The boy jerks and turns his head, shutting his eyes and keeping his mouth closed. His facial muscles tensing from the exerted force, as the filthy saliva from the creature oozes out of its mouth and drips down onto the boy’s face.
Norman’s panic intensifies, his body rigid, his mind blank. He watches as the terrified teen fights for his life, and he doesn’t know what to do. The fear and panic last only a moment, before turning to anger and disdain at the beast wrestling with Patrick. This thing took his husband from him.
Norman drops the cooler, whips his backpack to his front, and takes the scissors out. He reaches down and grabs the slimy and dirty hair of the infected. He pulls its head back with all his might, aims the scissors at its eye, then stabs down. A huff of rage bellows from the heart broken surgeon. He clamps down on the scissors, shifting his weight up, and forces the crude weapon into the skull of the diseased.
Its arms limp, and its muted snarl ceases. Norman pushes it to the side, away from Patrick. Patrick scrambles to his knees, feverishly rubbing his jacket over his face. Norman knows immediately why he’s doing this.
“Patrick, hold on, stop, stop. Let me, we need to wash your face off. Just wiping it might not be enough.”
Norman takes the designated drinking canteen from his backpack. He tilts the boy’s head back and gingerly pours water over his face, while he wipes down and to the side with the sleeve of his jacket.
The flow of water on his face stops, and he pulls away from Norman, throwing himself back to the ground. His knees come up to his chest, he clutches them tightly, and buries his face into them. His body heaves, his breathing escalates.
“Patrick, no, please, we’re okay now, we’re okay.”
Norman drops to his knees, moving closer to Patrick.
“This was my fault, I’m sorry. I should’ve heard it coming, I wasn’t paying attention. We can’t stay here. We have to keep moving.”
The boy turns his face away, pressing himself together even tighter.
“This was scary, I know. The whole world is scary now, and it seems like bad things just don’t stop happening, but we can’t give up. If we give up, we lose, humanity loses. I know you feel like you’ve lost everything, and I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong. I feel the same way.”
He places his hand on the boy’s shoulder, but it’s shaken off.
“I know you are going through a lot, and at times it seems like there’s nothing you can do to stop the darkness from closing in on you.”
His lip quivers, his eyes dampen.
“I don’t suffer from depression or PTSD. I don’t know what that’s like. I know it’s very difficult. I know it makes life seem pointless. I’m not saying you can fight it or change it, but I am saying I will do anything I can to help you however you need or want to be helped. I want to do that, I want to help you, because I love you. You might not feel loved, but you are. You might not feel needed, but you are. I need you, Daisy needs you, Karo needs you. We’re not going through the same thing that you are, but you’re not alone. I’m here for you, we’re here for you.”
Norman wipes his eyes, inhaling crisply. He places his hand on Patrick again, the boy shivers, but he doesn’t shake him away.
“We have to keep moving. If you don’t think you can move, I can carry you, because I’m not leaving you behind. Your life is worth something.”
Norman takes a deep breath, composing himself. He wipes the scissors off on the ground, then cuts another piece of cloth from the shirt, and hangs it from the tree next to the motionless infected. He rises to his feet, and reequips his backpack. He turns back to Patrick, the doctor's eyes gloss again, and his lips curl--the boy is sitting up.
“Do you want me to help you?”
The boy nods, tears streaming down his flushed face. Norman bends down, hooks Patrick’s arm around his neck, and helps the boy to his feet. He grabs the cooler, and they continue. Another two stops later and Norman hears the faint, yet specific, sound of flowing water.
With Patrick in tow, still draped around him, they hurry toward the comforting sound of water. They reach a small creek. It continues as far as they can see to the southeast and isn’t very wide. On the opposite bank resides a small spring house. Norman’s eyes sparkle, and he laughs with glee.
“Patrick! Look!” he says, pointing at the wondrous structure.
The boy’s brow raises, and Norman’s sure he sees the hint of a smile on the teen’s face. They cross the shallow creek, the water barely reaching above their knees. Once across, Norman notices that the spring house is on the edge of a property. Behind it are a weathered house, that looks to be on the brink of collapsing, and a barn that looks to be in decent condition.
He ponders staying in the barn, but decides against it, figuring that staying closer to the creek is better, in case Daisy and Karo pass the spring house, they should be able to hear them.
“We can wait in there for Daisy and Karo. It looks big enough for both of us. The water here is cold, we can keep the blood cooled. We’ll stay for two days...”
He frowns, looking down at the water.
“But any longer than that, we just can’t. We’ll have to continue on.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The lumbering stoic man peers over his shoulder to see that Outlaw is once again lagging behind the group. The teenage boy removes his dingy gray baseball
