What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

"What you said earlier," I begin, watching Nate closely. "About Robbie. Is everything okay?"

We walked and walked until night covered us in a dark blanket. We trekked for maybe two and a bit hours, to put some space between us and the gas station. I constantly feel like we're being watched – or that someone's going to stumble upon us and blow our brains out.

Nate sits propped against a tree, his pack on the ground beside him. He has his torch in his mouth, which illuminates the notebook I'd picked up earlier. He writes in it with the pen he'd taken from the guy I'd killed.

He finishes whatever he's writing before snapping the notebook shut, and uses the lid to keep the pen stuck to the cover. I think the notebook used to have a green cover; the pen is red. He practically spits the torch from his mouth and switches it off. Now, without the light, I have to wait for my eyes to adjust so I can see him in the dark.

Nate scrubs a hand over his face and releases a sigh. "I'm alright," he says. "Just tired."

Dog's asleep inside my jacket. He snores softly, tuckered out from the rabbit leg I'd given him. Minus the bullet, obviously. Good luck in trying to make traps to catch rabbits. I'm about as successful as Elmer Fudd trying to catch Bugs Bunny.

The word 'tired' has so many meanings now – much more than it had before the end of the world. Being tired meant you were tired of everything and wanted it to go away or end. Being tired meant you were sick of being here, alive. Being tired meant you didn't want to talk. Being tired meant you wanted the world to go back to the way it was. Being tired meant you were sick of the shit you constantly had to shovel.

I take a seat on the ground next to Nate. He moves his pack so I can lean against the tree as well. Our arms touch, and I'm happy to borrow some of his body heat – even though it's only through the length of my arm.

"You always look at the stars," Nate says. His voice is low, almost a whisper.

"It's something me and my dad used to do when I was little," I say before he can ask. "It's funny; I'm reverting back to old habits that I stopped when I became a teenager."

Nate tips his head back to look at the sky. There's some cloud cover, so we can't see all the stars. "Nostalgia likes to warp and manipulate your memory," he says, almost like a warning.

Despite this, I find solace in watching the stars; I'm filled with content when I spot Cassiopeia. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"About Robbie? No. There's nothing to talk about."

The silence that falls between us is deafening but comfortable. We just sit in the dark, watching the sky, enjoying each other's company. Which is strange, because I haven't enjoyed another person's company in a long time. I forgot what it felt like, to be able to just sit in silence and still feel content and comfortable.

I don't feel quite as lonely.

It's a mental and emotional thing; I've enjoyed people's company physically, because I've been closed off for so long. But right now, I'm going to let myself enjoy this little moment before everything turns to shit again. I'm going to let this little bit of emotion slip through the cracks.

"Were you always going to kill that kid?" Nate asks finally.

It astounds me that I care what he thinks of me. Like, what I say next could be something he doesn't like. The last time I cared about someone's opinion caused my heart to break in half.

But I'm unapologetic and truthful and I can sometimes be cruel. If he doesn't like who I am and what I do, then that's his problem, not mine.

"Yes," I answer. I let that one word hang in the air between us, to see what kind of reaction it will produce from him.

He doesn't jump away, but because I'm practically sitting right on top of him I feel his arm twitch, like he wants to pull away.

And it kind of hurts that this is the reaction I get from him. Maybe I've opened myself up too much; maybe instead of pouring it should be just a slight trickle.

"I couldn't save him," I say, and I allow my head to fall back against the tree. Bark pokes the back of my skull. "I went through every single outcome. Killing him seemed like the nicest thing to do."

Nate shifts beside me. "You don't need to keep explaining yourself to me," he says. "I trust you."

Which is the most bizarre thing in the world. He trusts me. Somehow, despite everything we've been through, what I've put him through, he trusts me. Do I trust him?

"When did that happen?" I ask instead.

"Today," he says. "When we were in the gas station. You disappeared and left me alone." He pauses. "For a second I seriously thought you left me to defend myself. But when you came back ... I realised I trust you. You might not necessarily believe it, but there is still some good in you."