Chapter Text
“Dad, we need to keep going.”
You knew your voice was an empty echo, another sound ringing in Joel’s ears, just as empty as the sirens and the screams… just as empty as the entire world felt, now that Sarah wasn’t in it.
“Dad” you called again, and turned your eyes away to look at your uncle, in a silent plea to help.
Eyes watery and trembling, Tommy stepped forward, kneeling beside his brother. You couldn’t hear anything they said— a whispered conversation nestled in between Sarah’s corpse, still warm in your father’s arms.
She looked asleep, not dead, but your eyes darted to the wound, and when you saw something coming out of it —her guts—, reality hit you. And hard.
You clenched your stomach and turned away, puking whatever was left on it. Salty hot tears mixed in with the puke as you gaged, but you wiped everything off with the hem of your hoodie.
Tommy and Joel ignored your sobs and struggles as they wrapped Sarah in Tommy’s jacket and slowly stood up. Joel’s hands were fused to her, refusing to let go, still hoping she’d suddenly gasp for air or murmur.
None of them turned to check if you were following behind as they began to walk away from chaos, and into the unknown.
Most of your memories had faded away pretty quickly— you weren’t even sure how you’d found yourself in a makeshift hospital tent from a military refugee camp, but there you were.
Many people were already there, injured and broken like all of you. You spotted a few kids from your high school, but none that you knew; after all, your classmates had left Arlington after graduation to go to college, and you’d been the only one who had stayed behind to work and figure it out.
As you walked into the hospital, you suddenly came to sense that none of that really mattered much anymore. College, working, saving money for your own truck, the guy you had been sneaking home on Joel’s poker nights. Unremarkable things people could afford to do when their lives were simple and accommodated.
You also noticed everyone staring at your father as he carried, like a martyr, Sarah’s body.
You didn’t speak when doctors approached the group and began to ask Joel and Tommy questions. Your mind was dozing off, taking you away from the present, dissociating from the scene. Your savings, sitting inside a coffee can on a shelf at home; your journal, left open on your bed; Joel’s birthday present, still wrapped on the coffee table. You were going to give it to him when you were back from your shift at the diner, but by the time you had reached home, he was already gone to fetch Tommy from the cop station.
It was a loud noise you knew by heart what brought you back— your redneck father insulting the doctors in flying colors.
When you shook your head and noticed what was happening, Joel was already getting physical, pushing away anyone who tried to touch Sarah; a difficult task, considering he had to carry her whole entire dead weight.
Tommy and the nurses were trying to make Joel fall into senses, explaining Sarah’s body couldn’t stay in the ward if she had already passed away. But he was having none of it.
“Dad, we have to—“ you tried to intervene, voice thin, as you took a step forward.
“No, fucking no!”
Joel’s elbow almost hit you in the struggle, making you step back.
At last, the nurses managed to carry your sister into a stretcher and out of the room, while Tommy and a few soldiers pinned Joel down, restraining him from chasing after.
“My girl! My baby!“ is all you heard him repeat, over and over, drowning in sobs, as you saw your sister one last time. Her body had already cooled off, and her skin had begun to look clammy and sickly pale. Her hair was tangled and flat against her head as everything —her body, her soul, her life, her stories and dreams, her memories and tales— were carried away to never be seen again; to probably be buried on a common grave amongst many others already dead.
Now, the only thing reminding you of her were your father’s sobs.
The sun was slowly rising when you finally saw the opportunity.
Amongst the sleeping women in the female ward of the makeshift hospital, you slipped your shoes on —stained with blood and dirt— and took a cigarette from an old lady’s nightstand. In quick strands, you managed your way through the corridors and out of the hospital. Once out, you took a deep, big breath.
The air was, somehow, still the same. It didn’t smell like death and blood, like burnt gas or fired ammo— it was the same smell of fresh dew and Texas heat slowly rising that all mornings had smelled like since you could remember.
You shook your head, trying not to dissociate once again, and put the cig on your lips. The first drag was orgasmic, smoke filling your lungs like water fills a sponge. To your right, the sun was just starting to climb over the horizon, painting everything in that soft orange glow that makes the world look peaceful, even when it isn’t.
You stood there for a moment, taking small drags out of the Marlboro to try and make it last as much as you could, when you heard the mechanic noise. You raised your head, looking around for a military man, or perhaps one of those… Monsters? You still weren’t sure what they were. But what you saw was a man, standing a few metres away, alone in the wheat field, watching the sunrise.
You recognised your father right away— his broad back was unmistakable to you. But what made you panic was the revolver in his hand, rising to his temple.
“DAD!” You screamed, loud, and for the first time in 12 hours, Joel finally listened.
He froze and turned, immediately lowering the gun from his temple as you stormed towards him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You asked, shocked, using the same tone he’d use on you when you were little and causing trouble, sneaking around his drawers or toolboxes. You forced yourself, once again, to not dissociate. Not now.
You snatched the revolver, cold, from his hands, holding it away from you.
“Give me the gun back“ Joel asked, with no emotion in his tone. He didn’t sound angry, or scared, or even sad. It was blood chilling, especially compared to his screams just hours ago.
“Hell no” you huffed, taking a step back, still holding the gun as further from your body as possible, and out of Joel’s reach.
“Honey—“ Joel cleared his throat, raw from crying. “You’d only understand this if you had your own kids”
You shook your head, raising your voice. “Sarah wouldn’t want this, dad.”
“Doesn’t matter what she wants because she’s dead!” Joel replied, raising his voice as well.
“It was an accident” you found yourself saying, even if you didn’t believe it— it’d been a tragedy, a murder. But you couldn’t say that to your father in this state. “Be realistic, dad.” you continued as you saw Joel pace between the grass, the sun slowly shining up more and more between the wheat. “We had no guns, no weapons— those fucking monsters were chasing us, and she couldn’t even run, what could have you done differently?”
You saw his jaw clench, exactly the same way he did every time he wanted to argue but couldn’t. You knew it very well, it was the same jaw motion he did when, during that meeting with the high school principal, he’d been informed you didn’t have grades good enough to apply to any colleges. The same way he had clenched his jaw the day he caught you with a boy behind the bleachers during one of Sarah’s soccer games. The same way he’d done countless times when you’d come home after curfew smelling like beer, or men cologne, or—
“You were smoking?” He asked, making you blink as you came back to sense. Yeah, you were smoking, just before you’d caught him about to take his own life.
“Yeah” You said.
“Told you I hate that”
You swallowed, taking a step back, the gun heavy on your hand. “I think my copying mechanisms are healthier than yours, dad.”