You Must Kill to Love Death

02 KIERAN

One cup of whole oat groats, soaked overnight.

Four cups of additional filtered water.

A pinch of sea salt.

One banana with a side of five kale leaves.

Breakfast.

This was our routine every single morning. Bland, lukewarm porridge with a single banana and kale. These daily staples had been our monotonous fare since the base was first established—around twelve years ago.

Food was rationed from the start, carefully measured portions to ensure everyone got just enough to survive but never enough to feel truly satisfied. If you asked me, I'd say it was another form of structure and discipline. After all, this was still (technically) a government-sanctioned military base. But I guess it also had to do with the sheer number of mouths we had to feed and the limited squads we could send out to retrieve anything.

Tables were packed from bench to bench in the wide expanse that was our DFAC (dining facility). I hated having to squish in with other bodies early in the morning, listening as hungry stomachs shoveled slop into their mouths. Luckily, I didn't have to.

Ever since I was around seven years old, me and the other kids at our base had cultivated a table for ourselves. There was me, Alyn, Ven (Alyn's girl—not so much 'friend'), Malakai, Ivan, Analiese, and Marin. We were the only kids living on the base at the time. Our fathers and mothers alike were all stationed at this very bunker, enrolled one way or another in the military. But that was all twelve years ago. The surviving parents of the initial squad were left with the memories of their comrades. Us kids were left to wonder why our friends never came back.

I made my way over to the table, tray in hand, balancing it with precision. I was the first to arrive, sitting down and enjoying the moment of peace before the inevitable disturbance that was the rest of us.

Us. 

Having an 'us' was a strange concept—especially since there were more names to our group just a few years ago. I hated that I had allowed myself to become accustomed to their presence, but I reasoned that I wouldn't be too distraught if they were to vanish one day as well. I handled it before; I could do it again.

The table, scarred with etchings from bored children, was an eyesore. It often reminded me of the child I once was—blind to what my world had become, naively turning a blind eye to what I didn't understand.

When I looked at the immaturity of our drawings or the compulsory curse words, I regretted that if I had started training earlier, I could already be at peak performance, right alongside Nick. But that wasn't the case. I hadn't even killed an infected yet, only watched as others fell to them.

These thoughts often surfaced early in the morning or in the wickedness of the dark. I couldn't sleep most nights. Maybe it was insomnia, maybe it was a testament to my weak mindset. I didn't know nor understand. So, I shoveled the mush into my mouth absentmindedly, only blinking once I heard the others make their way toward the table.

"Well, well, well. There's our pretty boy," Ven said as she walked over, arm linked with Alyn's.

I grimaced a little at the sight. I had always thought Ven could do better than Alyn, but he had told me many times that they weren't together—'just having fun.' I often wished I hadn't learned that last part. And in all honesty, I didn't understand why I cared. Actually, I didn't. I don't care.

However, if I did care, it could hypothetically be because Ven was the first person I had come to like when we were young. She was the first person to ever beat me in tactical training. She had a hard-working spirit, and I admired her for that—though I'd never tell her.