Waiting on a Friend for the End of the World

Dakota Marsh

Nothing in the world would have made Dakota happier than a hot shower. He would have sacrificed both his thumbs for a hot shower. Seven days ago he wouldn't have even given a shower a second thought, but now though, covered in blood, dirt, and guts it was all he could think about. Well that and donuts. He really missed Donuts.

He sighed. Less than a day ago he'd been grounded for sneaking out to a college party and now he was alone, filthy, and hungry. God, he didn't think he'd ever been this hungry before in his life.

The first twelve hours had been a confusing horrifying mess. He'd lost his family in the insanity. Everyone was screaming and running and no one had any idea of what was happening. Then they showed up. Soldiers coming like knights in shining armor there to rescue them. They gave them food, water, and a "safe" camp. FEMA if he remembered correctly. His dad had been against the whole idea; they should have listened, because that place was about as safe as Chernobyl on a good day. Dakota had barely made it out alive before they locked the gates. It had been nothing but gunshots after that.

Now here he was. Wandering the streets like a rat fighting for survival. He was also a killer now. Five so far. He made a mark on himself with Sharpie every time he got one in the head, but knowing the count didn't make him feel any better.

He sighed again and kicked a can that was blocking his path. It hit a cat. It was an ugly orange tabby with a missing tail and one and a half ears.

"What do you want?" He sneered.

The cat just blinked and tilted its head.

"Whatever," he exhaled before turning away from it.

The cat meowed softly before getting up and walking in the opposite direction.

Dakota huffed, "Stupid cat," before continuing to the gas station now a few meters away.

It had already been looted and parts of it we're on fire, but he had nothing except a revolver and a butter knife. He'd take what he could get. He had walked for two hours just to get there and he wasn't going to turn back just  because of some fires and a few broken windows. The gas station was still standing and that was all that mattered.

Upon entering through the window instead of the door (because why the fuck not) he found that the gas station had in fact been looted, with the exception of the booze and tampons. Everything was gone, stolen.

Dakota groaned. Why didn't this for once just go his way? He was sick of people taking things that should have been his in the first place. The world was so unfair.

Trying to make the best out of a horrible situation, he grabbed the tampons and a few bottles of vodka and got the hell out of there.

"Now," he said to himself, staring at the quiclky setting sun. "I need to find a bed."

He walked for another hour looking for a place, anyplace, to rest for the night. He hoped to find a shower as well, but that could wait until after he'd slept.

Practically dead on his feet, Dakota finally settled on a park playground to spend the night. The tunnels would be a good place to sleep in and he would have two ways out if he needed to escape quickly. He dragged his body over to his place of rest only to discover that someone was already there.

Terorr-filled eyes were trained on him for a split second before she lunged at him with a knife.

As if this day couldn't get any worse, he thought as he tried and failed to stop her from stabbing him.