The hours pass by, neither quickly nor slowly. They're just there. Just spaces in time that Iceland has to live through.
Every once in awhile, Canada has to stop the car and refill the tank with one of the containers full of gasoline that he has stacked in the back of the truck.
Denmark has taken to riding in the back of the truck, where he can blow the heads off of zombies as they get too close to the truck. Iceland thinks that he takes comfort in shooting off his gun and 'killing' things. Of course, they'll be just fine in a few minutes. But the truck with Canada, Denmark, and Iceland will be gone by then.
Iceland's numbness is still there, but now the pain is seeping through it. It's a horrible creature, the pain. It doesn't let him rest. It doesn't leave him alone. It follows him, and it haunts him. It hurts every part of his body, and he just wants to lie down and go to sleep and never wake up.
He sits up in the front, Hanatamago on his lap, beside Canada. Periodically, tears will start trickling down his face. He's past the point of caring that he's crying in front of another person.
Canada glances sympathetically at him. "I'm sorry again about Norway," he says. "I'm sure that he died bravely."
"He did," Iceland says, his voice wavering. "I just wish that he wasn't dead."
"I know what it's like to lose a sibling…" Canada says, his voice turning into a sad murmur. "It was impossible for me, after America died…"
Oh, right.
"I'm sorry," Iceland says. He really means it, but the words end up sounding hollow.
Canada nods, pretending to ignore how empty Iceland's words of apology are. "It's okay," he says. "He died fighting for something that he believed in. He died believing he made a difference."
He didn't. There's still too many zombies to count.
Iceland would never say those thoughts out loud, however, and just turns and looks out of the window. The scenery passes in a blur.
Periodic shots come out of the back of the truck.
Iceland isn't worried for Denmark's safety currently, he doesn't think that anything could stop Denmark right now due to the fury of his anger.
It goes on like that for a while, everything dull and quiet. Iceland's heart is slowly breaking into little, tiny fragments and shards, too small to piece back together again.
Suddenly, the sound of another car grabs their attention. It's coming from in front of them. Iceland expects Canada to pull their truck over and get a gun out, but the Canadian does no such thing, in fact, he floors it. He stomps his foot on the gas petal, and they take off.
As the car comes into view, Iceland takes out his pistol. Even though it's small, he wants to feel at least a little bit armed.
Hanatamago barks.
The car passes quickly, too quickly for any of them to see who's inside it. The fact that the windows are tinted doesn't help either, and soon the roaring of the car is long in the distance.
After that, they don't run into any more living people. Only the undead, who Canada seems to enjoy hitting with his car. It seems like he's taking revenge for America's death, which makes sense to Iceland. He wants to get revenge for Norway's death himself, but Denmark already has.
They pass through many different cities, each one different from the last. The windows are broken in most of them. There are stains, more of those horrible, horrible stains, like the one formed by the puddle of blood around Norway's head.
Iceland clenches his fists.
He fights to stay in control of his breathing. He needs to be brave, for Norway. He needs to get to Key West and build the graves and memorial and have time to grieve and not fear for his life.
Iceland doesn't think that he's ever been to Florida. He doesn't know the geography at all, as he's never really bothered to learn it. He never thought that he'd have to.
The end of the world really changes your perspective on some things.
Though he thought he couldn't sleep through the pain, Iceland finds himself dozing off a few times, his head leaning against the back of the seat.
Canada had said at some point that it was a fifteen hour drive from Washington DC to Miami, then another three hours or so to Key West.
Iceland isn't sure that they have enough gas to make it all the way there. He supposes that they can walk, but it'll be so much more dangerous that way. But Iceland's almost too broken to care. Maybe if he dies, then he can see Norway again.
His chest aches at that thought. He wants to feel Norway's heartbeat. He wants to hug his older brother. He wants to tell him how much that he loved him. How he took it for granted that Norway would always be there beside him. Until the end of the world, Norway had promised once. I'll be there with you until the end of the world.
How right he was.
Here was the apocalypse, big and bad and scary. The end of the world as they knew it. And Norway was gone, he was gone. Finland was gone, he was gone. Sweden was gone, he was gone. Iceland's family was coming apart at the seams, and there was nothing that he could do apart from keep on holding on and hoping.
Eventually, when it was starting to get pitch black, they got to a huge city. It was eerie how quiet it was. Canada's truck made quite a bit of noise, a fact that Iceland was uncomfortably aware of.
"This is Miami," Canada says. "America used to love it here…" His voice cracks. "Back when, y'know, back when he was alive, sometimes he'd call me up and tell me to come down here. To take a break from the cold. To have some fun on the sandy beaches."
Canada looks like he's going to cry, but he straightens his back and lets out a long sigh. He turns to look at Iceland, and offers him a slightly smile.
"I miss them so much," Iceland says. "Is that why my chest feels so empty?"
"I feel that too," Canada says. "It's painful numb, like the feeling you get when you stick your hand in snow right before your hand goes numb. That painful, stabbing, tingly numb."
"It hurts."
"It does."
Not too far into the city, the car sputters. Canada gets out of the car and walks to the back.
"Shit," Canada says. "We're out of gas."
Iceland opens his car door, and places Hanatamago back in his backpack. She's fairly safe there, and he doesn't really mind carrying her.
Plus, she's really all that he has left to remind him of Finland and Sweden. And Sealand. He does miss that kid too, even though he could be annoying sometimes. He certainly didn't deserve to die in the way that he did. No one deserves to die that way.
"We'll have to wake from here, then," Denmark says, and hops out of the truck. "Iceland. Do you have any extra ammo for an M16?"
Iceland nods, and digs around in the small compartment of his backpack. He hands it to Denmark, who nods his thanks.
"It's best not to walk at night. We can sleep in the truck. It might be conspicuous, but at least I can lock it," Canada says.
Iceland climbs into the back seat, and curls up. He opens his backpack, and picks up Hanatamago. He places her close to his chest, wrapping his arms around her.
It's okay, it's okay, we're going to make it, he thinks, trying to convince himself. We can do it. I know we can.