The Only

CH 3

We trekked through the swamp until noon, when we came upon a small shack. It was high off the ground with four wooden posts on each corner. We climbed the rickety wooden steps and pushed open the door.

The part of me that is a master at looting houses told me not only will there be blood, there might be a feaster. I pulled my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket.

Jesse stepped inside first, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He signaled that it was safe, and I took a step forward.

Timmy blocked me with his hand, pushing me back, and stepped inside. The two of them checked the rooms while I stood on the porch, my arms folded across my chest.

"It's clean," Timmy said. I folded my knife and put it back in my pocket before I stepped inside. I stood in the living room, a small, smelly couch shoved against the wall between a floor lamp and a table with a radio. To my right was a doorway leading to the kitchen, to my left was two doorways, the first leading to a bedroom, the second a bathroom.

To my surprise, there was no blood. No signs of death anywhere.

Jesse propped the tin slab against a broken window in the living room. I dropped my sleeping bag where I stood and carried the food to the kitchen.

I stopped before I stepped inside, and turned to Timmy. "Are we staying or are we looting?" I asked.

"We can stay for a few days if you guys want," he said, "the feasters aren't coming this deep into the swamp."

"But we can't stay too long because we're too far from recourses. We'll run out of food." Jesse said.

I nodded. "We have enough canned beans and Debbie Cakes to last about two weeks. Plus whatever may be in here," I shoved my thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

"Good. We'll stay until we run low on food." Jesse said.

I turned and started unloading the food, stocking the almost-empty cabinets. In one I found a bag of Barbecue potato chips. In another I found a loaf of bread and some peanut-butter.

When I was finished in the kitchen, I went back out into the living room and unrolled my sleeping bag in the floor, and sat cross-legged with Dracula open to page 327. Arthur Godalming has just been forced to take the life of his fiancé-turned-vampire on the night they were supposed to be married.

I read until the sun was low in the sky, when I grabbed the potato chips and joined the guys on the front porch to watch the sunset, something we always did, because we never knew if we would survive to see it come up the next morning.

"I really missed these," I said as I opened the bag.

"You know what I miss?" Timmy asked. "Video games. Skyrim, particularly."

"I miss girls," Jesse said. "I wonder if there's any left on this infested planet."

I cleared my throat.

"Besides you, Stase." he laughed, "you won't let me...you know."

I punched him in the arm, which only caused me injury because he has steel muscles.

"I miss the music." I said. "I used to always have music playing. I don't think I've even heard any since that day."

"Wanna sing something?" Timmy suggested. He nudged me with his elbow. "You start."

"Okay....I can feel it, coming in the air tonight. Oh lord." I stop to laugh.

"No, keep going!" Jesse ordered.

All three of our voices mixed together. "I've been waiting for this moment, all my life."

I stopped. "I don't remember the words," I said.

"I have one," Jesse said, before he started singing Living on a Prayer.

After the sun was long gone, we lay on the porch staring up at the stars with a bag of chips, singing at the top of our lungs.

Unfortunately, that was the last good night we may ever have.