SAM VII

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Let me warn you now; my life story is not for the faint of heart. It's not too late to turn back, you know, to put my journal down and go back to your ordinary life. To pretend none of this ever happened and the aliens never killed billions. 

Unfortunately, it did, and they did.

There is no happy ending to my life story. But that doesn't mean you can't keep reading. If you enjoy inflicting pain on yourself, then by all means, keep reading. Just don't say I didn't warn you. 

Anyways, we spent the night in a dumpster.

It wasn't nearly as bad as you'd think, actually; the trash bags provided decently good padding for sleeping on. Plus, the smell wasn't too noticeable if you breathed through your mouth.

So I had an okay sleep for the first time in about a week. No shootings, stabbings, or deaths was a very good sign. I didn't even wake up until the next day, when a piercing scream reverberated through the air, followed by an angry yell. Somehow, I was beginning to get used to the occasional scream or gunshot. The world was just a more violent place now. And it scared me how little time it took for me to adjust.

"Time to move," said my father, picking himself up and climbing out of the dumpster. "We can't stay in the same place for too long. Just sleeping here overnight was pretty risky." I tried to wake myself up, by breathing in deeply, but ended up gagging instead. The garbage hadn't been emptied for weeks and the smell was absolutely unbearable.

I grabbed my father's hand and he helped me out of the dumpster. My clothes were covered in dirt and grime, and I was convinced that I would smell like trash for the rest of eternity.

"Sam, I think we should leave town," said my father. "Establish a camp near the outskirts. If we ever need supplies, we can come back, briefly. It'll be much safer that way." I nodded in agreement, looking behind me at everything I'd be leaving behind. "We'll follow the highway until we're out of the city limits," my father continued. "Then we'll try to find natural resources and build a base. This is the dawn of a new era, Sam. It's time for things to change."

We reached the outskirts of town a few hours later. There were no more roads around except for the highway.

"Let's rest here for a while," I said, sitting down on the side of the road. We had to take breaks more and more frequently; the ash in the air seemed to be getting thicker and it was getting harder to breathe. In fact, you could barely see the sun through the cloud of ash in the sky. The ash on the ground was accumulating as well. It was beginning to look like winter, but much uglier.

Behind us was our town, and in front of us, a world of uncertainty. We would be leaving behind everything we were raised on, and there was no going back.

My father sat beside me, and let out a slow breath, wheezing audibly. "We're going to need water," he said. "Plus, the woods nearby should have air that's at least a little cleaner." Once we had gathered our breath, we got back on our feet and continued following the highway a little farther, until we ventured off the beaten path and moved towards the forest.

I began moving on auto-pilot, completely zoning out and following my father. We entered the forest, and the first thing I noticed was the utter lack of life. No birds, bugs, or noises of any kind; nothing. The sky was dark with ash and it was beginning to get colder as well. The ground was covered in fallen tree-trunks, dusted with a layer of ash. I began to shiver rapidly, and my father wrapped his arm around me protectively.

I placed my hand on a tree, feeling the bark. It was soft and damp, but my hand pulled away dry. The trees had all their bark stripped away from the harsh conditions, and they looked cold and menacing in the haze of ash.

About a half-hour later of trekking, we finally found a positive sign. "Sam, look," said my father, pointing at the ground. "Mud."

"I noticed," I said sarcastically, my teeth chattering together. "I've been trying to trudge through it. Your point?"

"That must mean water's nearby. Let's keep going."

Our feet sunk ankle-deep into the mud, but the promise of freshwater helped us along. It started to rain, reinforcing the cold that chilled me to the bone.

Suddenly. my father put his arm out to stop me. "Listen! Rushing water!" We ran excitedly down a steep decline, losing control of our legs. A gorgeous stream awaited us, flowing down the rocks. We scooped up handfuls of water and drank it down. It cleansed my dry throat, and rejuvenated me. But at the same time, I was freezing from the inside out.

"Here," said my father, taking off his coat and wrapping it around my arms. I placed my head on his chest and gently shivered, feeling the inside of my nose freeze. "Hey," he said. "It's okay. It'll be all right. Stop shivering." Even though he said it to comfort me, it almost sounded like a threat.

"L-look, Father," I said, my teeth chattering. I pointed to an overnight bag lying in the muddy riverbank. 

"It looks like someone used to live here," said my father, and unzipping the bag. "This could have been a homeless camp. What a great find, Sammy!" Inside, there were some assorted snacks, a few water bottles, some matches, a sleeping bag, and a travel-size bag of hygienics. We filled the water bottles with water from the stream and unfurled the sleeping bag.

"You look cold," said my father, placing his hand against my forehead. A burning sensation ran down my spine and I shivered just slightly. "Here, help me sharpen these sticks," said my father, handing me a pocket knife. "We'll make a spit, and maybe we can find an animal to roast."

My father pulled out a pocket knife and began working on peeling the bark off of a stick. I did the same, and together we made two ends of a spit. "Kiddo, that looks great!" said my father, beginning work on the main rod.

That's when the bushes rustled. My father and I looked at each other, and I handed him my Glock. He held it out with two hands straight in front of him, aiming the sight towards the movement. He fired a single round and the forest fell silent.

My father ran across the stream with his pant legs rolled up, sending water splashing. Then he felt around in the bushes. "I got it!" he shouted excitedly. I heard him holler in celebration, and he held up what looked like a rabbit. "We're eating meat tonight!"

I gagged when I saw what was left of the rabbit. Its head was mangled beyond recognition. My father skinned and gutted it with his pocket knife later that evening; I couldn't bear to watch. My stomach churned at the thought of eating the poor thing; I didn't need to see how it was prepared.

My father struck a match and lit some kindling. "With our spit we made, it looks like we can have ourselves a proper roast," said my father. "Things are going to be okay, Sam. We can eat. We have water." The fire illuminated his face as he worked, giving it a reddish tint. "This will be our home now."

The sky was dark as we prepared our meal, but then again, it always was. I hadn't seen direct sunlight in days. The atmosphere was full of ash and the ash on the ground was slowly accumulating as flakes fell from the sky. It was apocalypse weather all right.

My father placed the skinned and gutted rabbit over the fire. Even though I never thought I'd have to eat rabbit, my mouth began to water. I hadn't eaten meat in weeks.

While I waited for the rabbit to cook, I turned to my textbooks from school. Thank god I had at least some form of reading I could do. I read about ancient civilizations, about the Cold War, and the American Revolution. I read about Thomas Edison, cells, and geometry. There's so much to learn! I thought. Before this whole thing's over, I want to memorize every chapter of my textbooks. That should get me a head start on high school. I refused to believe that things wouldn't go back to normal, that I wouldn't return to school and see everyone again. Hope was the only thing keeping me sane.

"Kiddo, the meat's almost ready," said my father. "Wash your hands off in the stream, and we'll divvy up the rabbit." We were eating wild rabbit in the forest, and yet my father was worried about having dirty hands.

After we washed up, I got a leg, and when I bit into it, it was soft and tender. My mouth watered and I tore through it. It was the best meal I had in my entire life, probably because it had been so long since I felt well-fed.

"You should sleep," said my father. "We have a big day ahead of us. We have to finish setting up our camp and explore the area."

I nodded and climbed into the sleeping bag, already beginning to feel sleepy. My eyes began to gently flutter shut. The sleeping bag warmed me from head to toe as I sank farther into the padding. The inside was lined with newspapers, which provided surprisingly good insulation. And so, I drifted off to sleep. It's a good thing I was well rested and alert, because in the morning, someone would die.

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