Life After Death (#1)

Chapter Thirteen

Max sprinted down the street, stumbling, unable to put one foot in front of the other. His eyes were wide and his breathing heavy, still in intense shock from what he had seen, from what he had done. The blood of at least 20 dead men and women soaked through his clothes and dripped down his face. He could taste it in his mouth, and could see it drying behind his nails. There was no escaping the blood.

Max tripped and fell, scraping his knees and adding yet more blood to the collection he was carrying with him. He hadn't picked a direction with any strategy; he just knew that he had to get away from that place. It was no longer safe, and there was no longer any reason to stay. Joey was gone. He felt like he had been transported back in time to that dreadful day when he lost his brother John. Now he had lost another brother.

Max was angry; he was angry at the world, he was angry at Joey but most of all, he was angry at himself. Why did he lack this core ability to look after the ones he cared for? He should never have let Joey search the room on his own; they should have taken them one by one, together. It was too late for thoughts like that now. Max was once again alone.

He thought back to the recent plans he made with his friend, to travel the country and seek out other survivors. To find some way of finding a cure and to ensure that it happened no matter what the cost. A beautiful dream a mere hour ago now hardly seemed worth it. It wasn't something Max could do on his own; where would he even start? And why would people listen to him for even a second?

Max had grown tired. He didn't know how long he had been running for; but it was now more like a scramble as his weary legs refused to go any further. The rain had begun to lash down around him, chilling him to the bones, but helping to wash away the blood and hopefully the memories with it.

A large wooded area on his right looked to provide some decent shelter and would give Max some time to find his bearings. He had no idea where he was or really where he was going. He trekked through the dry woods and took comfort in the tranquillity of it all. Animal tracks covered the floor; it was nice knowing that some forms of life had remained untouched.

No matter how beautiful it was, Max couldn't escape the reality that he had been plunged back into isolation once more. After he lost John, he felt so alone, but somehow getting so close to Joey, just to lose him too felt much worse. The shock of loneliness was hard to prepare for.

He had always told himself that he needed answers; a reason as to why John had been torn from this world. He had those answers; he knew so much more about the disease and this knowledge only gave him more of a reason to get out on his own terms.

A thin stream trickled in front of Max, the water running across shining grey rock. He followed the progress of the water; it seemed as good a direction as any. The stream widened out as he followed and before long fed into a river; calm and still. Max walked along it, running his fingers in the water, looking at the fish glide around; it was peaceful. This was the place he had been searching for, he thought in his mind. Walking along further until he came across a stone bridge crossing the river, he sat on the cold brick and swung his legs over to hang down towards the water.

He sat and took the sight in for a moment, before rummaging through his pack and retrieving the one item he honestly never thought he would need again: his gun. He fiddled with it and ran it through his hands, as he always did beforehand.

The wind whistled through the trees around him and the rain tickled the top of his head. He flicked off the safety and span the chamber before clicking it shut. The water trickled beneath him, bubbles rising to the top and popping without a sound. He raised the gun behind his head and pressed it hard against his scalp. The sound of birds tweeting and whistling filled the air. He shuffled forwards to ensure that he would fall into the stream and not back onto the bridge. The leaves rustled. He rested his finger on the trigger. The water flowed. He shut his eyes. The world stopped.

"I'm sorry John, I tried," he whispered.