Baked Scribe Flashback : Countdown

He let his body relax into the recliner, watching the cigarette burn down into a long, unkempt cylinder of ash. He had only taken one drag from it the entire time since lighting it, and the rest of the time had been spent gazing down at it, watching the paper dissolve into wafting pieces of spent carbon.The wind was picking up outside, making the two by fours he had nailed over the windows thunk softly against the siding. It was going to be another cold night, especially since the generator had run dry just that morning. At least there were enough blankets, and the canned food wasn’t going to be running out any time soon. Could be there was even enough juice left in the batteries to keep the flashlight going for a few more nights.

Despite the fact that all the windows were boarded over, the darkness outside still seemed to bleed into the house as the blackness around him swelled with its own life and intentions. It wouldn’t be long before he would hear them, shuffling around the house in their nocturnal wanderings. The moans were the worst, those disembodied lifeless vocalizations, so it was good that they would likely be drowned out tonight.

The last few nights, there had actually been entire packs of the things making their way past the house. He watched them from the upstairs as he peeked through a knothole in one of the boards. The herds were terrifying to watch but, it was the lone stragglers that scared him even more. At least with a herd, the things had something to follow. Alone, there was much more chance of wandering.

He reached down to the table and ran his finger around the mouth of the bottle of bourbon before reaching past and picking up the Smith & Wesson. The weight of the thing was reassuring, even though he knew, deep down, that it also would represent his ultimate demise. Better for it to happen at his own hand than from one of those mindless freaks out there.

For now, he still had a few rounds left, and could use it to protect himself, the last one being reserved for himself. He sat forward and pitched what was left of the cigarette into the fireplace and took a long drink from the whiskey. If any of those things got too close to the house, they would get what was rightly coming to them and he would be one spent bullet closer to oblivion.