CROSS MY HEART // dystopian romance

4. nature, and what is rightly hers

      Anxiety is a strange feeling. It is what I feel when I wander around the woods, outside the bunker. The tiniest crack of a branch or ruffle of copper leaves makes my heart miss a beat. If I am too loud, I will attract them. If the noises are not mine, then... I will have to fight.

I remember the way to the grocery store, perfectly. Turn right after the woods, turn left behind the park, pass the high school, beyond the library. It's imprinted on my mind, like I'm a horse that was branded.

When I get to the main streets, they're completely empty. Deserted. Ivy has conquered every stonewall, every cobblestone. Not a thing to be heard, just utterly terrifying silence. My hometown is now just a wreck of something that once was. There seems to be no Dead-Alives around, which is a relief.

Well, not really. There is never true unbridled relief when you are at the surface. You never know what could crawl up to you, or if the arm touching your shoulder is an alive malevolent one, or a deteriorating one that wants to bite you. Men and Dead-Alives are no different. None are safer than the others, so you need to watch out for both.

The grocery store is empty. I can only find three miserable cans, and it's not enough. I need food. Food, food, food. That's all I can think about. I sigh and drop my whole weight on the little couch between the shelves.
The feeling of hunger has become familiar, but I keep imagining my old comfort food right in front of me. A greek salad. My mouth starts salivating as I dream of the perfect marriage of tomato, cucumber, feta cheese and red onion. And though it's the middle of chilly autumn, it makes me think of summer.

Summer and the warm sun on my skin, my beach waves caressing my bare shoulders as it dries on the sand. Laughter. My brother's laugh. My father's chuckle and jokes. My mother braiding my hair before we enter the beach restaurant. The sunset, and the feeling of contentment. Happiness. Fullness. Summer.

Waking up suddenly makes me realize I've drifted off to sleep. Well, not sleep. If I was sleeping, then I would have had bad dreams and bloody nightmares. So, I guess I passed out. I need to find food, and fast. I'm getting too weak to my taste.

I start walking into houses, scavenging for things to stay alive. Things that could be useful, because I'm not planning on going out of the bunker again for at least six months. By the third house, I have found enough food for three weeks, but that's not enough.

By the fourth, I realize the wooden floor is cracking. I'm walking to the living room, and I simply observe. Family pictures are still there, in all their glory. When I take a closer look, I see a curly-haired mother and her two sons smiling back at me. I take a step back — I know them. The youngest of the two boys, the one with the largest smile, used to go to school with James.

Suddenly, I hear one faint growling. When I turn around, the sight nearly make my knees crumble. A Dead-Alive.

It looks up to me. Shit. I've caught its attention. Its eyes are plain black, and its skin green-ish white like a sick corpse. I see my father in the creature. I see what he'd become after he was bitten. My fearful scattered breath is masked by the loud inhuman growling, and my fear turns into uncontrolled anger. I remember James' scared brown eyes when a splash of his own blood stained his face. I remember the gunshot. My gunshot.

"Fuck this." I declare, as I throw my knife directly at its heart, with all the strength and anger bottled up in mine.

The Dead-Alive thuds to the floor, and I don't have time to take pleasure in the act. Something outside grows louder, and I sneak a look at the window : a horde of Dead-Alives are coming into the street. Just when I wonder in panic what could have possibly drawn them here, I see a small group of people running from there, beginning to shoot them over and over. It's only attracting more of them.

"Idiots !" I sigh anxiously, busting the main door open with a foot kick.

I am ready to run out of the house, to take the third alley to the right to get back to the bunker. It's a brilliant plan, I can go back home while the group of people being chased are too busy playing bait for me.

Unfortunately, a second Dead-Alive who noticed the front door opening comes at me. I'm thrown off guard as it rushes toward me, eager to bite my flesh.

I stab the monster just in time, but a third one takes over and pushes me back to the house, all the way to the ground in an attempt to devour my arm. I punch its head with whatever I can find on the ground, which happens to be a chandelier. It's not enough. The side of its head is crushed and bleeds down on me, but it is still alive, sort of. I need to end it, but I can't reach his heart.

I hear sudden footsteps and people speaking in the turmoil, but I'm too caught up in the fight to care. The Dead-Alive is still on top of me, chewing onto air, desperate to taste my blood. I'm holding it off with the chandelier on its neck, to separate its teeth from my face.

The Dead-Alive grabs my shirt and lifts up my body, and then pins me back down with all its strength, in an attempt to knock me out, I assume. My head meets the cold hard floor in a sudden painful crack, and the back of it starts feeling warm and wet. The Dead-Alive is kicking its teeth, and opening his mouth wide.

In the spur of the moment, its head is pierced with a bullet in a loud gunshot and splashes mine with blood.
"No ! Not like that !" I yell at anyone who might have been to stupid to aim for the head.

The shot distracts the corpse though, and it gives me the advantage. In a matter of seconds, I swerve the Dead-Alive off and we change placement.  I straddle the horrid creature in a fist of survival rage, and I glance at his chest. I notice its chest is open, and rotting with a black heart inside. I don't have time to think, I act off instinct : I plunge my right hand in there, and rip the heart right out of its place in a violent movement.

The creature stops moving, and dies for good instantly. The heart stops beating, as I crush it in my hand, blood dripping down my forearm.

"You have to aim...for the heart," I say panting, wiping the blood of my face, collapsing next to the body. "Always aim for the fucking heart."

My eyes are closed in exhaustion when I hear some people barricading the door, and the growls from outside fading away.

"Wow. That was really cool." A young voice whispers.

"Who the fuck are you ?" An older male voice asks in the rudest tone possible.

I want to open my eyes and look at them, asks them the same question back. I want to fend for myself, to stay on my guard, because I don't trust people more than I trust Dead-Alives. I want to cuss at the idiot who aimed for the head.

But I do none of that. Instead, a terrible headache wins over my body, and my mind fades off to black.