for this whole nine days, she hasn't said a word. Not a single syllable. She crouched down, placing the flower neatly on top of the grave. 

They say it's safe inside the fence, that nothing will harm them; outside, it's all dead, everyone's gone. But Allison doesn't believe the soldiers, she doesn't want to believe her mom is gone, that she's alone in this world. That's she's an orphan.

She refuses to accept that.

Allison slowly rose to her feet, throwing one last look at the grave and walking away. Nick was in the swimming pool, laying flat on a float. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, as he rested; not a care in the world. She almost felt like drowning his head deep on the pool for acting so recklessly, when he had been the one trying to make people believe the world had turned to shit, taking away all their hope. All her hope.

"You'll have to talk someday, Allison." He sighed.

She ran her fingers over the back of her head. It was still painful. Liza had removed the bandage two days ago, claiming it wasn't necessary anymore for the bleeding had stopped. Allison was thankful for not having to walk around resembling a mummy anymore. But it still stinged.

She stared up at the roof where she knew Chris, like he had the previous days, was sitting down, and filming some kind of documentary with his camera. At least, she thought, he keeps himself entertained.

"Talk to me Allison." Insisted Nick. 

The sound of water splashing indicated to her he had hopped off the float. She watched blankly as he swam toward the edge, where she stood. His head resurfaced, his shoulder-length hair stuck to his face in all weird angles and places. He eyed her curiously at first, tilting his head to the side as he studied her. But then, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly and he shook his head.

"Sometimes holding on, does more damage than letting go." His brown eyes darted toward the grave, before settling back on her frown. "Your silence hurts me."

Madison was standing by the glass door, eyeing both of them sympathetically. Nick glanced briefly at his mother, before swimming back to the float, watching with dull eyes as Allison walked away, her lips sealed in a tight line.

She walked toward the Tran's house, keeping a watch over her shoulder as she stepped inside the fence. A couple soldiers were by the yard, talking and smoking as they patrolled. She bent down behind a small wall, walking slowly to the back of the house. She could hear Lieutenant Moyers' voice from the street, he was giving his usual speech. She didn't trust him, she didn't trust any of them. Moyers' bluntness even makes some of the survivors uncomfortable in how he so normally speaks of the people as objects.

She reached the glass door at the back and slid it open, sighing in relief for it not being locked. But before she could step inside, she froze, a high clear voice calling behind her.