Post Mortem : The Fates

Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Exhaustion

Oh God, he's dead, he's dead and I killed him. The thought echoed in Rochelle's head bouncing around refusing to quiet as she fled.

The blood was fresh on her hands, still wet and warm. Her heart beat pounded faster and louder than it ever had before. But it was an accident and he was there to kill her. She needed to convince herself of this fact but her guilt filled her with sickness. He was just afraid as most were and doing what he thought was right to save his family.

What if he was right? What if everyone I have ever known will burn?

"Stop." She said aloud.

Henry was lucky, now he will not have to watch helplessly waiting for his turn as everyone he loves dies.

"Stop." Her voice was ragged and breathless. Adrenaline was evaporating as the full effect of running on a body close to empty became more apparent.

You left her. How could you leave her?

Her eyes were on fire but she was not going to cry, not now. With growing desperation, she tried to silence her thoughts by focusing only on her breathing, her heartbeat, her stride. The ground was not even, roots protruded patiently waiting to trip her causing her to expel even more energy navigating around them.

She was all you had left, she's going to die and it's your fault. You did not even try. Maybe you could have even protected her.

The voice inside her head was taunting her.

You can still go back, it's not too late.

Her mother would never come with.

That's a lie if you really cared you would have found a way. Do you even love her?

"Stop!" With that she stopped dead in her tracks gasping for breath. "Just shut up please, not now. Please not now."

Coward.

When she regained herself, she continued running at a manageable pace, only taking breaks when necessary. Her lungs were screaming, her legs burned ready to cramp. It did not matter how hard she tried not to think her own thoughts tormented her.

Never had she been in this part of the forest but it all looked the same to her. Trees, trees, and more trees. But her trust in her mother was not lost as she continued north as she had been told. For all she knew she was not even going the right way.

She ran until daylight was almost gone and part of her faded with the light as the previous events threatened to sink in. If she did not rest now she would never make it. There was no way to make a fire. She did not even know how to make a shelter. Her legs were already shaking as she forced herself to sit.

She rested her back on a large oak. Through the dying light, she saw on her hands the dried blood of the man she killed and hastily wiped it on the bottommost part of her dress hoping to rid herself of it.

The brown crusted blood did not come off easily and wasting even the slightest amount of water was not an option; she did not know when she would next find more. So, she resorted to scraping the blood off with her own fingernails.

Daylight was gone and her body was spent. Knowing that she would need every bit of energy, she pulled the wadded cloth out of her satchel, unwrapped it, and ripped into the morsel of flesh it held. It was salty and only made her crave water. She drank carefully though she shook the canteen realizing it was already half empty. The ground was cold and hard as she lay and loosely bundled her cloak to use as a pillow.