The Passing

Chapter Two [updated]

An insistent war drum in my chest, panic pulses through my veins on beat. Air catches in my throat as pressure builds behind my eyes. I jolt, darting in the first direction my brain can think of. But, I am stopped as James jets out his hand, his stare piercing the sky as his hand jets out. My glare bores through him as I silently curse him for not letting me by. Now, we don't have a choice. Someone fired that flare, and every piece of me is reluctant to see if it's them, willing James to be the one to move.

Maybe then we won't be too late. If we get to them.

Seconds turn into minutes and soon, my bouncing leg can't take it. I walk boldly up to James, leaving two good feet between us. "What are you waiting for? You saw the flair, what more proof do you need? They need our help, James."

His vibrant green eyes tunnel into mine, threatening without needing to speak. He hates it when I use his name like that; he's Uncle James to me. I backpedal as he shakes his head, standing his ground. "We'll wait, and we'll move on my call." He pauses, attention diverting towards the fire. "And you're staying here."

There isn't a moment to protest, his eyes, clean like daggers, see right through me. I swallow hard, the urgency to fight this, to stand my ground, burns a fire in my lungs. We send our people with flares for emergencies like this. So, that someone, somewhere would see it, and they'd come running. That flare being so close... there's no one it could be but Sam. James turns on the heel of his boot, his hand naturally resting on the butt of his pistol. He's not too far— I could call out to him, beg him, get on my hands and knees, take the gun off his belt and use it if i have to— but there's an anchor around my ankle and the thought of pressing him makes my stomach turn.

My thoughts muffle out all other sound, yet the low mutter of his voice in the distance keeps me grounded. Words rumble from his throat and simultaneously a single gunshot.

One is all it takes.

My heartbeat quickens, my eyes shut for a single moment as my once steady breathing falls out of rhythm. My nails dig into my palms, searching for some form of stability, anything to keep me focused. They need me. Steady yourself. Find your Rhythm and start again. Another gunshot followed by a string of rapid fire— I flinch every time, my vision spiraling.

"No," I stutter between panicked breaths. My legs set in motion in a sprint towards the church. Arms pumping at my sides, my feet thunder against the ground until I break through the treeline. All I can envision is my brother and his wife cornered by the hungry beasts. I can't let what happened to my parents happen to them.

Branches whip and smack at my arms and legs as I relentlessly press forward. The fire has spread to my lungs, slowing me down. They're out here and they need me. I stop, nearly throwing myself to my knees as I gulp for air. The night swallows my surroundings, leaving only mere silhouettes of nature around me. The gunfire slows but still continuously strikes the air. One hand rakes through my hair as the other jostles the knife. Twigs snap, leaves crunch— something is approaching. The moans of the Undead could be heard for miles but there is no way of telling which way they come from, just that there are many. For a moment I ponder, are these monsters the same ones that are there with Sam and Savannah?

"Kimmy?" a deep voice whispers from several feet away. I stand straight up, weapon ready for any unwelcome guest.

"James?" I reply in a hushed tone, half relieved by his presence, but still angry that he let this get this far to begin with. We could've just went at the first sign of danger. Regardless, he knows these woods, day and night. I don't. I know I need him, no matter how much I hate it. His heavy footsteps echo until he stands by my side. "where are they?"