The Good, The Bad, The Dead

End of Bridgeton

The helicopter landed and everyone jumped out as the downpour subsided. We told the pilot to refill while Marvin helped guard the helicopter. We would need that fast get away. Everyone else decided to go look for survivors. We went to the barracks first.
Suprisingly, there were no deadies. But the survivors seemed scarce as well we decided to split up. Ella and Jules, who got along well on the ride over, took one area while me and Kent took the other. I went straight for Tiffany's tent. She was the last part of Patterson I had left.
I got to the tent and heard a muffled growl inside. I readied my gun and swallowed. I knew I wasn't ready for what was inside, but I opened the tent anyway. The first thing I noticed was Tiffany. She was dead on the ground.
Gunshot wound to the head. And from the looks of the pistol in her hand, I assumed the culprit was herself. I lowered my gun and shook my head. Then I heard the growl again. I lifted my gun up and aimed towards the sound.
It was coming from behind the tarp. Slowly I reached the tarp and grabbed the edge. Whatever was behind the tarp thrashed, sensing my presence. I quickly threw the tarp aside to see young Ty.
Half of his face was missing... And his leg was broken and torn off halfway down his femur, bone exposed... He had duct tape covering his mouth and his wrists and the remaining leg were handcuffed to his bed, so tight it cut into his skin. And his struggling wasn't making it any better for his wrists.
As he struggled there, screaming as hard as he could through the duct tape to no avail, his wrists, nearly severed from prolonged thrashing, I took off my mask. He seemed to stop for a second to look into my eyes. The boy's once playful, ocean blue eyes were pale and blank, one without eyelids. His nose completely gone, leaving a gaping black hole, skeletal looking. His tape went to the back of his jaw, leaving me to assume his cheeks were probably torn as far as an unhinged jaw would go.
The boi tried to lunge at me, trying to bite the air inches from my face. I didn't budge. I just stared at my best friend's, now monster, of a son. My godson. I was an uncle to him. I betrayed him as much as I did his father.
I took my pistol and equipped a silencer. Not much protection from sound but it won't attract a swarm. I put it where my face was, inches away from this boy's face. I whispered softly as a tear rolled down my cheek.
"I'm sorry Ty..."
The tear felt cold as my finger grew numb. I tensed my hand up and pulled my finger in. I don't remember the shot, maybe I chose not to. But one thing I do remember is watching that boy fall back into his bed, motionless. A hole in his forehead smoking as his pale eyes seemed to look at it.
I kept my gloves on and closed his eyes for him. The material singed but did not let the virus touch the skin. I sat there for what was maybe ten minutes. But it for sure felt like years.
Three years of Patterson helping me through training, eating with me and his family after missions. They wanted to celebrate my birthday, regardless of it being the day humanity lost to a virus. But I convinced them it wasn't important enough to me. I lastly remembered Ty. His birth was controversial, but they treated him like a blessing.
I remembered little Ty celebrating his first birthday with a cake. His second with a new hat. And his third with a bullet. Yes, you read that right. Today was Ty's birthday.
Another reason why I could never celebrate mine happily. I was too focused on my godson.
"Happy Birthday Ty." I whispered to the dead boy, handcuffed to his bed.
Today he was three years old. Today he would've gotten a bat I had in my tent. But today, he became a monster. And just like his father, it was all my fault.