I back away from the door. The smartest thing to do is wait for the night. It’s too early to be safe out there. But the question I can’t get out of my head is, will it ever be safe ever again? If someone had come to help, I would have heard them. There would be blaring sirens, or perhaps army officers barking orders left and right. At the very least, someone would have come to check for survivors.

Instead, it’s deathly quiet out there. Only my grumbling stomach dares to break the silence.

I relieve myself at the far corner of the room, and battle to suppress the burning sensation that spreads through my cheeks and ears for doing it like an animal. I’ll have a lot of cleaning up to do afterwards, once everything is over. Wait a minute. I’m being evicted next week. Fuck it.

I pace the room like a trapped fish in a tank. It’s been hours since it started. Have other places been hit as hard as we have? Why aren’t there any choppers in the air? Shouldn’t there be government officials doing something about this mess? Maybe they’ll get here during the night. I can wait ‘til then. Sure. God, I’m starving. And I’m thirsty.

I feel like the walls are caving in. I can’t take this confinement any longer. I’ve used up almost all the battery in my watch by pressing the light button every few minutes. Is it me or is its light getting dimmer? It’s hard to tell with all the darkness around me. It’s unbelievable how slowly time goes by when there’s nothing to do. When questions are plenty but can’t get any answers. The things that bounce in my mind seem to last forever. I never thought nothingness would be so pressing.

I check my watch again. At this point, it’s almost a habit. It’s ten at night. The thought of going out, of breathing fresh air almost makes me want to run upstairs. But I need to be careful.

There was growling going on throughout the day, but nothing like last night. There must be others out there, hiding like me. And if I want to stay alive, I need to get some food and water. Fast. I can’t stay down here much longer.

I open the door and step outside. When fresh air touches my skin, it tingles. It’s so cool and refreshing! As I draw nearer to the front door, my nose picks up a faint smell in the air. It’s coming from outside.

I open the door and brandish my knife to anyone who might be waiting for me. But there’s no one. To my left, a pair of crickets have set up a small orchestra. A few blocks away, dogs bark at each other. The street lights are dark, like all the windows from neighbouring houses. It’s as though everyone’s asleep, except the twinkling stars and a thin-crescent moon that hardly sheds any light. What stands out is the faint smell carried by the soft breeze and the lack of manmade sounds.

I head to my fence. The police car is still there, but its headlights are dead. Now I know where the smell is coming from: the cop’s body is putrefying. And if I’m right, from every house near me.

A sound draws my attention at the other end of the road. Voices? I pause and listen carefully.

Nothing. My mind is playing tricks on me.

I cross the street, knife in hand, and head to the Jeffersons’. I knock on the door. No answer. “Patty?” My voice seems so out of place in this stillness. Their door is unlocked. Inside, the smell is stronger. It’s a mixture of human waste and rot. I’m not an expert on dead things, but a little voice at the back of my head tells me that this is what something dead smells like. I’m hopeful the voice is wrong.

“Patty? Marc?” No answer. “Hailey? Anyone here?” I enter the living room. Less than half a dozen steps later, I stumble onto something and fall flat on my face. It feels like a body. My hand brushes against … fingers? I feel my way around it. It’s a hand. Delicate. A woman’s hand. “Patty, I’m sorry. Are you all right? Are you hurt? Where’s Marc?”

I stand and try to help her up, try to grab a hold of her arm, but my mind is having a hard time processing this. I’m holding her hand, but there’s no arm attached to it. “Holy shit!” I let go of her, jump back, and wipe my hands on my clothes. Her severed hand lands on the wooden floor with a hollow thud.

It’s like someone flipped a switch inside my head. My eyes become accustomed to the gloom; my brain decides to register details in my surroundings. There are small dark mounds all around me.

It’s their remains. They’re … they’re … dead! All of them!

Just picturing what Patty and Marc and Hailey might look like churns my stomach. I throw up on the spot. My brain sends a panicked I-gotta-get-outta-here-now message to my shaking limbs.

I rush outside and try to catch my breath. I bend over, hands on my knees, and retch again and again until only air comes out.

“Everyone’s dead.” I whisper the words. I dare not say them out loud in case they become reality. It can’t be. It can’t.

My gaze lands on an unmoving mass in front of the police car. I don’t need to see it up close to know that it’s the guy from last night, the one who kept screaming about the end of the world and demons. “He was right.”

Am I the only one left? Am I all alone?

A window shatters a few houses down the road. My adrenaline level rockets to the sky. Someone’s out there. I hurry to the police car and take cover behind its open door. The dead cop is getting ripe and I stifle a reflexive gag. I can’t remember if I had drawn the knife before or if my instincts kicked in at some point because it’s in my hand now.

Two figures jump out of a house. They are approaching. Voices. Chatter. Survivors! I’m not alone after all. Not all is lost.

They smash a car’s window, open the doors, and drag out what I believe to be the owners’ remains. They’re hunched over the victims, and stuff their pockets with things that belonged to the dead. I think one of them is carrying a baseball bat.

My smile wanes. Looters. Humanity’s finest.

“There. The car,” one of them says.

“Is that a cop’s car? We take his gun, man.”

The gun! I turn to the dead cop and start searching what’s left of him. Why didn’t I think of it?

Their footsteps are getting closer.

Come on! Where is it?

“Hey,” one of them yells not more than 5 feet away from me. “We have a live one.”

Got it!

I stand and point the gun. “Get back or I shoot.” I’m face to face with the one holding the baseball bat. He’s ready to swing it at me. Where’s the second guy?

“Take it easy, man,” he says. “Gimme the gun, and you get to live through the night.”

My eyes catch movement from my right. Apparently, his friend has been using the car for cover and is now trying to sneak up on me.

My hand is shaking. Am I actually going to do this? Can I possibly kill someone? “I said, get back. I’ll shoot you both.”

“Don’t think so.” They take a step closer, the bats raised and ready to strike.

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CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY, SURVIVOR.
Outnumbered as you are, do you protect yourself from a threatening situation and shoot, or do you run and hide, hoping the darkness will protect you? One answer leads to your character’s death. The other prolongs your torment. Choose wisely.

               

 

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