The start of winter was a month away, and the trees had already begun to lose their leaves. The oak had begun to crisp against the cool air and shower themselves in their warm-toned plumage. With each passing day more of the endless forest joined in the seasonal change, driving the autumn fauna from their homes. It was a calm but unforgiving change, one that Nicholas would watch glowingly from the passenger window of his mother's car as it blurred by. The trees melded together in a blaze of red and orange, illuminated by the sun peaking its head above the hilltops. The occasional deer would barrel out of the brush and run alongside the car. Nicholas took it as a challenge, brightening up his usual somber mood and driving him to tug on the arm of his mother yelling, "Faster Mom, faster!" until he was told to quiet himself. It was always worth riding hours back to his hometown for the summer if he got to spend time admiring nature.

Nicholas was always a busy child, but managed it discretely. He drug his way through a minimalist routine of cleaning, eating, and getting tutored in every possible subject. His mother played the role of provider, and did little to nothing else. She was strictly a source of financial support, never having the time to indulge herself in Nicholas' childhood. She was in no way a bad mother, but her work demanded focus, and paid far too well for her to become distracted. They were the kind of mother-son duo to sit across from one another at the dinner table and have nothing more to talk about but the weather. Nick had convinced himself by sixth grade that he was okay with his relationship with his mother, and by high school he believed it. In the summers of his secondary school, Nick was dumped off at his uncles farm early on. His uncle Peter was the closest thing to a fatherly figure he would have in his life. Uncle Pete had his flaws similar to his sister, but he showed his nephew the tough love that he needed to push him into the real world. Peter supplied Nicholas through the years with everything he needed to become a strong working man: daily responsibilities, three hearty meals a day, a craving for cheap beer, and a rough attitude. Nick's mother would often scold Peter in private for turning Nicholas into a "real bastard", but her opinions ended there as she knew better to scold what little escape Nicholas had. She loved her son, but neither could nor knew how to reach her son on any level. He was his father's boy, carrying on the legacy of course, black hair and crystal-blue eyes. Nick's father was a drunk, and worst of all he was a drunk that was complacent with that fact, and so he was gone well before Nicholas was two.

On Nick's sixteenth birthday, his uncle had hired a new farmhand, Luke. The seventeen-year-old Texan was fresh out of high school and estranged from his hometown. Pete had introduced his nephew to the new boy the first day of Nick's arrival. Visually, he was in vast contrast from Nick's being. He was a handsome, built young man with a guitar strung on his back. Nick's hair was tucked messily under an old cap his father left years ago, and Luke's hung fittingly in short, auburn locks. The fair stubble across his chin made Nick feel ages younger. The two met with an unspoken reservation, but Luke warmed up to Nick almost immediately with a warm bear hug that Nick could only blame the classic Southern charm for. The boys became very close very quickly, and were near inseparable when summer ended. Luke had become a new addition to Nick's family, and so Pete kept him around the farm long after his help became unnecessary. He had become Nick's closest source of release, and so he was invaluable to Pete. The two boys spent their summers working together for three years, and by senior year, Nick was convinced that he belonged on his uncle's farm. Graduation flew by, and despite his mother's sudden interest in his college preparations, Nicholas was dead set on moving out to Tennessee and working for Uncle Pete. Penniless, and without anyone but his mother to say goodbye to, Nick left his childhood life behind him, bringing nothing with him but the promise that his mother would visit annually and bring him birthday money.

Nick remembered that day better than any other. He practically strolled out from the country bus onto the freshly tilled crops Uncle Pete had prepared the day before. Luke had been waiting by the fence post since morning, strumming his guitar loud enough to be heard from across the field (Pete had let them know that upon entering the house). The raven-haired boy was happy then, happier than he had ever been. He had grown to trust Luke. The two shared deep secrets, something Nick had never done with someone before. Luke knew his friend was different- not that he found "different" to be a bad thing- and he was always willing to hear what Nick had to say. They two had become brothers at heart. As Pete would say: "One could scrape his knee and the other one would feel it a mile away." Occasionally, Luke would leave for a week to handle family business with those who hadn't disappeared completely from his life. Nick spent those weeks in his usual stupor, working quietly in the fields during the day and drinking local whiskey with Uncle Pete on their moonlight porch. Pete saw the change clearly. He knew Luke had grown to be a role model for Nicholas, and he felt that he had introduced a real positive change in the boy's life. Those were calm days, and Nick would seldom think to call his mother or plan to visit his old hometown. His mother would've loved to hear his voice, just to know he was happy; however, she was too afraid to and waited for him to call on his own. He never did.

The three men spent six years on that farm, and not a day went by that they didn't have something new to talk about. Not long after Nicholas moved to the farm permanently, Luke sprung the idea of starting a business with Nick. Without thinking, Nick was more than happy to join in the endeavor. The two spent the spring season trying to cobble together an idea to make enough money to buy their Uncle Pete a newer, more sensible home (Luke had begun humorously referring to Peter as such. There was little money to made in their plan, and so the hopes of starting a worldwide manure supplier was quickly dashed. Peter had foreseen the outcome of the boys botched plans, and no sooner had they folded, Pete had called the neighbors next door and arranged for them to rent out their guest cabin so that Luke could work on his hobbies in a wider space, and the two could "be men" without being scolded by Pete. The rest of that year was spent downing six-packs of whatever cheap beer the two could find in town, and banging the local chippies in the back room. Nick never did any of the girls. He preferred sitting in the living room, drink in hand. Luke was always the more promiscuous one, though he never cat-called or die anything overly-provocative. He was a good old' boy at heart, but he took any opportunity to make love to a woman he could get. Nick on the other hand, was the silent type. He was never one to woo a woman, and wouldn't even consider dropping his pants unless he was slobbering drunk. Lucky for him, Luke was raised a drinker just like his father and so the pair usually found themselves wasted in the company of women.

Love was never a factor for Nick. He wanted nothing more than what he had. Uncle Pete was a wise and dependent person, far more than his father was and his mother tried to be. Luke was everything Nick wanted in a friend, and in himself. He listened to Luke play, mulling over every note in his head until he went to sleep. They were the best of friends, and they were ready to spend the rest of their lives together. The world was fine in Nick's eyes, until one day it wasn't.

Nick slept through the first night of the end of the world. Luke had been coaxed into spending the night with the neighbor's daughter, Lilian. She was a bubbly, brown-eyed beauty, blessed with fair, ivory skin and a sprinkle of freckles on her cheeks. Nick never cared for her, seeing as she had torn Luke from his company more recently in the past few months than he cared to admit. Uncle Pete had called it a "fit of jealousy", and that upset Nick even more. It wasn't that he wanted Luke by his side at every waking moment, but the thought of Luke moving on to greater things horrified Nicholas. Things were fine the way they were.

Nick spent the night sleeping in Uncle Pete's bedroom. He had wandered out in a drunken stupor earlier in the evening, and his uncle had mustered the power to haul him from the upstairs bathroom to the master bedroom. Nick was deep in thought, so deep in fact, that he began to dream of his mother. He dreamt she had driven down the dirt path to Pete's farm, waving her hand from out of the driver seat window as if she was seeing Nick for the first time. It was a pleasant dream, one that made the corners of Nicks mouth crease upwards. He dreamt she leaped from the car door, tearing her pencil skirt at the hem. Her mouth was curled into an intense and shining smile, something he had seen so rarely as a child. She bounded across the field, running straight up to the camera through which Nick saw the dream, and proclaimed, "I'm here my sweet. I'm so sorry I never got to meet you."

It was then that Nick was pulled from his dream by the sound of gunshots.

The bedroom was blue in the moonlight. Nick reeled his hand out from under his pillow, feeling the blood rush through his clenched muscles. He shook the sensation away, sending his free hand down the waistband of his boxers to scratch an itch on his thigh. The gunshots hadn't registered in his mind. A series of howls echoed through the open window, but the house was otherwise silent. Nick scratched his head, letting a patch of black hair fall over his face. He sat there groggy-eyed, his left hand resting in the warmth between his thighs. The floor was frozen against his feet. He swiped a pair of socks from the nightstand and slipped them on, feeling the dried sweat spots from the previous day.

"Get up, Nick." He annoyingly droned, pushing himself off of the mattress and standing up to face the open window. The curtains fluttered with the night air, letting a small glow from the downstairs porch light seep in. He moved to the window, pushing the curtains to either side of him. A deep breath full of fresh air coaxed his lungs, enticing him to fully open his eyes. Rows of empty harvest stretched off into the woods, separated only by the house Luke rented from the neighbors. Nick had wrangled the sheep in the night before, so the field was near-silent, except for the call of the wind through the grass. The farm was always calm at night. A figure moved just below the window. Uncle Pete, who had left the back door open in his rush, halted in his shaky steps and looked up at his nephew.

"Nicholas. Did you hear that gunshot too?" His throat was dry from just waking up. He stood in the yard dressed in his day clothes. His face was clean, and worried.

"I think I did." Nick scratched his head, suddenly feeling empty without his father's cap. "They probably woke me up."

Pete looked down at the back door, then back up to his bedroom window. "Sounded like it came from the neighbors. Is Luke in the there with you? He wasn't when I took you up, was he?"

"No. He's with Lilian in the guest house."

Another pause. "Shit. Get your jacket on and get out here."

Just then, a second gunshot rang out louder than before. Both men snapped their heads in the direction of the guest house. Nick's heart skipped a beat as they watched in silent. There was a small rustling sound that was just loud enough to be heard from across the field. Suddenly, a figure burst out of the guest house, barreling towards the farmhouse. Nick looked down at his uncle. The older man had frozen in confusion; eyes locked on the approaching figure.

"Shit." Pete said, barely above a whisper. Nick couldn't hear it, but he knew who it was. It was Luke, and he was covered in blood.