I
4 of 6 bullets remained in my .44. I was crouched over the raider who had pierced my left shoulder. The wound was throbbing, warm, and still oozing. I beat her face repeatedly with the handle of my weapon until I saw her eyes go blank. Her nose and face had caved in as the bridge of her nose had penetrated through the cerebral lump in her skull. Out of the cavity I had indulged in the center of her face, what seemed like gallons of blood and bits of brains splashed out. She was not alone. Her would be gang was holed up in the wrecked house up a slope. All that lay between them and me was a war wrecked vehicle which I hid behind. Though they did not have a clear shot at me, they kept trying with futility and eagerness. How many were there? Three? Four? All I had in my possession was a magnum I found a few miles back and a rusted combat knife.
Shot in the shoulder and dehydrated, I peeked my head out over the hood of the tarnished vehicle. Two dark figures, ready to attack anything that looked to be moving. What a lucky break. I jumped over the heap of metal and darted as quickly as I could toward the remains of the building. Quickly losing my breath, I started firing at the silhouettes atop the hill. They responded with automatic fire and aggressiveness. Clipped in the lower stomach, the shadow fell to a knee, dropping it's rifle. I hurried to it while it's companion did the same. I aligned the sights to his head and pulled the trigger. I watched the hammer swing back and strike with might the rear of the shell. Fire burst from out the gun and brain and blood from his head. His brother in arms acted quickly after seeing his demise. Alarmed I aimed my hand cannon toward him as he knocked it out of my hand and reach. Unarmed and surprised, I came to conclude he would reach for his. With that in mind, I reached for my rusted blade which was sheathed in the back of my belt and jammed it into his cranium. I felt cold shivers run down my spine as if I had stricken myself where I did him. Drenched, fatigued, and nearly bled to death, I sought refuge in the crumbling house donning macabre and limbs. Killing isn't really my favorite past time. Unless I'm attacked first or I need something they possess and refuse to bargain, I'm quite passive. I rested my shaking body against a pillar and tried to get some rest. The howling wind kept me up or around 3 hours, but I ended up passing out.
I continued my pilgrimage, enjoying a nice-warm sun bath with a cigarette clenched between my lips. Up ahead, a car orgy and what seemed like a settlement. I didn't bother searching the vehicles, they've probably already been picked clean. I made my way to the gate of the town. I pressed my palm against the wooden door to open it, but stopped with haste after noticing the bullet holes through which very little light peeked through. The inside was too bright, damp and it stank like rotten flesh. Something had obviously went down in here. I was stepping on something hard and heavy. I took a knee and felt around, picking up something cold and wet. After my eyes adjusted, a 5.56 mm assault rifle lay on the ground. I took it by the barrel and hung it from my torso with its strap. The stench reminded me of the place where I had to take shelter once. It was damp as well. I was with my last band of raiders. I was always too high to remember what we called ourselves. Around me lay seven and a half bodies. I cringed at the sight and felt sick immediately. Funny, thinking back on all the people I've had to shoot at point blank, I'm still quite the little bitch. I even remember having to eat a poor girl who was only around 16. God, the shit I've done. Makes me wonder why I don't take myself out. I'm no better than the rest of them. I actually feel a sense of pleasure in killing some. Not because I'm a sadistic fuck, no. I'm ending their suffering. I like to think I send them to a better place. Anything would be better than this place.
