Left Forsaken: A The Last Of Us Story

Justifications and Attacks

The serenity of the night felt foreign. I didn't hear the hum of an air conditioner or the buzzing of a fan; nor the engine of a car as it drove by. Nothing. The quietude was suspenseful, it sicken me with fear - the calm before the storm. It made me think of that day, when everything started. A calm night just like this one, I was asleep on my bed when I heard the explosions, then saw the people running and screaming on the streets.

I tossed on the bed, I couldn't sleep well. My neighbor's face would drag me out of my sleep: his red, irritated eyes staring at me with rage; the foam that would make its way out of the corners of his mouth, the hongus sprouting on his face. His annoyingly cheerful, "Good morning, neighbor!" fading into the screeches and growls echoing in my ears. The man he once was turning into that sickening thing...

Then the man - the limping man; his desperate calls for my help, his screams as he was attacked, and I left him behind. There was nothing I could've done. I thought to myself. I couldn't risk Lillian's safety. We would've died, the three of us. My mind rummaging through justifications to push away the guilt that haunted me.

Being sure I wasn't going to drift back to sleep, I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes; I was tired, exhausted, but sleep was deprived for me. Standing up and walking towards the window, I looked out, the dull yellow in the horizon, marking the breaking of dawn. I sighed silently and sat down on the sofa - the one I had placed just beside the window a few days ago. This is what my days were composed of: the sky, a thin glass wall, and a sofa.

. . .

Time for breakfast came along the people crowded what we'd call the cafeteria, when in reality it was only a tent where we received our rations. A little bit later and we'd have to bare the long line of the hungry refugees of the zone. A spoonful of left over oatmeal clumped onto my plate. They were being careful with the food alright...

I sat on the floor among a couple of men, chattering their breakfast down. I motioned my daughter to sit beside me.

"I don't like oatmeal that much..." She silently complained as she stirred her food.

"Well, we are the lucky few to have something to eat today morning." I recalled telling her that even before the outbreak, but now, that statement held more meaning - it felt closer. She figured complaining was useless, and lead a spoonful into her mouth, grimacing to the coarse texture.

"Two soldiers died yesterday once again." I overheard the man on the far left side of us say. His voice was too low for a guard to hear but, high enough for me to hear. "One a them seem to be infected somehow, and he turned and attacked his mate. Their companions noticed and shot 'em dead. They searched his body and nothin', no bites, no scratches..."

"How'd he get infected?" The other man questioned.

"Who knows, but they took 'im in for examination."

"If soldiers keep dying off like this, they'll start looking for recruits - if they haven't already." He sighed.

. . .

Nightfall finally came, and I sat there on the steps, looking at Lillian play with the rest of the kids of the zone. It has been long since I've seen her giggle and have so much fun. I immediately regret the time I forbid her to play with the other kids. I neglected her the right to be a child, just because I was scared - scared they might be infected, and turn on my daughter.

She persisted everyday, as we walked up into the building, "Can I play too, daddy?" And my answer was always the same. For weeks, the same question, the same negative reply; until today.

As I sat there, I pondered on the conversation I overheard this morning. Two more soldiers dead. One infected, one attacked...

"Lillian," I called her and she looked at me knowing my next words. "Time to go." I heard her groan, she turned to the other kids and gave her farewell, and walked up the steps next to me.

I saw it in her eyes, the same glow I saw everyday after a long day at the park. Content.

After finally getting to our room, we prepared ourselves for bed. After a while of tossing and turning in bed, Lillian fell asleep but, I didn't. I got out of bed and walked towards the sofa next to the window. The Dead City's buildings stretching through out the land.

Below I heard the heavy steps of a group of soldiers running towards the gate, rifles in hand, their helmets' flashlights leading their way. They disappeared down the curb, their flashlight still waving around. Then an assault of shots were heard. Another group of soldiers marched down the road, but this time they stopped at the gate. Positioned and guns at ready. They started shooting to something up ahead, shooting into the dark. I squinted trying to see what was it they were shooting at. A flash of light illuminated the darkness for a split second accompanied by a loud bang. A soldier was swung back by his shoulder. His mates moved in front of him and continued their defense.

Another group of soldiers marched down the road, but stopped at the buildings doors. Curious people didn't have the logic to keep the door closed during a shooting.

"Chase them away! Finish them if you must!" The Sargent's voice boomed.

"What's happening?" Lillian shuffled to me, I was so distracted with the shooting below I didn't hear her wake up.

"Some bad guys are trying to enter the zone." I managed to say.

"What do they want?"

"I don't know, Lillian..." I knew what they wanted, they wanted what we had: food, guns, protection, beds, roof over their heads..."Soldiers will take care of the bad guys, sweetie."

I looked back to the gate, the shooting had suddenly stopped.

"Check the area!" The Sargeant called out, "And keep your eyes peeled, they might still be around and that ruckus will surely attract infected, so stay on your toes! Move! Move! Move!" The soldiers took off in a light jog in different directions rifles in hand. I saw him lean over the wounded soldier resting on the wall, his hand pressed against his shoulder. Then the medics sprinted down the road, to take care of the wounded. This was the first time looters try to get into the zone. We were a gold mine, and ever since now, infected weren't going to be our only worries.

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