I’ve killed eight people with a shovel and seventeen more with a bat. Conserving bullets has become a pain to deal with, but due to the conditions, it’s a must. The apocalypse has come. Strangely enough, rather than having zombies walk about, the bodies just lay on the ground everywhere. It’s just a large mass of wild animals that feed on the dead bodies that are scattered throughout the world. They’ve gained a taste for blood and have honed their hunting skills to the point where they can smell flowing blood through a three foot wall of lead. Their slurping sounds make my skin fluctuate into billions of tiny pin points like a wave up and down my body. It sounds like they’re nearby, but that could just be in my head. The sounds keep me up at night. I’ve never been sure whether it’s my paranoia or an imminent danger. I haven’t slept in two weeks, nor have I had any human contact. I try to refrain from other humans. They’re weaker. They’re leading the animals to me. I’ve seen too many die by my hand, but even more at the paws of this new breed that crawl the streets at night, tearing down doors to find their prey. The world is no longer alive with technology and business, but is alive with fear, not alive, but rather bursting at the seams. The primitive instinct to kill for life thrives through the veins of humanity. I look at the broken glass windows of old churches, pass by the rusted frames of stalled cars, and fear the impending end of my own life. I am the lone survivor of my family, but I intend to live. I hear rumors of life in the Midwest on my radio, somewhere far from my home, but today I begin my travel. Leaving my home of five days gives me a bit of an issue, it’s the longest I’ve stayed in a home since the apocalypse began, but it’s also the one I’ve felt safest in. I pack my pistol with its cold black carbon fiber grip sticking out of my pocket. My keys, my collection of keys, from each person who has threatened my lifestyle I keep a souvenir. I put them into my pocket and sling my bag over my shoulder. I tend to keep it stocked with anything I can rummage from a nearby gas station, trail mix and granola bars. I pick up my iPod, still connected to the charger and unplug it. I look over the picture on my lock screen. A small clatter is heard in the downstairs kitchen. I put my iPod into my pocket and grip my hunter’s knife off of the table. I rush to the stairs to listen. There’s no growling, but whispers. Scalpers. They search for survivors in order to kill them. They leave the scalp of their targets on a post outside of their territory, but it seems like they were expanding. I retracted back into my room and looked out the back window. I picked up my red drawstring bag and pulled out the duct tape. I fixated two pillows onto my arms with the tape and threw the roll to the side. I tossed my red drawstring bag onto my back and plunged out of the window onto the roof of the shed, shielding my body from shattering shards with the pillows. I looked down to my right to see a group of scalpers staring at me. I jumped and sprinted, hunting knife in hand, cutting the tape off as I flew through the back yards of the homes. I could hear the scalpers’ pants as they tried to keep up. I cut a corner towards the street and noticed a car had its back window down. I hopped into it and laid myself flat in the foot space between the front seats and back seats. The scalpers ran past, I heard their footsteps. I cautiously lifted my head up and heard a metallic rip. My head whipped around to see a scalper staring at me with his machete dug into the siding of the car. He licked his chops like a dog looking down upon a bleeding rabbit. It was over, I was sure of it. He put his hand into the car and started to reach to unlock the door. I grabbed my hunting knife and slit a gash into his wrist. He pulled back in agony. His brownish stubble moved to the screams his yellow and black teeth produced. He lifted his machete up above his bright, ruby orange hair and stared at me.
“You’ll pay for that,” he grimaced, still in pain from the cut, “you little punk.”
I covered myself expecting it to be over no matter what, but I could hope to be defensive at the least. A gunshot sounded. I looked up and he looked down. He stood there, blood gushing out of his neck onto his white t-shirt already stained with dark mud and blood splatter from victims. I looked at my gun and felt it, it was still ice cold. I hadn’t shot him. I looked to the other side of the car. A young woman stood there, her eyes as cold and black as a winter night, but with sparkles, as if the stars were shining brighter than ever. Her tanned, caramel skin paired perfectly with her golden brown hair. She stood holding the rifle still aimed at the scalper. He dropped to the side and she pointed it at me.
“Get out,” she commanded, “Now.” I obliged, there isn’t much choice when the barrel of a gun prevents you from seeing the sun. I opened the door and slowly got out of the car. She pressed the tip of the rifle against my neck; it singed my skin, still hot from the fire. She looked intently into my eyes. “Is there a reason he was chasing you?” she questioned. I stared at her. A few seconds passed, “Is there a reason that he was chasing you?” She pressed the gun harder into my neck.
“I was in a home and they came in. They were trying to take more for themselves,” I retorted. It’s funny. It’s the first time I’ve heard my voice in a long time. She looked at me closely and studied me. “I was planning on leaving as they got there. I’m on my way to the Midwest.”
“Is there anyone else with you?”
“No. I’m alone. And I’ve been alone for some time now.”
“Good. Less people mean less attention. You’re coming with me now.”
“What if I decline?”
“I’m the one with the gun pressed to your neck now aren’t I?” She looked at me. I moved my eyes away, proving her point. She walked around the car and I looked at her. She was my age. A small forest green tank top above her midriff with a black backpack held highly above her waist. Her khaki colored cargo pants rode slightly below her waist, showing off the fact that she had a scar along her hip. She reached down and gripped the machete. She turned around and looked at me. “Well? Are you coming or are you just going to keep checking me out?”
“Sorry, I just haven’t seen anyone that hasn’t wanted to kill me in a while.”
“Don’t say that just yet.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“We did start off with me holding a gun to your throat, let’s not end that way, too.”
I gripped my gun and pulled it out and fired off two shots next, inches from her face. She gripped her ear in pain from the shockingly loud sound.
“ARE YOU STUPID?” She screamed in her deaf stupor.
I pointed to what was behind her. “No I just keep watch of my surroundings.” Two wolves lay there, bloodied mouths as if they’d just finished eating another survivor.
I plugged my headphones into my iPod and began to walk. “Are you coming or are you just going to keep checking me out?” I toyed with her as I put my headphones into my ears. The familiar beats comforted me. I knew I was safe within them. I could feel her footsteps behind me. I knew the way. I could tell she was just trying to survive; it made her hostile and judgmental. It was a pity that she had to live in this world, a pretty girl who seemed to have at least some intellectual level. I looked down to see my tattered cargo shorts hanging below my knees, but above my almond boots. I hadn’t really cared much for hygiene considering the fact that I’ve been alone most of my time here.
I felt a tap at my shoulder, then a muffled voice. I pulled my earphones out.
“What do you want now?” I sternly asked.
“Can we stop? It’s getting dark and tough to see what’s ahead,” she looked at me endearingly.
I hadn’t even noticed how dark it was. I was far gone from reality and focused on walking. “Fine. We’ll set up over by that clearing in the woods.” I lit a small fire and I unpacked my things on some logs and fashioned a pillow with one of my jackets in my drawstring back and used the other to cover my legs as a blanket. I turned away from her and the fire. I was kept awake by the flickering and crackling of the orange and yellow flames. They were cut short by her. She walked over and lay in front of me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen anyone in a while and I just wanted to feel safe. I felt safe around you today,” she said. She grabbed hold of my arm and pulled it around her. I stayed there obediently. Her hair smelled clean, it shined even in the moonlight. I pulled the jacket up and put it around her. She looked as if she was ready to fall asleep.
She twisted her head and looked at me, “You said you’ve been alone for a while now. What happened?”
“I don’t like talking about it. I didn’t plan on telling anyone either.”
“As long as we’re going to be travelling together, I need to know who you are and about you.”
“You don’t need to know a single thing about what happened. You don’t know who I am and I don’t know who you are. Let’s not get too attached. That’s always the problem.” I stood up and she watched me walk away to the other side of the fire. I lay myself back down on the ground without any pillow or covering. I enjoyed staring into the night sky; it was something about it that still seemed human. It reminded me before all of this, when there was time to notice the smaller things and actually take part in an indulgence within them. I could tell she was rustling on the other side of the burnt out fire, suddenly she was sitting on the log by my head.
“I wasn’t always alone,” she said, “I was living with my family. They thought we would be safe if we just stayed inside after things got strange. I didn’t feel safe, but I didn’t say anything. The scalpers came in and took my family away, but they never bothered to look past the first floor. I didn’t even know they had come inside. I walked downstairs and saw their four scalps left dangling on the posts in the front lawn. My father’s blood soaked books remained in front of his chair, my mother’s velvet dress was in shambles on the ground, my twin brothers’ crayons were left strung out amongst badly colored pages of cars, but I wouldn’t have heard their screams. I was in the attic. Listening to my music and drawing,” she unfolded something from her pocket. “It’s been two years since I’ve been on my own. I was 17 when they came in and I turn 19 this year. I’ve just been living to hope that I can meet someone who might help me. I was going to give up today. That’s when I found you. I just wanted to know who you were, but my name is Alicia by the way,” she paused. “I’m going to go back to sleep. Thanks for listening, I guess.”
She walked away and I rummaged in my pocket.
“Come here,” I ordered.
“Why?”
“Just come over here,” I said as she sat back down on the log. “This is the picture of my family four weeks before they died. I keep it on my iPod because I don’t carry much. It keeps me calm whenever things are getting rough. It’s my mother, father, and sister in the picture.”
“Wait, isn’t this your little brother?”
“No. That’s me. I was nine years old in the picture. I was left in the custody of my grandparents. They loved me, but I wasn’t sure what was going on. I wanted to see my parents and sister.”
“What happened to them?”
“They were driving home on the way from my sister’s school choral concert that I wasn’t allowed to go to because of some stupid argument. She was six years old and would have been sixteen if she had lived today. I gave up on school and life after that. I didn’t see how people who were so nice could be taken away. I don’t see there being a point to life anymore.”
“So why do you still fight to live? If there’s no point as you say.”
“I just want to be able to prove myself wrong. I want to feel something again. Something more than this gaping pain left by losing my loved ones.”
“Where are your grandparents?”
“I don’t truly know. They left me with a family before all of this as if they knew it would happen. The family was a group of athletic people, but not a single person there was comfortable with having blood on their hands. I’m not. I’m weak. If I have to, I will, but I try to let life go on. I suspect I’ve killed parents before. Sisters, brothers, cousins, it keeps me up some nights.”
“We’ve all had to do difficult things with what everyone’s gone through. At least we have had to so we could survive. Hey, cheer up though. At least we met and we’re both alive. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She turned herself back to her side and fell asleep. I drift away myself into the dark chasm of sleep and I just think to myself calmly at first, but the deeper I go into my own thought, the tenser I get. Soon I feel the calming warmth of the coma-like sleep as a result of exhaustion. My eyes shut and my day comes to an end.