Chapter Text
Nick could almost taste the rust of dried blood between his teeth, but the sky had never looked so beautiful.
Sometimes it felt like the world was ending, but crows cried in the distance, and worms that came up from the rain wriggled under his boots, and a soft purple dawn gently crept over them just as it always would. The world was alive.
And so were they.
It was the only thing making it easy to keep his legs still moving. Sometimes he forgot he was even walking, even in his own body. That made it easier, in a way. The ache in his back had dulled to a numb tingle, but he’d stopped wishing for a break ages ago. He just allowed himself to get lost in the haze of the sky, let his eyes glaze over, let it absorb his mind so he didn’t have to think about any of it—how lost they were, how quickly Sarita was bleeding through the tee-shirt he tied around her arm stump, how Sarah walked along like a slow trickle, how they were filthy and tired and lost and broken.
The only thing to tug him back was when Sarah stopped short, their linked arms straining with a jolt when she halted.
He blinked blearily, then turned back to look at her.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered, staring out towards the stretch of craggy road before them, eyes wet and red and wide behind cracked spectacles. Her grip on his arm tightened. “I can’t—I can’t do it. I want my dad. I want my daddy—I want—”
Nick swallowed, only now just realizing that his legs were buckling. He hitched Sarita up upon his back further, and she gave a soft moan. The humanness of it, though shallow and strained, made his chest a little less tight. The only weapon he had was a crowbar that dangled from his belt loop, and he didn’t want to have to use it.
Back when they all first escaped together, Carlos had taught them a few exercises, in case something ever happened and he wasn’t there to calm her down. Nick would’ve forgotten them by now if he hadn’t started using them himself, when he was alone and frightened and everything seemed like it was way too much. He wished someone could have taught him them when he was her age.
Nick glanced up at the sky one last time before looking down at her again. “Can you count to ten with me, Sarah?”
“I need my daddy,” she repeated, her voice quiet but shrill. She gasped in a deep, sudden breath. “I need my dad, I need him, I need—”
He just wanted to run. He just wanted to drop Sarita and leave Sarah and run and run and run until it all went away, until the smell of blood and the grip of panic were far behind and all that was left was those soft purple dawns.
But he couldn’t.
“Sarah,” he said weakly. This was the third time she had stopped short and started hyperventilating, but they lasted shorter and shorter with each occurrence. He was starting to see a pattern, and adapted to it as best he could. “Sarah, it’s okay. Just—just breathe, alright? We’re—we’re gonna count to ten, okay?”
His voice faltered breathlessly. He wished he could just sit down. Sarita’s cold lips brushed against the back of his neck, and a shudder ran through his chest. If she turned, he was bound to be her first meal—and then what would happen to Sarah?
If Luke was there, he would have told Nick to drop her, and Nick would have listened to him. But Luke wasn’t there.
“I can’t! I can’t! I need my daddy, I need him!” she protested, her voice growing louder. As her gasps quickened, panic tore through Nick’s gut when he realized his own breathing was rapidly catching up with hers, faster and faster, like there wasn’t enough air in the world. They were going to die, they were going to die, they were going to die—
“I can’t go on, I can’t do it, I can’t—!”
“One—” Nick squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, sucking in the damp air through his nose as slowly as he could manage. “Two—”
Sarah buried her face into his arm, digging her nails deeply into his shirt. Hot tears pinched the corners of her eyes and her shoulders trembled. It felt like using all of her body’s might just to push away the urge to gulp in air, to just take in a long, careful inhale. “Three—”
Good. She was counting already. The first time it had taken several tries, and each time he had to start over amid her wailing, Sarita still shuddering weakly on his back, he felt more and more hopeless. It was a struggle to get to this point, but the change didn’t go unnoticed. Even just hearing that timid little “three” made the next number easier, and their words stumbled into sync, calmer and clearer with each number.
“Ten” was firm and determined, and they said it together.
They were standing. They could breathe. They would be okay.
Nick opened his eyes and managed a tired grin down to her. “Good job, Sarah.”
Sarah coughed, retching a little from the dryness in her throat. She ran her tongue over her teeth and drew a hand up to rub her eye. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely.
They started walking again. Nick looked back up to the sky. It was getting lighter.
“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” This would certainly be easier if she didn’t keep falling into panic, but she didn’t need to apologize. If anything, it was his fault for not being able to keep a better eye on her.
“I made you scared. I felt you shaking.”
Nick’s jowls twitched. He didn’t even think she would have realized, the way she’d gotten lost in her own terror like that. Strange, how easily he could still get self-conscious under the gaze of a panicking little girl at a time like this. He lowered his head, the brim of his cap casting a shadow over his eyes.
“I wasn’t scared.” His words bit the air, and he could feel her start next to him, shaken by the harshness in his voice.
Shit. Nick cringed inwardly. Of course he’d go snapping at her the minute he managed to calm her down. He wasn’t cut out for this—trying to lead, trying to keep people calm. He wished Luke was here.
“I’m—I’m just cold,” he lied, forcing a calmer tone. She couldn’t know how terrified he really felt. He needed to be strong for her. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, alright?”
“Okay.” Sarah didn’t believe him, but she pretended to because she knew that would make him feel better. For a long time she’d felt afraid of him, but Rebecca once explained to her that sometimes people acted meaner than they really were to try and protect themselves from getting hurt. She knew he wasn’t all bad, because he talked to her about old video games and laughed softly when everyone played cards together and cried a bit when he thought no one was looking after they saw lurkers tear apart a doe along the riverbed.
Sarita’s intact arm slipped down from around Nick’s neck, dangling helplessly. Sarah looked up at her, and they briefly caught eyes. The woman couldn’t bring herself to do more than just blink slowly, but Sarah could figure out what it meant. Still clinging to Nick’s arm with the other, Sarah slipped a hand up to entwine it with Sarita’s. Weak fingers twitched, trying to squeeze back.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sarita.” Sarah offered her a small smile.
“There you go,” Nick said with a grunt, shifting the woman’s weight slightly. Maybe focusing on Sarita, giving her a little sense of responsibility, could keep Sarah distracted and cool-headed. “We’re—we’re gonna take care of Sarita, right? Make her all better?”
In a voice light and clear, Sarah continued. “When we get back to the cabin, my dad is gonna fix your arm.”
Nick’s stomach sank into the soles of his feet a cement weight.
“You’ll like it there. It’s big, and we’ve got lots of board games. Maybe we can get a Christmas tree, like you had at your house.”
Warm sunlight bled through the purple dawn. The wet mud that squished under their shoes had begun to harden into damp dirt.
“We can get a Christmas tree,” Sarah repeated to herself softly.
Nick raised his head, squinting towards the horizon.
“We can get a Christmas tree. We can get a Christmas tree. We can get a Christmas tree.”
Along the tree line was the first building they had seen since they made it out of the herd.