Survive (Day 2) by Wise A.R

Author:Wise, A.R. [Wise, A.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction | Post-Apocalyptic | Infected
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2016-11-30T05:00:00+00:00

Day Two – 12:48 am

Porter vomited again. Half-digested pears clogged the kitchen sink drain from the first time he threw up. All that came now was bile.

The home stank of gunfire. An acrid stench that clung to his nostrils along with the cloying, metallic scent of blood.

Crucifixes stared down at him from the walls.

“It was the right thing to do,” he said.

Porter’s hands still trembled.

“Get it together.” He was breathing heavy and fast. His brow was mopped with sweat, a side effect of vomiting.

He went to the gun cabinet, and took out the shotgun and rifle. He set the weapons on the grocery bag, and then went for the ammunition.

Porter needed to get his mind off what he’d done. He started to talk to himself about what supplies he should search for.

“Canned food. A couple good knives. Can opener. Aluminum foil.” He searched the cabinets, and grabbed what he thought would be useful. There were several good kitchen knives that he tossed in the bag along with a sharpener. “Flashlights,” he said, and continued searching. “We’ve got tools, but we need flashlights.” The horror of what he’d done hit him with near physical force, causing him to double over as if in intense pain.

“Get it together,” he demanded of himself. “Clothes. We need clothes and blankets.” The bag on the counter was already full. He headed to the bedroom to get Maggie’s spare bag with a fresh patch on it.

Abraham’s body was on the floor beside the rocking chair. After the gunshot, his corpse had slumped to the side and fell with a sickening thud to the wood floor. His blood was thick and dark, like oil seeping from an old wreck. There was less of it than Porter expected, just a small pool beneath the head. Crimson had sprayed out across the bed, floor, and wall. Gore dripped from the splatter on the wall, slow like molasses.

Porter stepped over the dead man, and collected the clothes near the window. He stuffed them in the grocery bag, and then went to the bathroom. He was weeping, but tried to ignore the shame and sorrow that threatened to cripple him. “Toothpaste. Mouthwash. Soap. Washcloths. Towels.” On his way out of the en suite, he snatched the medication from the nightstand and tucked it deep inside the bag, beneath the blankets and towels.

There was more he should’ve grabbed, but he needed to get out. He got both bags, and headed for the door. He paused, looked back, and said, “I’m sorry.”

June and Red were waiting in the truck, oblivious to what Porter had done. He kept his head down as he approached. He put the stolen supplies into the back, but took out a washcloth, a bar of soap, and a towel.

The pump was running, and spurts of well water splashed into the basin. He heard the truck’s door open, but ignored it as he headed for the basin. He had to hop over the fence and then quickly wet the cloth.

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