I inched toward the tent, the nauseating stench of whatever was inside threatening to make me revisit the few berries I'd had for breakfast.
I was hungry, running low on food, alone, and terrified. In my hands, which were held out in front of me at eye level, I held my trusty Glock 26.
Soon I was right in front of the tent. Flies buzzed around the small gap where the zipper hadn't been pulled all the way closed. Fearfully, I took one hand off the Glock, grabbed hold of the zipper and yanked down.
The sight that met my eyes is something I'll never forget. I mean, I'd seen things before that no one should ever have to see, but......every new horror is permanently tattooed to my eyes.
Tangled in a sleeping bag were the remnants of a human being. The hands were bound together; I couldn't see the feet.
Its head snapped toward me as the door flap fell down, and snarling, it wriggled and writhed, trying to escape the sleeping bag and eat me.
Its rotted skin sagged horrifically, its eyeballs fully exposed, barely staying in the mushy skull.
I tried not to scream and puke simultaneously as I tightened my index finger around the trigger. I hated shooting, as the loud sound might attract more dead things, but I have this thing about never leaving one just rotting there. Kind of like paying it forward – kill the dead thing so that when the next live human comes through, they won't get attacked.
I scrunched up my eyes, braced myself, and squeezed the trigger.