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CHAPTER 7

Reed

I ’m not sure what possessed me to bring him along, but there was just something about that puppy dog look he gave me when I first walked in. He was relieved he wasn’t alone, and I can’t imagine what it would be like for him to be out there by himself anyway. And I hate the idea of him being out there alone. I cough it up to being lonely. Even when I was a hitman, I still dealt with people. I had to, and I never thought I would miss it.

“So why are we going to Georgia?” Noah asks two seconds after we begin walking. I clench my teeth together, regret slipping through my head.

“Because.”

Noah peers over at me, rolling his eyes. I smirk under my mask-muzzle, knowing my not answering is bothering him.

“Is there a reason you don’t like answering my questions?”

I nod, even though I refuse to admit my reasoning. I barely acknowledge it to myself; telling him would be another whole story.

“How long do you think we will be traveling to this place in Georgia?”

I huff in annoyance. This was a bad idea; he’s already getting on that small nerve I have.

“Do you plan to ask questions the entire time?”

His steps falter for a moment before he rights himself. “I just like to know things.”

“From what I gather, you know a lot of useless information; you don’t need to know much more.”

His head snaps to me, clearly flustered, and I feel anger rolling off him.

“I’m very smart, for your information. And just because I want to know where we’re going doesn’t mean?—”

“Strike one,” I grunt.

Peeking over, I watch his mouth drop open, probably fishing for words that he won’t risk saying now. Noah might be annoying, but he also oddly knows when to shut up—sometimes.

We step out onto the road and continue on walking. Noah keeps his head down for the most part, showcasing he might not be so bad on this trip.

* * *

After walking for some time, I finally see a department store ahead. I hadn’t planned on stopping anytime soon again, but I know Noah didn’t plan this far ahead. I might be a bastard, but I’m saving myself the trouble of having to share what little supplies I have.

It’s not long before Noah must realize we’re going in there because he opens his big mouth.

“Are we going in there?”

“Yes,” I grunt.

I can feel his excitement even this far away. I don’t tell him not to get too happy because the chances of this place being stocked are close to nothing.

Thankfully he doesn’t say or ask anything else. We make our way across the parking lot, stepping over garbage that litters the parking lot. Overgrown bushes and grass line the building.

The front doors are completely smashed, allowing us to step through. I strain my ears, waiting for any sudden movement from inside the store. I slow my steps down, enough that Noah nearly walks right into me. I hold my breath when I feel the heat radiating off him.

“Is… do you hear?—”

I pick up my pace, ignoring him. Making my way across the store, I led us towards the hygiene products. I come to a stop, grinding my teeth when Noah once again almost runs into me.

“Noah,” I growl.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Wasn’t paying attention there,” he whispers.

“Just… get some things that you need.” I ordered.

Noah folds his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was pissed about something, but there’s not a single part of me that cares.

Liar.

“Just do it.” I don’t wait for him to say anything. Turning on my heel, I keep a steady pace until I reach the other side of the store. Needing to get far away from him.

I don’t understand this almost tug-of-war, the irritation I feel when he breathes too heavily. But the magnetic feeling to keep an eye on him. I don’t even understand why I brought him along. I should have just left him with his dead friend. Ghost always said I was weird with emotions. Not that he had much room to talk; that man is— was just as closed off as me.

But I can’t think about that right now. I can’t think that my best friend, my only friend, might be dead.

I make my way over to the food section of the store. Most of the shelves are picked through, not that I’m even surprised. We don’t have time for me to go through each aisle. Shooting down the canned foods, I almost scream in relief when I take in some of the leftover cans. I’m not entirely sure what Noah likes—not that I care. Ignoring that little voice in the back of my head, I grab random cans of spaghetti and soup. Never been much of a soup eater, but right now you can’t be too picky. Stuffing more food than I would take into my bag, I grab a few bottles of coconut water, again not that we have a choice to be picky.

Knowing I’ve been gone for more than enough time, I make my way back to Noah. A ping of guilt for leaving him when he freaks out at the sight of the dead. Not that I can blame him. Sure, I didn’t freak out like him, but I did have a moment of what the fuck. Not that I would tell a single soul.

Coming around the corner, I find Noah sitting cross-legged with more belongings than his bag could possibly hold.

“We need to get moving,” I tell him as soon as I’m within a few feet.

Noah jumps to his feet, swinging around with that mallet in hand. Good boy. Good boy? Where the actual fuck did that come from?

“You scared me!” He hisses through clenched teeth.

“You should be listening so someone, alive or dead, doesn’t sneak up on you.”

Noah opens his mouth and then closes it, his eyes narrowing. Irritation crosses over his face, a storm cloud seeping into his eyes. Amusement bumbles inside me, knowing that I’m the one who he’s getting angry with.

His jaw tightens and his hand flexes against the mallet. For a single moment I think he might take a swing at me. Fortunately for me, his shoulder drops, the tension leaving his body.

“What?” the question slips out of my mouth.

“I have too much stuff,” he mutters.

Peering over his shoulder, I take in the clothing and toiletries. It’s clear this man has never packed for a long stay, let alone camped. A small, teeny-tiny part of me feels for him.

“Well, I don’t think you need slippers.”

Noah looks over his shoulder before dropping back down, sitting cross-legged. He grabs the slippers and tosses them to the side. I swear I hear a snuffle come out of him. Slowly he picks through his findings, shoving extra socks, underwear, pants, and a pack of shirts into his backpack. Once he’s satisfied, he zips his bag up and stands. Hefting the backpack onto his back, he shifts on his feet, slowly meeting my gaze.

“I’m ready.”

I nod, turning around, and we walk towards the entrance. I feel Noah behind me the entire time, and for the first time I feel the heavy weight of someone else's life in my hands. Even when I was working with Ghost, he knew how to fight; he could handle himself. Noah has no idea how to fight; he faints at the sight of zombies. And for some reason I have the bright idea to bring him along.

Fuck me.