After the Living Have Lost by Rick Wood

Author:Rick Wood [Wood, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Horror
Publisher: Rick Wood Publishing
Published: 2019-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

By the time Cia had returned, Boy was asleep. She’d used a crowbar Ryker had graciously agreed to acquire for her to lever open his bedroom door, then retrieved him from the wardrobe. She had momentarily awoken him to guide him to bed, where she had left him.

She would speak to someone the next day about getting a new door put in.

For now, she lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing she would sleep.

They had a clean-up crew, as Arnold had said. When she woke up the bodies would be gone, and the blood would be cleaned. People would go about their normal business like nothing happened.

It was no better than the sanctity.

Except these people hadn’t excluded her like the sanctity had. They had taken her in. Given her and Boy a home.

Should she respect that?

Eventually, her eyes closed, and she left this world for another where her problems were far away in the distance.

Then she heard it.

A groan of the floorboard outside in the hallway.

A creak of her bedroom door opening.

That same sniff of the Waster, trying to find her. She hid herself beneath the covers, not wanting to fight anymore, wanting to bury herself away like Boy did and pretend that it wasn’t happening.

If she shut it out, drowned out the sniffing and the creeping, then maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t really there.

But she could smell it getting closer.

Creeping forward.

Until she could make out its vile figure through the duvet, a silhouette standing over her, reaching out its hand, its long, sharp, yellow fingernails ready to scrape across her neck.

It would feed on her.

It would tear her apart.

It would fuck her entrails.

Because that’s what it was. A disgusting, foul beast, incapable of human emotion, because it had sacrificed what it once was to be a slave.

It was once a man. With a wife, kids, maybe even a dog.

A job.

Parents.

Friends.

Now was a mindless cannibalistic beast.

It peeled back her duvet. A gunk of saliva dropped onto her forehead and bled down her cheek.

She couldn’t hide.

She had to fight.

She shoved the duvet down, swiped the knife from beneath her pillow and held it out to its neck.

Her eyes opened, and she awoke.

She was perspiring so hard beads of sweat dripped into her eye and stung until she blinked it out.

She was holding her knife.

Panting.

But no one was there.

Sunshine came through the window. It was morning.

Outside she could already hear the regular hustle and bustle of civilians carrying out their jobs.

She was alone.

There was no Waster.

There never was.

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