Subject #295

Chapter 3 - (Day 1): Eventual Exit

"Hey!" His angry voice emanates out to me. I don't look back. Without hesitation, I fling the backpack of resources off my shoulders to rid the weight. It drops to the floor with a light "thump!" More corners in the passageways appear in my peripheral vision. I choose my way randomly, throwing myself in each direction and not stopping for a second to slow down. Sidestepping past all the corners and keeping on running. Just when I start to think that I will never outrun them, the footsteps behind me begin to slowly fade into the distance. Eventually, I can't hear them anymore. Only then do I finally stop to rest my weary, broken body.

Leaning against a concrete wall, I rip off the bag of medical supplies from my belt. Sorting through it, I pull out a small glass bottle of disinfectant and a roll of soft bandage. Undoing the top, I grit my teeth as I slowly pour the disinfectant into the opening in my skin. Tears fill my eyes as I gently pry the folds of skin apart, letting the cold, stinging liquid drip into my flesh, mixing with my bloodstream. I ignore the gloopy red substance flowing down onto my clothes and the floor and pull out the roll of bandage. In a zig-zag pattern, I tightly bind it across the cut. Without anything to secure the end in place, I tuck it underneath the rest.

"At least it won't get infected now," I mutter to myself, not caring if anyone can hear me. I secure everything back into the bag and clip it back onto my hip. I pull out the packet of dried fruit and pop a few pieces into my mouth, savouring the flavour spreading across my tongue. "I need to keep moving," I say out loud to myself.

"Yes, you do,'' a male voice calls out behind me. My head whips around towards the sound, sending splotches of blood from my clothes around the floor. It's the kid from before, standing about twenty metres away from me. I stand up quickly, dropping the packet of dried fruit onto the floor, its contents spilling out and rolling across the dusty floor. How did he find me so easily? I think, confused. That's when my eyes fixate on the drops of blood littering the floor, leading down the path to where I came from. The boy smirks and raises the knife. He charges and I ready my fists. He slices down from above and I dodge left, punching him in the stomach as the knife passes by me, harmlessly. He stumbles backwards. Hey! That's my knife! I think angrily, recognising the weapon he is holding in his grimy clutches. Then I allow myself a small laugh. I managed to get myself somewhat emotionally attached to a knife... I charge again, trying to take advantage of his weakened condition. I swing a punch at the left side of his jaw with my right fist. He catches it in his left hand, using his knife to slice my right wrist. Blood squirts out of the fresh opening oozing down onto the floor. He tries to stab at me again. I pull back on my hand, feeling it slide free of his grip due to the slimy wet blood that seeped in between his fingers. The force of me retracting my hand causes him to stumble forwards to the right side of me. I raise my elbow – my freshly opened wound screaming in protest – and shove my elbow down as hard as I can. It strikes into the back of his neck, sending him sprawling onto the ground. With a gooey squelching noise, the dagger slides free of his grip. He struggles to get up, the blood on the floor making his hands slip out from underneath him.

I plant my foot onto his back forcing him onto the ground and ceasing his attempts at standing up. I crouch down, my foot still on his back, and reach over for the bloodied knife. The boy tries to say something, but the floor muffles his voice. A pitiful and depressing last protest to the world. For survival. I think, with a hint of regret. He did try to kill me though, I argue with myself, as if that would make what I'm doing any better. I raise the knife and plunge it into the back of his head. Purging him of this unfair existence instantaneously. The boy's limbs twitch once, before growing deathly still. I exhale a deep sigh. A sigh filled with relief and exhaustion. I did it, despite my wounds and all the odds stacked against me. But what now? I think to myself. I grasp the hilt of the dagger with both hands, ignoring the pain stabbing through multiple parts of my body to the best of my ability. I brace my feet on the floor and yank the dagger out of his skull with some difficulty, due to the slippery blood covering almost everything I own. It comes free with a "squelch!" and is followed by a squirt of pressurised blood that sprays over my shirt. I grimace and wipe the knife off on one of the few remaining splotches of clean fabric. I return my knife to the spot on my belt. Standing up, I begin to make my way down the passageway.