That goes down well. Nate's apologetic as soon as he says it, but he doesn't apologise outright. He disappears, along with Dog and his rifle, into the trees, without so much as a word. I just feel hurt, angry, and empty. I'm getting sick of fighting all the time. Maybe it's time to go our separate ways – after we get Emmi back, of course.
I don't understand why his words hurt me so much. It's not like I've never thought of it, and it's not like someone's never asked me before. Is it because he said it, not so much what he said? Whatever the reason, the exchange has left me shaky.
It takes me a moment to get a good grip on the boot before I slam it shut. My legs are just as unsteady as my hands, so I pause, take a deep breath, then climb in through the rear door. I prop my backpack against the wall beside the extra rifle, shove my map inside, and shrug off my jacket. Covering myself with the blankets as I lie down, I use my pack as my pillow, no matter how firm and uncomfortable it is.
Emotions are stupid. People are stupid. These words comfort me somewhat as I drift off to sleep, but it doesn't help to ease the weight that sits on my chest, or the trembling.
It feels like I've maybe been asleep for half an hour when I feel something wet touch my fingers. I groan, roll over, and crack open an eye. The 4WD is warm and claustrophobic, but that doesn't stop Dog from licking my fingers before ducking under the blanket and snuggling next to me. I sigh and rub my eyes, and try to work out what time it is, how long I've been asleep.
Nate must be back, because the only way I can see inside the 4WD is because of a torch – which now peeks in through the rear door, and points towards the ceiling.
I groan again and roll over, away from the light. I take Dog with me, who squirms as he's taken for a ride. But he quietens down as he snuggles closer to me, right under my chin. I stroke him head to tail, and close my eyes again.
The 4WD rocks as Nate climbs inside, and though he tries his hardest not to make a sound, he still scrapes his head against the ceiling, and slams the rear door.
He collapses onto the floor beside me – behind me, whichever – and heaves a sigh as he flicks off the torch. He smells of the forest, of pine, of falling leaves, of gunpowder.
I heave my own sigh and close my eyes, so I can get some sleep before tomorrow – today – I have no idea what time it is. It's dark outside, it's dark inside. I yawn. I need all the sleep I can get.
Nate's clothes rustle as he rolls over, and I know he faces me, because as he exhales another breath, it stirs my hair.
We stay like this a few moments longer, him close enough but not close enough to touch, and me half asleep, in that place of limbo between full sleep and full consciousness, where I'm not sure if anything's real.
Nate scoots closer until he spoons me from behind, until there's no space between us. An arm reaches over me, slung over my waist to hold me against him. He sighs again, and his breath fans the back of my neck.
"I know you're awake," he murmurs, and his voice is so low it's a rumble in his chest.
But he doesn't follow that statement with anything else. The words hang in the air a while, almost like he asked a question. Maybe he thought he had asked me something.
I don't know. I snuggle deeper into the blanket, and Dog snuggles deeper into me. Sleep, sleep, sleep – oh how she calls to me.
"I'm sorry," Nate breathes, and now I swear I'm dreaming. "I'm sorry for everything."
Those words welcome me to my dream, which isn't even a step up from what's going on when I'm awake.
My mum and dad appear like they're rising from the mist. They smile at me, faces crystal clear unlike how they now appear in my memories.
YOU ARE READING
What Lasts in Us
Science Fiction**COMPLETED** Several years after the world succumbed to a deadly strain of measles that turned those infected into crazed, mindless cannibals, Charlotte wanders the backroads alone, content with surviving day-to-day. That is until she crosses path...
