Short Story: Taken By Them

I have been watching the mountains for three days now through the cabin windows. I know I should be moving already. The walls won’t keep me safe any longer. Yet, I’m frozen inside the darkness. I pretend that they can’t get me here, that the little food I have left will last longer than it does. I crawl back to where I have made a makeshift bed, clutching my rifle as I go. It was a good thing that my father was a gun-loving nut. I didn’t think so when he was alive, when everyone else, for that matter, was alive.

I curl on the sleeping back, unwilling to tuck myself in, waiting for the moment I must move and run. I keep an eye on the windows and the doors and the barricade I have made on the other side of the room. There’s a stone fireplace beside me, but I chose not to use it. Even here in this godforsaken place, any sign of life can get me killed. But the winter jackets I have been collecting while getting here keep me warm enough. Back when Josh was alive, that wouldn’t have been an issue. But he isn’t alive anymore. I refuse to think about it. He’s gone, dead somewhere there, like most of the civilization is now, taken by them.

There’s no guarantee that the mountains will be my salvation. But I have to keep my hope that the high altitude, the rugged terrain, and the remote cabins there without living in sight will be far enough for them to get me. I snort and then suppress my hand over my mouth. It’s just that we thought that about the highrises, remote islands, and the cabins in the woods. Still, Josh and the others are dead, and I’m the only one left.

The wood on the porch outside creaks. I stay still as I can, trying not to breathe. I have twenty bullets left, and that’s it then. Whatever is there hesitates. It stays still on the porch, listening to any sounds. Or I think it is. At a distance, an owl hoots, and the creature on the porch screeches and dashes away. I wait for a while, laying still. They usually hunt in packs.

When the bounding on my chest gets a little less drummy in my ears, I get onto my knees and crawl to the window. I peer out through the hole I made earlier. Against the darkened trees, I see them. Their disfigured bodies, with their sharp teeth and twisted mouths, try to sniff me out. They must have followed me here, where I left Josh’s corpse.

One of them screeches, having found the food I stashed into the tree. I couldn’t bring the packages in, no matter how securely I wrapped them. That would have been the death of me. Not that it matters now. I’m dead without the food. I watch the beast tear into the sack as I clutch my gun. I don’t know what they are. No one knows. Josh insisted that they were a bionic soldier experiment gone wrong. That once the government couldn’t get their robots to kill for them, they made these. Others said they were aliens. I don’t know what they are. They look human enough. They bleed when they die.

I count five outside. Josh and I took out three already, but there had been two of us, and now there is just me. My hands shake as I count the bullets in my pocket. The rifle has ten inside, and there are ten bullets in my hand. The mountains are just beyond them. I should have left yesterday. But I’m a fool if I think they wouldn’t have followed me there. And I always have the last choice. The one that will get me out of this on my terms. I can’t do either. I’m stuck. I push the bullets back into the pocket, and then the shaking gets bad; I can see one of the bullets dropping on the floor as if time has slowed down.

There’s a loud screech, and the door explodes open. I can’t help but notice the crickets chirping in the background. I tighten my grip on the rifle, and I fire without thinking. This is not me. This is my father and the drills he put me through as a teenager, and this is Josh and me and all the three years we spent together fighting and surviving. This is me unable to die, already feeling the pain as they rip into my flesh and eat me.

I fire again and again and again, and the last one of them has its head blown out. Their corpses are piled on the door. I just sit there and shake, and then I cry. I want to die, but I can’t. And this, whatever this is, is worse than death.

Thank you for reading. Have a lovely day ❤

© K.A. Ashcomb