EPISODE NINE "my mercy prevails over my wrath" SEASON 8
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GREY KINGSTON MAY 2010
my eyes are screwed shut, my hand resting on my stomach as sweat coats the nape of my neck and drips down my back. i gasp, panting, looking over at the thing i just killed.
they don't die unless you go for the brain. i just figured that out, the hard way.
its head lies on the floor of the hall, a few inches from its body. i keep peeking at it in case it comes back. again.
once a person dies, they shouldn't come back, at least that's how it used to be. now, you can shoot these things in the stomach, in the heart, and it won't go down. it won't stop coming for you.
but the brain, if you go for its brain ... it's been over 60 seconds now and the dead body has not moved. its eyes haven't twitched, its mouth hasn't snapped in the way it did as it came for me.
it's dead. it's dead. it's dead.
i pull myself up off the floor, my muscles burning and my bones groaning as i force myself to stand—to stand over the thing that lost.
"i win." i whisper, like i won a match of arm wrestling or a game of twister; like my hands aren't shaking and there isn't a bloody knife on the floor near the stairs.
i almost laugh, my own breath filling the empty house i've been camping in the last five days. but as i go to take a step, i become all too aware of the guts on the tip of my shoe from when i kicked the dead thing's head against the wall—the final blow that ended it.
for a second i think i might be sick.
just four months ago everything was the same as it'd always been. work, help mom with dinner, fall into a rut over my future and how i have no idea what i'm doing, then console myself in him—in jensen. fall asleep, and repeat.
they're gone. all of that is gone.
i try to calm my breathing, tapping my finger against my chest to the rhythm of my heart until it slows and the nausea slips back down my throat.
i swallow, and it's like a rock. tears threaten to burst and roll down my cheeks, but i've cried everyday for who knows how long, and i don't have enough water in my pack to keep rehydrating myself. plus, it hasn't rained in days now since summer is around the corner and i don't know the next time it will.
i turn my head away from the rotting flesh on the floor, clenching my teeth so hard my jaw hurts. i'll have to dispose of it, clean up the floors ...
i shake my head, letting out a frustrated sigh. no, that's pointless. just leave and find a new house to stay in ... until something like this happens again and i'm right back to where i am now.
