~CHAPTER SEVEN~
Smith paced back and forth in his bunk, wondering what the best solution would be for him. He heard the struggle, and for all he knew, they could have all been assimilated. Smith would not let that happen to him. The only means of self-defense he had was a knife, and he would not dare come close to one of those things.
Smith grabbed ahold of the hair on the back of his head and winced. 'This is a hopeless situation,' he thought, 'How do I get out of this one?'
He scanned the bunk. Two cots, one on the left wall, one on the right. The left belonged to him, the right belonged to Berg. Berg had put up a painting on the wall opposite the door; it was The Scream. Smith could not help but feel like that painting was put there to describe the situation. In any other scenario, he would have chuckled at the thought, but not at that moment.
Smith's area consisted of a desk pushed against the left wall, which was next to his cot. On the desk were crumpled up pieces of paper, a lamp, and the keys he took from Berg. His cot was an unmade rumpled mess, with the sheets left just lying on the cot.
Berg's area was a bit more tidy. Berg also had a desk, which had a bible lying on it, and a statue of Christ on the Cross. His cot's sheets were nicely folded, and even smelled nice. Berg couldn't believe that thru all of the chaos, Berg still managed to find time to freshen the place up.
'It's pointless,' thought Berg, 'I won't survive this.' Berg looked at the knife in his hands.
It was a rather large knife, with notches in it. It was hunting knife used for skinning animals. The metal on the knife was colder, more so considering the loss of power. He could see his own reflection in the blade. With his stress-sunken eyes and cold place skin, he thought he resembled Edgar Allan Poe.
'C'mon, I can't do this!' He thought to himself, 'I can't just off myself!'
He gave the knife another look. 'Oh, yes I can.' thought Smith, 'It's either a quick death or a long and painful one.'
He gently put the knife against his left wrist, and pushed down slightly to slit it. The blood trickled down, causing a pool of red to seep to the floor. He pulled the chair from his desk and dragged it to the middle of his room.
'What am I doing?!' He thought, 'I can stop this! They'll help me!'
He heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.
'No they won't!' Thought Smith, 'They're all those things now! They'll eat me alive!' He slashed his right wrist.
The doorknob jiggled and he heard Russell's voice cry, "Smith! Come out here! It's okay!"
Smith began to cry and yelled, "NO! You're one of them! You're all one of those things!" Smith took the knife, and ran it across his neck. The last thing he heard was a gunshot, and the door opening.
