Bereavement

Chapter 13

The physical agony is back, starting in my head and then radiating outward. Crying probably wasn't a good idea—although I couldn't help it—since I am now congested, which causes additional discomfort in both my head and chest. Aside from that, pain gnaws at everything else; every part of body must have been somewhat affected by the blast from the grenade. My frame feels weak, as if I am almost not capable of holding myself up.

The recovery process will most likely be long and exhausting, and I didn't exactly help speed it up by immediately getting up and straining myself after the explosion. I dread the thought of lying in bed for a few weeks with nothing to distract me.

My body hurts but my mind is numb when I coax myself to my feet. Averting my eyes away from David's body, I shuffle out of the laboratory. This fight is not over yet; I might as well go help out.

The walk back down the hallway of the deserted basement and to the staircase seems to last an eternity. Every part of my physique screams at me to stop moving, but I ignore the temptation to lie down and rest. There are more important things to do.

I lean down and pick up my rifle that I left on the floor on my way upstairs, dodging debris and taking slow steps up the staircase. When I get to the top, the sound of gunshots reaches my ear.

Following the hallway lined with glass on one side, I end up at the main part of the compound, the center where both armies are firing at each other. Zeke has his back to me and is crouched behind some sort of box that is pressed against the wall, forming a corner for him to pop out from behind. I approach him as carefully as I can to not startle him.

"Zeke!" I shout when I am a few feet behind him. He spins around quickly and aims at me, lowering his rifle when he realizes that it is me. We back up from the wall to put more room between us and the battlefield.

"I didn't see if you came upstairs or not," he tells me, breathless. "Apparently you didn't. Are you okay?" Zeke takes in my appearance, my clothing that is burnt on the edges and my shoes that have a layer of blood caked on them.

"A grenade got me," I say. Then, looking down at my combat boots, I reassure him, "The blood isn't mine." I don't mention that it is Tris's, which I dumped on the floor to render useless.

He nods slowly, about to ask whose blood it is, I assume. I answer him before he has the chance to question me. "David is dead."

The words slip off my tongue blankly, though on the inside I am fraught with relief at the statement. Zeke stares at me uncertainly before repeating, "Are you okay?"

I honestly don't think I am, but it is hard to tell which emotions I am feeling at the moment. "I'm fine," I eventually say. "Did you get all of the GDs out? Are we winning?"

"Yeah, we got them out. But we're not exactly winning. We're still getting gunned down out there. We should go help."

He turns away and is about to rush back, but something itches at the back of my brain, and I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. "Wait, Zeke." He whirls around to face me, a wide-eyed look on his face. The expression for some reason triggers my memory, and I remember why I stopped him. "Thank you. For everything."

My best friend could die today. The one who accepted me when I joined Dauntless, and tried to integrate me despite the fact that I was a Stiff. The one who has always had my back without question. The one whose trust I broke when I got his brother killed, and who still found a way to forgive me. He taught me what being friends with someone could offer. He taught me how to have fun.

Zeke will always be an important part of my life. I want him to know that in case something goes wrong.

"You too, Four," he replies with an infectious grin, pulling me into a hug. I am still not comfortable with contact like that, and I suppose I never will be, but I do my best to reciprocate. When he lets go of me, he teases, "You never lost that Stiffness."