Betrayal...

The eighth entry in End of Days...

Betrayal…

I took a gasp of musty air as I fiercely clawed at the fabric my body was put to rest on. Fabric? I thought. As I lowered my bloodshot eyes to the ground, I saw a bed. The pain in my chest ceased and I lay still for what felt like days. I turned my head to the right and immediately spotted a riser waltzing towards me. I lunged forward to press its eyes into its skull, but I just grabbed air and hit my head on the ground. A grunt came from somewhere inside my throat as dry blood splintered onto the floor. A man with greasy grey hair stalked towards me, a meat cleaver resting in his right hand. I panicked and jumped up in a moment’s notice. He raised both hands in unison and smiled toothlessly, tilting his head in a friendly way. I dropped my guard instantly and smiled back, breathing slightly in relief.

“Hey pardner, I was just checkin’ up on ya’. Makin’ sure you wasn’t one o’ them gut-eaters.” He explained, resting the cleaver on a bloody, granite countertop.

I placed my hand out and said, “John, John Hunter. Your name?”

“Dylan Keyes” He replied, grasping my hand tightly and warmly.

Finally somebody decent, I thought. My hand dropped.

“You wanna be part of this here group?” He asked. I nodded quickly and swiftly. His face became red with happiness. “There’s only one thing. We’re gonna have to cut off your middle finger. That thing is a sign of disrespect, and we can’t have that here.” He stated calmly.

I stared at him like he was insane for a second, weighed my chances, and accepted. I hesitantly pulled my middle finger out and laid it on the counter, tensing my stomach to numb the pain. He picked up the cleaver and held it high, ready to strike. He laughed soundly and jammed the cleaver into my shoulder, cutting through the bone and causing me to pass out. I heard grunts and immense pain in my shoulder. I tried to move my left hand, but I didn’t feel anything. My eyes flashed open instantly and I looked down. As my eyes darted to my left arm, I hiccupped in shock. I was looking down to a bloody, wrapped stump starting on the shoulder.

“What the f**k?” I whispered through my shock. My head ached as I pushed myself up on my right arm, gripping my pistol afterwards. I held it up to eye level, looking through the iron sights, which was very unsteady as I only had one arm holding it.

Suddenly, a man tackled into me and I fell to the floor. My body flipped over and I glimpsed his face. He had a sharp chin, brown eyes, dark brown hair, and brown stubble around his cheeks. My gun slid away into the dark hallway. Another man walked into the hallway from behind him with a smile and a gun. He cocked it swiftly and held it to my temple. Dylan burst through the door and bellowed, “What’s goin’ on here boys?” The men looked at him guiltily and holstered their guns. I looked at the other man and skimmed his features. A large pointed nose, brown eyes, light brown skin, and tall, curly hair.  “What the hell did I tell ya ‘bout killin’ our prisoners?” He ranted.

The two men looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Uhhhhhhhhhh…”

I sniggered and Dylan shot me a look that plainly said “Shut the f**k up, you a*****e!”

                I sneered and wrinkled my nose with rage and pointed at my stump of an arm, and he spat at my feet. The man with a thin face and brown eyes held a hand out, offering to help me up. My hand reached for his hand and he pulled me up, my thighs burning.

                “Joaquin Lackerman, this is my friend Daniel Santos.” He said pointing to his left, to the man with the gun. “Over there’s my brother, Anthony Scholtz.” I looked over and saw Anthony twirling a knife on his knuckles, having difficulty. I grinned and Joaquin caught me, lightly punching me in the back.

                Dylan looked into my eyes with immense, burning hatred. I raised my fist in rage and punched him in the jaw, blood splattering all over my knuckles. “Whoa, whoa! Calm down! I cut your arm off for a reason!” He smirked and pulled something out of a nearby closet. My eyes widened in a kind of happiness as I saw the metal sheen, the sleek design, and the metal plating rigged with red LEDs. It was a replacement arm. “This is an advanced piece of technology that I bestow upon you, John. You saved my brother a while back, Chuck was his name. Whatever happened to him?” He asked with worry in his eyes as my muscles tightened.

                “Well, a riser jumped out of an alleyway and gave him the chomp, right on the jugular. I did my best to save him but I couldn’t.” I stated as his eyes watered with sadness, he dropped the arm.

                He picked it up and said, “Let’s fit this onto you, pal.” He said as the arm slid into place onto my stump, automatically adjusting to my shoulder and matching the density, thickness, and shape of my other arm. I felt a small pinch as the machinery attached to my vein so I could move it. I took a deep breath as the screws drilled into my skin to set the arm into place, forever. The pain was unbearable as I fell to the floor, clutching my shoulder and screaming, “FUUUUUUCKING HELLL!!!”

                A minute later, the pain was gone and all that was left was sore, throbbing muscles, and a new arm, a new start. “Come on John. We need to introduce you to everybody. They’re just outside.” said Joaquin with a smile.

                “Welcome home…” said Daniel, which was the first time I had heard him speak clearly. I looked around as they opened the double doors leading out of the infirmary and into the warm sunlight. I spotted pipes, metal scraps, and a plane.

                I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “That ain’t a hallucination boy. That’s real. We’ve been gassing it up for 3 years now, rationing some and putting the rest in that monster. When we’ve finished gassing it all up, we plan on flying outta here and head towards Canada, they say there is a military checkpoint up there. But they say a lot of things, so I don’t know.” He stated with a twinkle in his eyes. I scratched my head in shock. How long had it been since the s**t hit the fan? 2 years? 5 years? I had no idea. What I did know is that I would survive.

                Through the months I climbed the ranks of the crew, becoming more and more powerful as I went. Dylan walked up to me, “John, it’s all gassed up. We can leave all this s**t behind now!” he screamed as he told me to pack my s**t. I was told I’d be the pilot since I had military experience. My hair blew in the wind as I walked to the plane, proud of myself and the crew, and sat in the pilot seat with Dylan. He turned my way and nodded happily. “Let’s go brutha.” He whispered.

                I grabbed the throttle with a little squeak of fright and flipped the ignition switch, while checking everybody was in the plane ready to go. My hands pushed the stick forward and we lurched forward, throwing my stomach against the wall of my abdomen. We went forward slowly, then quicker, and quicker, until we took off, high in the sky, as were our spirits.

I looked up for an alarm went off, signaling turbulence. I yelled for somebody and asked them to check what was wrong, which he did. He came back minutes later and screamed, “A bullet just went into the turbine! We’re gonna crash!!!”

I pulled the throttle up again, but it was no use. We fell faster and faster as I let out the landing gear, as we nosedived to the ground, the window of time getting smaller and smaller. “HOLD ON PEOPLE. BRACE FOR IMPACT!” I bellowed as I turned plane on its side, sending the wing crunching into the ground and wounding many, including Dylan. We skidded on the forest floor, and were sent flying again by an inconveniently placed boulder, and then came tumbling down again, this time, scraping to a stop as the control console sparked in front of me, catching on my clothes, and engulfing me in flames.

                I ran at top speed, and fell to my knees in pain, screaming. I dropped on the floor and rolled, but it just spread the flames, engulfing my legs and crotch in harmful light. I ran to the wreckage, everybody either dead or screaming, ripped my clothes off to try and stave off the starving flame.

                Dylan had the common sense to grab a fire extinguisher and spray it all over my body, putting the flames to rest. I lay on the ground burned to a crisp. I could feel my eye protruding from it’s burnt socket and my hair falling away in patches.

I was a monster…

Author's Note

Ignore grammar problems