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Not Much Longer




The final rays of daylight were peeking through the pines, glistening among the damp lawn below. This morning’s rain was good for the crops, bad for the barriers, bad for the fire, and bad for running. It didn’t make a difference, though. Near the front door, Frank could see the shotgun leaning against the wall, just where he’d left it. 3 slugs. That’s fine. The sling was more stiff than he remembered; it’s been a while.

Before leaving the cabin, he took one last look at her, with her arms around him, wearing that little smirk on her face. I should have let her know… He put the picture on the table near the front door, facing the living room and gave it one last look. I won’t be gone much longer, sweetie. He stepped through the front door.

The sun was completely down, and the moon was out; they wouldn’t wait much longer. He found the stump, the one he used to play the guitar on, the one he would sit on with her on his lap, rocking her to sleep in the warm summer sun. He sat down and cocked the shotgun.

He heard the first one near the treeline by the garage, snarling and crashing through the brush. It charged him, going for his throat. The trigger went easily, and the slug eviscerated it’s chest. The second one was further away and didn’t quite see him, giving Frank a shot at it’s head. It dropped where it stood, blood spouting from where its pale scalp once was.  

One more shot.

Eight, twelve, maybe twenty all came out at once after that, barrelling towards him. He cocked the shotgun one final time, watching the empty shell escape the chamber, then rested the end of the barrel underneath his chin.

I won’t be gone much longer, sweetie.

—
Credits to: kroople

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