It was so sad.
It was so sad that such a beautiful man could die so simply, just like that. It was as if God had created him and given him hope to live, given him the ability to give hope to others, and then just taken him away on a whim.
Rochelle and Coach hadn't noticed that Nick cared. When Ellis died, they were so warped by their own sadness that they figured the conman didn't give a rat's ass about the happy-go-lucky hick's death. Though out of the three left, there was no doubt that Nick cared the most about the innocent boy's death.
It was hard to notice at first, but the slight misstep, the silent treatment, it was all part of Nick caring about Ellis' death.
And then, he just didn't care about anything. He had a hard time caring before the apocalypse, and so when an angel came and drew affection from him, a slight beat from his undead heart, he thought the big man upstairs was willing to give him another chance. Nick thought God was forgiving him of his conceited, stealing ways. Nick thought, for the time that he was with Ellis, that God might actually exist.
But the man in the expensive white suit began to think he was wrong. God couldn't exist if such a being took Ellis away. Someone that took a boy like Ellis off the Earth could not be called a god.
And so Nick lagged behind. He held his guns with no intention of using them. He gave up on everything. He just couldn't care anymore. Not when the one thing he cared for his whole life was suddenly ripped away by the black claws of undead, mutated flesh.
And so Nick died. He died by the claws that took his only love. He died thinking, maybe now, I can find God. And I can kick his ass. For Ellis.