The first time he heard it, he wasn't sure whether it was the sound or the reason it was made that drove him crazy. By the sixth, he determined it was the sound. It only took till the eleventh for him to decide it was his hate for the being from which the sound came. At 20, it was the way it made his skin crawl. At 32, it was the panic that rose within him as the sound dragged out longer. 44 changed the sound from hated to calming. Fifty-something meant reassurance. Somewhere passed 67, he realized he didn't entirely mind the sound. At least, not all the time. Well after he stopped counting, it hit him. He was going to miss that damn sound one day.
"Neek! Hey Neek! Did Ah evah tell ya 'bout this time mah buddeh Keith an' Ah went…"
"Ellis, sweetie, is now the time?"
"Right." A sloppy grin plastered the hick's face as he rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry Ro."
The woman just shook her head, and continued her hunt for supplies. The gambler met the grin with softened eyes.
"Hey Ah-luss." The name, drawn out with less malice than usual, brought the mechanic's eyes back to him.
"Yeah Neek?"
The gambler knew he'd regret it later. But, later was later. And one could never guarantee what happened later.
"Tell me the story during watch."
He could almost feel the joy radiating off the kid.
"Really Neek? Really? Yew'll listen ta the whole thin'?"
A nod won the battle over a snide remark. "Yeah kid. The whole thing. Any story you want."
"Aww, yer tha greatest, Neek."
That sound. That terrible, drowning Southern accent butchering his name. And the blue-eyed puppy dog of a hick that it came from.
It scared the hell out of him when screamed. The conman swore the infected had some personal vendetta against the boy. Maybe they all knew of his adventures with that Keith kid. First hand too, at the rate they got him.
It reassured him when mumbled with a thanks. It meant the idiot was still alive. Albeit, much worse for wear, but still living. Still able to irritate the hell out of the older man.
When he was being picked or patched up, it soothed him. Because it meant he was still alive. And he swore he was making it out of this thing, so help him.
Paired with banter during the day, the sound softened him, breaking his poker-faced demeanor. Relying on others was never his strong suit. Hell, people weren't his strong suit. Not unless they were being artistically scammed out of house, home and the clothes off their backs. But the group he had no initial intention of being a part of had become so natural, he was surprised he ever did without it. And that grating voice of the twenty-something baby was just another piece. The conman wasn't sure he could stand not hearing that sound now.
The gambler was sure the sound would be the death of him, or at least the source would. But he couldn't bring himself to care about that. Late at night, while the others slept and the two men struggled with the Georgia heat and the younger babbled and bared his soul to the stars and the flake of a man beside him, the conman burned the sound into his mind.
There was no guarantee in later. Ever. And certainly not in times like these. If he was ever going to have to separate from this rag-tag family of his, he was going to take those memories with him.
"Neek! Come on!
Even his friend's poor pronunciation of his name.