The Only

CH 4

I woke in the living room floor one morning to complete silence. Both Jesse and Timothy were missing.

I sat up and looked around. Nothing.

Maybe they went out to gather wood, I thought.

I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. That was when I heard the screams.

I grabbed a knife from the counter and ran out the door to the front porch. Timothy was running toward me, screaming. Two feasters were chasing him, their nostrils flared and tongue out.

I hurled the knife at one of them, and it sliced through his skull with a satisfactory splat. The other, smelling fresh blood, threw itself at his companion, digging his nasty yellow teeth into the dead feaster's flesh.

Timmy ran up the steps to the porch, and I saw his hands were red with blood. I moved toward the steps, and he grabbed me around the waist, leaving a red stain on my white shirt.

"Dont!" He said, trying to stop me.

I pushed past him and jumped down the stairs. The feaster sensed my movements and turned to face me, the blood of his companion dripping down his chin.

I grabbed a low-hanging branch of a cyprus tree and swung myself up. I waited for the feaster to abandon its meal, and struggle to reach the branch I was on. Then I jumped, my swiss army knife in hand, and landed on the feaster's back. I plunged the blade into the back of the monster's neck, its purple-red blood pooling onto my hands.

Finally it fell, twitching a few times before it grew still. I stood up and pulled my knife back out of the alien's bloody flesh. I looked back to the porch, where Timmy stood, mouth open.

"Where's Jesse?" I asked.

"Dead," he answered.

"Where is he?!" I demanded.

He climbed down the stairs and jogged ahead of me, gesturing for me to follow. We found him deep in the woods, splayed across a log, and covered in blood.

I leaned down until my ear was right above his nose, and watched his chest. Seeing no movement, I grabbed his wrist. There was a faint pulse.

"He's alive," I said, "but he's not breathing. I've got to do CPR, but I can't on this log. Can you help me move him?"

Timmy nodded.

"You get his feet," I instructed. I grabbed his head, two fingers on his neck with my thumbs just behind his ears. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we got him laying down on level ground.

I handed Timmy my knife and told him to watch for others. Then I dropped to the ground and crossed my hands over his chest, and pushed with all my strength. After several reps and a few too many shared breaths, Jesse started breathing on his own again.

I called Timmy back and told him he was breathing but he was still unconscious. He handed me my knife back and ran to get a bottle of water from the house. When he returned, I untwisted the lid and poured a little into Jesse's mouth. He sputtered before he swallowed and opened his eyes.

"What happened?" He asked.

"You were attacked," Timothy answered, "I thought you were dead."

"Can we get out of the woods before more of them come? They'll be smelling the blood soon," I said.

They nodded, and Timmy and I half-carried, half-drug Jesse back to the shack, locking the door behind us.