"Hey, Peter..."
One of the men starts, cautiously, and Peter freezes. He doesn't recognize this tone. He searches the man's face, trying to read his expression. Its something he doesn't quite recognize, but still feels familiar. He feels like he knows this expression, but he cant place it. His whole body tenses warily as he waits for the next words.
"When was the last time you ate?"
Peter realizes with a start what his expression is : concern.
Peter stares. The man is worried about him? Why? He's not strong, he doesn't have anything he can contribute, even Peter knows he's useless, at most a burden to them. So why? He remembers everything that has happened to him so far, and it all begins to click into place. They had promised not to hurt him, and they hadn't. They had taken care of him when he was sick, and they gave him precious food. Peter finally begins to understands everything they've done.
These people aren't likethem.They haven't changed like the others. He thinks to himself that they might be the last "people" left on earth.
But then the question hits home and Peter is in turmoil. The last time he ate? It was a long time ago, so long Peter doesn't remember. Too long. He suddenly needs to tell them that, he's not a monster, he's still a "person".
"I haven't ate!" He blurts out in a rush, a desperate note to his voice.
He's still "Peter." No matter how hungry he was, he still stayed himself. His heart is pounding again. Something tells him that if they don't believe him, they'll throw him away. They're still "people", and people are always afraid of the monsters.
"Its okay." The man soothes, looking even more concerned. "We wont hurt you, we just want to know how hungry you are. You haven't eaten in a while, right?"
Peter shakes his head.
"I can't remember."
He whispers, and its not a lie. Its been so long Peter has forgotten when he last ate. Much longer than either of them know, but he can't ever let them know how long its been.
Peter curls into himself at the thought. Peter is scared of them for the secrets they keep, but he knows he's no better. Because Peter's secret is bigger than theirs. A secret he knows instinctively he can never tell anyone, although he cant remember why anymore. He comforts himself with the thought that its not a dangerous secret. Peter's secret won't hurt anyone but himself.
They've started again, a conversation without words, and Peter searches their faces for a verdict. He's scared again, but this time for a different reason. Yesterday he was scared to be taken away by them, back when he thought that they weren't "people". Now he's scares he'll be sent back. Peter feels a hard and cold lump settle in his chest at the thought. He doesn't want to go back there anymore. Never again.
They seem to finish their discussion, and the tanned one turns to Peter, and Peter is scared to look at his face. He knows he can't let him speak, that Peter has to convince them. He forces the words out, stumbling over the sounds he's not used to making, some of the words coming out wrong.
"I don't eat much!" He pleads. "I won't hurt you-" He remembers how he attacked them yesterday and his heart sinks further, but he presses on. "-anymore. I can clean and stuff, and-"
He cuts himself off with a choking sound as one of them reaches out to tousle his head. Its a sad kind of movement, and Peter knows it's too late. His voice dies of and Petter tries one last plea, that sounds pitiful, even to himself.
" I don't want to go back."
This time its the others that freeze at his voice, and Peter dares to sneak a peek at their faces. There's a pained look on their faces, one he recognizes. Its the same look the adults had given when they packed up some supplies to venture into the outside to find food. They had patted the younger children, crying from fear and hunger, on the heads, and promised it would be okay. Then Peter, and the other older kids, had watched them step into the outside, and close the door behind them.
None of them had come back. Neither had the second team, the oldest children, the fifteens and sixteens. Or the next group, the twelves through fourteens, nor the nines through elevens. All of them had worn the same, pained look on their faces as they left. Peter knows what it means. Its a face that says
"Its hopeless."
His tight grip on the blankets loosen, and he lets his head dip back down in a silent acceptance. "its okay." he tells himself. "Im still okay." But Peter isn't okay, not anymore. From the moment he looked the blue-eyed man in the face, Peter had already broken. Something inside Peter is telling him that he cant leave the man, because if he does, he'll never see his family again. Peter doesn't want to let that chance go.
But they've already made up their minds. What can he do to convince them? Peter only has one thing left to offer them, and its not something he can barter with. After all, if Peter dies, then he'll never see his family again.
Then, before he registers what's happening, Peter is engulfed in something heavy and warm. In only a moment, he's terrified, nauseated, thinking that this is his end. That they're going to put him to sleep, just like the other adults from the outside had done.
"Its going to be okay." they had whispered, even as Peter heard the click of the gun, as they aimed, "You won't hurt anymore." Then with a firing sound Peter knew all too well, a tiny piece of metal too fast to see, and it was over.
The adults had been right. The kids hadn't hurt anymore. Peter had never been more grateful for his pain.
Then, something warm and wet hits the back of his neck and drips, the arms stay solid around him, but nothing tightens around his neck and squeezes. Nothing happens at all except someone is holding peter close, and crying. Then the man whispers something - worthless to Peter- in his ear.
"I'm sorry."