The others reclined around the hallway, sitting on thestairs or the floor, all waiting for the inevitable to happen. They werewaiting for that moment when Blake stopped breathing. Then they would wait forthat second where he rose, and that's when Mort would shoot him.
The light on the second floor began to dim as the sunwent down. The survivors turned on their flashlights, hoping the batterieswould last long enough to get them through the night, and then through thetunnels. But first, there was Blake. First, they had to take care of Blake, ashe would have taken care of them.
Mort still couldn't believe this was happening. After allthey had been through, surviving an explosion inside a dumpster, escaping tothe Coliseum, and then fleeing that nightmare as it collapsed around them. Inthe end, a fucking polar bear had killed Blake. Not the thousands of dead theyhad seen. Not some random, insane survivor. It was a bear, living off the dead,that had bitten his hand and infected him. It didn't seem fair, but Mort hadnot known fairness since he was born.
He held the rifle in his hand, Blake's rifle, cocked andloaded. Even if he had survived, Blake wouldn't have been likely to use itagain. It was a bolt-action thing, and Blake's hand would have been completelyuseless. Mort wondered if they could have saved him by cutting off his hand.
The future rose up before Mort. It was gray and confusingto him. He felt as if he were about to set himself spinning in the universe.The others around him were fine, but he hadn't truly come to trust them. Theywere all sinking in upon themselves. He could see that now.
Katie had been shrinking since this all started. Louseemed to always be searching for something, the right words, the rightactions. Clara and Joan, well, they were just fine. But one day would comewhere they lost one of the others, and then they too would start shrinking inupon themselves, like worms caught in a sudden bout of summer sunshine after ahard rain.
He knew it was already happening to him. His world waschanging. If this had happened a couple of months ago, it wouldn't have been abig deal. As a homeless man, he had never become truly comfortable with thosearound him. Most of the people around him were junkies, drunks, or mentallyill. The ones that were alright were few and far between, and they were alllike him, damaged, untrusting wanderers who were just as likely to disappear inthe night as they were to be there in the morning. That's how the homelesssurvived, picking up stakes whenever they felt like it. "Moving on togreener pastures," he had heard an old man named Clint say one night.Pastures, like they were just livestock looking for a place to graze and beleft alone.
But it was happening now. It was happening now when Mortneeded people. If he had been left on his own, he would already have been deada dozen times over. He needed the others. Blake had been that bridge. Though hehad lost his hearing, he was still personable and likable, and now it wouldjust be Mort... awkward and uneasy, ready to run at a moment's notice.
On top of that, he was losing perhaps the bestrelationship he had ever had in his unremarkable life. Someone had actuallyliked him and trusted him, seen him as human. That was a tough thing to lose.He silently thanked Blake for his acceptance, for saving him when he had beenready to end it all. But he felt a hole forming in his chest, even as Blakeopened his eyes.
Blake blinked in the gloom, as if he were a newborncreature, just seeing the world for the first time. Then his eyes, foggy andgray scanned the room. His arms came to life, and he tried to rise up off theground.
"I'm sorry, Blake," Mort said. He let go ofBlake's hand; it wasn't actually Blake's anymore. He aimed the rifle at Blake'shead, squeezing the trigger the way he had seen Blake do so many times before.His aim was true, and blood and other matter splattered the wall behind Blake'shead, the bullet ripping a hole in the wooden walls of the building. The noisewas deafening in the tiny confines of the zoo's offices, but Mort didn't hearit.
Blake's body slid sideways and landed on the ground witha thump. His eyes were still looking at Mort. Blood ran down his forehead, andhe looked almost peaceful. Mort watched him, in case he was going to come backagain. He wouldn't let that happen.
Chapter 17: Disappearing Into the Sky
Lou sat upstairs with the others, reviewing theiroptions. They agreed with him, a process that had been a whole lot easier thanhe had expected. With Blake out of the picture, climbing the hills had become amore realistic option, but everyone agreed that they should go through thetunnel.
Mort was sitting downstairs with Blake's body, but Loutried not to think about him. He didn't know if Mort would make the journey.The look on Mort's face as he had put a bullet through Blake's head had beenheartbreaking according to Joan. Lou had seen the look, and he knew it was morethan that. It was human-breaking. Lou wasn't sure if Mort would recover, but hewould give him the time he needed for now. Tomorrow, they were out of here. Thewalls simply were not going to hold. The door downstairs was ready to break atany minute, and he intended to give Mort about fifteen minutes alone before hesuggested that they move everyone upstairs and barricade the stairwell.
Right now, Joan and Clara were more concerned for thewelfare of Mort than anything else, but it was his job as a leader to think ofthe bigger danger that they were in. Emotionality wasn't part of
