If We Survive

Chapter 15

Jacob and I walk at the same pace. The scenery seems to fly by, rocks and trees, and snow. A shitton of that. 

"So," My brother puffs. We're at pretty high alititude, and breathing isn't easy, much less talking. "do you think this whole thing was terrorisem, or...?" 

Oh good, he's bringing this one up again. Be prepared for another thought-envoking diolouge, kids. 

"How could someone create a weapon that effects people with a cerian blood type? That doesn't really seem possible." I reply.

"It could be bio-engeneered to come off in a EMP. You know about that sort of thing, don't you?" It's true. I wanted to be a bio-engeneer before all of this. I could've done it, too. 

Now I'm a survivor. 

"Not that I know of. What if it's just a side effect of a massive EMP? Have they been tested all that much in large scales?" 

"I don't know." He says shortly. The way is getting harder, and it's difficult enough for me to keep my footing. I nearly break every single bone in my body twice. 

When the trees clear up, the veiw is breath taking. I can see the valley below us, lain out in all of it's white wonder. It's the good sort of cold, the kind that's refreshing. The only kind that you can find in December. Around midday we go back into the woods, and the way seems to darken. 

"Stop." My brother says, nearly silently. I can't tell what he's talking about. Nothing seems to be different from three minutes ago, that I can tell.

Two minutes later, I hear it. It's the sound of someone talking very loudly. It sounds like one of my redneck relitives bragging. 

I'm actually not that far from the mark. 

There a hugely burly guy in a plaid shirt- a lumberjack type. I used to think that sterotypes were lies. That was clearly a lie. 

He carries an old-fashoned 12-gauge, and he has a dog. One of those huge huskes that I always wanted as a kid. 

I know we're in for a crap ton of trouble. I want to go running off, off into the forest. It actually takes self-control not to bolt. 

"Well hello." He says. He's not looking at us. He's looking at the dog. 

No one answers. My brother un-tenses, though. He thinks this guy is ok. He's not. Not even close. 

"What brings you to my part of the woods?" He asks cheerfully. 

I reach for my gun, which I put in the waistband of my sweats before we left. Do I have rounds? I get the feeling this isn't the sort of man that can be threatened with my gun. 

My mother gives me a look. Like this-guy-is-being-nice-to-you-why-are-you-getting-out-your-gun-you-dumbass. My mother, always assuming the best in people. I don't know if she knows this, but when the apaocolypse happens, only the worst comes out in people. It's the rulle, not the acception. 

Actually, it's byond a rule. It's like, everyone. 

Beofre all of this, I could kill a person, not even a brain-screwed one, but now I have to, to stay alive. 

And I feel fully prepared to blow the brains out of this guy.

I read somewere, once, that there's nothing that can prepare you for killing another human being. And maybe they're right. 

And maybe I'm just a psycopath. 

"We're heading for the valley." My brother says, 

"That so?" He replies, eyes finally metting mine for a single heartbeat. "Well, I don't think you, because, well, I think I can control what a whole bunch of teenagers and an old lady, don't you?" 

I don't even have time to mentally gloat on how right I was. My brother jumps at the dude like a rockets, and Jose pulls into action. They work as a single being, a whole. 

I yank out my own weapon, an open shot only a few feet off. 

But I can't. My hands begin to shake terribly. I can't think, I just freeze up. 

Maybe I can't take someone else's life. 

Boom. 

I hear the noise, but I can't see what's going on, because my vision has blurred out. What is wrong with me? It feels like I'm having a nervous breakdown- I rmeber the first time that happened, when I was like eight. There was a mortorcycle accident on the freeway, and... I just broke. I guess I was just a kid, or something, and this feels a helluava lot like it. 

"Cassy!" Someone shouts at me. They sound disotorted and muddy. The gun slips out of my numb fingers, as I fall to the ground. 

Someone catches me, before my head splits open on the rocks.

What's happening to me? 

One minute, I'm Cassy, the bad-ass zombie hunter, the next I'm fainting like some 18th-century damsel in distress. 

"Cassy?" A voice calls me, brining me back out of my subconsious world. "Cass?" It sounds like my brother. 

I open my eyes. Someone's blurry face ducks in and out of veiw. I can see other things in my periferal, like trees, and what I think is the sky. 

"Cass?" His voice sofens, spotting my open eyes. 

"Murphhm." I reply, my vision clearing out. I'm on the ground, right where I fell- I've clearly only been out for a few minutes, although were I got stabbed hurts more than ever. I prop myself up on a tree, inhaling the air slowly through my nose. Apparently, we're stopping here for the night. 

A few minutes leter, my brother motions for me to come with him. I stand up shakily, leaning on the tree. 

Once Jacob and I are out of earshot, he starts, "What was that?" 

What was that? 

"I don't know... I just sort of freaked." I reply, staring down at my shoes. 

"You were afraid of the gun." He says. It's not a question; it's a fact. 

Am I afraid of the gun? I've never had trouble before now. But then again, here's like an entire hour of my life that's been taken out of my brain. 

"I don't know." I repeat. 

"Yes you do." He stops, turning to me. "I know somewhere inside you, you know. And you need to find that part of you, and you need to remeber." 

Why is is he being so serious about this? He wouldn't normally be like that, because in the end, we beat the crap out of that guy, and it's not like my actions directly caused someone to get hurt, or die. So why is he acting like that? It's not because he cares that muc about me- I mean, he cares about me, but he wouldn't  be like that. He would let me figure things out on my own. 

So this must be personal.

Good God, what have I done?

I killed someone. I killed them, and now they're gone forever, and they'll never laugh or cry or love again. And chances are, they meant something to my brother. 

Why is my life so screwed up?

Oh, right. That just goes along with the world being over.