Two AKs and One Cigar

I sat at the table across from Chris, cracking open pistachio's with my teeth and spitting the shells into the cup after.

"We need guns Chris. If you would have seen that motherfucker, you would want an army." I'd explained to him how it had looked and that it had almost talked to me. Matthias had claimed that it hadn't spoken to him but I wasn't sure if he was being honest or lying. Why would he fucking admit that a creature had wormed itself into his brain?

"I'll lend you two more AK-47s." Chris agreed. "If you need some grenades I can give you four or five."

"That would be great thanks."

"No problem." Chris answered. "Fred told me you didn't find the girl?"

"She was dead."

"I'm sorry to hear that, son." 

"It's alright." I answered with a weak smile. "I was able to bury her...at least I know where she is." Chris just nodded. But he looked at me with fatherly eyes; he felt sorry for me. 

"You seemed to really love her." 

"I did, but I also know that I can fall in love again."

"Yeah. love is...Do you want a cigar?" I just nodded. He crossed the room to the shelf and plucked a box of cuban cigars off of it. He handed me one, lit it, and did the same for himself. Than he sat down again, across from me. 

"I'm thinking of trying to communicate with other people, worldwide. And Matthias is the perfect man to do the technical stuff."

"Are you sure that you want to contact others?"

"Why not?"

"Our life as we know it will be over." 

"Can you call this a life?" I asked, challenging his opinion. He shrugged and silently puffed on his cigar.

"It didn't change much for me. The only thing I can't do is listen to the country music I used to." When Chris said this I realized how sad he was for the first time. I'd always known he was a bit of a fucking alcoholic, but I'd never known that he actually felt bad. My uncle had been a happy person; cheerfull with a spark in his eye, maybe that's why Chris and him had been such good friends.

"Matthias can fix you up a radio. If you have CD's you could play them." I offered.

"Are you serious?" He said. 

"Of course. Matthias is a genius when it comes to technic. He made us a radio, I'm sure he can fix one up for you too."

"What do you want in return?"

"I don't need anything Chris." I reassured him. "Of course I'd like to come over some times and line dance, but that's it." He laughed at my joke. But I'd meant it seriously. 

I stayed true to my word. Two days later I knocked on his door, Willy at my heels and with a radio in my hand. He beamed the second he saw me and his grin widened when he saw the radio. He invited me inside and talked through the first three country CDs, drank through the next two and danced to five or six more. 

Drunk and happy, we stayed up till four in the morning. Then I crashed on his couch and he went to his room. I didn't wake up until 11am. The smell of coffee had been the thing calling me back from the dreamers world. Chris and I were both hungover at the breakfast table. We poured schnaps into our coffee in the hope to wake up faster. 

"Thanks for the radio, Mack." Chris said. "You brought music back into my life. I'd rather listen to Johnny cash than my ol' ragged voice." He laughed and I joined in. 

"No problem. Thanks for the whiskey."

"Anytime, Mack."

After petting Willy good-bye I left in good spirits, even though I was still exhausted and a bit dizzy. Being hungover in your twenties is fine, in your thirties it fucks your mind up real good. My good mood didn't last long.

I could tell something was wrong from a mile away. Smoke hung in the sky over the place that I'd learned to call home. I picked up my pace, eventually breaking into a run. The new hunting rifle that Chris had given me bumped agaisnt my chest reularaly. About a qaurter of a mile away I began to smell the smoke. What had happened? Was it just a forest fire or had the farm been attacked in my abscense? I pushed myself to run even faster. I prayed to God that I'd find my friends alive.