Enjoy!
Chapter Fifty-One
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Mario or its franchise; it belongs to
Nintendo and their affiliates. I just am really grateful to its creators for giving
me such a wonderful game and media series to write about!
I also don't own anything related to Harry Potter, all that belongs to J.K. Rowling,
but thanks go to her as well because, using her wonderful work, I can expand this
story to make it more interesting.
I also don't own anything related to Naruto if you see me throw a little of that in, too
Being at the main headquarters again in the canyons brought back memories; severely unpleasant ones. So bitter were they that Munson started to question if he shouldn't just go back to Maine while he still had a chance.
I only just got here, he reasoned, the idea tempting him. He'd appeared first at the rocky bridge and then transported himself down into the base, at the closest thing to a lobby the invisible building had. He stood alone in the large metal room and took in the sight of the plain, streaked silver walls and gridded floors and forced his eyes to adjust to the lighting. It was so much darker inside than out.
So it wasn't my imagination, Munson thought with a wry smile. He thought he only recalled the headquarters to be a dark place because of his morbid history there, but eternally-burning torches could only do so much.
In a fraction of a second, the room went from empty and quiet to crowded and loud, deafeningly loud as just about every League member crammed into it by way of magically propelling themselves from whatever nook and cranny they'd been lounging in before. They all had something to say apparently about the leader's son and his sudden return.
Munson tensed and pressed himself back up against the wall. This room, like most in the headquarters, had no door. Or the doors came and went. It was a way to confuse and delay trespassers and keep prisoners from escaping. Though, if they did manage to get out, they'd meet a nasty end at the bottom of the canyons.
No more nasty an end than I would get if my father's still mad at me, Munson thought.
He knew there was a good chance his sire was still upset with him. Vindictive may as well be Callian's middle name, and holding grudges would be his game. He could hold one for ages and Munson highly doubted his rank as the man's first-born would soften his heart one bit. He had about as much rank as any other member.
And sometimes less than that, he recounted as he was met with some baleful or derisive stares. He knew the words being shouted and spat at him weren't any kinder and his previous anxiety turned to anger and annoyance.
I don't care what they think of me, he scowled. I'm not here for them. I came here for one reason and afterwards I'll never have to see any of them again.
He then relaxed and stood straight and fixed his shirt. He didn't know if dressing well would impress his father or make him appear soft so he'd settled on wearing a plain white t-shirt and black pants and a pair of boots he'd spelled to look worn and old. He didn't want to admit it but he still cared about his father's opinion of him. Try as he might, he couldn't just not care. No matter how much he loathed his father and all, it still bothered him when he saw that look of disappointment or heard those cutting remarks about his shortcomings.
"Out of the way! All of you! Out!"
If there was anything that could clear a room and fast it was Callian's gruff, barking voice. He yelled at his members and they vanished without hesitation, leaving just as quickly as they'd come. That left Munson alone with the man who'd sired him, who'd done more scarring and traumatizing than raising him from early childhood on up.
He hasn't changed a bit
It was amazing how that sole thought flew through both their minds as they laid eyes on each other. Callian hadn't taken a step further and was halfway across the room and Munson was still up against the opposite wall. He looked at his father and noticed how much alike he was to the man he'd run away from four years ago. He was still as grimy and rugged and hairy and angry as the young man remembered.
And he's scowling so hard…he's definitely mad at me, Munson assessed, swallowing.
He didn't know that his father was much more relieved and glad to see him than his tanned, creased face let on. It was just that seeing Munson again reminded him of his ex-wife and it was irritating him.
He's so much like her, Callian thought in aggravation. His son was all soft and delicate, both in his features and disposition. He not only looked like his mother, what with that long dark hair and that slim build and those inimitable sea-green eyes; that right there told him that this was no illusion because his son and his ex were the only ones with those eyes. Munson blinked and Callian winced at the boy's thick lashes; he may as well have been born a girl for all his frailness and uselessness as a member of the League. It was no wonder Callian started telling people he had no heir.
"I knew you'd be back here." He stated coarsely, his mood stuck on something like displeasure despite his initial excitement.
Munson watched his father amble over and vowed not to lose his will. He reminded himself that he'd come here for a reason and that he was not leaving here without what he came for.
"I didn't come to stay." The teenager told his father.
This stopped Callian and a stupefied look embodied his entire face. He stared down at Munson in that old way of his, the way that used to intimidate the boy into amending his words or actions to appease his father. Not today.
"I came to find out what you did to my mother." He stated boldly.
Callian narrowed his icy eyes that were more grey than blue and said, "Oh, is that right?"
"I know you cursed her," Munson said. His father came closer but he kept talking and at the same time wishing there wasn't a wall behind him. "I'm not asking for an antidote or a counter, I just want to know what you did to her."
"What else did the bitch tell you?" Callian sneered.
Munson felt his heart skip a beat and then the anger came, prompting him to jump to his mother's defense as he said heatedly, "Don't call her that!"
"Why not?" Callian barked. He scowled down at his son and said, "She got her fitting end."
"What did you do?" Munson's voice rose as his patience waned.
Callian scowled harder and remarked, "She loved dick so much, now she'll be chasing it the rest of her miserable life."
"What are you talking about?!" Munson now shouted. "Tell me what you did!"
He was losing himself for indignation and frustration but those emotions flitted away when his father towered over him with a stormy, dangerous expression. Munson quieted but the damage had been done; he'd seen his father like this before and knew there was no placating him now.
"You forget yourself, boy." Callian warned coldly. He told him, "I don't know what lies your whore-mother fed you—"
"Don't talk about her like that!" Munson yelled, almost like a knee-jerk reaction.
Callian rose his hand and held it at an angle, twisted at the wrist and so close to back-handing his son. Munson flinched but at the same time glared at his father, afraid and unafraid. He did anticipate quite anxiously the pain he knew a blow from his father would bring, but he didn't regret standing up for his mother.
Callian didn't hit him, though. Maybe it was the 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' effect, or maybe it was the fact that Callian was in a particularly good mood—for him anyway—thanks to having both his son and his most ardently-searched-for nemesis back in his grasp. He held his hand in the air and then curled his fingers and rolled his tongue around in his mouth, slowly lowering his fist and gazing stonily at his son.
Munson watched his father and panicked inside because he didn't expect this, not mercy. However, he still had the smallest bit of hope that, since the man was evidently in a forgiving mood, he'd pass on the details of what he'd done to his ex-wife.
"Is that where you've been all this time?" Callian asked quietly. "With her? It's no wonder you're so messed up. She's gone and poisoned your mind."
"No she didn't." Munson argued but his father held up a hand to silence him.
He closed his eyes and grimaced and said, "I blame myself. I shouldn't have let you stay away so long."
What? Munson thought, blinking and questioning if he'd heard that right.
Callian opened his eyes and was about to go on but stopped when he saw the perplexed look on his son's sweating face. He then smiled sardonically and let out a dry chuckle.
"Oh, now why the confusion, boy?" He asked, already knowing. He stated patronizingly, "You didn't think you stayed away all on your own, did you?"
Munson swallowed, his head spinning.
"You did, didn't you? You stupid boy." Callian laughed more heartily and said, "Oh yeah. You got me real good when you ran off. I still don't know how you did that."
Munson felt a bit of pride at the closest thing to a compliment he'd ever gotten and would get from his old man.
"But you only stayed away so long because I allowed it." Callian revealed.
Munson appeared to be in denial. Such was the degree of teenaged arrogance.
Callian snorted and said, "What, did you really think that was all you? I swear, boy, if I'd sent the League after your hide you'd have been back before you—"
"You're lying," Munson accused in a very soft voice.
Callian pulled a face.
Munson asked carefully, "If you're not, then why didn't you send the League after me? Why did you let me stay away for four years?"
Callian admitted, "You're a teenager. I thought you were going through some kind of rebellious phase and that you'd come back whenever you'd gotten it out of your system."
Munson blinked and blinked but his eyes refused to focus as he stared off to the side of his father's head, unseeing.
If that's the case, he reasoned, it was only a matter of time before my father's patience ran out and he came after me…which means…
"If you hadn't come back on your own," Callian spoke as if—and perhaps he had—reading the boy's mind. "I would've come after you myself and I pity the soul who would've inhabited your company, be your whore-mother or…anyone else."
Munson's blood froze in his veins and he broke out in a stronger cold sweat than before. He immediately thought about the one person he shouldn't have, for if his father was glimpsing into his mind…he didn't dare think of the implications.
She's safe, he told himself, my Wendy is safe, safe and sound in Maine. He doesn't know about her and he never will.
That was up for debate. Munson couldn't even swallow properly for both a dry mouth and a lump in his throat. With the way his dad was talking, it was like he had seen or detected something of the innocent girl.
She's safe, Munson insisted, battling his own cynical conscience. He had seen to her safety before he left. Not only had he warded the beach house three times over, but he'd cast a spell over the girl to make sure she slept for the next several hours. Other than a broken heart and empty stomach, she would be totally fine.
If my monster father doesn't send his goons after her, Munson feared, already seeing images of the League bursting in on the girl. And with the spell over her, she wouldn't even be able to defend herself. This was bad. Very bad.
Not necessarily, he frantically thought. He looked up at his father and figured, he already suspects I've been with my mother this whole time. I'll just run with that and keep private every aspect of my relationship with Wendy…but…
What about after that? What about when she woke up and found him missing? Munson had no idea how he was getting out of here.
If I leave, my father may follow me, he deduced. Or he might send the League after me and then what? Do I take Wendy and run? That would never end well. Either we'd be fugitives hopping from place to place or we'd both end up dead or worse at my father's hand.
Munson shook his head and decided then that he would not be involving the girl in his affairs any longer. This was his fate and he had to accept it.
But how do I get her away from all this?
"You heard what I said, boy?!" Callian cuffed his son lightly upside the head.
Munson winced and rubbed his head, staring at his father in bewilderment. Callian shook his head, disgusted with him. That wasn't anything new. He always seemed disgusted or put off by his son.
"You forget yourself, boy," Callian remarked. "But you better come to your senses soon. You're not out there in the world anymore."
"I'm not staying here." Munson said a second before his brain told him he should probably cooperate with his father so as best to lower the sorcerer's guard.
Callian grunted and said, "I'm not gonna' tolerate this disrespect, boy, I didn't—" Callian suddenly grew very quiet and solemn.
Munson tried, "I'm sorry. I'll stay."
Just please don't go investigating into my life, he silently begged.
His father shook his head and said, "No, don't insult my intelligence with that. I know you don't want to be here. You've been ruined by that woman, she's corrupted your mind." Callian narrowed his eyes and shoved his son and demanded, "You think I don't know you're probably plotting on running away again?"
Munson was incriminatingly silent.
Callian looked like he could spit. "That's alright." He raised a hand and called a blade from somewhere in existence. "I know how to fix this."
Well, the good thing about traveling in the desert was I didn't have to worry about my complexion anymore. I managed to get that 'Cancun' tan without shelling out for a pricey vacation. And the bad thing about traveling in the desert? Hm. Just about…everything else.
It was hotter than the devil's ass-crack for one, but that was a given, what with it being summer and all. Plus there was no shade anywhere; another no-brainer. There weren't any trees or anything so the sun was free to beat down on us as we rode. True there was a good breeze going as we rode, but that could only account for so much.
So far we had one break and that was back before we even got to the desert, when we'd decided to go into it that is. From then on we'd just been riding and riding for hours. I guess when the sun goes down I'll call one but honestly I might not. I want to indulge Daisy for once. See what she'll do if I just do things her way and keep going on and on. Sometimes I wondered, if she had her way, would we just make a straight shot to Arid City, never stopping or resting, just dashing there and saying to hell with whoever passed out or collapsed along the way?
Well let's find out, I thought as I glanced over to where she rode beside me. I was following her lead.
What was meant to be a bond between father and son had been turned into a curse. There was a tradition in the League involving those marks on the members' bodies. They weren't just there for decoration. Once activated by the father, they acted as a link between two bodies. The link used to be used for protection and safety, but Callian abused the principle and was using it as a means of forcibly keeping his son with him at all times. Wherever Callian went, Munson had to go, and the boy wouldn't be able to get more than about a hundred yards of his father without said man's permission: that was Callian's doing, not the mark's.
I knew it, Munson frowned, I won't be leaving here. I should never have come but I had to do something.
He didn't know what else he could've done to get help for his suffering mother and, as he sat on his old bed, staring down at his hands, he couldn't think of anything to do about it now. And then there was Wendy.
What am I gonna' do about her? I can't just leave her there, Munson despaired.
"Dinner's on the table."
"I'm not hungry." Munson answered his father automatically.
He didn't know what his father expected of him; what, that he was just going to resume his life like he'd never run away? Munson didn't want to play along with it. He was a prisoner here and he wouldn't pretend otherwise. Not too long ago his father had just manhandled him and cut into his flesh and made a slave of him for the rest of his unnaturally long life. And here he was, announcing dinner like all was well. Munson scowled and turned his head away from the door and his old man.
Callian rolled his eyes with a dissatisfied frown and said, "You have one minute to get down there."
"Why don't you just make me?" Munson muttered.
His father rumbled, "Don't get smart with me, boy."
"Fine." Munson glared sharply at him and said, "I'm coming."
Callian still looked disgruntled but he eventually left and Munson dropped his head in his hands.
When I was younger I saw this movie called, 'Groundhog Day' and this mission was starting to appear disturbingly similar to the premise of the film. The repetitive aspect was what I was talking about. Today was exactly like yesterday was exactly like the day before and I had a sneaking suspicion tomorrow wouldn't be much different. We'd ride all day without a single break and then stop for the night for a few hours of cramped, fetal-position shivering that could hardly be called sleep then get up before light and start riding again. It was hard for the body to get a break between constant traveling and temperature extremes; the days were blisteringly hot and the nights carried the winds and chill of Antarctica. My back was sore from tensing up during the previous nights and the heat was extra brutal today, it was giving me a headache. I looked over at Daisy and wondered how she was really doing.
She was riding fast and far with her gaze straight ahead. Did her neck have a crick in it because that was the same position she held day in and day out. She looked so vigilant and I knew she'd never complain but that didn't mean she wasn't as uncomfortable as the rest of us.
She's just strong enough to get past it, I thought.
For the second time Munson walked into the dining room. The first time he'd come down for dinner, his father had told him to change clothes so here the boy was, dressed more to his old man's liking in more grungy pants and a shirt and vest that hadn't fit him right since he was fourteen. He had to 'do something' with his hair, too, and tied it back because there was no way he was cutting it. Not for his father or anyone else.
"You took your sweet time, didn't you boy?" His father asked from the head of the table.
Munson walked dejectedly over towards his place at his dad's left and didn't respond to that. He didn't teleport to the dining room because he wanted the extra time it took navigating through the changing headquarters to think on his situation. It wasn't wise, seeing as how his father could penetrate his mind at any time, but Munson couldn't help it. He was worried about Wendy.
He went over to the table and pulled out his chair and sank down into it.
"Don't slouch, boy." His father nagged him.
Munson rolled his eyes and sat up an inch, making his father narrow his eyes and set his mouth. Munson sighed and appeased him by sitting up all the way. The rest of the League filed in and food materialized on not-quite-clean plates in front of them. Munson didn't even bother picking at his food. He sat there, slumped over the table, glaring at it.
Disgusting, he thought, his head in his hands. He also thought the worse sound was that of the League members chewing and smacking and talking loudly. He hated the noise and covered his ears. He was able to tune them out but he heard his father's voice soon after, muffled by the meat in his mouth and the boy's palms over his ears.
"Get your damn elbows off the table, boy." Callian ordered, then sneered, "Did you forget your manners while you were out on vacation?"
"You speak of manners when you're talking with your mouth full," Munson muttered under his breath.
"What?" Callian's eyes drew into slants.
"Nothing." Munson said around another sigh.
He dragged his elbows off the table and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms at his chest.
"You're not gonna' eat?"
"I'm not hungry."
Why is he still talking to me? Why is he even holding me here? It's not like he even likes me, the boy thought despondently. If he hates me so much why make me stay around him? If I'm such a disappointment, why doesn't he just let me leave already?
Callian started talking to his members and for that Munson was so grateful. He could sit and brood in peace. But it wasn't long before he became the topic of conversation.
One of the members said, "Must be real nice to finally get your son back, huh?"
Callian just grunted.
Munson groaned inside. He didn't understand his father. So unhappy with his son but so intent on making them both miserable by coercing him to stay.
"Well you're mighty lucky, I think." Another member claimed, both the words and some food leaving his mouth. He said, "To get both the boy and the thief in the same week."
Callian looked thoughtful and remarked, "Luck had nothing to do with that."
"What are you gonna' do with him?" A member asked eagerly, then added hastily, "The prisoner, that is."
Callian shrugged.
Munson frowned and became vaguely interested.
"You know there's been word of the Dark King and such," One of the League members who'd formerly spoken—and still hadn't swallowed—spoke casually. He asked, "You think he'd be mad about you nabbing his son?"
"Hardly." Another member snorted, a gross thing to do when eating. "I heard he disowned the punk."
Callian was sorry he ever divulged more and more details about Ludwig as time wore on. After searching the world and finding no trace of him, he'd grown desperate and had gradually revealed more of the boy's background and heritage, thinking it'd help his members find him. But alas it'd only led to gossip and speculation.
I wouldn't have found him through them, Callian banked on the thought.
He chewed the grisly meat and said, "I'll handle him and I'll be doing his father a favor."
"I can't believe the little cur was still alive." A member marveled. "You think the others ones are alive, too?"
"What other ones?"
"You know," The member waved his hand and the chicken leg he was holding with it, explaining, "He's got some brothers and a little wench sister too, I think."
Munson started listening very closely now and his father was starting to do the opposite.
"I say to hell with all of them," A different member, this one not eating but spilling his drink as he sloshed his glass to make his point. "All those brats are what brought old Koopa down the first time."
He didn't want to, but Munson had a strange feeling about this 'prisoner' of his father's, and thus decided to ask him about it. He looked over at the man until they locked eyes and Callian scowled.
"What?" He asked gruffly.
Munson asked, "What prisoner are they talking about?"
Callian looked at his son like asking questions were a crime. He chewed slowly, moving the food round and round, and giving his boy a dubious look.
"What's it to you?" He asked, somewhat on the defensive.
"Just curious." Munson claimed, hoping he was guarding his thoughts well because at the forefront was his Wendy.
Callian turned up his nose and said, "Yeah, I bet you are." He pushed his plate away and rose and said, "Don't you worry about it. It doesn't concern you, boy."
Munson frowned.
He didn't know it, but the whole issue was a sensitive subject for his father. He didn't like discussing the incident or anything related to it. He left and Munson looked down at his lap. He rubbed his wrist, twisting and distorting the tattoo of a monarch there. Oddly enough, that gave him an idea.
The next day brought good news and bad news. The good was that the pattern of bleakness had been broken, but the bad news was that it was a desert storm that broke the cycle. The sand had just built up out of nowhere and came at us faster than it looked. In short, we lost over half our horses and a good chunk of our supplies. Just how many of them we were calculating now.
"This isn't gonna' last us very long," Portia predicted, staring down at the pile of recovered items.
Fortunately no one was seriously injured, but I had to agree with the girl. These resources were barely enough to get us through the rest of today and tomorrow.
I wiped my forehead with my cap and scratched my head. All my hair was wet from both traveling and running after the dashing horses and then scavenging the surrounding area for the scattered supplies. I then looked around and saw that my troops were looking to me for what to do next. Daisy was there, she was already strapping the supplies back onto the horses. I went over and joined her.
"So what now?" I asked.
"You're asking me?" She glanced at me shortly.
I knew what I wanted to do but I wanted to hear her opinion as well. She stopped loading up and looked at me, then crossed her arms under her chest. She'd gotten down to her white t-shirt and pants like the rest of us and had her hair up off of her neck and back.
"I think we should keep going." She said obviously.
I said, "We lost a lot of stuff back there. You sure we shouldn't head back?"
"We wouldn't make it back," she told me, shaking her head. "It's better if we just keep going and move as fast as we can before our resources run out."
"Alright." I acceded.
I then turned to my troops and said, "Alright everybody listen up. We're gonna' get this stuff tied down and get moving."
"There's not enough horses." One of my soldiers pointed out.
"I know." I replied. "You're gonna' have to double up and split the rest of the supplies between yourselves."
They did as I said but didn't really look too eager about it. It was especially brutal today and after first surviving that sand storm and then wrangling all those supplies, no one felt like getting back on the horse and traveling some more in the unrelenting heat but we did it. We piled onto our horses and Daisy got on the same one as me and we set out.
It was beginning to feel like this desert would go on forever. Thankfully after thirty two hours we hadn't run into any more storms but the heat and dryness were bad enough. Now it was night again and we faced that same problem of, just like how there weren't enough horses, there weren't enough tents and we all had to share.
Daisy and I retired to one while the troops slept two and three and four together. I tried to make light of it by saying it was good for them to share body heat but they were getting weary.
Sleep didn't come so easy and it felt like five minutes later we were getting up again. Daisy made sure to get me up and I couldn't fathom how she had so much more energy than me. Routinely we squared away the tents and climbed on our horses and even the animals were getting tired so I really, really hoped we made it to Arid soon.
It was getting really brutal. This was the third day since the storm and the inevitable happened sometime around noon; someone passed out. Okay, one person wasn't cause for delay, right? Just get them some water and get back to it. But then more people started dropping and two troops had asthma attacks. That was when I knew I had to call a break and tend to them. We were still in the middle of no freaking where so the best I could do for them was set up a tent and lay them on sleeping mats and try to get the unconscious ones to come to.
We each had fans so we pooled a lot of them together to create a slightly cooler environment. While I did this, the rest of the troops stood around trying to beat the heat.
"I need some more water!" I called to whoever was on the other side of the tent.
I was using some of it to wet a torn up shirt and then went around on my knees wiping the five soldiers' foreheads and necks and faces. One of them was stirring and I knew I had to get them hydrated.
The tent flap opened and Portia walked in. She took a moment to stand there and close her eyes and sigh.
"Mm, it feels so good in here." She then opened her eyes and told me seriously, "We're running low on water."
"I know that." I tried not to snap. "Just give me what you've got."
Lise-Marie came up and said with a disturbed expression, "We don't have any more to spare. We've got fifteen canisters—"
"That's it?" I couldn't help but exclaim. "I thought you were sharing—"
"We were!" Portia told me. "But it goes fast. What do want to do, Commander?"
"Bring me two of them." I said, sitting back on my heels. "I'll make it stretch between these guys and just…try to conserve the rest of it as best you can."
I heard something thud outside and Portia winced. I didn't dare ask what that was but Lise-Marie told me in that perfunctory way of hers.
"Man down." She stated, then bent down and righted the fallen soldier outside the tent.
Portia left and went to go get the water and I rubbed my face. This desert was killing us. Was this how we were gonna' go out?
"…Commander?"
Another of the soldiers behind me had woken up and I went over to him, then wiped his face and head. When Portia returned with the water I brought the container up to my soldier's lips and put an arm around his back, helping him sit up. He got a few sips in, then drank greedily.
"Hey, watch it," I warned, but it was too late.
The soldier jerked onto his side and threw it right back up. I frowned and wanted to groan but the guy looked so remorseful I knew it wasn't his fault.
He wiped his mouth and said feebly, "Sorry, Commander."
"It's alright—"
"You dumb fuck!"
"Portia." I reproached.
The girl said frustratedly, "What? We needed that!"
"I know." I said, but what could we do?
Daisy came in and glanced around. She didn't say much these days and seemed to be the only one taking this well. She frowned at what she saw and wiped her hands on her pants.
"Are you done here?"
All the soldiers were awake, so it could be said that I was. But I didn't feel comfortable setting out just yet. We might be in this same spot in another hour or so if I rushed the ill troops out when they weren't fully recovered.
"We should go." Daisy said on top of my silence.
"I don't think—"
"The sooner we get to Arid City, the sooner they'll stop passing out left and right." Daisy interjected.
Portia gave her this look and I frowned. It wasn't what Daisy said so much as the way she said it. It rubbed me the wrong way. I stood and asked Daisy to come and talk in private.
Once we were away, I said, "I know this is important to you, but we're all doing our best here so just please bear with me. We'll get there."
Daisy said, "The more we stall, the worse things will get."
"I know," I said, "But I'm trying not to push them too hard."
"They're soldiers, what are you talking about?" Daisy frowned.
I said, "I know, but they weren't prepared for all this; the storm and the heat—"
"Neither was I," Daisy cut in, annoyed.
"So what, it's their fault they were born with asthma or—"
"I'm not saying that!" Daisy replied irritably. "I'm just saying the more you keep stalling and trying to be so cautious and shit, the longer we'll be out here!"
"…Alright." I sighed.
Of course this is my fault, I thought dully. I'm trying to make sure no one dies out here. I mean, what good is making it to the kingdom if everyone ends up dying along the way?
"I know you feel responsible for them and all that," Daisy started in a calmer voice. "But you don't have to coddle them. They're stronger than you think." She said, "So they passed out: okay so what? It's not a death sentence. It's hot out here and it's gonna' happen. But we can't just drop everything when it does. We'll be out here forever if you keep doing that."
"Alright, I get it." I said.
Now I was getting aggravated, but I didn't blame Daisy. It was this damn heat and the circumstances. She was right, the sooner we got to the other side, the better.
A/N: Thanks for reading and thanks for the feedback and thanks for continuing to bear with me
~DG~