4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

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+ 0 0 : 0 3

HE RUNS OUT of milk on the third day.

Swearing under his breath at whoever it was that left him in this shit-hole, he dumps the last of the milk cartons into the trash and returns to his breakfast. Dry cereal. It's almost inedible, especially when it's not flavored and who in their right mind would eat cereal without the damn milk?

Huffing out a breath, he grabs the jacket that's hanging on the back of his chair. The prospect of leaving is always one that unnerves him, but he reasons with himself that he can't stay here forever. He is lonely, he is so damned lonely, with only dreams of an imaginary girl to keep him company.

He'll go out on the street, talk to someone and ask for the location of a store. And even if he can't find one, maybe he'll explore around for a bit and see if anyone can tell him where in the godforsaken world he is. He tugs his jacket on, swings his bag over one shoulder and snaps the watch around his wrist.

After a moment's hesitation, he grabs the gun as well.

The route to the store is unexpectedly short. He'd originally thought he'd have to cross several streets to get to it, but it's just round the corner. There's a flicker of light inside, which surprises him because everywhere else seems deserted. Carefully, he hides his gun under his jacket before pushing the door open.

"Hello?"

His boots clomp on the tiled floor as he strides down the aisles of food. If he'd thought the front yard was a wasteland, it's positively chaotic here. Packets of food ripped and strewn all over the place, bottles of liquor dripping from the fridge and glass doors smashed to smithereens. It's been ransacked, no doubt, and he stares in dismay at the puddles of milk on the floor.

"Damn it." He sighs in disappointment, steps away from the fridge and turns around.

Only to come face to face with a corpse.

"Oh, fuck!"

He stumbles back against the counter and ducks, just as the creature-whatever the hell it is-hurls itself towards him. In that split second he'd caught a glimpse of it, he'd seen it in all its true horror. Sallow skin, hollowed cheeks, mangled hair. Its eyes were gouged out, dried blood staining the corners of its mouth and its features stretched in a snarling rictus.

He dashes behind an aisle and grabs the nearest thing-a glass bottle, hurling it at the creature. If anything, the action infuriates it even more. With a furious screech, it staggers towards him, undeterred by the several other bottles he flings at it.

"Shit!" he gasps, when he backs against a corner. When he kicks out at it, the monster latches onto his foot and drags him out. He screams at the sharp slice of its nail across his leg. "Get the fuck off me!"

He bites down on his tongue, tasting copper, and clomps down hard on the creature's head with the last of the glass bottles. It lashes out, dropping him in the process, and he scrambles back in a futile attempt to gather some distance away from it. His hand latches onto something-cold, black, metal, just as the creature lunges at him.

He doesn't think.

With a sharp tug on the trigger, he shoots the monster right in the face.