You know how people say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes? Well, I always figured that was a load of crap. Now, however, as I dropped from the branch, a nano-second away from landing on the back of a wild boar, I understood what they were talking about.
It wasn't necessarily my life flashing in front of my eyes, but something like it.
I saw this as the first step to us getting out of here. I saw healthy friends and family following me out of the forest and back to Osborne. I saw us cured and a returned to humanity. I saw myself laughing with Lilly and Les, as we sat on the couch and watched cartoons. I saw Mom and Kieran together. Rob and Melanie having a kid . . . weddings . . . birthday parties.
I saw it all, clear as day.
But I also saw what would happen if I failed. Pain. Blood. Death. And not just mine. If I died, the others would too, the disease eating away at them, reducing them to little more than mindless meat puppets. Eventually, they'd be starving to death because they wouldn't be able to figure out how to get more food. They'd turn on each other—Zombie cannibals—eating each other alive.
I gritted my teeth. I couldn't fail.
All of this flashed through my head in the time it took me to plunge from the tree, but I was jolted out of it as my make-shift spear slammed into the boar's back, buried to the hilt. I grabbed onto the handle of the spear with both hands and hung on for dear life.
The boar took off, dragging me with him. It bucked, squealed, and grunted, as it tried to rid itself of its attacker. I made some noises myself, all of them embarrassing. I was also pretty sure I'd cracked a tooth.
The next thing I knew I was flying through the air. I bounced, wincing as I rolled over rocks and branches. At least I didn't hear anything crack, so that was good. I could hear the boar crashing through the woods as I came to a stop. It was running the opposite direction, which meant I was going to have to go after it, but it also meant I wasn't about to get trampled. I groaned and sat up, closing my eyes until the world stopped spinning.
"Note to self," I said out loud. "Jumping from a tree onto a wild boar . . . bad idea."
I pushed myself to my feet and hesitated, making sure I wouldn't lose my balance and fall flat on my face. I didn't. So once I felt a little more composed, I began to follow the path left by the boar. I could still hear it, but I couldn't see it. However, based on the noises it was making, it seemed to be slowing down. That was good, because I didn't think I had the strength to go very far.
I trudged along, following the trail of blood and the occasional grunts and snorts. I felt like I must be getting very close, when the sounds suddenly stopped. A few steps later, after topping a little rise, I saw why.
The boar was lying on its side with my spear still sticking out of him. The area all around was soaked in blood. I couldn't see any movement, but as I inched closer, I forced myself to focus. If it wasn't dead, it could still be dangerous. Even in a weakened state, one swipe of those razor sharp tusks could inflict some serious damage. I eased up slowly, choosing each step with care. But by the time I was within a few feet, I was convinced it was dead. I hadn't seen it move, including breathing, and I was close enough that it surely would've reacted to my presence by now.
I stopped when I was an arm's reach from the spear. All I had to do was reach out and take it. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, reached out, and grabbed the end of the stick. The boar didn't move. I yanked the spear out of him, grimacing as it scraped against bone. It was definitely dead.
I held up the spear, feeling, for a moment, like some great hunter. Then my stomach growled at the smell of blood. I needed to get the meat back to camp before I lost control of myself and started eating it. Or before the person who killed Roger found it.
