stay alive // jack metzger

prologue

Heavy breathing.

My breath escapes my nose with heavy puffs as I crouched under the department store counter. I heard them coming.
    I looked into the clip of my gun, seeing not a single bullet sitting in its spot.
   "Shit," I whispered under my breath between the heavy hyperventilating. I peeked over the countertop and saw the crowd of them at the department store door, breaking the glass as they hit against it. "Shit, shit, shit!"
   I crouched back down into my position, flinging my backpack off of my shoulder to see what remained of my supplies. I dug through the bandages and packages of food to find more ammo. Of course, coming up empty.
   I panicked, the sound of the first layer of glass shattering made a tingle of pure terror run down my spine. I let out a muffled cry for help as my hands dug furiously through my items.
   Tears welled at my eyes as I frantically dug in my bag even more, trying to find something to help me out. The knife would do nothing but slow me down and I don't think a Slim Jim was going to get me far in this situation.
   I stopped in my tracks and saw the folded picture at the bottom of my bag. The picture I thought was long gone since I tried my hardest to not look at it since he passed. I set it aside but it was calling for me to open it.
I unfolded it with shaky hands and saw the face I knew was going to be plastered on it. Even though I knew, it still hit me ever single time. His smile, his eyes, his livelihood. All taken away by the monsters that were about to take mine.
   The tears that were forming at my eyelids were finally running out of my eyes in streams. I was feeling so much that I couldn't feel a single one of them. I was panicked. I was in a rush of adrenaline. I was scared.
   I looked in my bag one more time and found a single bullet laying at the bottom of the bag under a pile of crackers. I pulled it out and without a second thought shoved it in the clip of the gun.
   I leaned against the cold metal of the counter and let out a shaky sigh, placing the barrel against the bottom of my jaw. I knew my game was over, but there wasn't going to be a reset button.
I had lost everything. My family, my humanity, my sense of security. I thought I was built to beat this kind of world, but as I stared down the silver metal of the barrel, I knew this world had beaten me.
   I squeezed my eyes shut hard, to see only pitch black as my fingers fumbled to cock the gun. The index finger pulled back and I heard the frightening click of the hammer, signaling it was ready to fire at my will.
   Before I could pull the trigger, a foreign hand quickly moved over my mouth and my eyes immediately shot open to see what or who was in front of me.
   When my eyes focused in, a scruffy bearded man stood in front of me with wide eyes, eyes filled with terror.
He took the gun out of my hand in a swift motion and flipped it to its safety mode and shoved it in his back pocket. He wore a bloodied and dirty trapper hat on top of his head and a, what used to be, white T-shirt.
   He lifted his shaky index finger to his lips signaling to be quiet. He pulled his hand away and started throwing my things in my bag. Fear fought down the words from saying anything.
   "Come with me," he whispered to me, looking up at the doors where glass was starting to shatter again. "Quickly."