Existing for Her

Opening your eyes to the blazing sun shining through a crack in the boards of your shack, you start your morning ritual. You pull out the picture from your pocket. There she is: your baby girl. Smiling. Beautiful. She reminds you of yourself as a child: happy, loved, and wearing the same heart-shaped locket that you were forced to wear as a child for all family pictures. The locket had been passed down for generations. She called it “Nana’s necklace.” She never wanted to take it off. The picture -- and the memories -- give you strength for one more day.

At first you hated the beans. Over time, you have grown to love them. Brushing your teeth and flossing are not about personal hygiene; dying from cavities is simply unappealing. Next, weapons maintenance. You look at your pistols. They are well cared for. They have never failed you, never jamming, not even once. You take one apart at a time, keeping the other, ready to go, just in case. Cleaning it, your mind wanders back to kills from previous times. You used to kill the creatures because you had to. Now, you enjoy it. It’s all you think about.

“If I could only kill them all…” you think, knowing this is fantasy. “I’ve barely killed a few thousand of the billion or so on North and South America when it hit. I wonder how many are left in Colorado…”

Your mind has become fractured in all these years of solitude. You have long since forgotten what life was like before the plague. Social skills, unused for ages, no longer exist. Most of your days are spent lost in thought, with your mind jumping from subject to subject, usually relating to killing. By now, different voices have developed in your mind, but you cannot tell if they are you, or something else entirely.

“I wonder if panda tastes like grizzly?” You think.

The shrill voice that loathes you breaks into your thoughts, “Idiot! Y ou’re so stupid! Why do you think of such minutiae? Just kill yourself. ”

“Oh minutiae? Look at us now. How fancy we are.” This voice is childish -- though exceedingly violent.

You try to ignore the storm in your mind, but your will has been beaten down by years of living with only the voices. “Shut up. I will think of whatever I want.”

“Oh we should go HUNTING today,” urges the childish voice.

“Yes hunting.” This matter-of-fact voice is booming and emanates from everywhere.

“No, hunting is DANGEROUS,” says the shrill voice. “You know better. Don’t be so stupid, like you always are. This is how you lost her, remember, moron? Instead, how about you kill yourself?”

“We lost her because those things are still alive”, the omnipresent voice rejoins.

You realize both pistols are clean. “I’ll check the perimeter”, you think, walking out of your tattered mountainside shack, to a bright day. Squinting, you put on your scratched sunglasses. Both pistols holstered, you begin to walk north, heading towards the road.

“Yes. To the road, then east. Let’s go HUNTING,” the infantile voice urges again.

“Yes Hunting.” Encourages the booming voice.

All of a sudden, the internal conversation fades the instant you hear a twig snap 70 meters to your left. In a fraction of a second you draw your pistol with both hands, taking aim at the sound: a deer bounding away.

“Don’t shoot a deer, shoot THEM”, commands the child.

“Shoot yourself”, the shrill one commands.

“Don’t waste ammo on deer. Let’s go kill THEM,” commands the omnipresent voice.

You’re not sure if you’re following the voices’ commands anymore, or if those voices are just a part of your consciousness now that controls you, but you start walking towards town: hunting grounds.

“You are SO stupid. BRAINLESS! IDIOT! NINCOMPOOP! This is how you lost her. LOST HER. LOST HER. YOU LOST HER. Kill yourself, fuck up!”

“I didn’t lose her. THEY took her” you argue back.

The omnipresent voice again rejoins, “They took her”.

“HunTing , hunTing, we’re goIng HUNTING!” the child interrupts.

Town is a few hours walk at a brisk pace. You daydream about her, about consoling her as an infant, her 1st birthday, first word, first steps, first day of first grade... She’s the only human part of you left. The only part of your sanity left. The pleasant thoughts are constantly interrupted with -- darker thoughts: Killing the creatures, the abominations, and other targets of opportunity.

At town’s edge, you stop, listen, and hear nothing. There is absolute silence on the streets. You walk towards the general store, knowing most of the food is still there; it’s where you go to replenish your own supplies from time to time. Most people are either dead or turned, so most food shelves stay stocked. Approaching, you hear movement inside. Your ears and the hairs on the back of your neck prick up.

“YES! EXCITEMENT!” screams the puerile one.

“You are so stupid! IMBECILE!” screams the shrill one.

You approach using the side entrance, to sneak up on whatever is inside. You find it searching through the… tobacco?

“What the hell?” You mutter aloud, causing it to turn, look into your eyes, and yell, “What the fuck?”

“Oh she’s a HUMAN!” exclaims the shrill voice, confused.

“Kill the competition!” exhorts the mental child.

“A friend would be nice.” reasons the omnipresent one.

“Oh you’re normal, thank god,” the woman gasps, as she flashes a disarming smile.

“After all he or she has done, I’m not thanking them for anything,” you respond.

“What?”

“She’ll kill you if you don’t kill her,stupid. Kill her, then yourself.”

“Help her off the ground, then STAB HER IN THE NECK! AHAHAHAHA” laughs the child.

“Can’t we just-”

The loathsome voice interrupts the omnipresent one.“You are such an idiot. Females always travel in packs, usually with men. Men are dangerous, you retard. Can’t trust them. Now, you have to kill her and then find him, kill him, then yourself, you piece of shit.”

“Better than HUNTING!” laughs the child.

You holster your pistol, then extend your hand to help her, “help up?”

“Thank you,” she responds, accepting the help with both hands.

Right as you pull her midway up, you grab your knife and stab her in the throat in one swift action. She’s unable to scream.

“Now find the rest before they find you. FUCK UP! Should have stayed home today, stupid.” You ignore the insults of the shrill cunt, but take its advice.

You walk through the storage area to the back of the store, peek out the door and see a man standing by a truck with a second female sitting in the passenger side.

“Told you, stupid, always with a pack. Kill them, so you can kill yourself in peace, WORTHLESS!”

“Ahaha.haha. Get to kill TWO. BETTER THAN HUNTING!” cackles the child.

You walk back out the side door, then turn around back, approaching the couple from behind, pistol-drawn. You give them no chance. He drops immediately from the first shot, struck in the head. The next few shots hit the truck, but you can’t tell if it hit the woman. Then, you feel the searing hot pain of a bullet ripping through your lower leg, dropping you to the ground. From the ground, you can see the woman below the truck aiming at you. You fire two well-aimed shots before she can even pull the trigger. You don’t know where they hit her, but she stops moving.

“Retard. Look what you did. SO STUPID! Now you are shot, just kill yourself,” says the shrill one.

“This is not good,” says the omnipresent one.

“Oh the RUSH!” giggles the child.

Knowing there are bandages in the store, you limp back in, each step excruciating, dragging your mangled leg.

“You are so stupid. Those gunshots will attract them. Might as well kill yourself. KILL YOURSELF!”

“Oh, yes! Even more fun. We love HUNTING!” exclaims the child.

You go into the back room where the first-aid kit is, and begin bandaging yourself. Next, you swallow a couple morphine pills from the pharmacy and start back home, surprised no creatures showed up to investigate, yet.

Hobbling to the front door, the morphine kicks in when you see one of them, sprinting at you from across the street. You pull your pistol and fire two shots into the brain of the creature all in one motion. It drops, instantly still.

“Yes, kill them all. KILL THEM ALL!” screeches the immature violent one.

“Oh, we do hope more come,” says the omnipresent voice.

“Moron, you are wounded! KILL YOURSELF!”

Pausing for a moment, you watch to make sure it dies. Suddenly, another former-human emerges from the right, directly in front of the door. You fire, dropping this one dead.

“Ahahaha. We LOVE HUNTING!” laughs the child.

“Good shot. Oh, we do love hunting,” bellows the third voice.

You poke your head through the shattered door, and look right, then left. Seeing nothing, you begin to make your way out of the store. Then, you see it. A large group of them, several dozen, have turned the corner and are headed this way in a sprint.

“Kill yourself now! You are so WORTHLESS!” shrieks the loathsome voice.

Your heart starts to pound. You can hear the blood flowing in your ears. You know you’re in trouble. The voices fade to background noise immediately when you hear the glass from the side door shattering. You turn to see several of them blocking your exit to the back and heading your way. You aim and fire, dropping the first four, but the fifth one gets to you and tries to bite your hand. You pull your hand down and fire upwards, shooting it through the top of the head, ceasing its existence.

You begin to dodder through the back, when you hear some no-longer-humans make it through the front. You turn and start firing, dropping several, but they keep coming, and they seem faster than usual. When the first pistol runs out, you holster it and grab the second. You fire several rounds, dropping several abominations when, “OWWW! What the fuck was that!?” you think. You feel a crushing, stabbing pain on your shoulder, and turn to find one of them biting you.

“Now it’s all over,” you think, shooting it in the head, then turning your attention to the group at the entrance. You’re aware of the fiery pain in your leg, but ignore it. Then, for the first time ever, your gun jams. You quickly move to clear the malfunction, but a large group of them get to you, pushing you over with several of the creatures piling on top. They’re unable to bite your torso and head as it is covered by their bodies, but you can barely move under the weight. Then you start to feel the biting and gnawing at your legs. You try to scream out in pain but the weight muffles you. You decide this is the end.

Crushed beneath a pile of monsters trying to eat you, you struggle to reload, but manage the task. You aim the gun towards your head. You shift your head and look upwards, so you can get a clean headshot on yourself when you notice something around the neck of the creature piled on top of you. It’s wearing the same heart-shaped locket you had to wear as a small child. It’s your daughter. You can’t leave her like this. You readjust so you can put her to rest, then fire several times. She goes limp. You feel a sense of calm come over you. You are finally at peace. You aim the pistol towards your head again, then while staring at the locket around her neck, you squeeze the trigger.