Ok, Who Got Bitten?

To Die, To Sleep-- No More

When I was younger— and I mean a lot younger, like, six years old— my mom took me to the beach. We waded out pretty deep, considering my full height only barely made it to her waist. I felt the water push me up and bring me down, pulling me out. I was having the time of my life, but I didn’t notice how far I had drifted— and how deep.

My mother didn’t notice either. The waves kept getting bigger and rougher, jostling me more than I was comfortable with. The briny, stinging water sloshed in my face and down my throat as the waves became massive. Suddenly, without warning, a gigantic wave appeared out of nowhere— a gray, frothy wall. It sweeps little me into itself, carrying my mom with it, and drags us under.

My mom popped up easily enough, though she had swallowed a good deal of water. As she coughed and tried to orient herself, she scanned the surface for me. The rough chop made it difficult to see. She looked, and I was nowhere.

I had been pulled farther out, and was suspended in salty blackness. I felt the water churn around me, and had no idea which way was up or down until my hand slid across the sandy bottom. The odd thing is, it wasn’t like I was drowning. I didn’t thrash around, fighting for air. A strange feeling came over me, and it felt like I didn’t need to breathe. I held my breath, but I remember just floating along, feeling completely fine. Listening to the distorted mumble of churning waves, the cool water tugging at me, I felt completely calm.

I was under for almost a minute, and when I finally popped back up I found my mom a distance away crying out for me. I remember just paddling back over and asking if she wanted to build a sandcastle like nothing had happened.

You see, I have been like that all my life. Near death disasters, accidents, injuries— these things never really fazed me. And I think it’s because I never truly believed I would die like that.

All my life I’ve had people there to save me, or have had medicine at the ready, or been able to, by luck alone, get myself out of trouble. But as I stood in the cramped Victoria's Secret looking at the strangers ahead and aware of the dead hordes amassing behind, a shiver of my own mortality went through me, and I, not for the first time since this journey, felt the icy tongue of death caressing my neck.

This time my will was broken— I could die, I knew it, and no one was around to save me. My mom wasn’t a couple yards away calling my name. I was still under that gurgling blackness.

 I was so tired.

I shook my head, casting off that wall of doubt that was just like that grey wave coming at me all those years ago. I could do this, I could pull it off. I could lead us through it. I’d just have to put on the best-damned poker face ever. And I was a horrible, shitty actor.

There were seven of them— large, physically fit men wearing army fatigues, smoking up the place with fat brown cigars. They all carried heavy-duty looking guns slung over their shoulders, but the guy my eyes were drawn to was the man who wore a bandolier and had already drawn and readied his weapon faster than you could say “chimichanga”. He pointed the thing at each of us as we raised our hands, motioning us to the back of the store.

We filed past a rack of ugly clothes labeled “pink” that were of every color but and sat when he told us to sit. My eyes followed the pile of guns as we passed them, moving out of sight as the man told us to turn to the wall and stay there.

Okay Sam, you can do this. Just stay calm. You’re under the water and it’s dark. You don’t know where you’re at, but your hand has brushed the bottom. You know which way’s up. Kick.

They’d ignored my greeting for the most part, commanding me to shut up, their grinning faces quickly turning serious. After a few moments of hastily barked orders they spoke.