VIRUS - Redemption

EIGHT

12.07.2038 – 12.08.2038

Everyone sat in a circle. The house was dark; Ezekiel wanted no lighting as it could be seen in the night by the Dead, or even a walker by. We all sat quietly, slight conversation between some but not many. To my dismay, Patrick chose to share the small couch with me.

I wasn't avoiding him. I just wanted my name to stay out of people's mouth; at least until we got back to London.

We weren't in a good situation. The house we took refuge in was old; very old. The walls were rotted, the floor on the ground level almost seemed wet. There was no power; the front door was missing a window and the locks barely locked. There was a distant dripping sound, a leak somewhere hitting the now-brown tiles.

We had all agreed to sleep upstairs. All the rooms had locks that seemed to work, and furniture we could use to block the doorways. We just needed the sun to rise and then we could leave. We were just under halfway back to London, so it'd be a few hours more of walking then we would be home.

Then I could see my Mother.

There was a rattle from the kitchen, everyone's eyes darted to the door to see what had made that sound. Out of the kitchen came Killian, carrying as many bottles of liquor he could manage. I scoffed quietly, turning and taking my eyes from him as he walked back over to the group; the bottles clinking in his arms.

"Make the most of our stay, shall we?" Killian sighed, beginning to hand out the bottle to everyone. To my shock, Patrick took a bottle of whiskey from Killian. I didn't think or take him as much of a drinker; but it was a reminder that I didn't really know him anymore.

"Not too rowdy, Killian." Ezekiel shook his head, to which Killian replied with a soft laugh.

"Never too rowdy, Ezekiel." He replied, sitting back down with Wyatt across from Patrick and I. Patrick took the lid off his bottle of whiskey, smelling it before taking a larger gulp than I had expected. He looked over to me as he swallowed, raising his eyebrows as he realised I was watching him.

"It's good, have some." Patrick smiled slightly, offering me the bottle. I scrunched my nose, shaking my head. I assumed Patrick wasn't a drinker, because I wasn't a drinker; I assumed we were similar in most areas. I could count on one hand the amount of times I had tried alcohol. Only one of those times was hard liquor.

"You can if you want." Robert said to me. In his hand was a bottle of white rum that he had been sipping since Killian had given it to him. "I won't tell Iris."

"No thank you." I shook my head, declining the bottle from Patrick. He seemed disappointed but took another swig without an afterthought. I looked over to Killian to see him watching me as Wyatt took a long drink from his bottle of a brown liquor I didn't recognise. He had his arm around her, but his hand seemed to dangle; like he wasn't trying to hold her or touch her, it seemed more of an act.

"She's already taken enough from Patrick, right Elle?" Killian spoke up, Drago stifling a laugh from beside him.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"You don't have to be a dick, West." East snapped, interrupting me.

"She was in his bed this morning, East." Killian scoffed. "I'm sorry that I'm the only one not playing dumb."

"Nothing happened, man." Patrick shook his head.

"Can we not talk about this when I'm here?" Robert sighed, taking another swig of rum. "We nearly got to London without mentioning it."

"Nothing happened, Rob." I interrupted.

"I don't want to talk about it." Robert repeated. I looked over to Killian, whose lips beared a slight smirk; he was proud. I could feel my palms beginning to sweat, my heart beginning to quicken; anxiety was creeping up as I slowly felt everyone's eyes land on me. I've been dreading this moment ever since Drago saw me in Patrick's room early this morning.