This Is What's Left

Chapter 2, Bargain Sale

"Lead Me, Follow Me, or Get the Hell out of My Way"

-General George S. Patton

-Thomas-

I sat in silence, trying to not make a single sudden movement as I looked down the Barrel. I tried to slow my breathing, my heart pounding hard enough that if I didn't know any better, I would guess he could hear it. Looking from the gun, I saw a man. The same man that I had encountered earlier, only this time, I could see it in his eyes. That anger, that, hunger. His eyes were sharp with a lust for violence. I could feel his wrath breathing over me.

"Listen, I know that you need-"

"Shut the fuck up. Where's your food?" He pressed the barrel against my head, I could feel the icy steel, like an ice cube on my temple. My hand slowly went up, pointing to the vent by the wall. If you were looking directly at it, you could tell I had removed the top screws, and that the vent was only placed there by force. His eyes turned, the moment his gaze left my body was the moment I needed. My left had exploded from where it was, grabbing the barrel and forcing it away from my head. He pulled the trigger, and a blast ripped inches from my head. I felt a wave of force, the sound felt like someone punched me in the side of the head, my hand burning from the barrel. I pulled as hard as I could, and felt the gun fly across the room as I pushed my assailant away.

He stumbled back, hitting the door as I shook my head. My ears rang as if I were in a church's amphitheater, my vision as if I drank a liter of everclear. He got into a stance like he planned on fighting me hand to hand, and stepped forward cautiously. Still disorientated, I tried to ready myself, getting one foot in front of the other, my right in the lead. As he got about five feet from me, I took a quick step forward, jabbing with my right as I moved up. It seemed to catch him a bit off guard, most likely due to not enough people being used to fighting a southpaw. While he managed to glance off of my right, He moved directly into the haymaker coming from my left. It struck him across the chin, landing so hard that I even felt pain in my hand. His whole body moved, like a rat being grabbed by his prey, and he shifted, crashing into the wall.

As out-of-it as I was, I was really hoping that this punch would drop him. My weight was not in it, however, and they managed to stay standing. Stepping forward, he kicked forward, and in my state I still wasn't quite at full speed, and the kick managed to land. It struck me hard, knocking me backward, and I fell on the floor, the room spinning as I hit the ground. My vision focused, and I saw the man dive, landing on top of me and grabbing my throat with both hands. He squeezed, closing my airway instantly. I was only a few feet from my couch, and I could see what I had under it. A hunting knife. Black carbon steel, 5.5 inch blade, serrated on the inner end. I reached the blade but centimeters from my grasp. With my other hand clenched into a tight fist, I swung, striking him in his kidneys, and giving me just enough leeway to grasp the blade. Claiming a strong grip, I swung, the blade landing firmly in his neck, seeing the serrated edge digging out of his throat, blood poured out, geysering with each beat of his heart. I threw him across from me, coughing from both a lack of breath and the blood landing in my mouth. Weakly, he flailed, his cold eyes replaced with a fear, a shocked and terrified glance.

This was a boy, maybe seventeen. He was scared, looking at me and trying to hold his neck, the blood now slick across the floor, his hand sliding across his own neck as he struggled desperately, almost as if he believed the bleeding would stop if only he could try hard enough. I stood, my body clenching as I looked as life left him. My eyes drifted to my hands, now a rusted red, and only one thought could enter my mind.

Blood

-Jacob-

I turned another corner, finally arriving into the barren grocery store parking lot. Three cars sat in the parking lot, all left neatly. Out of the several misconceptions that a lot of those stories had gotten wrong was the vehicles. So many forms of media depicted cars left about haphazardly, and sure, some are, and the highways do have their fair share, but that just isn't accurate for most of the town. Mostly, cars are parked on the side of the road, or in front of the entrance or exits, or parked correctly in their white-lined spot. This market, which I remembered to be in the backwaters of a road about half an hour from downtown, seemed relatively untouched. Thankfully, the disease had such a quick infect-to-death rate, that a lot of places got stocked up quick. And while sure, three months gave plenty of time for shelves to be emptied, a lot of businesses still had food left, even if sometimes it was scraps.