I watch as Alex and Jesse vanish into the distance, leaving me in a cloud of dust and feeling very left behind. But Alex has been working so hard to catch this guy, I couldn't make him stay with me, knowing he missed a perfect opportunity.
That and after what Jesse said to me... hmm.
I'm soon chain smoking, and by the time I notice this, I've only got one left anyway. I wander around, looking for a shop of some description, thinking "sure, Alex. Sure I'll stay safe. I'll just smoke myself to death instead. Lung cancer is far safer than hanging out with a vampire, and twice as fucking fun!"
Surprised by the sting of bitterness of the voice in the back of my mind, I sigh and give myself a mental slap.
I don't even know why I'm looking for a shop. We're in the middle of nowhere, not London.
Bored, and itching for some more cigarettes, I wander out of the village in an attempt to keep myself entertained/convince myself I should give up by proving to myself how unfit I am.
Walking doesn't do much to towards either, so when I come across a barn of sorts, moldering hay bales hiding from the sunrise encroaching the horizon under the corrugated iron shelter, I feel a small smile tug at my lips for the first time, remembering when my granddad took me out fishing one time when I was about six or seven, and making me watch the sunrise with him, talking about innocence and how I had to keep hold of mine as long as possible while he smashed open a fish's head on a rock.
I climb up on the roof and replay the memory over, wishing things were that simple again. The hardest task I had before me was staying awake long enough to tell my granddad his anecdotes were interesting, and monsters under the bed were just that: a part of my imagination, not my day to day life.
Watching the sun rise over the horizon and wondering what Alex is doing now - still chasing Jesse? Fighting with him? Finding somewhere to hide from the sun? - take up more time than I realize and before I know it, I'm being yelled at by an angry farmer.
"Shit," I mutter under my breath, scrambling down, "sorry," I tell him. The guy is red in the face, like, alcoholic red, and his moustache bristles irritably, the shot gun now dangling down and pointing at the ground, "just wanted to see the sunrise. Great view up there," I say brightly, trying to give a smile to match, but I know I fail epically. He grunts something indistinguishable at me that I take to be ‘get outta here' and I nod, making haste on the instruction.
Now... where to go?