Snippet #2238545

Jess looked behind them at the road they had just come from before jogging to catch up with Michael after saying quiet goodbyes to the car, "I know you're only trying to help, but if you plan on meeting up with 'Head Quarters' again then I'm going to have to split. I don't trust them, not after what they did to Black Falls and all those people. Honestly, I rather take on the zombies by myself than be in the same building as them." She turned her head away, feeling as though she had almost insulted Michael. In fact, the more she thought about it the more she realized how bad what she just said sounded. She quickly turned her head back to the man walking next to her with an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry, I'm not blaming you, I just don't think we should trust people who just bombed survivors for no apparent reason and who keep secrets about it. It's not safe and I know you're just trying to help, but you shouldn't trust them either. That's just asking for trouble. When we hit the city I'm splitting and going on my own."

With that she rubbed the back of her neck and sped up her walking so she was a couple ahead of the other two. It felt secluded enough for her and was still safe in case they got attacked. Jess couldn't shake the images of the kid crying in the middle of the street as the sky dropped bombs on them and world collapsed into fire and rubble around them. It was exactly how her grandfather described World War two and it was exactly why Jess couldn't trust HQ because in her mind they were the bad guys, they were the nazis and the zombies were just wild creatures they had to watch out for. There was no smile on her face now, but there also weren't any tears; though her body language would give off that she was sad or upset, her face was was set in a slight scowl as she watched the ground at her feet. And even though she was walking in front she didn't know where she was going, she figured that either Michael would yell at her if she started to go the wrong way or she would get lost, but even if the latter were to happen in her mind it was better than heading to the city with HQ.

Her mood was sour and taking a few deep breaths wasn't going to make it go away, so she did the only thing that ever made her calm and that her grandfather did whenever he started thinking back to the war, she started sing. "Leaves from the vine, falling so slow. Like tiny fragile shells, drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home," she sang, closing her eyes and thinking of when her grandfather used to sing it, "Those leaves did grow, from branches overgrown. Drifting slowly down, resting in the loam. Little soldier boy, taken from home. Forced to fight a war, that's not his own. Leaves from the vine, falling so slow. Like tiny fragile shells, drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy says, 'Carry me home.' Sleeping soldier boy, is carried home."