Humanity Gone After the Plague - By Derek Deremer
Prologue
So this is what the world has become.
Bullets continue to tear through the other side of the car. The small explosions and ricochets cement my feet tighter to the asphalt and I press as close as I can to the outside of the driver's side door. Every muscle in my body aches, but I know that I cannot give up here. She needs me. More than that, I promised my dad I would keep her safe. But most of all, I swore to myself that I would never let anything happen to her, no matter what it took. It was an odd promise for a seventeen year old to make at the time. A bullet shatters through the window above me and showers me with glass. I reach to my neck and swipe the shards away, cutting both my neck and hand in the process. Warm blood runs down my spine and I see a puncture on my left hand. Red droplets fall to the street.
If I don't move now, they are going to kill me.
I glance behind me to where the twins are hiding over the hill. I imagine they are still as I left them, huddled together with tears in their eyes. When I had first charged into the fray, they screamed at me to stop, and their screams continued for a while, but were barely audible when I went over the hill. Any noises from them would be completely gone amidst the chaos.
Could they have been found already? Probably not. They are safe from these monsters' bullets on the other side of the hill. I am the one in danger. My sister is the one in danger.
Mustering up the courage, I quickly peer through the shattered glass toward the shooters. There are at least six boys in the house. Two hide behind a make-shift barricade of wood and brick on the front lawn and the others were peering out the house's already shattered windows. At least three of them have guns. I duck down just as another bullet embeds itself into the car’s steel on the other side. They have me pinned down, and my only small hope is their need to reload. I use my bloodied hand to recheck the cylinder in my own gun. It only holds five shots, my only five shots, and it is not nearly enough. They have bigger guns. Most of all, I would be lucky enough to even hit the house with this thing.
I hate guns again...
A portion of the tire to my left is torn away by another flying bullet. What’s left of the tire deflates and the car crashes down to the hubcap. I really hate guns.
The gunfire all of a sudden ceases. An eerie silence spreads over the lawn. My ears still ring from the noise of bullets, and the boys are shouting amongst themselves. I look up and notice all of the boys staring back at me. They have stopped firing, but my heart continues to the rhythm of the gunshots. What are they doing? Then I hear his voice. His rusty tone seems to echo off the asphalt street and stirs my insides. To think I trusted him.
“Is that really you ole' Johnny boy? Well if you want her this bad, I guess I could offer a trade.”