Twelve Years

I lost my partner and they were coming for me.

The struggle to stand only induced even more spine-breaking pain. The ache bleeding into my leg like sharp needles piercing through my flesh in every muscle was agonizing but going by the state of the world now, I've endured worse. I knew that there was no fixing a broken leg if it was too pitch dark for me to so much as find something to hold on to. How I've dreamed of escaping this infectious world rotted with soldiers, smugglers, dealers, and of course, the infected. 

Twelve years and nothing's changed. Our luck had to run out sooner or later. If this wasn't my luck running out, then I don't know what it was. I thought that perhaps my partner was nearby, still unconscious on the floor or trapped outside. I called to her, making sure that she responds, but there was no voice calling me back. If there was any voice at all, it was the still wind. I was alone and it was so f*****g dark. How was I supposed to escape this place? I reached over my shoulder for the flashlight strapped to my backpack strap and found that it was completely dead. I shook it in desperation to try and get so much as a flicker, but nothing happened. I had to do this on my own now.

I began stretching my hands ahead of me and feeling my way around for anything useful. Whether it was a light switch, a nail, a door, or even so much as a chair would've been helpful, but the room was almost completely empty other than a table and a few filing cabinets. How the hell did I get in here? I spared a moment to recollect my memories in an attempt to piece together what had brought me here. All I could remember was that I had just walked out of the back entrance to a movie theater when I got jumped by these two guys. They must've knocked me out good judging by how much colder the air temperature was in this room. Listening to the silence, I knew that it must've been night time by now. 

Maybe it was just too dark out and maybe once the sun starts shining, it will reveal a way out?

No.

That was the old version of me talking.

The new me never waits to be rescued. In this era, whatever fucked up era it may be, there is no rescue squad coming to get you whenever you're in trouble. Now, it's every man for himself. There is no escaping and there is no hope. When I say that there is no escaping, I don't just mean from situations like this, I mean some b*****d wearing a uniform with a rifle telling all his friends to shoot your a*s down or getting clawed and bitten by insane lunatics who died a long time ago and are now nothing but a parasite with a human body as their host. That's the reality we face every damn day.

So yes. Luck runs out eventually.

I tried to climb up onto the table to see if there were any loose ceiling tiles or anything at all really that I would consider an escape. If you count a small crack running along the cement above me then yes, I've found just about the saddest excuse for an escape possible. Trying to mine my way through the cement and then getting crushed by it sounds great doesn't it? S**t. What else could I find? I felt around the floor for any holes or tools that I could use but found nothing but a hole barely fit for someone my size. If I removed by backpack, I could fit through, but my backpack held all of my supplies. If I took it off and left it at the entrance of the hole and then crawled through a little bit and dragged my backpack behind me, if the hole were to lead anywhere, I could bring my backpack along with me. 

It was worth the try. What was the use of just giving up anyway? Even if the hole lead somewhere, I would probably get shot anyway by whoever put me there. Let's just get it done right? I relieved the weight of my backpack from my shoulders and placed it behind me. I then slipped into the hole head-first and once I was far enough so that the hole just covered my knees, I moved my foot to hook it around my backpack strap. It took some struggle but I was finally able to drag it behind me as I crawled farther and farther into the hole. It was too dark to make out any shapes and I was being squeezed into a space that was more meant for a little kid rather than a fifteen year old girl. 

I kept crawling despite how claustrophobic I began feeling and realized that the hole was slightly damp. The further I crawled, the more wet the floor felt and the more I listened to the sound of my backpack scraping the floor behind me, the stronger the smell of petrichor became. I was wearing nothing but a tank top, a sports bra, a pair of worn-out jeans, and sneakers, but the temperature wasn't what bothered me. It was the thought of what was on the other side. Whether it be soldiers, thugs, ax murderers, or even infected, it made my knees quiver.

I had been with my partner, Sandra, for nearly four years, travelling all of New York and Vermont, but this was the first time I had ever decided to leave the boundaries of Binghamton and travel all the way to Pittsburgh. It was pretty exciting, but it was also pretty scary. The borders between New York and Vermont were scary to pass through in itself, so I couldn't imagine what the borders between New York and Pennsylvania would be like. It made my fear of the other side just as worse when I thought about it.

"It's been four hours! Why haven't they shown up yet?" a voice yelled from the other end of the hole. The pitter-patter of rain could be heard and by now, the ground had turned into mud. I knew that the hole had lead to the outside and I knew that the voice must have been that of one of my kidnappers. I could hear the sound of boots squishing in the mud and crushing the grass as they approached. I recoiled within the shadows and waited for them to pass. When they did, they stopped just a few feet away and seemed to be idling.

"He'll be here. He lost nine of his men because of her. He's not gonna miss out on his only opportunity to revenge her a*s. Just go check on the girl and I'll stay on lookout for him" another voice argued. A groan was let out along with a few mumbled words that I couldn't quite distinguish from the sound of the wet rain. I hid in the shadows for another moment or two as the boots splashed and crushed their way around the corner. Now all that could be heard was the wind and slapping of water hitting mud and cement. 

Nine men? I couldn't count how many men I had killed to save me and my partner's lives. The numbers seemed to reach to infinity, but I could vaguely remember taking out some highly skilled men a few weeks back. Revenge or not, I had to get out of there and quick before they realized that I was gone. I peeked my head out from the shadows and looked around. It was nearly pitch black but I could make out a flashlight reflecting off of the rain drops. It was facing the other direction and seemed to be working like a lighthouse, only it just turned one-hundred and eighty degrees and not three-hundred and sixty. 

It was my only chance and I knew I had to seize it. 

In this world where chances are no longer spared, I took the chance and chewed it up until it was as dry as gathering dust.

Wherever dust gathered, I was hoping to reach it.

Author's Note

I've never written a post-apocalyptic piece, so please feel free to tell me what you think (: