MIGHT WANT TO READ: I was halfway through writing the fourteenth chapter for this story when I realized that there was a lot about it that I was unhappy with. SO, for the past three months - no joke, it actually took me THAT long to rewrite only two and a half chapters - I've been working on restructuring them. I won't go into what I thought was wrong with the previous version because there is A LOT, but I hope you aren't upset with the slight plot changes(don't fret, they're all decently small ones) and the difference in character relationships that I've newly written. Just re-read through this(you don't HAVE to) and hopefully enjoy it better than the first version of SCL because I know I already do.


Safety is a word that is beginning to sound foreign to my ears.

Just yesterday, as we were sitting around the fire brightening up the darkness that we've learned to fear, Gus, the leader, had stood up and uttered the word. We were safe in the small neighborhood that had become our shelter. All of us had cheered in our own silent way, too scared to bring the monsters to us to ruin our triumph. But, a new lesson I've learned lately is that triumph doesn't exist anymore.

Because the next night, twenty four hours later, a hoard of the disgusting creatures found us. They knocked over the wired fences that had been a group effort to put up like they were nothing and marched on. Gunfire ripped through their skulls, an image I hoped I wouldn't have to see and blood splattered everywhere as the decayed bodies fell to the ground. I thought we were winning for a split second. The hope inflated like a balloon in my chest and pushed out all the distaste created from what I was witnessing. My mind was convinced that maybe the dead that had ravaged and overthrown the Earth would lose once, just this once.

Like I said, triumph doesn't exist anymore.

The unanimated bodies on the dirty surface were trampled by more and more walkers and the people who were allowed to have guns couldn't shoot them in time. I watched from my spot pushed to the back of the armed members of my group as the ammo was slowly depleted and the weapons were thrown to the floor. I saw the glint of the knives they were pulled out of their holsters in desperation to protect themselves. Helplessness became my best friend in that moment, draping over me like a heavy blanket and really showing me what this world was like.

People fled, running off in all directions in hope of staying alive and others stayed in front of me stabbing and slicing with all they had. My stomach twisted and turned as I tried to catch the breath I had lost a long time ago. Panic and horror ran through my veins and throbbed in my ears with my rapid heartbeat, loud and unforgiving. Screams soon joined the orchestra as teeth sunk into the skin it could get to. The wails cut through my heart and made it feel as though the organ was slowly shrinking and cracking under the cold fist that had grabbed it the second those fences toppled over.

Tears blurred my vision and my throat was ravaged by sobs that sounded silent due to the the quick breaths leaving my lips as my head whipped around. Concrete driveways were covered in a dark red, the source of the liquid covered by clumps of the undead. Cries sliced through the air in agonizing octaves, replacing the previous frenzied yells. Only when I looked straight did my shrieks join the others. The wave of walkers was advancing even further forward, some dropping to chew on people I used to call my family and others focused on a different target.

Me.

My feet feel weighty when I try to move them and it seems like I'm moving in slow motion while the monsters are stumbling towards me in their natural and nightmare inducing way. This only causes more tears to run down my cheeks as I try to run towards a home that isn't surrounded. The motion in my legs slowly turns on and I begin to sprint through the grass and to the property in my sights.

Until I hit a hole unwisely made in the ground.

I fall forward, my arms hurtfully catching my weight, and immediately push myself up with a strangled sob. A walker grabs my ankle, dragging me back towards the rest of them. It's jaw opens to reveal yellow and black teeth, opening and closing rapidly, hungry for me. I scream over the growls they're making and furiously make an effort to jerk my foot out of it's hold. It's gnarled face is only getting closer and I think, 'This is it, This is where I die.' Just as a sharp blood covered blade slices right through it's neck. The head drops onto my leg and leaves an ugly dark red streak as it slides onto the grass. I can finally wrench my foot out of the decayed hand and after I do I'm pulled up and pushed back towards the home I was running to.

"Go, Nevaeh! Go!" The voice belongs to Mason, my brother, and at the realization my legs almost give out. My fried mind tells my body not to move as I watch him advance towards the rest of the monsters, too concerned for his safety. He decapitates the walkers in a way that always leaves me both disturbed and mesmerized. His movements are graceful and relate to those of a ballerina, though, I wouldn't use that word to describe any part of Mason.

Five of the undead behind the leader that almost took my life are slayed in little time and he looks back at me. I don't even have to see his face to know that worried 'v' shaped mark has indented itself in his forehead, right between his eyebrows. That's a similarity we share and something I've seen a lot of the past two months. The wakizashi sword he found on a run in the early days is put back in it's sheath before he comes racing towards me. His arms wrap around me and lift me off the ground. I clinch my eyes shut as he carries me the rest of the way to the house. Chaos is everywhere and even though I have my eyes closed, images flash across the black surface. Yells overpower my loud ears, and, above that, I can hear their groans and the loud crunching of human skin between their teeth. I search for comfort in something, anything, and I settle with clenching Mason's jacket in my fists.

He got it from a grocery store Mom, him and me searched through. He'd seen it on a hanger with many others and snatched it up immediately, saying, "This'll make me look cool. People will think I'm a total badass." At the time I'd just thought he was an idiot, but when two guys from this group found us on the road, tired and dirty, I could already see the respect in their eyes. And now for all I knew they could be lying dead somewhere on the ground or worse, one of them. And Mom. The thought hits me so hard my eyes open. What about Mom? Where is she? Why wasn't she with Mason? She wasn't...dead. Right? No. She was not gone. I couldn't think like that unless I had proof.

Mason opens the door to the long ago cleared out house and slams it just as quickly with his foot, putting me down and moving to the table sitting under a mirror in the entryway. He struggles with it's weight, which doesn't look like much, especially for him, but I help him move it in front of the door as best as I can. Hands slide against the oval glass the second it's in place, leaving dirty and red smears in their wake. Mason collapses against the wall instantly, letting out heavy breaths and running a hand through his grimy bright blonde hair that appears as a red-brown at the moment.

My eyes focus on the discolored skin banging on the transparent surface and my voice is small and hoarse when I ask, "Mom. What about Mom?" The sad thing is, a part of me, deep, deep down already knew the answer.

"Gone. Just...gone." He replies, his words laced with defeat and sorrow.

I feel like I've been hit by something painful and huge. I flinch like I have, my limbs giving up their fight in holding me up and letting me fall onto the rug with a thump. My lip quivers and tears blur my vision but don't fall. The lump present in the back of my throat is painful and never in my life have I felt this much agony. Not even when my Dad died, two months before this whole terrible infection happened. Because Mom was there and Mason was there. There were times when I would break down when memories of him were too strong or I saw his picture or heard his voice through some home video. They were always there for that. One of them would hold me or rub my back while I let it out. Most of the time, they cried with me and our mourning intertwined. Other times, I would come across one of them hiding in their rooms with a picture stuck in their hands and I would be the one to help them through it.

All Mason and I had now was each other. We were stuck here, in this house with nowhere to go and no one to look for. The dragging of feet on the wooden boards of the front porch made a shiver go down my spine. I was being strangled, but not by hands. I was being strangled by the weight of the world.

I looked up from my spot across from Mason and wiped at the already dry tear trails on my cheeks in vain. "A-Are you okay?" I question. I know I'm not and the way my hands are shaking in my lap prove just that.

He lifts his head. Little speckles of walker blood showcase themselves on his cheeks, almost like freckles. Some of it crawls up his neck and follows the line of his jaw like a second skin, a darker shade now that it was dry. The brown eyes that we share are puffy and filled with tears that are falling one after another in shiny trails. I don't see Mason cry much and when I do, water fills my own eyes. His hands quickly swiped away his vulnerability and he's wracked with sobs as he says. "N-Nevy, I'm-I'm sorry."

My stomach drops and yet another piece of my heart breaks off. I'm quiet for a minute, sniffing and furiously wiping away at my cheeks. I prepare myself for what he's about to say, prepare myself for the worst thing I can imagine. "...For what?"

Mason stretches out his legs, his boots almost making contact with my knees, and leans forward, gripping the cuffs of his jacket and pulling on them after placing his sword beside him. The piece of apparel is thrown next to him and I can see the guilt shining in his eyes as he lets out a shaky breath. The first thing I notice is the dark staining on the blue material of his shirt, between his neck and shoulder, by his collarbone. I gulp. His fingers reach up and grip the neckline of the fabric, slowly and gently pulling it over his skin. There's blood where flesh is supposed to be. It's expanding everywhere across the area, originating from a wound that looks exactly like I don't want it to. It's right in the area where the collarbone meets the neck and now I know that the splatter of red I noticed earlier is actually his blood.

I surge forward, sitting on his right side. "No. We'll-We'll bandage it. You'll be fine. Y-You'll be fine. Here, let me see if...I can find some bandages...somewhere around here. You taught me how to-" My face is wet again and though I can't see, I start to stand. He can't die. He'll become one of those things if he does and I can't let that happen. I don't want that to happen.

Mason grips my hand and gives a forlorn shake of the head. "No, Nevy. It won't help."

I fall to my knees again, finding solace in the grip of his hand. "What if you're immune? What if you survive this?" I'm grabbing nonexistent hopes out of the air and I know it. That only makes me cry harder.

"Nevy…" He trails off and I know he's doing it because he doesn't want to tell me his death is inevitable. We can't do anything.

When I imagined the worst thing he could be sorry for, this was what I thought about. I didn't believe it would be this bad. But it is.

"You can't leave." I whimper. I shut my eyes tight, trying to get the tears to stop, but that only causes more to come loose. So I focus on his face and try to remember every feature. He's the most popular subject in my sketchbook, being the most convenient and the next time I sit down and want to draw, I want it to be of him. I want to be able to copy his face down on paper without having to look at previous pictures to remind myself what the slope of his nose was like or just how curly his hair always was. I want to be sure of it.

Scenarios pass through my mind, each one depicting what my life could be like without him. I can't do it. He's constantly been there to protect me. He and Mom never let me touch a gun or a single weapon. I was shielded away while one of them handled it. But now, neither of them were going to be there for me and the reality of this comes crashing down on me. I'm buried beneath bricks and bricks of the truth; I'm going to die without them. I'm going to be defenseless.

My distorted stare is cast down to Mason's paling hand. I touch the skin with the pads of my thumbs, trying to push out the parts of my brain that want to imagine what it would look like discolored and decayed. "Mason," I choke out. Fat, wet drops fall against my fingertips. "I'm gonna be alone."

"No." The firm tone he uses makes me tilt my head up to look at him. He shifts himself so he sits on his knees in front of me and rests his unused hand on my shoulder. "Nevaeh, you will never be alone. I'm always gonna be there. So are Mom and Dad. We may not be next to you, but we're in your memories and that's what counts. You're going to get out of here and you are going to run as fast as you can, okay? Run until you find a group that will protect you, love you like family. A group just like this one. Move on from them, from me. You need to live."

The sinking feeling in my gut is growing bigger. He's saying goodbye. Forever. It's not like he's going away for a year of college and he'll see us at Thanksgiving, it's for eternity. I feel weak and part of me just wants to step outside that front door and let them have me. "I can't live out there." I lamented. "I can't use a gun or-or even a knife and what if I can't protect myse-"

Mason shakes me gently, his eyes hard with determination. "I have no doubt that you'll win. You're gonna beat it. All of this. And you can do it without me. You only need yourself." He releases both of his holds on me, reaches behind him and snatches up his sword and jacket, presenting them to me. "And these. You've always thought this was cool and I even taught you how to swing it that one time, so, you're wrong, you do know how to use a weapon. And this jacket. Wear it so you can remember what I said. I'm there with you, Nevy. Always have been." He throws it over my shuddering shoulders before handing the long sheathed blade to me. I wipe at my face as I stare at it. I might be excited if this wasn't a parting gift.

I take it into my spasming hands with a sniffle. "Why...Why are you so okay with this?" I asked. "A walker took a bite out of your shoulder."

"I'm okay with this because you're alive." He replies and his lips tug upwards in a soft smile that has my eyes trying to examine the details and my heart clenching with the knowledge that this is the last time I'll see it. "The moment you were born, I made a promise to myself to protect you. And I did." I return the small smile he has sorrowfully as he continues. "I want you to promise me something, Nevy."

I don't respond, don't trust my voice enough to speak anymore. I only nod. "I want you to promise to live. Fight with everything you have. Don't give up until you have to. Promise me that you'll try."

I can barely see anymore, but nod once more. For him, I would. For Mom and Dad I would. They were the only family I had and I was going to be the last one. I had to try.

He sits up so that he's standing on his knees and reaches down. The scratchy sound of velcro echoes against the walls as he removes the holster holding his gun from his thigh. It's a Glock 19 and an object he holds close to his heart. I've never seen him without it since he found it and everytime I see it I automatically think of him. Mason is no longer Mason without this gun. "Here." He says, handing the holster and piece of metal to me.

I meet his eyes with watery ones. "What?" I whisper.

"I want you to be prepared. Guns are for emergencies and if you're in an emergency, I want you to use it."

"I don't know how."

He grips it and slowly talks me through it, and I momentarily forget about the fact that he's on his deathbed. I already see the sweat beginning to form against his brows. The fever's hitting. How long did he have? His voice flew through my ears as he explained the parts of the gun and how to reload. I was trying to memorize it. The deepness and the scratchy nature of it. I heard everything he said and I nodded along, but I couldn't help but be blank through most of the lesson.

When he handed it back to me and I strapped it around my thigh, I wasn't crying anymore. "This is...goodbye. Isn't it?" I murmured and glanced up at him. His expression was stoic and the fact that it was made a part of me mad, but I knew Mason didn't like to cry. Especially in front of me.

He doesn't say anything and I take his silence as a very hard hitting yes. "What about you? Am I gonna have to...k-kill you?" The thought alone brings a bad taste to my mouth.

Mason shakes his head the second the word was uttered. "I'm not gonna put you through that. You leave me here. I'll figure something out. You won't have to do anything."

"And what if you don't figure it out?"

"I will."

That isn't enough for me. I'm not sure anymore how many days we've been running from the walkers, but it feels like it's been an eternity. They're always around every corner. You walk down a road, there they are. You go into a house, there they are. You find a secluded area and think you're good, but there they are. Everywhere. The world is an antpile that got stepped on by a gigantic shoe and now the walkers are crawling out from the depths, angry and biting any piece of human flesh they can get to. They terrify me and just thinking about getting bit and becoming one of them has my stomach clenching and eyes watering. It never occurred to me that it would happen to my family.

My Mom was strong, stronger than I know I'll ever be. She could handle pressure amazingly and her calm demeanor never failed in giving me courage and shooting away my fears. Her hands had grown skilled with a knife in the time since the downfall and could take down walkers before I could even blink. Mason freaked out at first and was clumsy with everything he touched, but grew to be annoyingly cocky whenever he spotted one of the undead and made a few comments before putting them down.

And then there was me who stood by motionless and scared until I knew the thing was dead. I did nothing. I was under the impression that they would live and I would not. Mason would find a girlfriend in this screwed up place and though I didn't like the thought of it, maybe Mom would find a man to love again. Now that the theory was twisted the other way around, I felt as if I was going to combust. The walkers had finally caught up to the both of them and I wouldn't let them become what we've despised.

I clutch the camo material shrouding my shoulders and pull it closer to me even though cold is the last thing I am. "Promise me." I say, my voice clear despite the pain in the back of my throat. "I promised you I would live. Promise me you won't become one of them."

He meets my gaze straight on. "I promise." His stare then goes elsewhere, aiming downwards to the beige rug filled with little drops of blood we're sitting on. "Now go. I'm running out of time and you can't be here when I...just hurry Nevy."

I surge forward and wrap my arms around his torso, trying my best not to get near his wound. His heartbeat meets my ears, a rhythm that's supposed to be soothing but instead reminds me that he's gradually withering away under my fingertips. "Thank you."

I sense the shift in his arm as it slowly ascends to stroke my hair in the familiar way I grew accustomed to when I was five. He pulls on a bright blonde curl and I feel it spring back into place as he says, "I love you, kiddo.

Kiddo. A name I've always hated and now wish I had years to complain about him using. I take a deep breath and listen to a thump from the inside of his chest before I pull away. "I love you too." I croak.

The bangs against the front door are growing louder as more walkers from the herd join the group that followed us here. I flinch at each one even though I know we're safe and Mason grips my forearm. The indentation is back between his brows as he nods to something behind me. I shoot a glance over my shoulder to see a sliding door leading out onto a porch. "Go." He whispers.

I stand on weak legs and take one last long look at him. Dread and guilt pool together in my stomach as I scan every inch of his features. The expression he wears is neutral. I'm not even sure if he's scared. "I'll...see you later, Mase." I tell him in a quiet voice.

A smile, small and soft crosses his lips. "See you later, Nevaeh."

I organize myself, shedding my backpack to put his jacket over my shoulders. It's heavy against my back and feels like a layer of armor that gives me the strength I so desperately need. The sleeves just go past my nails and I roll them up so they reach my wrists before pulling my bag back on and grabbing the sword off the floor. I sling the strap over my shoulder and attempt to get used to the extra weight it supplies.

My lips release a deep breath as I turn and face my exit. I spare a glance back at my brother, sitting so calmly on the floor and he returns it, sending me one last goodbye through his eyes. I replay the image of his face in my mind, trying to preserve it so I can turn it into pencil lead on paper when I get the chance. If I get the chance.

The converse on my feet thud noisily against the hardwood floors, the boards letting out subtle creaks that reach my ears and admonish me for leaving him behind, alone. I keep on through it, telling myself this is what he wants and replaying his words in my head.

Fight with everything you have. Don't give up until you have to. Over and over again, a mantra in my brain.

The door slides open without a sound and I stop halfway through it. "Goodbye." The word is like a feather, floating away in the wind. One last tear rolls down and stops on my chin. I watch it as it splashes against my shoe and leaves a dot of white on the dirty surface.

I slide the door shut behind me, keeping my back turned away from it because I know I'll rethink what I'm doing if I see him one more time. The first steps are the hardest, knowing I'm leaving him in there to die without anyone to help him through it. My chest feels constricted and physically hurts like someone is gradually stealing the air filling it up. I blame it on my shattered heart and continue on down the wooden stairs, beginning to lose the battle with the developing sobs.

My body wants to just let it all out. I can feel the itch throughout it. The options are either yell or run and I choose run. Legs I have no control over carry me away from the place that ripped up my illustration of hope and peace and held it over fire until it turned into ashes. Further away I get, away from Mason and Mom. The familiar sting in my side from the sprinting is welcomed and the shortness of breath that greets me is taken in as a relieving distraction. Tears dry in the wind that blows through my curls and the air is clear.

I forget. In my rush around the greenery, I'm invincible. Too fast for the walkers, too fast for emotions to scramble and cloud my vision. I forget about the traumatizing events of the past hour and simply become one with the breeze.

And I'm floating, floating, floating.


I absolutely loved exploring Mason's character a little bit more and breaking Nevaeh's heart and basically just being a cruel person, but maybe YOU enjoyed this chapter more than the original first one? Just a little bit? Let me know.

HAPPY READING