Charon Docks at Daylight

Chapter 3

Your entire life doesn't flash before your eyes when you think you're about to die. Whoever said that had lied. Maybe the first couple times it did, but not any more. Now I wasn't picturing the dark blue bicycle with the playing cards in the spokes that I'd gotten for my fifth birthday. I couldn't feel the yellow cap and gown I'd worn the day I graduated college. My wife's face wouldn't be the last thing I'd ever see, nor would my daughter's. I couldn't picture my daughter's joyous tears the Christmas we'd bought her a puppy. Or the sad ones when we told her that we were leaving. Not the things we'd left behind in evacuation. Not the widespread panic the weeks of the outbreak. Or the days they died. The days everyone died.

All I could see was the opening of a long, silver barrel at the end of the cocked and ready revolver. It glittered in the moonlight. The pointed edges of the gun shimmered their reflections at the shaking of the unsteady hand around the grip. I wouldn't even get to see a light at the end of my tunnel. Instead, I was staring straight into the tunnel. The dark, endless cave which at any slight whim would put an end to my long and lonely fight.

"You so much as breathe, I'll put a bullet in your skull," said the man holding the gun. His voice is deep, and threatening, but not out of malice. It's caution. I've heard the tone before.

Survival. That's what I was thinking about. How could I get out of this alive? I could throw my hands up and surrender. Maybe the other guy's just as scared as I am. He'd either show a little sympathy or decide I was too dangerous and kill me. Should I draw my own weapon and hope against all odds he's too slow? No. He might be slow, but his finger was already on the trigger. Smack the gun away and go straight for his throat. That seemed like my best bet.

Then I hear my father's words in my head. I'm eight years old again, a large black index finger pointed at me instead of a gun, being scolded because I stood up for myself on the playground. I don't care who started it. Your mother and I work too hard for you to get kicked out of private school. You want your education to go to waste? It didn't matter how much I protested, how many times I came home with a busted lip. Violence was never the answer. My mother, dark brown eyes full of affectionate tears: You turn the other cheek. Kill 'em with kindness. All a bully ever wants is a friend.

Is a human life worth the risk to me? I spared a glance around the barrel to the man holding the gun. He was old, white hair reflecting the pale glow of the moon, peppery whiskers twitching around the hard set of his mouth. Dull, almost colorless eyes watched me attentively, deep set and tired-looking in the heavy bags beneath them. He was thin too. Scrawny and frail under his long-sleeved denim shirt, the jeans held around his hips only by a leather belt, tightened to the last notch. I could defeat him.

Funny how, at the end of the world, that's when people erupted in violence. I remember the days of the outbreak, all the people struggling to flee the cities, trampling each other in the rush. Then weeks, months, years after, killing each other over an apple, over a box of ammo. Now, when there was hardly anybody left, when we should be uniting to survive, that's when we kill the easiest.

It's worth the risk. He's old, but he's alive. He's a companion, and, like me, a survivor.

"Please," I begged quietly, my tone placating. "I just need a place to stay for the day."

"Not here," he growled.

In the dark I could see his eyes dart to the hunting rifle hanging at my side. His hands were still shaking, and I knew he was reluctant to shoot me. Though, I couldn't tell if it was his morals, or just the fear of the shot ringing out in the dark, alerting the world to our whereabouts. I gambled that he didn't want to kill me, and holding one hand out unthreateningly, I used the other to slowly reach for my rifle. I wrapped my fingers around the barrel, nowhere near the trigger so he wouldn't think anything of it, and I lifted it above my head, removing the strap from my shoulder. Then I moved to set it down on a switchboard beside me, and what he didn't realize is that I'd be in a better position now to equip it than I was before. Just in case.