The Virus

Thirty Five

The car died quite late. It was basically dark when we pulled over. The sun was low in the sky and there was practically no light. With basically no options, me and Kay camped out in the car. Although I didn't sleep much. It was the early hours of the morning before my eyelids even began to droop, this was normal for me now, sleep was always reluctant to com.e.

I had nightmares now, waking at various times during the night, with no one to comfort me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. He was shouting at me to get to safety, he was protecting me. I saw the same thing over and over. I usually become sick of seeing him in front if me. So close. I don't try to sleep anymore. I think it's nearly June now, but I can't be completely sure. I could have been out here for years and I wouldn't even know. Time seems to just stop when all you do is move and travel. No attachments to anything, just moving forward as best you can.

I wake late, maybe nine or ten. Kay is nudging me for food. I reach into the back and grab some dog food we picked up from a supermarket miles back. She devours two packets and slurps water lazily while I wake up properly. I don't eat much either. Breakfast isn't something I do anymore. My waist had began to shrink, and the muscles in my arms and legs that I had been building for months was quickly wasting away. Although, we were running low on my food. I would rather die than eat dog food. Kay and I sit around for a while before I decide to go hunting. I grab a bow I made a few weeks ago and some homemade arrows and make my way into the nearby woods. 

Animals have began to reclaim the Earth. They roam among the trees completely ignorant to the Roamers. They aren't the hunted anymore. They are the hunters, they take what they want, when they want. Which actually makes them quite cocky. Shooting a bird isn't hard when its flying right in front of you as though to tease you.

I step carefully though, any sudden movement would evacuate the entire area of anything worthwhile and I don't want to venture too far from the car at this point. I'd like to keep it within a few hundred metres, I can't risk getting lost when no one has my back to come and find me.

I shoot a couple of birds and begin looking for larger prey. Kay is having the time of her life, a butterfly circles her. Each time Kay snaps her jaws at the butterfly and each time she misses. She isn't a slow dog. The butterfly is simply incredibly fast. It doesn't surprise me. To be that small and still alive, you would have to be very agile.

I hear a branch snap and raise my weapons to face it. A teenage girl wanders over. I shoot her in the forehead. I remove the arrow from her head and turn away from the unwelcoming sight. Kay continues to play with the butterfly and I giggle. I stop as soon as I start. I haven't laughed since Noah and Claire. I haven't laughed since the school. I shut my mouth immediately, as if I had just committed ah heinous crime. I am a different person. A ruthless, fiery person who most definitely does not giggle.

It takes a few hours but I manage to collect a hearty meal. With quite a few hours of daylight left, I trudge back to the car to start a small fire to cook my prey. I actually like bird. When i went camping, my uncle always insisted we hunt our own food. Of course, I was barely nine years old so I often just shadowed him. He always said how quiet I was. He said how I was born to hunt, I was quiet and agile with razor reflexes. When I was finally old enough to shoot, he would treat me like the son he never had. It felt good though. And bird was always the best.

My uncle died not long after my grandparents. He, just like a lot of people in my family, was diagnosed diabetes. But he didn't know. He lived nearly ten years without knowing. He was lucky over and over until one day, he wasn't. My uncle never did have a funeral. My mum refused to plan it and all my uncles other family was dead. I had no money to plan a funeral, and his wife had died during childbirth many years ago. My uncle was a rough man, tough as hell, but he always spoke softer when he talked about her. How special she was. I was only a baby when she died. I always wanted to meet her though.

My grandparents would speak of how she got my uncle out of drugs and alcohol. How he got a job and fixed his life because of her. When she died, he saw it as an opportunity to honour her by never touching anything like that again. And he never did. To the very end.

After I stamp the fire out and return to the car for shelter. I find myself reminiscing, not about the bad things. The good things. My grandparents, my uncle, my baby sister. They all slowly left though. Silent tears roll down my cheeks and for once, I let them.

I feel the familiar taste of salt on my lips, as my tears run further down my face. It reminds me of my childhood and my despair and my hopelessness. I fall asleep with the faint taste of salt on my lips, and with my eyes red and puffy. Luckily, crying makes me tired.