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Falcon Quill

Falcon Quill

Falcon Quill

Post, Post-Apocalypse

photograph+by+Charlie+Assiff%2C+grade+10
photograph by Charlie Assiff, grade 10

The air was so pristine, the walk would be relaxing if there wasn’t a constant threat of infection. The spores in the air danced around in the wind but never permeated Jeri’s double-layered bandana. Jeri and his dog entered a field with a house in the center.

“Home sweet home,” Jeri muttered.

The house was more of a cabin, cozy but not luxurious. His dog excitedly scurried through the pet door and he followed. He walked forward and set his backpack and bow down on the beautifully crafted mahogany table. Opening the pouch, he found some overly ripe huckleberries.

“Forgot those were in there,” he chuckled and tossed some boar meat on the floor, missing the dog bowl. Jeri walked over to the radio on his bed, turned it on, and heard the mind-bending static like every other day. 

He plopped down on the bed and pondered about his old life, family, friends, and boss, which he was only now starting to miss. He brooded, then realized how grateful he was for his old monotonous routine. It was a thousand times more bearable than the now hazy days which blended into each other. 

While drifting away into sleep he was jolted back into consciousness.

“Stand up,” Jeri almost certainly heard someone say. He half obliged and sat on the edge of his bed. “Stand up,” a little louder this time.

Jeri stood up and stumbled, dazed since all the blood was still in his feet. What are you doing? he asked himself this time. Jeri’s competitive nature had almost been sapped dry, but the couple of drops left started his engine. Reinvigorated, he stood up took his excited dog by the leash, grabbed his backpack, and stormed out the door. The basic instructions kept coming: “Walk faster, step over this log, drink from your canteen.” 

The zombies that once chased him now lay down rotting. With legs melted to the ground, they were hardly a threat. Wriggling in the underbrush, he took out his axe and mercifully ended everyone in his way.

The dense forest broke into an intersection, and vine-ridden shops lined the streets. All of them looted. He stepped into the clearing, searching for a car and efficiently jumpstarted one, but this car was nearly out of gas. He tried another out, and another; however, they were all out. He slung his backpack to the front of his body and looked over his checklist and map. This area had been untouched by him, so there must be something raiders missed.

While entering a 7-Eleven, Jeri smelled the wretched unmistakable scent of rotters. Carefully watching the ground, he scoured the empty shelves. The once bustling store only contained the roamers’ rasping and his dog’s panting. Jeri swiveled around an aisle and was met with a nearly ghastly growling skeleton. All the muscle tissue was broken up with only skin and bones left. Whatever parasite caused this only needed some brain activity, Jeri thought. The zombie was met with a kick, after which its head rattled around the tiled flooring. 

He went around to the back aisle, to the sign titled “EMPLOYEES ONLY.” Respecting its wishes only temporarily, Jeri entered the bathroom. Of course not to use it. He lifted on the sink faucet out of an old habit, but to his amazement, it turned on. It wasn’t just the trickle left in the pipes, but the full waterfall. Jeri kneeled to get a better look and in disbelief, he reached out to feel the cool stream flow between his fingers. How did water get here? Did someone resume the water supply? Jeri could only hope.

He exited the bathroom and entered the “EMPLOYEES ONLY” door. He was faced with a hallway where his dog immediately bounded down upon opening with no logical explanation as to why. Jeri followed. His dog swerved into a room to the right, stirring up dust and leaves with each step. Upon entering the room Jeri felt the autumn breeze hit his partially shielded face through the ajar window. His dog excitedly ran around the room sniffing the desk eagerly. There, pinned down by a rock was a to-do list with one task: gather medicine from pharmacy, check.

Jeri bellowed into the distance, “IS ANYONE THERE?”

No response…

He lifted up the window and jumped out onto the bush below with the list crumpled up deep in his back pocket. He jogged over to a still corpse, silent from the unbearable rasp the roamers usually have. It had been stabbed, clean through the head. He looked up into the orange evening sky and saw a black asphalt road surrounded by a suburban neighborhood. In the not-so-far-away distance, Jeri saw another corpse, which he speedwalked over to. Dead again. He saw another and the cycle continued, with the sun sinking progressively down on the horizon.  

On the cusp of nightfall, Jeri was led to his last body. He examined it with no thought of getting back home. Smoke shrouded the moon as Jeri and his faithful dog broke out into a sprint; smoke meant fire, and fire meant people. His heart beat erratically as he met with a towering brick wall. Children laughed inside and the unfamiliar sounds of community rang in his ears. His search was complete, the end to his loneliness, and the meaning of his life had returned.

Whatever lies beyond those gates, Jeri thought, is better than anything I had before.

Jeri and his dog walked to the door and knocked, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

 

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