Brave Tomorrow

Him

Claudia's P.O.V

The arrival of Lena's dog and Darren was such a surprise that I almost forgot about Hector. Almost. Even though I always told my friends that I didn't like him it was a lie. A very bad lie, as they could see right through it. I've never really talked about my feelings for him to Tara, Ronnie or Lena. Maybe Tara would understand but Ronnie and Lena would make it into a joke.

Everyone was now sitting in a circle, talking, well, everyone except Lena, who was petting a whimpering and bloody Bella away from the group, but I wasn't really listening until I heard my own name.

"What?" I asked with a hint of annoyance in my tone, like usual.

"What do you think we should do about the dog? We need a deciding vote, and Lena is..." Shane paused, and everyone glanced at Lena. She was cooing into Bella's ear and her clothes were drenched in the dogs blood. Bella was screwed.

"Lena isn't qualified to make any decisions at the moment." Ronnie said, finishing Shane's train of thought, and as some sort of gratitude, Shane put his hand on her thigh, which was covered in a pair of ripped and bloody black leggings. This display made her cheeks red and her other leg fidget, because she hated when people touched her, except Shane, apparently. I instantly thought of Hector and I, and my heart began to skip beats and I felt the room spin.

However, before I could declare my stance, Lena stood up and cleared her throat.

"There's no point. Kill her; don't let her suffer." She sniffled. A few of us murmured in agreement.

"Kill her?! What is wrong with you people?!" Tara exclaimed. "This is a living thing! We can't just kill her! Plus, what if this all just blows over in a couple days?! You would have to live with the guilt of killing a poor dog!"

"And, we don't have anything to kill her with; unless you count broken tennis racket and a plastic baseball bat." Ronnie added. Tara frowned, and shook her head in disagreement. After that, no one spoke, until Calvin jumped up, a light bulb practically popping out of his head. All of our eyes followed him in curiosity as he made his way behind the counter. A few seconds later, he popped back up with a weird looking knife and a pistol. He held them up, which made Ronnie squeal in excitement.

"Oh my god! A butterfly knife and a Glock 17! Please tell me you have ammo for the Glock?!" She was practically jumping up and down, which loosened up the air, and made Shane laugh. Ronnie ran up and laid the weapons on the counter, carefully analyzing each one. After her observations, I heard a couple of clicks which sounded like she was loading the gun. Lena then walked up to the counter and picked up the knife. Ronnie grabbed her hand and looked up (more like down, because of the height difference) at her with her cartoon eyes.

"Lena..." Her eyes darted to Bella, then to the knife. "Tara is kind of right."

"Weren't you the one just hyperventilating at the sight of deadly weapons?" Ben remarked, which made our group give a shaky laugh.

Lena quickly put on a stern expression. "There was so many of them. I doubt this would happen just in a day. This "disease" or whatever you call it has probably been going around for weeks without any of us knowing." She made her way over to Bella and crouched down. "I don't think this will "blow over" and I don't think there's a cure for bites and scratches from those things." Then, she stuck the butterfly knife right in between the dogs' eyes.

Tara screamed and jumped over to Lena, her mouth open in a perfect circle of disbelief. "No!" Darren turned away, his head ducked and his eyes wide, while Calvin started to occupy himself by stacking some candy bars into a large bag, and Ben just stared intensively. I watched Ronnie as she covered her gaping mouth with her pale hands, looking as if she's going to be sick. Shane awkwardly scratched his head; his expression passive and unreadable. I stood there, motionless, still wondering about Hector.

You know when you're thinking about something, and then it happens? Like you're thinking of a song, and then it starts playing? That is called "synchronicity" and I read online somewhere that it's universe's way of saying that everything happens for a reason, and everything will turn out fine in the end, well, most of the time.

There was a loud thump at the front of the store. I couldn't see over the rows of shelves, so I glanced over at Ronnie, who could peer over the shelves with ease. She quickly turned away and told Shane to look. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed in thought, and his dark blue eyes were squinted, like he was trying to make out something. I guess he finally figured out what he was looking at. He looked at me with sympathy, and then at Ronnie, who then smacked his elbow and told him to go.

I carefully analyzed Ronnie's face, taking in every detail. Her green eyes still wide on her florid face, dark brown eyebrows raised, and her mouth slightly gaping. Her facial expression reminded me of a doe in headlights- not a dear, because her face, along with Tara's, was more child like, not grownup and radiating a sense of elegance like mine or Lena's, which wasn't a bad thing. Finally she spoke, her eyes darting everywhere except at me.

"M-m-maybe we should head b-back to look for some m-more useful supplies." She stammered. I knew something was going on when I heard her stutter. Then, I heard the door slam and Shane call out for help. Ronnie tried to grab my wrist, but I easily shook her off and began to make my way to the front of the store.

There he was, lying in his blood. His hair was a mess and his glasses were broken, and blood covered almost every inch of his toffee skin. But, out of the corner of my eye I noticed it- a deep bite, still bleeding, on his forearm. I glanced back at his face to make sure it was him; to double check if this was actually a nightmare coming true. It was him. From his thick, black, and messy eyebrows, to his infamous striped jacket (that was now tied around his waist.) It was him.

I rushed over to his still and bloody body and fell to my knees. I put my ear over his unmoving chest.

Him.

I reached into his jean pocket and took out the woven bracelet I gave him last year.

Him.

I looked at his eyes, which were closed. I picked up his broken silver glasses and put them in my sweater pocket.

Him.

I glanced back up at his face. Bloodshot eyes stared back at me.