The Passing

Chapter Four [updated]

The sun hangs high above our heads, beaming down with warmth that despite our reality, brings the smallest hint of comfort. My muscles throb, begging for a moment of rest after countless hours of walking under the late-summer sun. Lazarus is a few yards ahead of me, and Savanna has trailed a little ways behind, leaving me sandwiched between the two of them. Nobody speaks to one another, however Savanna mumbles to herself. I try not to listen, but there is literally nothing else but the sound of trees dancing in the wind and birds chirping away with no care in the world. I catch bits and pieces; if I had just, or Sam would, Sam wouldn't.

I pick at the skin around my fingers. Small traces of blood cakes under my nail as I pick them raw, until my fingers throb and the very air they touch sends shards of pain up into my wrist. There is no one else to blame here but myself, and I hope Savanna knows that. She shouldn't blame herself or question her actions or motives— she had family in mind, she had my safety in mind. I jeopardized our people. Not her.

Lazarus stops in the middle of an intersection, leaving us with three possible directions to go. He looks both ways and back to us, "We should try one of these places, see if there's anything we can use. There's a handful of daylight left, so we should get what we can and find shelter." Savanna and I catch up and stop beside him. To our left, a rusted sign sits bent at an angle, an old school toyota nestled in its metal legs. The white paint has long since peeled away from the acrylic, letters leave faded markings detailing what lies ahead.

Logan's grocery outlet 6 miles.

Cannon junkyard 10 miles.

"And which way did they go?" Savanna asks, not even offering Lazarus a glance. He stares at her, mouth dropped open. "You said you could track them. So which way did they go?"

"Did you not hear me?" Lazarus asks. Savanna's eyes shoot in his direction.

"I did, but from what Sam had started teaching me before—" she pauses, biting the inside of her cheek as she looks away. "We'll lose it if we dont keep going. We don't have time to stop."

"We don't have time to stop to look for food? Water? Better weapons?" He steps closer, gesturing to the single gun attached to her hip and my knife. Amongst the three of us, my knife, Lazarus's piece of scrap metal, and her gun with however many bullets she managed to find, we wouldn't stand a chance against a mere pack of roamers, let alone enough to get by the horde. He tries to meet her gaze, willing her with the furrow of his brow, but she keeps looking away in different directions. Taking a deep breath, he rests his hands on his hips, starring off in the same direction she gazes. He fumbles with the hem of his jacket before speaking again."I get you want to find your family, but look at the state we are in. We could barely defend ourselves if something were to happen. How many bullets do you have?"

At last, she meets his stare, tucking her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans. She sizes him up, glaring at Lazarus from head to toe, reading him steadily, carefully. "Enough." She says shortly. Her mind races through her eyes, trying to solve this metaphorical puzzle. She's lying. "I need to get back to Sam." her eyes pierce mine like daggers before she pushes past him, continuing straight along the road we've been taking. My head swivels, following her confident stride. Lazarus scuffs. Shaking his head in disbelief, he runs his dirt covered hands over his tired face.

"You won't be able to find them doing it your way. We need to stop, rest, recuperate." He tries, but he's better off speaking to the trees. She won't listen. "Savanna!"

She stops abruptly. Her voice is low as she speaks, but her head hangs low. "If you want to stop, by all means stop. But I have to keep going, my husband is out there." she argues. She spins in his direction and takes spiteful steps towards him. "How dare you ask me to leave him behind, to stop even for a moment. He's out there, and I won't stop until I find him." Turning fast on her heels as if she stands on ice, she pushes forward, leaving Lazarus and I behind without another moment's thought.