To The Grave

Chapter 49. Randall. Day 364.

I ran to the trees, finding Ferris. "Where's my brother and sister?"

I turned around, hoping they'd be close behind me. I moved closer to the gunfire, hiding behind a tree, to look for them.

Winona came running, throwing her backpack to the ground. She poured her clothes and notebook to the dirt, grabbing a Ziplock bag of bandages and a shooter of vodka. "Nona, what are you doing?" I shouted, seeing Marty struggling to pull Kennon along.

He held his side in pain, blood running down his arm. He collapsed to the ground near Winona, pulling his shirt up. Blood poured from a hole in his abdomen. Winona poured the vodka on him, quickly rubbing away a mess of blood. She nodded her head quickly, looking at his back, smearing red across him.

"It went through." She whispered, holding the rag to his front. A gun fired close to us, causing a few screams. "Kennon, we have to go." She shouted, pulling him to his feet.

He shook his head, holding his side. She begged him, pulling on his hand. "No. I'm scared!" He shouted to her, breaking his silent treatment.

"Do you think any one here isn't?" She screamed back, dragging him forward. Rain began falling on us, slowing our run. We found the road, emerging on a large street. We stood in the road, looking around for an answer.

Lights poured down the street, illuminating us. I moved grabbing Kennon's arm and drapping it over my shoulder to drag him back to the trees. Guns fired. Winona ducked behind a tree, pulling her knife out. I held Kennon, both of us ducking behind some bushes and a rock.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, choking on words. I moved my hand to my mouth telling him to shut up. "I get everyone killed."

"I liked you better when you wouldn't talk." I moved to drive my knife into a man's leg, watching him fall down and stagger to grab his gun. I kicked it back, sending it into his nose. I grabbed the gun, firing it into him. I looked away, shaking with the new gun.

"What'd you say?" I asked looking up at Marty.

He frowned, sighing. "I asked if you were hungry."

I shook my head, feeling my hair move around my face. "I'm alright, I guess."

He shook his head, his green eyes rolling around in his skull. "Whatever." He tossed a small Ziplock bag across the tent to me, turning to leave as it hit my lap.

"It's infected as hell." I pushed the words out, washing the blood off my hands with a damp rag. Winona's face was hardened, trying hard to look strong.

She pushed the door open again, storming into the room. I cracked the door, looking at the younger girl.

Her long black hair was pulled back, facing me. She sat close to the edge of the bed, whispering to Kennon.

His face was pale, covered in sweat. His shaky hands pointed to something beside him, his mouth moving as he spoke quietly to her.

A raspy voice arose from the room, pulling my fading attention back in. "Where's Marty? Have him bring the guitar."

Winona turned around, glaring as she saw me in the in door frame, eavesdropping on them. I turned back, looking around the school office for my best friend.

I found him shivering on a chair, looking at the broken second story window. "Kennon wants you." He looked up to me, nodding. "And the guitar."

He shook his head, grabbing the large wooden instrument someone had felt compelled to grab the other night during our great escape.

Marty dragged a chair behind him into the room, sitting in front of the bed. "I haven't played a show in a while, and I don't take request."

"My brother's favourite song was Jesus Christ by Brand New." the raspy dying boy pushed out.

Marty paused, about to repeat that he didn't take request. Instead his fingers moved along the guitar, pushing and pulling strings to create a song.

"Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face, the kind you'd find on someone I could save, if they don't put me away."

"Well, that'll be a miracle." Winona pushed out, the words of the old song hitting her in a wall of nostalgia.

Marty stared at the guitar as he played, the words coming out of his lungs without hesitation, "Well Jesus Christ, I'm alone again."

A sudden downpour left all of our throats, "Well Jesus Christ, I'm not scared to die, I'm a little bit scared of what comes after."

The song came to an end, Marty's fingers finishing the last note. I looked up at the pale, still body. I stood up, grabbing Marty's sister's arm, pulling her away from the bedside. She looked down, seeing his glossed over eyes, A scream left her throat, her body pushing against mine.

I pulled her out of the room, looking back to Marty. He held the guitar in one hand, his mouth was covered by the other. I closed the door as I reentered, listening to Winona beg to be let back in.

I moved my hand to close his eyes. A twisted laugh crept out of Marty's lungs. I looked up to him, seeing tears rolling down his cheeks as he let out chokes of laughter, "Jesus Christ."

I sat down in the chair beside the bed, looking at the pale body beginning to stiffen. Marty stopped his hysterics, turning to punch the wall, leaving a sizable dent in the drywall. He pulled the door open, shoving his sobbing sister out of the way.

I moved my hands to my face, taking a deep breath before standing up quickly, pulling my knife out. I sank the knife into Kennon's head, storming quickly out of the room.