A Collection of Short Stories

Apocalypse

There's a living room connected to a kitchen and on either side there's doorways leading to two rooms. It's lit with kerosene candles.

"Give me your gun."

I look at him like he's insane. "No."

"My house, my rules." He holds his hand out. "Gun."

I roll my eyes and give it to him. He walks to a safe and puts mine and his gun in it.

He looks back at me, "Anything else?"

I shake my head and cross my arms.

His jaw clenches, "Give it up or I'm patting you down."

I sigh, irritated before pulling the knife out of my pocket. And then giving him the other one in my bag.

"Thank you," He mumbles before putting it all in the safe and locking it.

"Hungry?" He asks as he walks into the kitchen.

"No." I'm starving.

"It's not poisoned."

"I already ate." My stomach growls and I roll my eyes.

He smiles and shakes his head. "You're ridiculous."

I walk in and sit down at his small table. He opens his cabinet and grabs a can of fruit, opening it.

"What's your name?"

I think about lying to him but don't see the point, "Hazel."

"I'm Flynn." He hands me the can with a fork and I see that it's canned peaches.

"Thanks," I say with a slice in my mouth.

He smiles at me. "Anyway, there's a bathroom over there with running water if you want a shower. It's cold as shit but it gets you clean."

I nod as I shove more peaches into my mouth. Before this, I hadn't had anything for a few days. All the stores I went to were already empty.

"So," He starts, "What'd you do before corpses roamed around?"

I look up at him and swallow, "Surgeon."

His eyebrows shoot up, "A surgeon? How old are you?"

"24, I was still a resident."

"Can you fix something for me?"

I pinch my eyebrows together, "What is it?"

He lifts his shirt up to his ribs and I see a bandage. He takes it off and I see a bloody stab wound in his abdomen. I get up and feel around the wound, "How big was the knife?"

"I don't know, but they broke the blade off so some of it is in there."

"What?" I look at him like he's insane.

"It's not my fault!"

"Did you even try to get it out?" I ask, my concern growing, "How long has it been in there??"

"Well I wasn't going to dig around in there for it with dirty hands," I grimace when he says "dig around" and he raises his eyebrows, "It's also been like an hour since I got it."

My eyes widen, "An hour?"

"Look-"

"Sit down and take your shirt off. Where's your first aid kit?"

"Above the stove."

I wash my hands before pulling up a chair. I place his arm above his head and look at it. "Do you have anything to numb it?"