The General's Daughter

Chapter 6

Nakota

The smell of rotting and burning flesh had lessened in strength. The question was how long I had been here. It felt like there was a weight on my chest as my back strained while I pushed the wreckage off of me. Bright light flooded in just as there was a loud thud that caused me to stiffen. When I tried to take a step I almost fell over. My question was only half answered. I had been buried alive for a day, maybe more. Groans surrounded me as my eyes adjusted. That answered my next question. Anybody who had been here was gone now. I knew trying to get out the front I'd be dead in hours, days if I was lucky. So taking the best option my swimming mind could come up with, I went deeper into the building complexes. Taking my chances I opened doors and carefully went through the rooms. No one could be too careful at this point. When I had gotten out I found it was later in the day. This place gave me chills, but going out might not be the best at the moment. Deep in thought I opened yet another door after running outside between the buildings. The weight lifted from my chest the moment my eyes found the tables stacked with all kinds of weapons. Now I knew just how many fell victim to the people here. The monsters behind the walls. I picked up a bag and sorted through weapons. There was a compound that I was more than happy to pick up, along with several types of guns. I picked up boxes of ammo and arrows too. Other objects in the room caught my eye as well, one being my jacket.That was when I saw the table closer to the back.

There was a music box on the edge of one that was piled with toys of every kind. Setting the bag on the ground I moved through the darkening room. The deep colored wood was just a little simple box. My thumb traced the engraved curve of the moon and stars. Lifting the lid I find another moon on the inside with a child sitting on it looking up. The stars inside glowed a little as the words Goodnight Stars were written inside them. I could hear Dan's voice tell me the story I knew by heart. The one he read to me those nights I couldn't sleep. He even read it to me after Danny died. The same story I recited to my daughter ever since before she was born. I'd hold that old beaten book in my hand and rub my stomach as I read it. Fighting everything within my very being I closed the lid. But I couldn't just leave it. Picking up the box and set it in my bag. Picking up my knives I slipped on my jacket and prepared to run. With a rush of cold air I bolted past walking dead bodies. They reached for me but just hardly missed a chance to grab food. The fencing had been destroyed. Some of it was down, others had huge holes in them. Like people tried to escape. The lullaby of that old music box Dan had given me, and I to Cierra, echoed in my mind as the pounding of my feet reminded I was alive. The chill of the night air was nipping my skin as I kept my speed up. My breath fanned out in front of me in a white cloud. I wanted to get as far away from that damned place as I possibly could.

I didn't know how long I had been running, but what mattered at the moment was that I found a good place for the night. There were aimless tracks everywhere, showing there had been a large number of walkers around here recently. But most importantly there were signs that people were here. Or had been. My head kept spinning in the possibility that they were still here. That Ci could be just beyond the door. The music box was in my hand as I pushed open the door. The atmosphere of the small church seemed to have a burst of warmth now that someone had come in. I knew they had been there. My only question was where they were now. Stepping to the front there was a crunch causing me to look down. I had stepped on a map. Picking it up I couldn't read a think in the dark. So I set it down in the office. Collapsing onto the couch I wound up the music box. The same song I remember having been on the one that my older brother had given me echoed through the church. Laying on my side I could hear the two of us telling the story. Him to my younger self. Me to my daughter. I could just see the smile on her face whenever she held the beaten up book to look at the pictures while I told the story from memory. We'd always have that blasted old music box running. The little twinkle of the chimes.