The Passing

Chapter Twelve [updated]

"Laz," I say, looking back at him, praying he knows an explanation. His eyes never leave the ground, only darting between the several bodies discarded around our feet. He kneels down without a word, and pulls out his knife, using the blade to move its hair around as he examines the skull.

"Whoever killed this one, did so at close-range." He says. I cross my arms, tightly hugging myself as anxiety pulses through my limbs. He stands back up, wiping the open blade on his pant leg to clean it. I watch his eyes run over our surroundings, shifting over bodies and buildings and looking everywhere but at me. "Never mind this. I'm taking you back."

"What?" the words barely make it past my lips before he grabs my hand and starts pulling me away. "Lazarus, whatever this is, I can handle it." I jerk my hand away, forcing him to stop. He pivots on his heels facing me, sweat runs down the sides of his face.

"Something ain't right." he sucks his teeth, balling up his fists as he paces the sidewalk. Taking a couple steps back, I can't help but gape at him, totally helpless.

"I know," I sigh, digging my nails into my palms. He's right, and there's no doubting it. Keeping eyes peeled, I watch for any slight bit of movement. We may not know what happened here, but we do know that Roamers are dangerous regardless of their numbers.

"Whatever this is..." He pauses, shaking his head. Finally, his eyes swoop to mine, reeling me in with that soft look he had back at Damascus, and I can't help but feel like he's actually starting to care. "I don't want anything to happen if I can prevent it." Something in him shifts, whether he knows I notice or not, there's a painful memory hidden in his expression.

"Lazarus, you can't prevent everything bad." I say softly, inching a little closer. Without thinking, I reach out and grab his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. A wave of comfort washes over me, and I feel the muscles in his hand relax into mine. "You aren't here alone. Someone's gotta make sure nothing bad happens to you, too." The corner of his lip twitches with the smallest hint of a smile, and he squeezes my hand gently.

However, its leaves just as quick as it came. "Still, we shouldn't be out here exposed like this. We need to find what we came looking for and dip." he remarks and I nod. Letting our fingers slip from each other's grasp, we start back into town, cautiously maneuvering past the unorganized rows of bodys, careful not to look down at the sinister marks. The people of Damascus didn't have these scars, and no one back home has ever mentioned anything like it. Immediately the thought of Sam and James possibly being amongst the dead collected here sends a rueful shiver down my spine.

"It should be right over here." Lazarus states, pointing to a tiny building, fully boxed in by a tall barbed wire fence. Inside, a couple dozen cars sit in neat accountable rows, all equally terraformed plant beds. A few look similar to the station wagon. Grabbing the bottom of the fence, Lazarus lifts it up high enough for us to pass through, and motions for me to go first. Reluctantly, I drop down on my stomach and army crawl through the slim opening. The pointed edges of the fence hook and snag at loose strings on my jacket, but I rip them free as I shimmy forward. Once through, I hop to my feet and hold the bottom of the fence up for Lazarus. Farther down the road, a staggering silhouette takes on the sidewalk.

"We've got one." I point as Lazarus climbs up from the opening. Jumping to his feet, he dusts off his pant legs and glances back over his shoulder.

"C'mon," he says, returning his attention to the building. Hustling inside, Lazarus shuts the door behind us, and wedges a wooden chair under the handle to keep it from opening. "Ain't no way that thing is getting through the fence."

"So what are we looking for?" I ask. Immediately, my eyes sweep the greasy interior of the shop. Posters of cars, both muscle and foreigns, fill up chunks of the walls and exposed brick takes up the rest. Lazarus hurries over to a tall rolling tool box, and immediately riffles through the drawers.