Prey And Predator

1

"Hurry up," mom calls from the kitchen, "you don't wanna be late."

You're right. I don't wanna be late.
I don't even want to show up.

I hate all of this, the world.
I hate that I have to always be on guard and never know if the person I'm talking to is planning to kill me.

I zip up my yellow jacket and head out of my room.

"Okay," mom starts as soon as she sees me, "now remember, don't let them see that your scared, even if you're surrounded by predators. Show them that you are confident and determined."

"How can she be?" Michigan says as he walks in with his red jacket, "she's just a meek little prey."

He makes a mock pouty face before laughing at me.

"At least I still have my humanity," I snap back at him.

"Humanity is for the weak," he huffs, "if you were a predator, you would know that."

"Fuck off," I growl, getting in his face.

"See, you got fire," he chuckles, leaning in closer, "now if you only had the balls to kill, you wouldn't be a little pussy."

"That's enough, you two," mom pushes us away from each other.

While Michigan is my younger brother, he is taller than me, and most all prey. He also earned his title at the age of fifteen when he killed the school janitor after he slipped and fell on a wet floor. Now, five years later, he's got a count of thirty seven kills, while I, two years older than him, am still clocking at a fat zero.

"Grow some balls, sis," he mocks one last time before grabbing his hatchet off the wall and strapping it to his belt. The clomping of his steel toed boots causes the floorboards to creak as he walks out the front door.

"Don't listen to him, sweetheart," mom says gently, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, "just one more month."

One more month and I can wear green.

Yellow for prey, red for predators, black for apex predators, and green for breeders.

Wearing green means that I have never killed in my life and that I don't ever plan to. It also gives me protection; breeders aren't allowed to be killed.

The only down side is that I'd have to breed with a predator, someone that can protect the new prey until that come of age to become a predator themselves.

"One more month," I agree, nodding, "I'm gonna head out now."

"Be safe," mom calls one last time as I walk through the door.

I double check that my knife is secured around my thigh before I leave the porch, and quickly look around for any threat before taking off at a sprint.

I don't even make it fifty feet before I here the sound of a gunshot. The sound is quickly followed my a agonizing pain in my left shoulder.

"Shit," I hiss, quickly ducking behind one of the abandoned cars.

Another gun shot goes off and I flinch.

"It's alright, Cal, you can come out now."

Dad's voice brings a wave of calm over me as I get back to my feet.

"Did she get you?" He asks, walking up to me.

"Just my shoulder," I groan.

Unfortunately, I can say that I'm used to this. Getting shot or stabbed and being saved my dad or Michigan is almost a weekly occurrence. Michigan might be an ass, but family comes first.

"Lemme see," dad says, grabbing my good shoulder to hold me at arm's length, "just skimmed it, you'll be alright. Now hurry up an get to the clinic."

I give him a quick nod before taking off again, making sure to not run in one straight line. Running in a zig zag pattern make it harder for someone to shoot you.

I dodge another predator as I go, continuing to run from them until I reach the clinic.

I enter the building, completely out of breath, and finally let my body relax just a bit. Once I finally catchy breath, I go to the front counter to check in.

The lady in a blue looks up at me, face stern and expressionless.

"Name?" She asks, her monotone voice matching her cold gaze.

"California Domis," I answer, "I'm a bit early."

"Take a seat," she replies, turning her attention back to her computer.

A lot of people find my name odd, but I like it. Mom told me that it was the name of a state a few centuries back, in a country called the "United States of America". The history books say that the whole country fell apart and destroyed itself from the inside out. Really united. The worst of it; while the country was busy tearing itself apart, other countries like Russia, Canada and others that I can't remember their names also attacked it and world war five broke out. Things called "nuclear bombs" were dropped everywhere, causing earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, shifting of tectonic plates and "nuclear radiation" and destroyed everything. Then the world did a reset and "survival of the fittest" became the law. Murder was fine. Arson was fine. Genocide was fine. Fucking cannibalism was fine. That's the world I grew up in, the world I have to survive.

My knee bounces out of nervous habit as my heart rate finally starts to go down. I take a few deep breaths to try to help it along, but that quickly goes out the window when the door opens and someone walks in. My eyes immediately go to the black jacket he's wearing.

Apex predator.

I obvert my gaze quickly when he looks my way, hoping, to whatever higher being, that he didn't catch me looking.

I'm safe. I'm fine. He can't hurt me while I'm in the clinic.

I repeat the statements over and over in my head until I'm called back.

I get to my feet and follow the nurse back, the feeling of eyes burning in the back of my head the whole way.