Last Dawn of a Horde

Epilogue ~

~Epilogue~

            “Bridge!” John yelled. The sack was removed from Bridge’s head, and John, James, and Prince couldn’t help being surprised.

            The one who brought Bridge Carson over had gone by the name of The Reaper. Having to use his real name, Adamus Carson, was far too mainstream for a terrorist. There came the moment Bridge looked up, and to his absolute horror, it was his uncle.

            John surely can remember everything Bridge told them about his uncle. Other than he seemed really odd and creepy, Bridge’s uncle was looking at John like he was a big meal to chow down.

            “Uncle?” Bridge squints his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

            His uncle laughed off. “Oh, nice to see you again.”

            “What on earth are you talking about?!” Bridge yelled. His head was pushed down to John and James’ eye level. It seems, that more than his irritation to John Eddington and James Stan, he was uncomfortable that his innocent nephew was looking at him.

            “I should thank you for bringing the preys to us,” the terrorist said.

            “What are you talking about—“ Bridge tried to say something, but he screamed in pain as his hair was grasped tightly.

            “Bridge! You’re here!” Prince yelled. “Where have you been?”

            “Well, I guess I should be the one to explain things.” Bridge’s evil uncle said. He kept walking around the room, and he even threw a scalpel on the floor near Bridge. His hands were restrained, and he just looked at the sharp thing in disdain.

            “I want you all dead,” he resumed. He was looking at the remaining boys with such malicious and sadistic eyes. “And I just don’t want my hands to get dirty, so—“

            “You old fool!” Bridge Carson spat at him. It surprised John and James more than anything—seeing Bridge talk against his own dangerous uncle. But then, the man ignored his nephew. “Your hands aren’t bloody, but your soul is doomed! Doomed, you soulless creature!”

            As patiently as he can, the terrorist just nods and tried to calm himself. It was certain to John that he didn’t want to hurt his relative for as much as his patience can take.

            “Bridge here,” he continued, “will be the one to kill you all three. I promise you’ll all be taken to a room where we will study human survivors!”

            “You’re crazy,” James told him. “Just die.”

            “We’ll get samples of your blood, so in a way we’ll know if you kids have a sudden resistance to the virus—“ He was talking to himself happily, as if anticipating something that excites him.

            “Just kill us, you creep!” John shouts, shaking the chains that bind him. “Just kill yourself!”

            The man smiled evilly. “Number Three won’t kill himself just before you will, would he?” Then he gave off a disturbing laugh that circled the room.

            “You kids must have something inside yourselves—an antibody—that keeps you from being infected,” he went on. “You can’t survive long!”

            “Well, sorry, we did!” James exclaimed. “It’s not that we have some shitty scientific inside of us! It’s just that you evil people can’t have everything!”

            “Bridge,” his uncle told him, ignoring James. “Get up. Get up, please.”

            “I won’t,” Bridge sternly answered.

            As if irritated, the terrorist went back to Bridge and forced him to stand up by kicking his back and his kneecaps. “Stand.” He firmly said.

            When Bridge was already standing up, his restraints were taken off him—much to John’s surprise. His uncle gave him the scalpel he dropped a while ago. On the other hand, Bridge can’t help think how insane his once-kind and thoughtful uncle had been.

            Bridge took the scalpel unwillingly. His uncle stood on his back.

            “You do as I say, and we’ll live just the way we have,” he said in a low, deep voice. “Get to them, and slice their heads one by one with that. Got it?”

            James swore he saw Bridge close his eyes and mutter something under his breath. His lips quivered as if muttering something.

            “Go,” his uncle said.

            When Bridge opened his eyes, he held the scalpel tight on his hand. “I got it.”

            And with a fluid motion, he turned and stabbed his own uncle in the head.

---

OH MY GOD! I think I want to cry. *sniffs* We're done with the story!

And to be honest I really picked this day. The 365th day of this story's existence in Wattpad.

Anyways, thank you for reading this until this point! I will love you for that!

I give my humblest thanks to my close friends, esp. R.C., LEO, J.C.P., R.Q.. They are the ones who, I think, have given so much for me and this story. I love you all, St. Joseph 12-13.

Well, until my next zombie apocalypse novel! See you next time!

Cheers.

- the author, Alden