by P. J. Post
Fuck it.
I throw the gun away and then I’m surrounded by men and women from the wagons down the hill. They begin shouting orders at the survivors and rounding them up and accounting for supplies and weapons.
I see Cam and he’s looking at me with concern — and understanding?
Feral steps next to me and raises her goggles. Her eyes are haunted.
“Her name was Jen,” I whisper.
Feral looks confused.
“I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much,” I say, as I get control over my sobs.
Paco shakes his head as he walks by. “But you’re so fucking good at it.”
“Let her go, come on,” Feral says. “Let her go. It’s going to be okay, come on.”
I let Jen slide to the forest floor as an old woman falls to her knees, wailing over her. She glares up at me and then slaps me.
It’s all she has.
It’s all the defiance they have left.
I stumble to my feet, dazed.
Feral takes my hand, guiding me away from the forest down into the killing field, past the fires.
“We saw what you did, through the scopes on the rifles,” she says.
“Then you know.”
“I don’t know anything besides you saved us all — you — saved us all.”
Men are using shovels and rakes to clear the area and put the remaining fires out. Burned and bullet-riddled corpses are scattered around the smoldering approach to the woods, arms outstretched.
The wagons aren’t burning any longer. Men and women are crawling all over them, unloading and re-staging the supplies, transferring them to other wagons, while others are moving quickly to butcher the dead horses.
It’s all a huge clusterfuck. Why did they attack us?
I can’t get Jen’s plain brown eyes out of my mind.
“Jen…”
“What?” Feral asks. She’s looking at me like…like I don’t know…like she’s afraid?
I stagger through the tall weeds. The sky is darker now, the sun vanquished and a brisk breeze has picked up. The weeds wave along the sloped fields, the air filled with the smell of burning meat — the scent of civilization.
We stop near the first wagon. It’s still smoldering even though people are working to save what they can. I can’t believe the destruction, but also how most of us and our stuff survived the attack. I thought it would have been worse.
It is worse back up the hill.
People are avoiding me. I don’t blame them, I’d avoid me too.
I pull a cigarette out.
My hands are bloody.
My arms are bloody.
I’m covered in blood.
I light it and walk down the road, wondering where we’re going — what it all means. What are we doing?
Is it really all just about not dying?
That’s it?
I kill you, so I win.
What’s the point?
I turn back and begin walking down the line of wagons and suddenly stop.
Teddy is lying on the road, burnt and scorched. I can still see the blue stitching Feral used to fix him and his blue-rimmed black-button eyes.
I kneel down and then see her.
She’s hiding under the wagon.
She’s been burned alive, a tiny blackened corpse.
Emily?
No!
Fuck No!
You can’t be dead, no I won’t…I can’t…God, why?
You motherfucker, you fucking…fuck.
She’s on her side, reaching for Teddy.
“Emily!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
It’s not….fuck it, no more.
I’m done.
I’m fucking done.
This is too much too fucking much.
I look around and grab a startled woman and pull her pistol from her belt as I fall to my knees.
I press the barrel up under my chin as she backs away before shouting for help.
“I’m coming, Punkin’, I’m coming,” I whisper.
I concentrate on the pressure of the trigger.
Then I hear Feral screaming at me. “Stop! Please!”
I slow long enough for her to slide to her knees in front of me.
“My name is Samantha, my name is Samantha! You have to take care of me now, you have to take responsibility — you said so, you fucking said so, so you — you can’t…I have a name…you have to, you have to stay...you said so!”
She’s crying, sobbing.
She pulls the scarf down to her neck and slowly looks up at me.
It’s a fitting time to end it, I got to see a real life angel — she’s as beautiful as forgiveness can ever be. I’m pretty sure this is as good as life’s ever going to get.
It’s like a dream within a nightmare.
Her shoulders are shaking, tears are streaming down her face and over the still healing, jagged letters burned into her cheek.
W-H-O-R-E
She looks away but only for a moment, and then those intense, earnest blue eyes are on me, burning through me. “You, you’re my reason. You have to stay…I love you.”
♠♥♣♦
PALIMPSEST
FERAL
OF ONE SKEIN
COINS FOR CHARON
YOUNG PARISIANS
CARNIVAL OF SIGHS*
COMING OF A WITCH*
120BPM
PIRATE RADIO*
* Coming soon
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, bands, clubs, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
