by Kip Nelson
His face was bloodied as he rose to his knees. Mack spat out blood and blew out some breath. His clothes were in tatters and his face was covered in dirt.
“Stay down,” Mack said, but his demand was met with a toothy grin.
The man went to stand, but again Mack attacked the weakened knee and heard a crack as the bone broke. The man howled in pain but still kept on at Mack. Mack punched him in the throat and hauled him back down to the ground, wrenching his arm from the socket with a sickening pop.
“It's over. Let's end it now.”
“Then end it,” the other man said, his voice ragged. "It's to the death. That's the way it has to be.”
He lunged forward with his one good arm and tried striking Mack again, but Mack wheeled away and grabbed the man's head with both hands. In an instant, he twisted with all his strength. The crack echoed through the street, and suddenly everything went silent. Mack let go and the enemy fell to the ground with a dull thud, his eyes staring into oblivion. For a moment, everything stopped, then chaos broke out. The enemies did not honor the terms of the deal and sprinted forward, but Grace, Maggie, and the others were sharper. They filled the area with bullets and watched as the enemy fell before them like dominoes. Mack watched it all, as the world turned red, and tears fell from his face.
Meanwhile, at the settlement, nobody had expected an attack from within. The Lost Children swarmed through the settlement. Many of the people had been sent to sleep, and others were occupied with their own tasks, so they were away from their weapons. Even those who could have put up a fight were hesitant to shoot children. They moved in one long line, marching through the settlement. Peter was at their head, walking tall and proud with his head held high. On one side of him stood Sharon, on the other was his trusty guard. The other children laughed and giggled and waved their guns about.
The people of the settlement watched with murmurs of horror, wondering exactly what was happening. When any of them made a threatening move, or tried to raising the alarm, they had guns pointed at them, so none of them made a move to defend themselves. Instead, they watched grimly as these children strode through the settlement. They all had been so focused on rebuilding it and preparing for another attack that they never had imagined the Lost Children could waltz in like this, or that a group of children could be so terrifying.
Hank and Freddie emerged from the infirmary and gasped. Saul put down a chunk of debris and stared at them as they walked by, wondering what fresh hell was going to come upon them now. They stopped for a moment in front of the pyre, then moved onto City Hall. By now, there was a crowd following them. Everyone wondered what they should do, so they looked at their leader for guidance. Bob stood in front of the entrance to City Hall with his feet placed firmly on the ground and his hands on his hips. Peter stood in front of him and smiled slyly, then turned to face the crowd. The Lost Children all had their guns pointed at the rest of the community, forming a semi-circle around their king.
“My name is Peter. I am king of the Lost Children, and I am here to tell you that I am in charge of this community now,” he said, and enjoyed seeing the mixture of fear and confusion on those looking up at him.
“As long as you obey me, there will be no problems. You adults are the reason the world is this way, and now we are taking it back for ourselves. We are the future of the world, and you are merely means to help us get there. Work hard, and you will be rewarded. Rebel, and you will be punished accordingly. I am a fair king, but there are a few things I will not tolerate--”
“You're a jumped-up brat,” Bob said from behind him. Peter turned around, nostrils flaring.
“You think you can run this world? You're just a typical teenager, nothing but a cliché,” Bob spat, which only served to enrage Peter. The king pointed at Bob and shook his head.
“This is an example of something I will not tolerate!” he yelled. Bob was about to speak again when Peter punched him hard in the face, so hard that the older man fell to his knees.
“You will not speak back to me, you will not disobey my orders. I am the ruler now, and it seems as though I have to make an example of you to show the others.” He promptly pulled out his gun.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Without hesitation Peter pressed it against Bob's head and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered over the king and Bob fell to the side, not even granted the dignity of any last words. Saul turned to Freddie and Hank, the color draining from his face. This threat was more serious than they had imagined. In the background, Tristan ran up and saw Bob die, and bore the burden of the guilt. It was all his fault that Peter had managed to come in, and now Bob, a man he had known since he was a child, had died because of it. He wept then, for everything in the world that had gone wrong.
Peter, though, was feeling a surge of power as he watched the fear in people's eyes. As he spoke, he thrust his gun into the air, emphasizing the message he was delivering. “This man was just the first. I will do the same to everyone who defies me, beginning with Mack. That is the new law,” he said, and his words were met with cheers from the Lost Children, but a hushed silence from everyone else.
The adults looked at each other and wondered how it ever got that way. Bob was now just another body that needed to be placed on the pyre, which finally was starting to burn out. Yet, somehow they all realized it was going to be an eternal flame as there would be no end to the death, no end to the misery. Every day was just another day in which they had to cling to life as hard as they could, and once again their hopes lay with Mack. He still was out there, they hoped, if he hadn't already been killed by the leader he had gone to meet. But as long as he still was alive, they all harbored a dream that he would deliver them from this evil, and wipe the smug grin off the false king's face.
Chapter Thirty-One
The urban jungle surrounded her. What once had been lustrous blonde hair had been savagely cut off, leaving a jagged, uneven edge. What remained of her hair clung to her scalp and forehead, matted there with sweat and dirt. Her clothes were barely recognizable; torn and stained with blood and a hundred other substances, each one reminding her of some part of the arduous journey she had undertaken. Most of it by herself. When the world ended, she had two choices; to live or to die. She chose the former. She knew her husband would, too, wherever he was. Immediately, she set out to find him.
Flashes of pain seared her mind as she thought of the things she had been through. Too many things. Things she didn't want to have to think about. Things she wished she could forget. Most of the arduous journey had been undertaken alone, and there was a point when she had spent so much time in isolation she had forgotten her own name for a while. But now she remembered it. She could remember him whispering it in her ear. It seemed a lifetime ago now, almost like a dream, but it was real, and she clung to that reality, for it was the only shred of sanity she had left.
Now there were others. She had made friends and allies in this fallen city. She was part of something else, even though she never truly would be whole until she found him again. She had no picture, nothing to remember him by except her memories, and those had stayed strong despite the rigors of this post-apocalyptic world. Nobody knew exactly what had happened. If anyone did, her husband might, if...no, when she found him. But it didn't matter anymore why it had happened. All that mattered was that it did happen, and what came afterward. And she would find her husband. That was the only thing that kept her going. It was her one purpose in this world. The promise of the life they were going to start together had been ripped away from them, but there was still some kind of a life out there for them, either in this broken city or elsewhere. She had to believe that. She gripped it as tightly as she gripped her knife, her knuckles white and muscles tensed, for she was on a hunt. The area was alive with all manner of animals because her camp was close to the city zoo, and she had become an able hunter.
She also liked to work alone.
They had urged her to take somebody else, but she was a lone w
olf, and wanted to do things her way. She could trust herself, and as yet, she wasn't able to trust the others. Not completely. In some ways, she always wanted to prove to them that she was worthy. She saw the way they looked at her; disheveled and malnourished, thin and exhausted, but she was strong, stronger than any of them, and she would bring back a feast for them all.
Her senses were alive as she carefully made her way through the debris of the city. There were a hundred stories here, of lost loves and lost lives, of redemption and sacrifice, and she would know none of them. This whole city was a tomb, and eventually it would house all of them, before crumbling into dust thousands of years in the future. Would the human race still be alive then? Would there even be any records of these days? She often wondered about that, but then her mind inevitably returned to the present, where it was needed. There were far too many important things to worry about than the fate of her imaginary descendants.
Sniffing the air, she caught a whiff of something animal. Something that didn't belong. She crawled over fallen blocks of concrete and kept to the shadows, treading carefully in case her prey was near. Food was a hard thing to come by in the city. The community she found herself in had a supply of canned food, but it wasn't the same as tasting real meat. It still was early enough since the apocalypse had begun that they had concerns about eating rats and dogs, cats and mice, concerns that the hunter long ago had banished when she had been on the cusp of death. When she heard about the escaped animals from the zoo, she knew they still likely would be in the city and wanted to haul one back to camp so the people could taste real, cooked meat. She didn't know exactly which animal she was going to come across, but it was going to be hers.
She came to a park and there was an antelope grazing. Its head dipped as it chewed the grass, looking as though this was its natural environment. Like most other things, it was thin and its ribs were visible through its hide, but it still had plenty of meat to serve the small camp. It was a miracle the antelope had survived this long, and the hunter pitied it for a moment, and lamented the fact that she would have to put an end to that miracle.
A gun was lodged against the small of her back. That was a last resort, as she didn't want to alert any other enemies to her presence. She only had a few bullets left anyway, and wanted to save them until she really needed them. Resources were thin on the ground, and each bullet had to be rationed carefully. There was always one saved for herself. Just in case. Her main weapon, one that had served her well, was a long machete. Its once gleaming blade was now dim, but it still was sharp and had dealt many a crushing blow to her adversaries. She gripped it tightly, feeling the leather against her fingers, and kept her eyes focused on the antelope. If it became frightened, it would flee and she would have no chance of catching it.
Between her and it lay the park, with swings and a merry-go-round, other reminders of the way things used to be, and the things she never would have. She shook her head and reminded herself to focus. There was a small path around the park and she would have to use that to sneak up on her prey. Beyond the antelope was a thicket of trees without a fence. That was one possible escape route for the antelope, but she thought it more likely just to gallop away through the city, where it would be unencumbered by trees and foliage. The hunter steadied her breath and moved forward, making sure to keep low and quiet. She reached the edge of the park and crept forward. Each step was tense as she didn't want to scare off the animal. She was sure her heartbeat could be heard.
The antelope twitched and looked around. The hunter stopped and held her breath, waiting for the antelope to go about its business again, which it soon did She carried on, getting ever closer. She planned the attack in her mind. She would raise the machete and bring it down on the animal's throat, then attack the legs so it was unable to run away. Another swift slash at the throat would see it dead, and then she could drag it back to the camp. Her breaths became deeper as she readied for action and tapped into the knowledge that had been stored in her DNA since the very earliest forms of her ancestors. She counted to three silently, and as she got to two she lifted the machete and poised herself, ready to strike, when she heard something else.
There was a faint rustling in the thicket, which was followed by a mighty roar as a golden lion leaped out and attacked the antelope. The prey barely had time to react before the lion had its teeth sinking into the antelope’s flesh and subduing it, holding it down with its big paws. The hunter knew she should run as quickly as she could while the lion still was preoccupied with its game, but this was a matter of personal pride. The lion had stolen her kill, and she wasn't about to spend more hours tracking something else. She was going to take something back to her camp, and if it was a lion, then so be it. Her fingers flexed around the machete, but she wasn't foolish enough to think that could do the job. With her other hand, she reached around her back and drew the gun, pointing it directly at the lion's head. Somehow it sensed the movement and turned to face her. Part of the antelope was dripping from its teeth, staining them red. Its eyes showed no hint of sympathy or malice, just pure instinct.
The hunter felt fear--pure, unbridled fear--and in her heart, she knew she had made a mistake. The lion roared. A gust of hot breath almost knocked her off her feet, and the deafening volume of the roar almost took her hearing. The lion, which looked in surprisingly good health and evidently was doing better in this world than most people, lunged at her and slashed with his sharp claws. The hunter only just managed to dodge out of the way and fired off a shot, but it only managed to graze the lion's side and didn't slow down the beast at all.
Another swipe came, faster than she expected, and this one she did not manage to evade. Searing pain flooded her body as she felt the flesh being torn from her side. The lion was relentless as it moved forward. The hunter was off-balance now, and her feet caught on each other, sending her to the ground. Her mind was screaming at her to flee, but it was impossible. She never would be able to out run the beast. She still had a hold of her weapons, though. There still was a chance. She lifted the gun, thinking this was a time to use all the bullets if need be, and got the lion in her sights again. She pulled the trigger, but at the last minute the lion slammed its paws on the ground. Her body was rocked, and her aim lost. The bullet went flying harmlessly into the air.
The lion swiped at her hand with its paw and the gun was flung from her grasp. She screamed as the beast came upon her, breathing hot and heavily, hungry with rage and the will to survive, seeking to assert its dominance as king of everything. The hunter stared into its gaping maw, at the sharp teeth that wanted to tear her apart, at the saliva wanting to devour her. This was a beast made for killing, but she wasn't ready to give up yet. With only moments to live, she swung the machete up with all her remaining strength and swiped at the lion's throat. Blood gushed out and the lion went to roar in pain, although it came out as a gurgled yelp, the animal choking on its own blood. The hunter stabbed and sliced and slashed again and again, as much as she could, her arms and body being coated in the warm scarlet blood that flooded out of the lion, until the light finally went out of its eyes and it collapsed. Then the hunter howled in pain as the huge beast fell upon her, cracking her leg.
Drenched in blood, with a broken leg, and a side still throbbing with pain due to the lion’s claws, the hunter heaved in air. The battle was over and she had emerged triumphant, but she was trapped under the lion. She strained to get her gun, but it was too far away. She still had a hold of her machete, but she was weak, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Her eyelids were drooping, and it seemed so easy just to give into the beckoning darkness. Then, she heard his voice again, as clear in her mind as though he were standing directly over her, speaking her name. Anna. Her eyes snapped open. She looked at the empty world around her. She was all alone. But he always would be with her in her heart, mind and soul. She reached out a hand and clawed the dirt, pulling herself up, not willing to die just yet.
Chapter Thirty-Two
; Tristan's head still was reeling. He pushed himself up, wishing that what just had happened had been a dream. He'd been trying to find Sharon, worried about her well-being, but now he knew why she had disappeared. All this time his mother had been right. Sharon had been lying to him, and he had been a lovesick fool. His gut twisted with pain and his head throbbed. After a few halting steps, he leaned against a building and closed his eyes, trying to quell the pain that was surging through his entire body. He wanted to cry. He wanted to lash out. He was filled with guilt and anger and hatred. He coughed, and for a moment he thought he was going to vomit, but it stayed down for he was too angry.
Sharon had looked into his eyes and told him she loved him and wanted to be with him. She had kissed him passionately, and Tristan didn't understand how somebody could lie about those things. Part of him still wanted to believe she was genuine and only was working with Peter out of fear, but deep down he knew she was as bad as the king. The soil around him was trampled with the footsteps of the Lost Children, and Tristan's eyes went wet with tears as he knew it was his fault that they were here. He had let Sharon in. He had defended her and asked the others to give her a chance, and now they all would pay the price for his folly. He curled his hand into a ball and hit the side of the building again and again, screaming with increasing rage as he did so. With a morose look on his face Tristan dragged himself away and followed the tracks, walking toward the source of the commotion.
Tristan knew how Peter worked, and whatever happened was not going to be pretty. He dreaded to think what Peter would do, as the king would want to punish Tristan by hurting those he cared about, all because Tristan dared to leave. As he drew closer to City Hall he could hear cheering, and the loud sound of Peter's voice reverberating. Tristan stood at the back of the crowd, hating to see the scared look on people's faces. They already had been through so much, what with the attack, and after all their hard work, after all those people had died defending this place, their home had been taken over all because Tristan had fallen in love. He wished he was more like his mom and could harden his heart, he wished he was strong like Mack or Saul, and could march up to Peter and just beat him down. In a flash a fiction swept through Tristan's mind, a thought of him standing triumphant over Peter's body, declaring himself the new king. The Lost Children would pledge themselves to him and Sharon would realize the mistake she had made. But as quickly as it came the thought passed, and whatever courage Tristan felt dissipated quickly because he knew any effort would be futile. Peter was bigger, stronger, and meaner. If Tristan challenged Peter, there was a good chance he wouldn't come out alive.
