heavenward | n.scatorccio

For three days, the radio tower became
more than just a shelter from the horrors outside—it became a mausoleum. A place haunted by grief.

They should have left. They needed to keep moving. But no one said it out loud. No one was willing to be the one to force Julianna back onto her feet when she could barely keep herself upright.

So, they stayed.

Julianna did not speak. She did not cry.
She did not sleep. She barely even moved, her gaze fixed on a single spot on the floor as if she could see something there that no one else could.
Mavbe she did. Maybe, in her mind, she was still watching Jeff's blood spatter against the glass, still hearing the sickening sound of claws tearing through him, still feeling the warmth of his palm against hers before it was ripped away.

She had screamed for him until her voice was raw, sobbed until her body physically gave out. But that had been on the first night. After that, the silence settled in, suffocating and unshakable.
She simply existed, detached from everything around her, her breathing shallow, her expression unreadable.

Numb.

Javi sat beside her most of the time, leaning against her shoulder like a ghost of a brother she no longer had. He didn't talk either, not much.

Maybe he was afraid to break the quiet.

Maybe he just didn't know what to say.

He had lost Travis the in a similar way that she had lost Jeff, even though he hadn't seen it happen. In their shared silence, they grieved. They didn't have words, but they had each other. He became her shadow, lingering at her side, his small frame pressed against hers as if proximity alone could make up for everything they'd lost. Maybe, in a way, it did.

Natalie checked on her the most. She would sit across from her, waiting for some sign of life in Julianna's face.

When none came, she would sigh, run a hand through her hair, and push a bottle of water toward her. "Come on, Jules."

Julianna wouldn't react. Not at first.
Then, after long minutes of nothingness, she would blink-slow and heavy-and drag the bottle toward her, pressing it to her lips. She wouldn't drink much. Just enough to get Natalie to stop looking at her like that. Like she was afraid. Like she cared.

At night, when everyone else tried to sleep, Natalie would sit with her, legs crossed, arms resting on her knees, watching over her like she was something fragile. "You don't have to talk," she would say, her voice softer than anyone would have expected from her. "I just don't want you to be alone."

But that was the thing.

Julianna was alone.

Even surrounded by the others, even with Javi curled against her, even with Natalie's persistent presence, she was alone in a way she had never been before. Because Jeff had always been there. Always. He had been the one person in the world who agreed with her without needing explanations, who had been her first friend and her only constant. He had been her tie to humanity. And now he was gone.

Now, there was just this. The aching emptiness inside her chest, hollowing her out from the inside.

She thought about dying. Not in a dramatic way, not even in a desperate way—just as a quiet, inevitable thing.

Like the world had made its choice, and maybe she was meant to follow. The thought didn't scare her. If anything, it felt right. Like an answer to a question she hadn't even realized she was asking.

But Javi would lean against her shoulder, and Natalie would nudge the bottle of water toward her again, and she would stay.
For three days, she stayed.

The world had moved on without Jeff. That was the cruelest thing about it. The sky still stretched pale and wide, the trees still whispered with the wind, the snow still drifted lazily to the earth like nothing had happened.

Julianna sat with her back against the cold metal wall, feeling like something inside her had been scooped out and left to rot somewhere in the bloodstained snow below. Her fingers curled around the fabric of her sleeve where Javi had his tiny grip on it, clinging to her like she was the last familiar thing left in the world.

Maybe she was.

She wanted to tell him it would be okay. Wanted to promise him something, anything—but she didn't believe it herself, so what was the point? She just let him lean on her, feeling the small rise and fall of his chest against her arm.

The others had started talking about leaving two days ago, murmured conversations in hushed voices when they thought she wasn't listening. But today, the whispers turned to words.

"We need to go," Shauna said, quiet but firm.

No one responded right away.

Julianna barely registered it.

Jackie, sitting on the opposite side of the room, exhaled sharply and muttered, "Finally."

Lottie's brows furrowed. She shifted where she sat, shaking her head. "She just needs time."

Shauna turned toward her, patience thinning. "Lottie, we don't have time."

Lottie shook her head again, lips pressing together like she wanted to keep arguing but didn't know how.

"We're running out of supplies," Shauna continued. "The longer we stay, the worse it's going to get. We have to keep moving."

Julianna felt those words land somewhere deep in her chest, but they hit dull and muted, like they were crashing against something too numb to feel it.

Lottie tried again. "Just—just a little longer."

"For what?" Shauna snapped, exasperated now. "Another day of sitting around? Another day of hoping she magically snaps out of it? Another day of this?" She gestured vaguely, her voice breaking slightly.

She looked at Julianna then, and her face softened—regret creeping in, guilt creeping in—but she didn't back down. "I know this is..." She trailed off, shaking her head before finally saying, "I know. But Jeff is gone, and nothing we do here is going to change that."

Something inside Julianna curled into itself, like a dying thing trying to make itself smaller.

Her brother is gone.

Jackie was staring at the floor, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Misty shifted uncomfortably, her fingers twitching like she wanted to help with something but didn't know how. Natalie was sitting closest to Julianna, knees drawn up, arms draped over them. She hadn't said anything yet.

Julianna kept staring past all of them, out the fogged-up glass, into the white blur of snow and sky.

"I think we all know what he'd want," Shauna continued, voice quieter now. "And it's not this."

It wasn't wrong.

Jeff wouldn't have wanted her like this.

Jeff would have told her to get up. To keep moving. To keep living. But Jeff was dead, and his voice didn't exist anymore, and all she had left was his blood on her hands, the last desperate warmth of his palm against hers, the sound of her own screams echoing in her skull, trapped there forever.

Lottie inhaled sharply, her voice lower, more desperate. "It's Julianna."

That wasn't an argument. It wasn't a defense. It was a quiet, helpless plea.

No one had an answer for it.

Julianna felt like she was floating outside of her own body, watching them argue over whether she was worth a little more time, a little more patience.

And then, finally, Natalie shifted where she sat, stretching her legs out in front of her, resting an arm over her knee. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady, measured. "We go later today."

Julianna's throat clenched, the first real reaction she had given in hours.

Lottie looked over at her, surprised. "Natalie—"

"I know," Natalie cut in, her voice suddenly sharper. There was something tangled underneath it, something frustrated. She exhaled through her nose, grounding herself before continuing. "I know. But she's not gonna get better just because we sit here and wait." Her fingers drummed against her knee, restless. "She needs to move."

Shauna looked at her for a long moment, then nodded slightly, like she hadn't expected Natalie to back her up but wasn't about to question it.

Lottie hesitated, then looked back at Julianna.

Julianna still hadn't moved.

Natalie leaned forward slightly, voice quieter. "We go later today," she repeated, but this time, it wasn't to Shauna. It wasn't to the group.

It was to her.

And for the first time in three days, Julianna looked up.

Her eyes met Natalie's, unfocused and bloodshot, something lifeless and cracked swimming beneath them.

Natalie just held her gaze, something unreadable in the set of her mouth, the crease of her brow.

Julianna's chest ached.

Natalie had barely left her side in the last three days. She was the one who brought her water, the one who sat next to her in the silence, the one who—when Julianna had screamed herself hoarse that first night, had pulled her into her arms and didn't let go until she had collapsed into exhausted, heaving sobs.

She didn't want to leave her behind.

But she was right.
Nothing was going to change.

Jeff was still dead.
And nothing was ever going to be okay again.

Julianna exhaled shakily and finally, slowly, gave the smallest of nods.

"Later today," she murmured.

Natalie's shoulders eased just slightly, like she had been holding something back, like she had been waiting for her to say it herself.

Shauna pressed her lips together and nodded. Jackie muttered something under her breath. Misty's fingers twitched again. Lottie exhaled through her nose and rubbed a hand over her arm, like she was cold.

And just like that, the world moved on.

Misty crouched over the radio, fingers working with the precision of a surgeon as she adjusted the dials. The static was thick, choking out the signal in bursts of sharp, grating noise. Everyone sat in a loose circle around her, some more engaged than others. Shauna had her arms crossed, foot tapping against the dusty floor. Jackie sat beside her, knees hugged to her chest, still nursing her grudge like an open wound. Javi leaned into Julianna's side, small and quiet, his fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeve. Lottie sat with her legs folded beneath her, gaze flickering between everyone, always watching, always balancing.

Natalie was the only one besides Misty who looked remotely invested, sitting near the radio with her elbows on her knees, expression sharp and waiting.

Julianna stared past them all, out the window, where the glass was still smeared with rust-colored streaks. Jeff's blood. She hadn't cleaned it off.

The static flared again, then fizzled, and suddenly—

"—Hello?"

A voice. Sharp, distant, cutting through the noise like a blade.

Misty's eyes brightened. "Kaitlyn? Oh my God, it worked! I told you guys it would work!"

"Holy shit," Natalie muttered, sitting up straighter.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a genius, Misty," Shauna said flatly, leaning in. "Ask her how things are there."

"We heard you went off course," Kaitlyn said, her voice crackling with interference. "Where are you guys?"

Misty adjusted the frequency. "West Virginia. Barely."

"You still heading here?"

Natalie leaned toward the radio. "That depends. The safe zone—still good?"

Silence. A moment of hesitation, just long enough to make something uneasy settle in Julianna's stomach.

Then—

"Still good," Kaitlyn said. "We've had a few close calls, but nothing we couldn't handle."

Jackie scoffed. "Define 'close calls.'"

Kaitlyn exhaled, like she was debating lying. "Runners breached one of the fences last week. We lost two people before we got it under control."

The room went quiet.

Javi's fingers curled tighter into Julianna's sleeve.

"But it's still safe," Kaitlyn continued. "Safer than out there."

Natalie made a skeptical sound under her breath.

"What about supplies?" Lottie asked gently.

Kaitlyn hesitated again.

"It's good enough for now," she admitted, "manageable. And still better than whatever you're scraping by on."

Natalie let out a humorless laugh. "Low fucking bar."

Misty clicked her tongue. "I told you we should've scavenged more before heading out."

"Oh, sorry, Misty, should we have just waltzed into another infested town for a grocery run?" Jackie snapped.

"Better than starving," Misty shot back.

"We're not starving," Natalie cut in, voice edged with irritation. "We just need to keep moving."

A heavy pause.

Then Kaitlyn, carefully—"You guys okay?"

Julianna felt the air shift, like everyone's grief and exhaustion had suddenly been placed under a spotlight.

Natalie's eyes flicked toward her.
Javi shifted beside her.

Lottie was the one who answered, voice soft.
"We're managing," she said.

It was a lie, but no one corrected her.