If they were to make it through tonight, Lizzie knew those whistles would be the soundtrack to her nightmares for the rest of her sleeps. The piercing high-pitched shrieks reverberated around the bones in her skull, as if her head were a hard-boiled egg, and someone was taking a metal spoon to her temple. Except, she wasn't hard-boiled, not anymore, maybe she never was. Once the spoon finally cracked through her flesh and bone, it would not reveal solidity, one assured state of mind. No, once opened, everything would flood from her brain, the brittle shell collapsing in on itself, irreparable.
Those whistles were like a culmination of all the great fears in the new world. Clickers, death, war, blood, pain, loss, suffering, even a lack of faith in peace beyond the grave. Stand firm and ris
