Dead or Alive

There are 365 days in a year, but in the apocalypse you stop counting the days and instead start living in the moments. My hands clasp by my side. A smile creeps across my face. A yearning for water quakes from my throat. My fingers familiarly thread down to grasp the metal by my side. The cold metal sends a shiver down my spine. Suppressed thoughts rise up from the past trying to break though. A calming sense washes over me. My father’s warm voice rings in the back of my head. Steps and how-to’s all come flooding back to me. Slowly, it steps unknowingly of what was to come.

Its face is shriveled and grey. I look to study its tattered face. I try to make out any special details about it. Trying to remember life before all of this. My eyes wander slightly above its right eye. A scar. It was hard to tell whether that happened before or after they looked like this but I still held out hope. The little things like a scar or a name tag from a place they used to work is the only thing that keeps me sane. My hand molded over my weapon like I had done so, many times before. Quickly, the gun was at my eye level, ready and waiting. I took one last breath and prayed for the thing that was once human. Hesitation, humanity, anything like that you die within a second. This “new” world is much different than the old. You can’t trust anyone and most importantly you can not have a heart. I cock my head to the east. Three c-spine pop simultaneously. My weapon, light in my hand, right in line with its head was ready. And so was I.

The forest was quiet, no longer teeming with ‘undead’ life as it once had. I shouldn’t smile, but this is all there now. I took pride in that shot. From when I had first started, I’d say I had grown quite a bit. The silencer made shooting very easy, but my knife felt warm beside my leg. Never shoot more than once every, so often. Time seems different now. There are no days, months or even years. Just moments. Trying to survive every moment, never knowing if it might be your last. Shining through a light tree-filled forest, the sun led the way. There is never a specific direction, only adapt and survive.

Vigorously, I glided through the forest. Each step quickened and thorough enough not to step on anything. I almost made it until, snap. My pace had slowed down. My hands naturally extend to my knife attached to the straps on my leg. Nothing faster than a walk, my steps near perfect silence from several moments spent out in the woods. Don’t be impulsive, another rule that should be learned by all who try and survive this unruly place. I collect my thoughts and conclude that the best course of action should be to find a place of high ground to get a better visual of the area. My eyes wander to a dark pine with a dense green top and sturdy branches. Rough, dry bark overwhelms both of my hands as the ground slowly becomes distant. Memories of my childhood come flooding back, but initial priority demands my thoughts and actions. Large and sturdy, I settled on a branch that allows me a larger view of the dismal area.

Glaring at the sky, I noticed the sun had now shifted down to what could have either been three or four a clock. Anger arose from my throat. There had been nothing out there, but still I played the coward and hid, wasting precious time. Words from my father replayed in my head, which is better, to be afraid or be feared. A dry laugh escaped my mouth, “if only you could see the world now, dad.” I adjusted my body, placing my foot on the branch beneath the one I had cowardly sat. Each step, I secured the branch before stepping, careful not to lose all ingenuity. My toes land on the ground first, to better absorb the sound of hitting the ground. It couldn’t have been more than a year ago, when I was being yelled at by the navy commander that landing on your toes could absorb the sound of hitting the ground. My hands grip around my knife as my body extends from the crouched position. In front of me, there is a tiny area where there are fewer pine needles and miniature branches. My foot reaches out to take one step forward when I hear the sound of something flying through the air at an incredible speed. The sound sparked an elusive curiosity that is until I just feel… pain.

My body goes weary as my legs begin to collapse, but the pain keeps me from falling. My back flies into the oak tree, fighting to keep my body up right. Quivering, my hand glides down my body, until I reach my thigh or better yet, the source of my pain. My impulse is to drive my head back and as hard as possible into the tree that I was leaning on, but logic and reason win over my impulse. Time has never been on my side, which is why I always try to do things as quickly as possible. I reach for the scarf surrounding my neck. Carefully I place it in my mouth, knowing that for the next step I’m going to need both of my hands. My body twitches in anticipation as my fingers lace the arrow braced into my thigh. Mentally, I count down, three, two, one… I had released a dam of gushing blood pooling from my wound. As my jaw released my scarf, instinct took over as I had been trained to do with a gaping hole in my body. Tight yet movable, I could feel the scarf warm with my blood, surrounding my leg.

I force my back off the tree and take one step forward. Pain seizes my body, wanting a release or escape of some kind. A warm metallic taste fills my mouth, unbeknownst to me. Everything is telling me to stay, to give up and die. Maybe I should. As I finally resist the urge to fight, my body crumples to the ground. I release a deep sigh as my fingers rap around the knife attached to my leg. As I stop resisting, the memories seize the opportunity and come flooding back. Thoughts about my daughter and how I failed her, take over my actions. Unknowingly, my favorite gun now feels cold as it touches my head. I should be panicking, wondering if this is the right choice, but I know at least this way, with the gun, I won’t have to feel the pain of my body being torn to shreds. I close my eyes as I slowly increase the pressure of the trigger. Releasing all my worries and mistakes I take one final breath and- “stop, you don’t want to do this”.