It happened again.

He was talking to me. Just now, we were talking. I walked next to him. For a day. And now he's laying on the dirt with his skull split in two. Dead.

There and then gone.

It happened again.

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The Red is gone. He fled after the girl ran at him, screaming and waving her knife like a lunatic.

Now, we stand in a circle. The three of us. But the girl and the boy huddle together on one side, far away from me. Far away from the girl with the torn gown and the wild hair that makes her look like some sort of deranged princess. Far away from the useless, weak girl who just got their friend killed.

Oh my god. I got him killed.

The boy on the ground, with the still chest and the blood and the bone and the axe in his head? I made it happen.

It was me.

If Carter hadn't turned to look at me. If he hadn't been so surprised and shocked that I'd spoken a word, he would be alive now. He could have lived.

I can't breathe. I need to get away. But I can't go alone, I just can't. Not after three years of it.

No, I have to rely on the boy and girl's forgiveness. I've lost all hope, but maybe I can still escape with them.

Strangely, it's the sandy haired boy who finally speaks. I'd judged him to be less confident than the girl before, but he seems used to situations like these.

I can see that his brown eyes are bloodshot, as if he's been crying. But when I look closer, I see that his eyes are dry. Completely tear free.

"So," he says. His voice is scratchy and hoarse, addressing both of us, "What now?"

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The boy rummages through Carter's bag, only a little hesitant at the thought of stealing from the dead. He takes out the food and water, and then a set of clothes. He hands the clothes to me, "Here," he says, "These are more practical than your dress."

The girl is shaking, but she manages to still comfort me. She puts a hand on my arm and gestures to the boy with the other, "That's Ethan," she says, and offers a weak smile, "I'm Rachel. And we're gonna get you somewhere safe," then she lowers her voice so that Ethan won't hear, "Carter told me who you are. Don't tell Ethan though. He won't understand."

Before I can ask what she means, she pushes me in the direction of the big tent, "You can change in there." She pushes me again when I don't move.

Somehow, I manage to move my legs. I enter the tent and examine the clothes Ethan gave me.

A plain white shirt. Khaki pants with around a hundred pockets. And a belt. Men's clothes. But Rachel's wearing them, so why shouldn't I? For practicality's sake?

The shirt is too big. It hangs loose and feels strange because of the silky texture of the cloth. It feels strange not to have a corset squeezing my waist. I pull on the pants. They rub against my legs in a way that my dresses never did.

I'm to distracted by the thought of Carter's blood to be embarrassed by my inability to put on a belt. I don't need one anyway. The pants fit fine.

As I change, I start to think about Ethan and Rachel. I can tell that this sort of thing has happened to Ethan before. He acted shy before, but now that someone's dead, now that people need help and comfort, he's confident.

I stand for a few moments in the tent, I'm not ready to go out and face Carter's corpse, and his friends who likely blame me. I look around the abandoned place. It's full of desks and papers and strange technology. In one corner, there's a long table with cups and bottles and strange liquids. I push away my curiosity and turn to leave. I spot something.

Sitting by the flap of the tent is a pair of boots. They're smaller than the clunky ones on my feet. I pull off Carter's boots, and pull on the others.

When I exit the tent, I almost feel better.

I leave my torn gown inside. I don't need reminders of my past. I don't want to go back. And I don't want anything that will make me want to. I ignore the pang of guilt in my chest. I don't want the dress, it can be taken by the next starving survivor that comes along.

As I walk up to Rachel and Carter, I've made up my mind. I don't want anything like Carter happening again. I don't want anyone else to die because of me. If I open my mouth, maybe I'll somehow recover. Maybe it'll help me escape from this emptiness.

I tuck a stray wisp of hair behind my ear, and then I open my mouth, "I'm Evie."

Ethan and Rachel look up in shock.

I offer a weak smile.

I look at Ethan, and I see a million feelings flash across his face, before they finally settle on satisfaction.

"Great," he says. His smile is forced, but faking confidence is better than nothing, "No time to grieve. We can't let the Reds catch up."