Don't Whistle Past the Graveyard

Ch. Sixty-Four

We stayed in that same sleepy little town for probably two weeks, give or take. With relief, we'd found that it hadn't been picked through too badly. There was food and gas and relative safety. Unanimously, we'd decided to stay.

After all, I mean, it's not like we were running or hiding from anyone anymore.

There were no people, alive or otherwise for the most part. There are always at least a couple zombies. There was food and water. I was hurt, Kyle was... I'm not really sure what to call it. Shane was almost as bad, strung out between me and his brother. And the others were just trying to tread lightly for our sakes.

One of those mornings there, I was drowsing, laying mostly on Shane's chest. He had one arm around my waist, keeping me from sliding off of him and accidentally pressing the burn into anything. My head resting right over his sternum, his heartbeat steady in my ear. I yawned and he said, "You can sleep more."

"Mm-mm," I mumbled. Then, I asked, "Did you sleep..."

I trailed off as Shane flinched and he sighed. His other arm came up and he rubbed at his eyes. Even though I couldn't see his face, I could imagine it. Tired eyes, sharp line of a mouth, tight jaw. I should have known. Of course he wasn't really sleeping. Kyle was hurting, so he was hurting, too.

I still couldn't seem to find the right painkiller for either of them.

I shifted, my finger tracing one of the tattoos on his ribcage, and he said, "I don't know what to say to him. He won't talk to me."

"Would you talk?" I asked quietly. When he didn't answer, I propped myself up to actually look at him. My arms shook slightly, but my back didn't immediately start screaming obscenities at me, so I called it progress. Shane tried to give me a reassuring smile, but I wasn't buying, and he pulled me back down.

Closing my eyes, I murmured, "If you were him right now, you wouldn't talk either, Shane."

"She shouldn't have died."

Now I sighed. I'd known this was coming, but I hadn't wanted it to. He still always blames himself. I want him to stop, because it leaves him in such pain, but I don't think it's something he can really control.

Swallowing, my voice raspy, I said, "He was going to kill her no matter what, Shane. It wasn't because of you."

His shoulders tensed, and he said, "You can't know that."

I don't think he meant to sound as harsh as he did. Still drawing out the lines on his skin, I said, "Justin was jealous. He wanted Lauren and Kyle had her. He was just enough of a bastard that if he couldn't have her, no one could."

"Raleigh," Shane tried, but I'd been itching to say this.

"It wasn't because of you. Because you moved or didn't move or whatever."

In a very low voice, he said, "He should never have gotten the chance. I should have killed him as soon as he put that knife to your throat."

"You were sick," I reminded him, and suddenly wondered if maybe Lauren wasn't the only thing he was beating himself up about. Quickly, I said, "And if anyone should have killed him, it should have been me. I should have finished what I started."

My words came out darker and colder than I had expected and we both fell silent. His chest jerked as he tried to laugh and he sighed, "What happened, Raleigh?"

"You asked that once already," I whispered.

"The answer keeps changin'," he responded. "What did we lose this time, Raleigh. What did Kyle lose? I don't mean just Lauren. I mean when I look at him, it's like looking at my brother's ghost." He laughed, but it wasn't real and said, "I thought it might be better. I thought, you know, after the fire, that we were away from that place and those people and it would be all right again. Like we talked about."