Chapter 12: You did what you had to do. I get it
The light began to bleed out of the day, the vibrant greens of the forest softening into muted grays and deep blues. Nate's vigilance, already high, shifted into a higher gear. The deep woods were no place to be caught in the open after dark.
"We're stopping here," he announced, his voice a low murmur that didn't carry beyond the small clearing they'd just entered. It wasn't a true clearing, just a slightly less dense patch of forest flanked by a tumble of moss-covered boulders.
Skylar nearly sagged with relief, dropping her pack with a heavy thud. "Thank god. My feet are killing me."
Nate didn't reply. He was already working, his movements economical and practiced. He shrugged off his own heavy pack and the two rifles, laying them carefully against the largest boulder. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning the deepening shadows.
"What can I do?" Skylar asked, rubbing her sore shoulders.
"Sit. Be quiet. Watch that direction," he said, pointing towards the way they'd come. "You see or hear anything that isn't a deer or a squirrel, you whisper. Don't shout."
He didn't wait for her acknowledgment. He pulled the combat knife from his belt, the one that had ended Pierce and moved to the edge of the clearing. He began cutting long, flexible branches from the surrounding saplings. He worked quickly, efficiently, his hands remembering a rhythm he'd perfected over months of solitude. He dragged the branches back and started weaving them into the existing undergrowth, creating a low, natural-looking wall that broke up the outline of their camp and provided a modicum of cover.
Next, he gathered a pile of dry twigs and leaves, but he didn't light them. Not yet. A fire was a calculated risk, wwarmth and light against the beacon it became in the darkness. He arranged the tinder in a small, contained pit he scraped out between two rocks.
Only when the natural light had faded to a deep twilight, and the first stars were pricking through the canopy, did he speak again.
"We eat now. Cold. No fire until it's fully dark, and even then, it'll be small and quick." He rummaged in his pack and tossed her a strip of the salted pork and a hardtack biscuit. He took the same for himself.
They ate in silence, the only sounds the crunch of the hardtack and the distant, lonely call of an owl. The pork was tough and salty, but it was food. Skylar devoured hers, her hunger overpowering her desire to talk.
When full darkness enveloped them, a blackness so complete it felt solid, Nate finally struck a match. The tiny flame seemed blasphemously loud and bright. He lit the tinder, nursing the small flame to life, adding only the smallest, driest sticks. The fire that resulted was pitifully small, a flickering heart of light and warmth no bigger than his cupped hands. It pushed back the immediate circle of darkness but made the world beyond feel even more immense and threatening.
He sat with his back against the boulder, the M4 across his lap. The weak firelight danced across his face, highlighting the new lines of hardship and the old scars.
Skylar huddled closer to the meager heat, her arms wrapped around her knees. The silence stretched, broken only by the pop and crackle of the tiny fire. The events of the day, the terror, the exhaustion, and now the oppressive weight of the wilderness night were finally catching up to her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice small.
Nate's eyes, which had been fixed on the darkness beyond their branch-wall, flicked towards her. "For what?"
"For talking so much. For… before. At the compound. Threatening to scream."
He grunted, a non-committal sound. "You did what you had to do. I get it."
"It's just… it's so quiet out here. It makes my thoughts loud."
He knew that feeling intimately. The silence could be a physical pressure, a vacuum that your own mind rushed to fill with memories and fears. He didn't answer, just poked at the fire with a stick.
"What's it like?" she asked after another long pause. "Being out here alone for so long?"
Nate was quiet for so long she thought he was ignoring her. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and flat. "It's simple. You wake up. You check your traps. You find water and food. You stay quiet. You stay hidden. You go to sleep. Then you do it again. There's no one to disappoint. No one to argue with. No one to get killed because you made a mistake."
The way he said it, it sounded less like freedom and more like a sentence.
"Weren't you lonely?" The question was out before she could stop it.
He let out a short, sharp breath that was almost a laugh. "Lonely is better than dead. Lonely is a lot better than being someone's pet."
She flinched, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. The truth of his words was a cold stone in her gut.
"You get used to the sounds," he continued, almost to himself. "You learn which creak is a tree settling and which one is a footstep. You learn that the birds going silent is a bigger warning than any scream."
He fell quiet again, his attention returning to the night. The fire was already beginning to die down, the sticks nearly consumed.
"We should sleep," he said. "I'll take the first watch. You take the second. Wake me in four hours. Don't fall asleep on watch. If you do, and I wake up to a Ripper chewing on my leg, I'll use my last bullet on you, not it."
It wasn't a joke.
He gestured to a relatively flat, dry patch of earth near the fire's embers. "Sleep there. I'll be here." He settled back against the boulder, the rifle now held ready, his profile a stark silhouette against the fading glow of the fire.
Skylar lay down, using her pack as a lumpy pillow. The ground was hard and cold, and every small night sound made her jump. She watched Nate for a long time. He didn't move, barely seemed to breathe. He was just a sentry in the dark, a statue of vigilance. For the first time, she understood the true cost of survival. It wasn't just about fighting monsters. It was about becoming something else, something harder and quieter, just to hear the world well enough to stay alive. She closed her eyes, the image of him on watch burned into her mind, and eventually, exhaustion pulled her into a fitful, uneasy sleep.