Endure

By: Melissa Zeigler

The sun, low on the horizon, always managed to cast an eerie shadow on the lone, two-story house that sat atop the amber colored hill. This is the place Mitchell has called home for the past two months. Its relatively isolated location, which made it so easy to defend, also makes it a pain in the ass to resupply. Mitchell places a blood stained bag and his shot gun at the base of the staircase which leads up to the front porch. Out of a bush to the right, Mitchell pulls a wooden bucket.

Around back sits an old stone well. Even though Mitchell hated having to reattach the bucket every time he needed water, he knew it was best considering all of the Leechers in the area. Leechers are what Tommy, Mitchell’s little brother, used to call people who would pretend to be friendly only to take all of your supplies and run while you slept. Leechers took advantage of Mitchell and Tommy only once; they were fast learners. On these long afternoons Mitchell wished he still had Tommy and their parents to keep him company.

The cool water’s a much-needed relief to the heat of the day. Mitchell indulges in a few long gulps before he collects his things and heads up the stairs. For some reason, fatigue, dehydration, or a little of both, the fact that his front door is ajar doesn’t register with him.

He places his things on the dining room table. Suddenly the floorboard behind him creaks. He spins around just as the person speaks.

“What’s for dinner?”

It's Jenny; she looks like hell. Jenny, a petite brunette with short, curly hair is covered in dry, caked on dirt and scratches.

“Jenny!” Mitchell scoops Jenny into his arms. “I thought you were dead.”

“So did I considering you just left me out there.”

“I didn’t just leave you. I led a group of them away. I killed them and I came back for you but you were gone. I thought they’d taken you.”

Jenny pulls herself from Mitchell’s embrace.

            
“They tried to, but I managed to get away.”

Mitchell’s smile fades as reality sets in. He slowly pulls a handgun from his waistband and raises it towards Jenny. “How did you get away?”

“Most of them followed you. Two stayed behind and I managed to kill them with a rock.”

Mitchell loads one in his chamber. “Makes sense, the better question is did you get bit?”

“I’d really like it if you’d point that gun somewhere else.”

Mitchell takes a step closer towards Jenny. The barrel of the gun just touches her chest.

“I’d really like it if you answered my question. Did you get bit?”

“No,” she says unconvincingly.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Yeah. I know they didn’t get my arms, legs, stomach, back…”

“So why are you only pretty sure?”

“There’s a cut on the back of my neck. I think I got it when I fell down.”

“Let me see.”

Jenny turns and raises her hair. There, on the back of her neck, is a perfect bite mark. 

Tears well up in Mitchell’s eyes.

“So what is it,” she asks as she faces him. His expression says it all.

She takes a long breath.

“Do it.”

Mitchell is frozen.

“Do it damn it! I don’t want to turn into one of them,” she begs. Tears roll down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry Peanut,” Mitchell whispers as he kisses her on the forehead. Jenny cries uncontrollably but stands her ground.

Tears flow from Mitchell’s eyes. He takes a step back, aims at her head and fires.

It would have been a perfect headshot had she not fainted. The bullet lodges deep into the wood mantle above the fire place. Jenny’s body writhes on the floor.

Mitchell cautiously kneels next to Jenny and checks her pulse. It’s weak but still there. Pulling back her eyelids he sees that the change has begun. Her pupils, dilated, cloud to an unnatural orange. It will be only a few minutes until her skin will start to scale over and her fangs and wings will begin to grow.

Her body continues to wrench about as Mitchell takes her into his arms. He carries her outside to the yard and places her gently in the warm grass next to a deep ravine. He kisses her one more time. Mitchell stands, aims, and looks away as he shoots. This time he hits his target.

He rolls Jenny’s limp body into the ravine. It comes to a stop atop a few hundred Sarkan bodies. Mitchell no longer bothers with the formality of burying things. The amount of energy it expends isn’t worth the psychological satisfaction. The last person Mitchell took the time to bury was Tommy.

Mitchell crumbles to his knees next to the ravine. He breathes short and fast as he raises the gun to his temple. The warm afternoon air smothers his lungs. He’s so wrapped up in the moment that he doesn’t hear the wail of a Sarkan in the distance. Mitchell's hand shakes. He finally lowers the gun and rolls onto his back; he closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated wail.

Two Sarkans hover over him. Mitchell opens his eyes. He doesn’t bother even bother with going for his gun. He closes his eyes and patiently waits for them to pounce.

It’s as though an eternity has passed when Mitchell finally opens his eyes again. The Sarkans are gone. He pounds the ground with his fist as he fights back tears. Mitchell knows that they’re just toying with him now; watching him suffer, alone, and unable to kill himself.