Deborah of the Forsaken

Leave me behind

It's been three months since the first attack. Five more followed the initial wave. Everything was burning, and what was already reduced to ashes was a smouldering pile of rubble. It was during times like these that people split into two catagories; the victims and the merciless, and usually the merciless gained the upper hand through fear and more violence. Bands of ordinary people tried to flock together, salvaging what they could from the wreckage of the city, only to be terrorized by their own. Those the Rebels didn't't kill was soon taken care of by these packs of, what I could only describe as animals in human form. So much was destroyed that I could not fathom the need to save any of the little that was left in the first place. I was not planning on dying for a piece of earth with a building on it and I could never understand how people had stayed after the first wave hit us so hard.

I always said that I could never leave, even after the dreams came. Dreams that, at the time, I believed to be nightmares induced by the suffocating heat of summer. I saw the hoard crossing over the bridge that led into the First Quarter, their feverish eyes glazed over in promise of the coming violence and brutality. I could see they were absolutely manic but I had no voice, no body. I could simply look on as they started to kill everyone in their path. It was pouring with rain and as the blood of the innocents mingled with the downpour it turned into a river of deep red. I'd seen the open windows of abandoned houses, curtains flowing in the wind as the occupants made their hasty escape - those who were lucky. I saw all of it and could stop none of it.

I tried to block out the guilt rising up from the place I had managed to banish it to, but it gripped me by the throat and my heart ached. Closing my eyes, I tried to breathe, but today of all days my momentary lapse in iron self control would cost me. Emotion was a luxury I could not afford as a lone woman out here in the desolation of the aftermath. I could not let the guilt take me to the place it wanted. I was already living in hell and even my conscience no longer tried to save me from myself. But as long as there was breath in my lungs I had shit to do. Involuntarily, my mind flipped back to the day the first wave hit the city.

Something felt off the entire day. I woke up to my stomach in a vice grip of anxiety and had to take a few minutes just to get my breathing to steady. Something seemed to be saying, "There's danger around the corner. Watch your step." Trying to ignored it I got ready for work, my hands shaking uncontrollably. By the time I got my keys and book bag I was in a proper foul mood which resulted in me arriving at the Library late, the Head Archivist wasting no time in biting my head off. The rest of that morning and afternoon the pit in my stomach grew tighter and more painful and when work ended I made a split decision to try and salvage the day by going to the local food market.

I read once that the brain latches on to tiny moments during an intense and significant event, acting as triggers at a later stage for that specific memory. For me, this was the memory of the feeling of my blue and white umbrella gripped tightly in my left hand and my bag filled to the brim with fresh baked goods in the other, the sweet scent wafting up to meet me. It was drizzling and I cursed myself as I stepped into a newly formed puddle just off the sidewalk with my brand new leather boots. Wrapped up in my own world I tried to think of anything other than the growing feeling in my gut. That's when I heard the screams.

I froze. People were frantically trying to get away from whatever was around the corner, all the while bumping into each other, shoving and screaming. A sickening thud drew my gaze as a car slammed into a running woman and tyres screeched as the driver slammed the brakes. I could see her lying in the road, eyes already glazed, staring at the sky and I knew she was gone. Turning my head, my feet unable to move, my body was completely numb as the screams became louder. The milling masses were so close now along with the black clad hoard driving them like sheep up towards the street. To where I was standing.