The Last Legacy (Season 1): Episodes 1-10

by Lavati, Taylor

  “I don’t think so. But I don’t want to take any chances.” He glanced over his back at the bright room, now almost fully destroyed by the flames. The mask helped since I wasn’t breathing smoke anymore, but I could tell from the gasps coming out of Jim and his constant coughing that it affected him badly.

  “Where’s yours?” I asked as I waited at the window-sill. I pulled open the window while he dug a pistol in his back pocket. He had a long rifle, too, which he slung by the black strap over his shoulder. I couldn’t see what else he did, but I knew he had knives on him, too. He paused at the window and handed me a long knife and a handgun, sticking the latter in my front pocket.

  “You’re wearing it.” He nodded. The smoke rushed out the window like a vacuum sucking air. “Hold the knife in your right hand.”

  I did what he said without question. He climbed through the window, his tall body barely able to fit through. The bag got caught on the latch so I had to push it out. He maneuvered his legs out first and then slid the rest of the way, dropping to the grass below.

  “Jump into my arms.” He held his hands up, prepared to catch me. I sat on the sill and looked over my shoulder back at the room. It was completely gone, the desk a black speck in the red fire. I shook my head and ducked through the window. I reached my arms down, and he caught them. I kicked right into his waiting arms.

  “Thanks,” I said as he held me against his chest. He put his finger over his mouth. He placed me on the ground and looked from left to right. Screams echoed through the dark night. A gun shot in the distance, the noise like a beacon. Jim grabbed my left hand and jogged into the woods. I couldn’t see a single thing, but I followed him.

  I had no idea where we were going. Only that it was bound to be better than that house full of vile men.

  “Six hours,” Jim had said about twenty minutes ago, his watch still ticking away. My feet ached like it’d been six days, but I trekked on, not wanting to stop. A constant prickle stabbed the back of my neck, each step a small victory in the right direction. His hand stayed clasped with mine the entire hike through the forest. But it was more like I was a dog he didn’t want to lose instead of a companion.

  “Can we take a break?” I pulled the mask off my head as I spoke and sucked fresh air into my lungs. Jim stopped and looked around, his eyes roaming over the still-dark skyline. He’d been too quiet through this all.

  “Have you ever heard of the law of threes?” I shook my head, and he continued. “You can only live three minutes without air, three hours without a shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food.”

  It seemed too short. The air rule, I could understand. But without a shelter? We’d been walking for six hours and still hadn’t found so much as a log cabin or shed. My palms began to sweat, as it felt like time was dwindling, slipping between our fingers. I didn’t know how much longer we had of walking with no destination.

  “Is that actually true?” I sat on a hard, gray rock, sheltered by a canopy of particularly green spruces. The sharpness of the stone bit into the back of my thighs. Jim crouched in front of me, but his eyes never stopped roaming the landscape surrounding us.

  “Close enough to the real times.” He shrugged, cracking a half smile. “You should memorize it in case we get split up. I promise you won’t die if you follow the law of threes.” He chuckled, all deep and masculine, and sat facing me, his back to our trail.

  “I’ll listen to your dumb law of threes then.” I shoved Jim’s shoulder as he handed me a bottle of water from his pack. I tried to pace myself, taking small sips, but it tasted so damn good I couldn’t help myself. The cracks in my lips filled with the water, and I let it soak in, savoring the sensation.

  Something tasted weird on my lips. I pressed my finger against my lip and when I pulled back and saw my finger was red. Flecks of brown cracked in the corner of my mouth. I rubbed the dry blood, wiping it off on my pant leg. I must have bled after John slapped me and it got caked on.

  Jim’s eyes cut to mine through the dimness of the morning. He stared at me like I was dying, regret in his eyes. I turned away. He was too intense. The sky began lighting. I hoped that we’d find some food or somewhere to stay. I hadn’t slept since before I was kidnapped—even then it was restless. I was hungry and tired and in terrible spirits.

  Jim cleared his throat, and I tore my attention from the sky back to him. I could make out his features much more clearly. He raised his eyebrows, his vision cutting to my swollen lower lip. For the first time since we left the burning house, I could see more than just Jim’s shadow. Worry and doubt clouded his vision as he inspected my swollen lower lip.

  “Don’t.” I begged him not to ask with a shake of my head. I wanted to move on and forget about them. I licked my lower lip, the cracks and blood a constant reminder.

  I didn’t know how Jim handled everything that went down. He had left his brother back in the house. I was sure they got out and were probably tracking us to seek their revenge.

  What kind of brother leaves their sibling to die? That’s fucked up and wrong and pure evil. Jim was betrayed by his own blood. I didn’t know what it felt like since I had no-one, but I could bet it hurt a lot worse than what I was going through.

  The flashes in my head haunted me, the daydreams turned nightmares of John’s hands on me, the slaps, the feel of his body pressed into mine. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. I would never forget.

  “I just have to know…he didn’t do anything, right?”

  I glanced up at Jim. His head dropped below his shoulders, his knees propped up together. I didn’t want him to blame himself. But he was part of the kidnapping, too, so he deserved to feel some guilt.

  “You mean other than slap me, physically assault me, and attempt to rape me?”

  Jim shot up from his position on the ground and strode a few feet away. “Fuck,” he muttered. I didn’t know what to do. I suddenly felt guilty over upsetting him. He lost his brother yesterday.

  I stood up and found him leaning against a large pine tree. I didn’t know what to do to make this better—to help us both heal. I reached out and put my hand on his forearm. I didn’t think I was ready to hug him, yet I wanted to show him in some way that I was there for him.

  He looked up at me, his eyes blue pools of sadness. I flinched. He reminded me so much of his brother. But at the same time, he was nothing like him. I knew that now. My doubts about Jim and wanting to leave him were out the window. I didn’t trust him, but I needed him.

  “Nothing happened,” I said while shaking my head.

  “But it could have. I was so pissed at how optimistic you were being. I promised I’d protect you, and I failed.” I reached for him, but he pulled back. He flashed me a glare that said shut up, his brows pulled in a frown.

  “Nothing happened. We got free.” That was the truth. We made it out of the house mostly unscathed. I couldn’t un-see the things I saw or take back the things that happened to me, but we were alive and relatively safe now. This time when I touched his shoulder, he let me, accepting my comfort.

  “Thanks, Lana.”

  “For what?” I asked back. He grabbed onto my hand, lacing his fingers with mine, and led us back to the large rock. I didn’t want him to let go of me.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?”

  He shook his head. I glanced around us, searching. Trees were the only distinguishing feature: oaks and evergreens in no pattern at all, scattered. Grass poked up in random areas, but it was mostly brown dirt with rocks jutting up. A few bushes with purple flowers clumped towards the path we were taking.

  “We left from the south window of the house, which means we went due south if we ran in a straight line—which I doubt we did. We might be near Newington, but I can’t be sure.” He took a swig of his water and squinted around us.

  “We’ll figure it out.” I tried to be optimistic.

  “We will,” he said. I tried to be reassuring as I faked a smile. I wasn’t s
ure if we would find a safe place or even a place to stay the night. But if we were optimistic, it would help. Jim placed his palm on top of my head like I was a child and smiled down at me. From the awkwardness of his grin, I could tell it wasn’t a normal gesture of his.

  He rubbed my hair, patting it down, and pulled me in for a one-armed hug. At first, I tensed. Jim must have felt it because he let me go as fast as he hugged me.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  He walked past me and picked up the discarded gas mask, which I had hoped had magically buried itself. He handed it to me with a raise of his eyebrows. I pulled it over my matted, sweaty hair and rested it on top of my head. Jim smiled and shook his head.

  It was too hot to be wearing a mask like this. It was still cool from last night, but I knew once the air warmed from the sun the thing was going to be a major pain in the ass. Jim gathered our things from the ground and repositioned the bag over his back. I had an empty water bottle in my hand, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I looked up at Jim.

  “Here,” I told him.

  “What?” he asked with his hand outstretched towards me.

  “Put it in your bag. We can refill them, right?”

  “If we find fresh water,” he said matter of factly. Jim took the bottle from my hand and tossed it into his bag. He started to march, me lagging behind. I ran forward, grabbing his hand, and we jogged in silence.

  Each foot stepped forward on its own accord. I had no control over my dying body. Limbs that felt like jelly wobbled forward. Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure I was still moving. Without food and water, I felt dizzy and faint, hungry and tired. The pounding of my feet pulsed in my head, and it was like I was parading to the beat of my own song.

  “That’s the last of it,” Jim said as I drained the bottle of water. We didn’t have long. The deadline loomed over us like a storm cloud. We had to find a shelter or a water supply or else we’d be dead. Maybe I was dead? I sure as shit felt like it.

  I couldn’t remember the law of threes even though Jim had just told me about it. Three minutes was air, I knew that. I thought three hours was the shelter one. Did he say water? It didn’t matter. We had to find a place to stay. And we had to do it now.

  I refused to look up from the ground. I didn’t want to see more eaters. We had only passed three so far on the dirt path; each one Jim had to kill. I understood it now—the need to kill or be killed—but it didn’t mean I liked it. Despite my complicated past, I had never turned into a violent or angry person. I saw too many people suffer. Death wasn’t something I dealt with well.

  After I emancipated myself at sixteen, I lived in an apartment with three other girls. They had similar situations as me, all of us alone and broke. I tried to interact with them as minimally as possible, not wanting to create bonds or relationships. I knew I’d have to move along soon.

  One of them got pregnant by her crackhead boyfriend. She was the only one I felt a connection with—she had morals, goals. She was attending community college at night on a scholarship, working at the local diner down the street all day. I didn’t even know how she had time for sex.

  She killed herself and the baby when she was just under three months along. There was no note explaining her reasoning, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. It was the last straw for that poor girl who never had a family. If she had just said something to me, maybe I could’ve helped. But maybe not. Two days after her death, I moved on to my next home.

  Jim squeezed my hand, pulling me out of my head. In the distance was a brown wall, like the side of a building, although, I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. My vision had clouded long ago, everything blurred and shaking.

  The wall jutted up from the ground like a cross. Mud covered the outside white wall. It stood out against the sunny morning. My pace picked up, my steps faster, the beat in my head steadier.

  “Please, tell me that’s real.” I stopped walking and stared when we got to the edge of the woods. I squinted my eyes against the blaring sun, trying to discover if I was hallucinating or not. But I didn’t think you knew when you were having a mental break; it just happened.

  I had had enough panic attacks before the bombings to know.

  “It’s real, Lana.” Jim squeezed my hand again, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the building. I wanted to get there and drink as much as I could. Hell, if the only water in there was in a toilet bowl, I’d still lick it dry.

  “It could be overrun. We have to be quiet. Get your knife.” Jim reached into his back pocket and pulled out his own glistening metal. I mimicked him. “And put on the damn mask.” He reached over and shoved it down over my face, blinding me for a second as it fell into place.

  “It has blood on it,” I whined.

  “Don’t let the blood in your mouth and you’re probably fine.”

  I hated the mask. I hated wearing it and the feel of it against my skin. It was too big and put pressure on the bridge of my nose, making it harder to breathe. It was bad enough to be panting from being out of shape, but add in the mask, and I was miserably defeated. It smelled like sewage and was now covered in eater blood from all of Jim’s kills.

  A twig snapped beside us. I jumped backwards and raised my knife. An eater stumbled out from behind a tree to our left. He fell forward, his leg caught in something behind the brush. He grabbed onto my leg through the leaves on the ground.

  I pulled back and kicked him, but his grip was surprisingly firm. His fingers twitched at his sides. The noises that came out of his mouth were like he was expelling a demon—a loud, feral moan that chilled me down to my bones. Jim ran in front of me and stepped on the eater’s arm.

  With another shake of my leg, the eater unhooked from my ankle. Jim grabbed him by the back of its head. He shoved the eater into the dirt and raised his knife. My heart throbbed in my chest. My skin felt on fire, adrenaline rushing through me. I watched as Jim twisted the eater’s neck to the side.

  He stuck the knife into its ear, shutting the screams up forever. The eater lay face down in the dirt, a pool of dark blood surrounding his head. The eater was so slow, he never stood a chance against Jim. Jim stood up and wiped the blood off the handle of the knife.

  “Shit!” I yelled as Jim was pushed from behind.

  Another eater came from the woods, strolling right into Jim’s back and knocking him to the ground. I looked past the eater and saw at least a dozen more creeping through the woods headed straight towards us. They walked slow, some limping. Others rambled aimlessly like they hadn’t noticed us yet.

  I wanted to help Jim, who was kicking the eater’s face from the ground, but I wasn’t sure I could kill. My stomach knotted up as I held out my knife. What if the infection could be reversed? Then, would it be murder? I didn’t have a chance to think.

  An eater stepped towards me. I stepped back, countering him. Maybe if I could just lead him away then he’d find another prey, like an animal in the woods. I knew I was faster since it was day-time. I stepped backwards until a tree stopped me. The eater didn’t stop, though.

  I was stuck, brush behind me that blocked me in. The eater had me cornered and I had nowhere left to run. I lifted my knife in front of my face, my panic skyrocketing. My brain fired off with scenarios of death, all more gruesome than the next.

  He stood just feet away from me now. I shut my eyes and held up the knife, hoping the eater would just march into it and kill itself. I squeezed my lids shut and turned my head to the side. So this was how I was going to die? I sucked in a breath and held it.

  A loud thump made my eyes dart open. Jim stood over the body of the dead eater, his eyes wild with light. He reached his hand out for me, and I took it. He lifted me over the body. I wanted to thank him, but he spun around, his attention back on the group of eaters.

  He saved me. Now I had to do my part. Jim couldn’t take on all the infected by himself. They were ruthless with one goal in mind: murder. I refused to force the brunt of killing on him. I had t
o step up.

  I stood beside him with my knife in front of me and nodded. Two eaters walked beside each other towards us. The rest were a few feet behind them. Jim grabbed the first eater by its tattered button up shirt.

  The other one followed, lunging and falling to the ground. He slumped to the side, and I went towards him. I paused, but the eater got ahold of my sleeve. I pulled back to loosen his grip, jerking hard enough that his head whacked against the ground. But he bounced back fast, not even seeming affected.

  His face craned up, away from the rest of his body that just lay there, along for the ride. He crawled towards me, his fingers digging into the earth. I searched his bloodshot eyes for a shred of humanity. I wanted him to tell me not to kill him, to beg for mercy like a human would do.

  But instead his bright red eyes showed nothingness. They were blank, empty of any emotion, including rage. They just were. He grinned at me, flashing his missing teeth and bleeding gums. I bent down before he could reach me, making the decision to kill him.

  My hand grazed the back of his head. It felt like regular human hair, still thick and a bit curly. It was so normal. I ran my hand through my own hair, hating the similarities. He’s not real, I tried to convince myself. He was changed—infected with whatever disease had caused this.

  I pressed the sharp blade against his forehead. He screamed, his moan startling. I faltered for a moment and pushed his head down, using the ground to pin it there. I pushed the knife into his skull, resisting the urge to throw up.

  But my knife didn’t move at all. His skull was too hard for my knife to lodge in. A trickle of blood seeped down his forehead where my knife had once been. Blood pooled in the corners of his eyes. I flashed away, breathing through my nose so I wouldn’t vomit.

  The gas mask got in the way. I could barely get air into my lungs. I didn’t have a hand to spare, one holding my knife, the other pinning down the eater. I put my knife on the ground and pulled my mask off, discarding it to the side.