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He goes through the motions. It's what he's always done.
Wake up. (His eyes feel like sacks of flour, prying them open.)
Breathe. (His mouth is full of dust and blood.)
Go over what needs doing. (His arm is trapped. He needs it gone. Take the knife and—)
Lain's screaming, but he doesn't know what he's saying. His ears ring. He can't feel his arm, or anything really. That's probably good.
Wrap Lain's arm. It's gone. He doesn't know how. He just has to stop the bleeding. It works, enough.
Don't look. Cut Sam's necklace off. Cover her. Dig the flowers out of the backpack. Put them by Will. Tuck the glasses away— not Sam's.
Don't look. Don't puke.
When Lain hugs him, he doesn't know what to do. He shuts down more than before. He still can't hear clearly. They hold each other's hand to keep balance. It feels like hot metal.
He doesn't let go. He hates it, but he won't let go. It's a grounding itch— a violent crawling burn under his skin that makes him want to scream and kick and swear. It keeps him present. He feels like he'll never move again if he lets go.
It makes him nauseous. The deaths. The blood. The severed limbs. The contact. The fact that he still waits for Miigwen and Rue, no matter how much he wants to just let go and run away.
It wasn't worth this. Nothing is. Nothing will be.
He has to go home and tell his parents that their baby is dead. Because of him.
It is his fault, logically. It's just a fact. Ariel Kilby killed his big sister. It's just a fact.
They're outside suddenly. There's a kid talking to Miigwen. They've got a softness in their eyes, a sort of gentle terror, that he's never seen.
She says something about protecting the kids. Ariel wants to vomit. Isn't Lain a kid? Where was Miigwen then?
Lain squeezes his hand. He wants to rip it off.
He promises that they'll find Lain's brother and then they're going home. It isn't worth it. If Miigwen wants to take Rue to Tennessee, let her. It doesn't matter.
He's just floating. Going through the motions.
It feels like his insides are melting, boiling down into a cauldron of— he doesn't know. Anger? Grief? He just wants to scream. His mouth feels welded shut.
His mouth is full of blood again. The inside of his cheek hurts. He should probably stop chewing on it. He just has to stay present.
He squeezes Lain's hand. She almost definitely takes it as a reassurance. It isn't. He just needs to stay present.
He can't think of anything else. He just has to stay here, because if he doesn't, he'll never come back.
It's like all the bombs that killed his sister, that killed Will, are strapped to his individual ribs. They ignite every time he takes a step and they detonate every time he breathes.
He doesn't scream. It's not because the infected will hear. It's just because he can't.
So he stays in the cage of his body. He stays anchored with bloody teeth and violent hands.
There's nothing else to do. Keep going.