Rotten

The road unfurled behind us, a steady carpeting of tarmac laid out across the countryside.

An uncommon perspective in any seat but the trunk of the van, a recess it happens I find myself crammed into.

The rest of the group was strapped, both into their actual seats and in terms of weaponry. A rambling mix of hunting shotguns, rifles and pistols shared no calibres between them. Myself, I was sandwiched between the duffel bag of ammunition and the satchel of medical supplies. My weapon, a sledgehammer, rested across my lap. The steady pressure worked to placate the cavernous void that rested in the pit of my stomach.

I had joined up a few months back, we were double the size then; crops flourished in a fenced-off field, raiders hardly rode out so far on the coast; it was easy work keeping the lines and barricades up.

But, someone still managed to fuck it up.

The Rot crept in seemingly overnight, rendering most of our crops to poison. We quarantined the rest, but someone stupid got hungry and and stole a bite; either didn’t check or didn’t care; It took their mind in the night and by morning our camp was burning.

Hard to say who it was, even past the char across the corpse; their rot had been aggressive and transformative.

People were either dead, fled or… taken, disappeared into that voracious unknown, the rot seemingly crowned from.

I was glad I faced the back of the van. The last thing I wanted to see was the ill-tempered faces of my compatriots; they’d taken me in during good times but now we were desperate, we were hungry and I needed to either make myself useful or head out on my own again.

The hammer in my lap didn’t feel as comforting as it had just a moment ago.

Raiders hardly ever came down this far on the coast…

It was gonna be easy.

We came up on the basin, a pooling of clean un-rotted water with a rough-built cabin along its edge. In better times the group had traded with the family that lived there, in better times.

They were out on a pier, tending to a number of fishing lines; A male, A female and a child. I don’t know how she knew, but the female immediately figured something was wrong, scooping up the child and depositing it into the male’s arms. He was confused but hurried to the cottage as she scrambled to a tackle box. It must have been the way we had driven in.

We skirted in sideways, the trunk popped and the doors slid open.

On the pier the Female had retrieved a hunting rifle from the box, old bolt action; but the confidence she carried it with scarred me.

My group had already left the van and were readied up behind it. I made to follow but thought better; tossing the ammo bag and my hammer out first, then first of which was struck violently out of the air with a crack of the rifle.

I was next, Rolling out of the trunk and onto the grass atop my hammer. I sprung up and made for the house. I could feel the bead she drew on my head as I ran. Thought I could hear the bolt rack the next shot.

Then, with another lightning-like crack, she was crumpled dead on the pier, taken out by one of the more adventurous of the group who realized her attention was off the van.

Quickly I was at the cottage. I swung down hard on the handle of the door Not, not bothering to check if it was locked. “ I heard the child scream inside. I dipped to the side, expecting the door to bloom outwards from a bullet, but nothing, I hit the door again and it swung inwards.

Entering my immediate thought was that of incompetence. The male was struggling to open up a gun cabinet, his only means of defence. I rushed him, and he fell to the floor within moments. I swelled with confidence until a bullet grazed my shoulder; leaving a burning trail of blood across it.

I whipped around to see the child, tears streaming but the pistol levelled to my chest, if they could have handled the recoil I would have been dead.

Then the rest of the group arrived, streaming in and scooping up the child, disarming him.

It was a good haul, plenty of saltfish and preserves, not to mention a new rifle and pistol for me. And a new assault rifle for our leader, courtesy of the gun cabinet. We debated staying briefly but decided to move was safer.

And there I was again, this time kitted out in the back of the trunk. Fuller now in my stomach than in the space. The food they kept up on their laps, same with our ammo, as I was now sandwiched between the medicine bag… and the child we took, whose ill-tempered face I was forced to stare at.