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“I looked sad?”

Reed stops and turns back to me. Something warm unfurled in the pit of my stomach as he watched me. The specks of white mix around with the blue, creating the perfect milky blue I’ve seen.

“Yes, Noah, you looked sad. And for some reason I took pity on you. But if I'd known you were this annoying and talked this much, I would’ve left you.”

Left me.

Just like everyone else, he would have left me. Because I’m too much. I talk too much, I think too much.

I’m too much.

* * *

I wasquiet for a while after that. Not because Reed wanted me to be, but because I wasn’t sure what else there was to say. I usually don’t care if someone thinks I talk too much, but with Reed I find myself caring a little too much. So while we continue our journey, passing abandoned cars and filth scattered across the road, I keep my thoughts and voice to myself.

Or at least I try to.

“Have you always been grumpy?” The question is something I’ve been sitting on for longer than I would have liked.

Reed hums his reply, nonetheless, telling me without having to use his words. Of course he’s always been a grump; I can’t imagine Reed being anything but.

“You know what can fix someone being grumpy?”

“I would rather not.”

I roll my eyes but keep my mouth shut. We fall back into silence, yet this time it’s not uncomfortable. Which is odd since I don’t do silence very well. Ever since I was little and growing up with parents who wouldn’t talk to you, let alone barely spoke a word to each other.

So we continue walking, right until we reach the border of Mississippi and Alabama. By the time the sign comes into view, my legs feel like they’re jello and my stomach cramps from the lack of food.

“Are we stopping anytime soon?”

Reed takes a quick look at me. While it was a second at most, it was enough that I swear he checked me out. Granted, it could have all been made up inside my head.

“Once we get across the border.”

I shouldn’t have expected anything less. I didn’t bother saying anything, mostly because there was nothing to say. But honestly, it was because I doubted he would respond to me.

My steps were beginning to slow down by the time we passed the ‘Welcome to Alabama’ sign. One thing I don’t think I’ll ever get used to is the amount of walking that is done. Sure, for part of our journey we had a car, but cars need fuel, and with the world ending up in a dumpster fire, fuel is hard to come by.

I jolt in shock when Reed suddenly grabs my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. This being the second time he’s willingly touched me, I refuse to acknowledge the feeling in my stomach.

“W–”

Reed's head snaps toward me, giving me a hard look. I immediately shut my mouth, knowing it was better not to talk. I might like to push his buttons, but right now he looks like he’s moments from ripping my face off, especially if I open my mouth again.

My heart pounds against my chest as I glance around to see what he might have heard that I didn’t. It’s then I see a zombie walking towards us from the side of the road. Fear hits me like a sudden storm; a wave of nausea grows inside my stomach. Tightness grips at my chest, my heart racing as my thoughts scatter. I should turn around and run, leave Reed behind, and just run like my life depended on it. Because in this world it does. My fight-or-flight instinct nearly takes over when Reed's grip tightens around my wrist.

“It’s just one,” he points out.

I don’t know how to explain to him that while I know it’s just one, and logically I can kill it, I can’t stop the anxiety creeping inside me. I barely understand it myself. I’m nearly ready to piss myself in fear.

But I can’t explain it; my mind becomes a blur, cycling through the endlesswhat ifs.Reed could get bitten if he makes one mistake. Even a guy like him, built to destroy, can be taken down by the dead. And if Reed gets taken down by one lurker, I’m bound to end up dead as well.

My body grows numb, nervous energy running through my limbs; I’m frozen, watching the zombie head towards us. Even from this distance I can see the decaying and discolored skin. The once-alive guy now has rotting flesh hanging from his face. I swear I can see his exposed cheekbone. Its movements are stiff and jerky, almost unnatural.

I swallow around the ball sitting against the back of my throat. The zombie is driven by completely insatiable hunger, hunger for human flesh, and we’re just standing here like a hamburger on a platter.

“Reed,” I whine. I can’t even bring myself to care that I sound like a child, begging to be let go of. I attempt to pull my hand back, my flight instincts taking over.