New Jersey had stayed in the same position for the past hour.
His body laid deep in the milk tall grass, seeming lifeless and thrown to the side. The sun was now up, shinning down on him making his damp mud caked clothes start to crack and slowly dry.
It was a beautiful day.
A warm breeze would pass by every couple of minuets, and blow the grass around him to the side and then straight back up, his hair would flutter and then stop once it past.
There wasn't any sound, any moment...just a few birds that would fly over head every once and a while, and the sound of his soft breathing.
After a while he slowly sat himself up and looked around.
The forest was another fifteen feet away, the fields seemed to go on forever in the vast country side, and there seemed to be no moment or screaming, no trucks...and no bodies.
Did the gangs leave?
It did happen, they would attack a group and leave once everyone was dead.
Was everyone dead?
He looked around and couldn't see the camp from there, he had a small feeling inside them that they were, and maybe...just maybe he was the only one left.
He swore under his breath and put his head down and then started to feel the dull throb of pain starting to come back in his shoulder.
He hadn't bleed to death.
He checked it, and saw that the bleeding was thin, but the flesh that had been torn apart looked puffy and a dark vain covered red.
He then got enough strength to stand up and look himself over.
The knees of his jeans were now torn, and his legs bruised. They were caked in black drying mud and dust.
His shirt still felt damp and was stained with blood, pieces of it were torn and his skin under were gashed or scratched.
His leather jacket stayed on, but there was now a hole in the shoulder...other then that it was wet and a covered in mud and dirt, his skin was filthy and cut, his hair was matted with twigs and leaves sticking out of it, and his nails were torn out, which had started to sting just a little while ago.
He was lucky to be alive, someone up there wanted him to stick around...but for what?
He took a deep breath and then looked down at the ditch, where he had fallen backwards into just a few hours ago.
It looked further down then fifteen feet.
He shook his head and then turned and started for camp...he had to check if he was the only one left.
As he walked through the field, he noticed he had developed a slight limp in his left leg, his boot dragged across the ground and made his bones start to ache.
Ten minuets later he arrived at camp...or what was left of it.
Just about everything was burned down to the ground, a few tents and trailers stood standing. Cars and bikes were flipped over, piles of bodies stacked around him, over hundred dead...his friends.
His eyes scanned everything and saw the damage...there were bodies of men, women, and children, all shot and now rotting in the shot afternoon sun.
They were all dead.
He covered his mouth and started to choke, he then turned and puked all over the place...his stomach turned and tears filled up his eyes again.
He tried to pray, but his thoughts kept darting around the place...everyone was dead, it had been a massacre.
He was crying and didn't even know it.
He then felt a numbing feeling wash over his mind, full of hate and sadness. He then walked over towards the woods and checked the back up pick up trucks...only one had been taken.
Maybe someone got out. He told himself, and then got to work.
He took all the gasoline cans, one by one...making eleven trips in all and set them all around the three body pits, then went into one of the lone tents standing and took the first aid kit.
He found penicillin and wash and took his jacket and shirt off, he poured the stuff into the bullet hole and listened to it sizzle, and bit down as he tried his best not to scream out in pain.
He cleaned it as best as he could, and then used a thread and needle and stiched it up the best he could, back when he was in high school his sister had been a nurse.
After that he got his shirt and jacket back on and took one of the first aid kits with him and took a shot gun.
He loaded them into one of the pick up trucks, and left two cans of gas for himself...he knew he was going to stop more then once, but he needed to get out of here.
He then took his lighter out and lit the fire piles after pouring the gasoline all over them, he watched as his close friends lit up, and heavy dark smoke filled the blue cloudless sky.
His eyes were blank and dead.
He then got into the truck and started down the road.