If We Survive

Chapter 37

There are two kinds or writers: Achatects and Gardeners. 

Achatechts plan out every little deatail of their story to the D, before they even begin to write. 

Whereas Garders just start planting, and hope that it looks good. 

But plot twist: there are also the kind of people that got bored once over Christmas Break and started writing a story that would become this. There was literally no planning at all whatsoever, and this is possibly the most I've ever written of anything. SHAZANGA, UNEXPECTED! 

You know back then the plot was entirely different- Cassy was a baseball bat swinging bitch who could do no wrong. She would traval around the contry with Zack and Achilles and like three other chricters and eventually come to cure the zombiesm. Is that even what that's called? It is now. 

-

Some days, the universe just loves you. 

Others, well, they suck. 

Today is a Tuesday, but Monday could've been a billion years ago, really. 

Ernist's words rang true; the asshats that shot me wanted his his head on an iron pole, and they chose Monday- that Monday to attack. 

I was out in the feild, plowing, for the first time in my life. Yeah, sure, a weird time to get that started, but Ernist thought it was a good idea. See, the thing is, I hate animals. Hate them. If it's any consolation, they hate me back. 

I'm pretty sure we've been over this before: Lee =/= Animals. 

But I saw them, that afternoon, coming up the hill- fifteen people very armed people who looed pissed. Majorly pissed. 

I really had no idea what to do. I mean, I went sprinting inside, but honestly what good could it do? There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that we could out run them. 

So I didn't think. I couldn't find Ernist, and honestly, he wasn't of my worries. I ran through the house, as fast as I possibly could, banging through rooms looking for Anna. 

"Anna!" Shouted over and over, with increaseing panic in my tone. What if she had left? What if they had found her and- There she was, sitting on the floor of my room, going through my duffel. I shoul've been mad. 

"Anna." I panted, looking at her small frame, she looked up at me, with fear on her face. She was caught in the act, after all. 

But all I did was shove my things hapazard;y back into the bag, and grabbed her hand.

"What are we doing?" She squealed, as I dragged her out of the room. 

I didn't want to explain- cross that, I didn't know how to explain. "We just have to go," I said, pushing whatever useful things that I found with my open hand into the bag. In retrospect, I sounded like my mother. A troubling sign. 

I ran smack into Ernist's beefy chest, just before I reached the door. 

"The- the people. They're-" I stuttered, lacking a single shred of since. 

"I know." He shoved something into my hands, matalic and cold- keys. "There's a car out back. It still works." 

"I- thank you." I said breathlessly, not sure of myself. He told me that this moment would come, one day, but I was trapped under the illusion that everything would be fine, again.

He also handed me a shotgun- the massive kind that can do some amazing damage a short distance. My hands where full. 

Can be serious about this for three seconds? Because honestly I feel entirely done. I go in circles, round and round, until, well, I stop it. Or change it, or whatever. All I can do is destroy, which is the way it's always been. I break, I break, I break, until everything is broken. Then I start over, somewhere else. 

But I was able to save someone this time. So maybe things aren't quite the same. We're taking steps. Baby steps. 

In that moment, though, I couldn't help but think that I was about to lose everything again. And I was, in a way. A good way. 

I gave myself half a second to think, and then I got out of there. 

I don't run a lot, I guess. Not in a while I suppse, but I was suprised at the speed in which I could run with a massive duffel and a nine-year-old girl tagging along. I never let go of her hand, not once in the time in which it took for me to get to the car. 

It was a beaten-up mustard-yellow, two seater pickup truck that in other circumstances I would not be caught in for my life. In these, she looked beautiful. I wasn't even under the influence of alcohal. 

Anna seemed to know that was going on, strangely enough. Ernist was as much a father to her as I'm sure her real one was- I've got no idea what their story is, but I'm sure I would be mad if someone just pulled me away from them like I just day. 

I dumbped all my stuff in the front seat, between Anna and I. She buckled up real quick. I panicked, for a heartbeat, because I thought I couldn't remeber how to drive. It's been a bit, obviously. 

I turned on the engine just as scattered gunfire came from the house. Old Ernist would put up a fight, certainly. 

I shifted the thing into gear, and it rumbled into the dark road. I don't know how it did it- the terrain sucked. I will admit that I have a few bruses on my head from the ghastly suspention. 

I was crying the whole way. 

Tears streamed down my face for what seemed like forever. I don't even know how we didn't crash tradigicly, because I can tell you that my eyes were not on the road for a single minute of that. 

Sorrow is a funny feeling, one that I thought I knew. 

Sorrow isn't sadness; it is not being hopeless, nor is it fear. It's more of this thing, that starts in the base of your gut and works it's way up to your heart, where it burys it's self until it shatters everything you've got. 

Like I need more friggin guilt.