What now.
That was the first thing Pj said, after ten hours of painful, heavy silence, only broken by the ratty breathing of the three boys (three—how unlucky, how incomplete, how hopeless that number seemed. How terrible, painful, small) and the crackle of the flames.
It was a difficult question, one even Dan, who never shut up when it came to orders and instructions, was hesitant to answer. Pj seemed to him like a rocket, left too long in the dry heat, ready to go off with the smallest spark. Neither he nor Phil wanted to be the one on the wrong end of the blast.
"Maybe…" Phil offered hesitantly. "Maybe we should just bury him first, and then we can figure out the rest from there. We can't waste anymore time, not with Hangers and Scavengers and everything."
Scavengers—Dan had almost forgotten about them. There were, of course, the natural types; eagles and coyotes, the like, but he knew Phil meant the Other kind. The human kind.
Ex soldiers, abandoned children, lost souls who had become a third party in what was already a horrendous war. Led by desperation or anger, often both, these people, with minds often frayed from the constant fear and stress, sometimes to the point of full insanity, had banded together, creating a small but powerful force. They would collect bodies from the street and eat them, often leaving limbs or bones at random points, just to show they had been there. There had been several attacks on army hospitals, often ending with the tents being burned or otherwise destroyed. There were even stories of raids on towns, with death counts higher than Hanger attacks. It seemed Scavengers existed for no other reason than to destroy.
They represented humanity at its lowest, but, Dan couldn't help but think, also humanity at its core.
"Burying isn't proper." Pj snapped. "Besides, the ground is too hard. And we don't even have a spade."
"I don't think we can do much else, Peej." Dan said quietly, in the same tone one might adopt when approaching a feral cat. "Burning takes too long, to do and to make a fire for. You know we don't have that much time…"
"Are you really arguing the convenience of this? I thought Chris was your best friend."
"Dan is right," Phil said, "burning is timely. And it never really gets rid of the full body, anyways, so it's kind of useless. Maybe we could go back to the river—"
"Of course, you can say that," Pj scoffed. "You never knew him. You never fought with him, cared about him." His voice broke, and he glanced back at Chris's body, still lying where he had fallen. "But I did. And he deserves a proper goodbye. A soldier's goodbye."
"Pj," Phil reasoned, "I'd want the same thing for my family, too, but—"
"Screw your family, Phil! They're dead! They're dead, and Chris is dead and Sophie is dead and everyone, everyone we ever loved is dead or dying or somewhere unreachable." Pj shook his head. He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was softer, but no kinder. "I wish you would stop pretending otherwise."
Phil stared at him for a moment, and something in his eyes seemed to dull. Dan moved towards him, not really knowing why, but Phil pushed him away. "I'm going for a walk," he spat. "If there's an attack, don't bother calling."
He turned on his heel and stormed off. Pj watched him go with red eyes, almost ashamed, but also maybe the slightest bit pleased. Like he was so hurt, it was good for him to see someone feel the same way.
"We're floating the body, Pj. He's gone now; what's left isn't him."
Dan was right. It wasn't. And the emptiness was what stun
