Tommy's First Friend | Z Nation

Chapter 13: Sleep doesn't make everything better, but it helps.

Hello, I'm back and I'm sorry my break took too long. I have no excuse. I've been pretty lazy.

I've realized the errors of my ways and I'll try my best to update faster. 

Thanks to those who read, added this story to their favorites and commented. It really encouraged me to keep on writing. 

Anyway, enjoy --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Breath in, breath out. One-shot, two shot, three—a hand takes hold of the gun. 10k looks through the scope and shoots, bullseye. I don't say anything and neither does he, but he takes a hold of my hand and runs his thumb in circular motions.

"Amish zombies, really." Addy sighs and turns to look at Garnet. Frustration evident in her tone. "Really?"

"They tried to quarantine themselves from the rest of society, keep the zs from spreading the infection," Garnet explains, running a hand through his unruly mane. We all needed a shower really bad. It might help alleviate the tense mood that followed us around ever since the second jeep and my bike ran out of fumes. We're all tired, smelly and being cramped in one jeep, forced to listen to Murphys nonplused serenade of complaints made everyone close to breaking point.

"We were all carrying the virus. Didn't matter who you were," Mack says, hands busy in trying to fix the jeep's engine. "Or how you died," He grumbles.

I try to jump out of the jeep, but 10k grabs a hold of my wrist, confusion evident on his face. "I'm checking the corpse," I murmur and pull my hand from his. I walk up to the corpse and examine its dried, rotten flesh with its milky white eyes. The anguished screams of a man replace the corpse's face, then people, drugged and smothered in cloth dance in my vision. I grab ahold of my head, shaking it to get the vision out. I take a deep breath in, and another then another until the images subside and I see nothing but grassland, a stretch of asphalt and an Amish corpse.

What's her deal? My ears pick up on their conversation. I pretend to preoccupy myself in patting the dead.

There's nothing wrong with her.

Fascinating. She stops speaking, then you start. Do you guys share one voice box?

All right, stop it you two and leave her alone Murphy. She's still, well, dealing with stuff.

It's been a week, how long does her dealing need to last for? And have we just met? I need more.

No more for you, jerk.

We should have just left you and miss crazy back there.

Hey, be quick. I want to leave DC before dark.

I glance back at them and they all look away, except for 10k. He looks worried. I turn my head away and look back to the miles and miles of road we crossed. The distance from New York, from the treehouse, too far to go back to.

I'm telling you guys they have no soul, nothin.

Well, they're not dead. They want something.

Yeah, brains.

I look down at the corpse and the more I examine it the more it's starting to look peaceful, content, unmoving. It almost looks like its resting. I want that, to rest for a really long time. My bones are tired, fatigue seeming past muscle and holding my brain in a vice grip. I don't want to do this anymore. I just keep on running and killing and feeling starved.