The Storm [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter Eleven:

Once more, the journey was painfully silent, but the trio walked on. America started worrying for Canada, if whether or not he was okay. Was he hurt? Was he sick?

Was he even alive?

America shook away the disturbing thoughts and worried more on pushing his legs forward.

It was a number of days before they ran into a small abandoned town. There were melted and crumbling houses, an old gas station and a large supermarket that seemed to be in surprisingly good shape.

"Should we get some fresh supplies?" America asked Mexico, but the other nation shook his head, feeling sick.

"I don't like the idea of cramped spaces when those...things are running around," Mexico explained, his voice wobbling from exhaustion and worry. America comfortingly put his hand on his friend's shoulder and smiled.

"Let's just check it out, okay?"

Mexico nodded sourly, not meeting America's eyes.

It wasn't like America wanted to risk their safety, but they needed more food and water.

They made their way over to the grocery store and pushed open the dirty glass door. It was surprisingly open.

"How convenient," Mexico muttered, pointing the flashlight in every dark spot of the store.

It seemed other people had already ransacked the place, for it was almost completely empty. America sighed, annoyed.

"Hey, José, why don't you go look for some batteries while I look for some food with Cassie?" America suggested, but Mexico stood rooted to his spot, a grimace sprouting across his face.

"Don't you idiots need a flashlight?" he replied, waving the light around like a dog toy. Cass laughed, then quickly silenced himself.

José's right, I can't endanger them. We need to stick together, America told himself. He straightened up and agreed with Mexico.

They searched all over the store and only found three cans of food. But unfortunately found a large case of fresh water bottles.

"We can't carry all these," Mexico complained, lifting the heavy cardboard box.

"Then just take a few, that amount of water could last us until we get to Canada," America told him. Cass was looking at the box wishfully. Is he thirsty? America thought.

"Hey buddy," America said, bending down. He offered the boy his water, "Drink this." But Cass shook his head.

"We need to save it, and I'm not thirsty," he told America, glancing at his feet.

"Don't lie to me, Cassius, not now. Drink this," he ordered and the boy snatched it out of his hand after an annoyed sigh and finished the bottle.

"There, is that a little better?" America asked after standing up again. Cass nodded.

Suddenly, there was a clicking sound behind America. It sounded like a gun being ready to be fired.

"Don't move," a soft but powerful voice commanded them. "Hands up." America obeyed, slowly raising his hands over his head, along with an annoyed looking Mexico. Cass looked scared but followed their example.

"Now turn around, slowly," the voice ordered. It was rough and authoritative, but it was also quiet and almost soothing. With an aching heart, America remembered he knew someone with a voice like that.

America slowly turned and couldn't even register the grimy and sun-tanned face. How it had angels he saw in himself and how his eyes were a deep indigo blue underneath his mop of shaggy dirty blond hair.