They're almost there. The mile marker signs on the edge of the road are slowly getting closer and closer to zero, which Canada had explained was on Key West.
The island that they're on now is Boca Chica Key, and Iceland is fairly sure that Canada had said that this was one of the last ones before their destination.
Denmark's limping heavily, though he hasn't made a sound of pain yet. He didn't even take the bullet out, and Iceland realizes that he's not going to do that until he gets to Key West. Until they get to safety.
They walk in silence, painful silence.
Iceland's given up trying not to think about things. He lets the feelings course through him.
"Denmark?" he asks. His voice is hoarse. They ran out of water a little while ago.
"Yeah?" Denmark responds. They don't stop walking, but Denmark turns his head to look at Iceland.
"Remember that one time when it was Norway's birthday?" Iceland starts, his voice hesitant. "We made him a cake, a huge, multiple-level cake with the Norwegian flag pattern as the frosting. Sweden wanted to give him furniture, Finland wanted to build him a sauna, you wanted to get him a giant box of Legos, and I wanted to give him licorice?"
Denmark nods, and Iceland can see him hesitant to remember all this. But Iceland continues.
"Remember what we ended up getting him?" Iceland asks, and he sees Denmark smile.
"A tub of butter?" he says.
Both Iceland and Denmark had taken the "Butter crisis" as a complete joke, and they mocked Norway constantly for it.
"Yeah," Iceland says, a small grin on his mouth.
They're walking across a bridge now, and Iceland can see on a sign that the next island will be Stock Island. They must be getting close.
"Remember that one time that Sweden took us to that IKEA in Stockholm and you got lost?" Denmark asks, and Iceland finds himself remembering the day exactly.
"Norway almost killed him," Iceland says, "But Finland found me."
"You were laying on one of the beds." Denmark snorts.
"I was tired! That IKEA should've been proclaimed it's own country. It was too big," Iceland says defensively.
"We were just glad that we found you," Denmark says, and he ruffles Iceland's silvery hair with his hand. "We wanted to protect you. We still do." His voice grows sad again, and he meets Iceland's gaze. "When we get to Key West, we'll make them a memorial. A big, grand memorial that they would love, does that sound good?"
Iceland nods. The pain starts to come back, but it's bittersweet now that the other, happier memories are there with it.
Sounds start to reach their ears, and for the first time in months they don't startle when they hear them. Because these sounds are happy ones. They're sounds of civilization. Iceland starts to pick up his pace, and Denmark follows soon after him, though the Dane has started to pant quite loudly.
Their eyes and ears are so focused on making it to safety that they don't pay attention to their surroundings.
Bad idea.
A blur of motion, and Denmark is bowled over by a zombie. It immediately bites into him, and starts to rip at his skin with its teeth.
Denmark kicks it, and Iceland whips out his pistol and shoots the zombie in the head. It falls down, and Iceland gets Denmark up to his feet, draping one of Denmark's arms over his shoulders. They start walking rapidly.
Don't think don't think don't think.
They make it a little ways closer to the noises of civilization before Denmark's weight is too heavy for Iceland to bear carrying any longer. He sets him down, and Denmark slumps to the ground.
His lips are trembling, and Iceland can see tears of pain starting to seep down his cheeks. Denmark raises a hand to touch Iceland's face.
"You," he pants, "You gotta make it, okay? For Fin. For Sve. For Nor. And for me."
"No," Iceland says, and it sounds like his voice is coming from far away. Because how could this have happened? It was so sudden…
Denmark smiles up at him through the pain. "I know it's hard, Ice, but we'll be up there, watching over you. You just have to believe in that."
A spasm of agony ripples through Denmark, and he yells out in pain. It hurts to hear him crying like this, and Iceland's heart is shattering.
"Ice," Denmark stutters, breathing faster and faster, "Ice, please, you gotta make this stop. Help me."
He looks into Iceland's eyes. At first, Iceland is confused by what he means, then he remembers the woman that they saw a while ago. The one that Denmark had shot.
Oh god.
Oh god.
Denmark wants Iceland to shoot him.
"Denmark…" Iceland whispers. "I can't do that."
"Please, Ice, oh god," Denmark says, his voice rising to a yell of pain. He's thrashing around on the ground. "I can't do this."
Denmark has reached his breaking point., and Iceland realizes that it would be more cruel to let him suffer than to put him out of his misery, like Denmark wants him to do.
He slowly pulls out his pistol. He has one bullet left.
Iceland hugs Denmark one last time, wrapping his arms around the larger man's muscular frame. He's shaking with sobs by the time that he gets slowly to his feet, and places his finger on the trigger.
Denmark lays on the ground, panting. He makes eye contact with Iceland, and a smile comes to his face. "Be good, kiddo," he says.
Iceland has to look away when he pulls the trigger. When the sound of the gun goes off, he waits a few moments before looking at the ground beneath him.
Denmark has a bullet hole on his forehead, much like Canada's. Blood is starting to trickle down. Iceland realizes that he doesn't have that much time before Denmark changes into a zombie.
But Iceland doesn't move.
Instead, he throws his head back and screams. He sobs, screams, cries, yells, and curses at the world for being the way it is. For taking all his family away from him. He cries because Sweden, the strong and stoic one who loved Finland above all else in the world, is dead. He cries because Finland, who was the sweetest person he ever knew, is dead. He cries because Norway, the brother that was always there for him even after he pushed him away so many times, is dead. And now he cries because Denmark, the last remaining member of his family, is dead.
His heart had been divided into four pieces. There was one for each member of his family. And slowly, one by one, they had been shattering and turning into tiny shards that were getting lost and embedding themselves in his thoughts. Now, the last part is gone.