&&. NICK ;
It’s wishful thinking and he knows it; knows better than to take ten, five, or even one minute for granted in this screwed-up shitstorm that’s become his life. Movement of any sort is painful, however, and his torso is one big bruise. If he wasn’t still successfully sucking in breath, he’d think the damn zombie had ruptured a lung. (At the very least, something has cracked. He heard it, rather than felt it, at the time.)
It might be better not to think of it at all and let willful ignorance carry the day, but the very mention of sitting for even a second has him sighing in relief. He leans against the nearest wall, letting the cold brick take weight off of exhausted limbs. Such a small respite brings such relief. ‘ —— God damn. Not a word to Coach and Rochelle, all right? Far as we’re concerned, I took the bastard down with my bare hands, no problem.’ He manages a forced laugh, which turns quickly into a grimace, his hand clamped to his ribs.
❛ I ain't so sure they're gonna believe that, but I won't go snitchin' on ya man. ❜ In fave he knows they won't buy it, but if Nick wants some half-assed attempt at saving face so be it; he'll go along for the other's sake.
Gun in hand, he takes a few steps away from the other, idle glance given around his surroundings once more and he makes a mental note to start looking for health packs soon; it's unfair to make Nick press on like this ( a break won't really do much, he knows ) with absolutely zero medical attention. Yet another thing to add to ever growing list of problems they need to address but he holds no bitterness toward it -- what must be done, will be done.
❛ ... Them clouds don't look too friendly; we might be gettin' a storm here real soon. I sure hope yer flashlight is still workin' cuz I lost mine a few miles back. ❜ He hates to be the bearer of bad news, but staying silent is not an option he really has. Such information is necessary to be shared, pleasant or not.
That list keeps on growing.
