Decimation | Aarmau AU

𝖳𝖧𝖱𝖤𝖤

In its near-mindless state,
it grasps no remains of
emotion, personality, or
sensation of pain.

The building was a mess — inside and outside. Graffiti lined it through-and-through, distracting my eyes momentarily from the chipped bricks and peeling paint. Inside the floors were trashed with open bags of candy and chips, and the fridge isle was molded from old beer and soda. Sadly, there was no power and what was left in the fridges was a lost cause.

I walked down the candy isle, side by side with the nameless bluenette, my pistol fully functional in my palm and her rifle cocked at her side.

Hearing a loud crunch, I looked at the floor to find a bag of potato chips under my foot. The label was unreadable and the chips were shriveled up and black.

But that wasn't all I heard.

It took maybe three seconds for my posture to stiffen at the sound of a moan, and I readied a knife in my opposite hand. The door in front of me read Restrooms, with a bloody handle and flickering lights peeking underneath.

I felt eyes tracking me but I paid them no attention, rather flipping the blade in my hand repeatedly. The moan was too quiet for them to hear, especially with their distance, but when the door handle began turning all scrutiny was off me.

The rubber handle of my hunting knife began spinning quicker in my palm with heavy anticipation.

A walker barely emerged with a loud groan, immediately lunging at the closest person — me. My body acted on instinct, and I grabbed its throat in one hand, plunging the knife into the side of its head with the other. Her eyes flared at me unblinkingly, and I dropped the limp corpse.

Wiping my blade on my pants, I glared at her body and put the weapon back in my belt. Once done, I turned to the others to find them staring in shock.

"What? If anyone had fired a gun it would tell every walker in a five mile radius that we were here. It would be like calling soup's-up, so I suggest we keep to close-range kills," I nodded to Aaron's gun, which had been pointed at the dead woman before I did the deed for him.

He got the message and turned the safety on, strapping the AK-47 to his back and pulling out a machete. The others did the same, putting away guns in favor of blades or a crossbow.

Everyone gathered what they could — which wasn't much. Most of the food was on the floor or growing a third head in mold, but there was a package of stale gummies in the shape of fish, a few small bags of potato chips, some small plastic water bottles, and two chocolate bars.

I eyed one curiously, and the blue woman leaned against the counter beside me. "You gonna share?"

Looking up, I found her watching my moves warily, and I shrugged apologetically. "Sorry," I replied, looking back down and flipping to the back of the plastic where the ingredients were labeled. "I've never seen one before."

She scoffed. "Yeah right. You want me to believe that you've never had chocolate? Please, you can't get extra rations playing like that," she grabbed the candy from me and tossed it to Aaron, who had been watching curiously.

My cheeks burned and I followed the others as we left the station.

The city got worse as we made it toward the center. More blood, useless military-grade weapons, and many, many rotting corpses. None were fresh.

On the way they kept up small talk, but in these situations I slip into a consciousness where survival is my only thought. It's how I've learned to live; at least for these recent months.