| Your banner could be here!
Find out how!
|Reader's login | Writer's login|
A Child's First Steps at the End of the World
by Dean Wells
My daughter toddles towards me. Her first steps, there on a floor slick with liquefied flesh. I stare at the horror and incongruity of the moment as the final seconds of history tick away.
My little girl, my life and joy, her tiny body gutted where the phage has chewed and devoured and dissolved. Death should have taken her quickly, as it had her father. God help me, I’d wanted that, a bitter mercy; not this festering decay of body and will.
A dimpled arm reaches for me as she staggers closer, fingers clutching, the other arm gone. The hunger is upon her now, the mindless need to replenish the proteins that have melted away. The war was swift, our borders defenseless, the germ of our destruction carried on the wind.
The infected amass outside, barricades giving way; clawing, wheezing, my name decried by those who can still speak, cursing me for not letting them in.
One bullet left. I’d prayed it would be for me. I force myself to aim, gun-hand trembling, and shoot my little girl between her empty, beautiful eyes.
The fortified door crashes open, and the infected shuffle in to feed.
Did you enjoy this story? Show your appreciation by tipping the author!
Do you like this site?
Recommend it to a friend by pushing the button below!