Blue Hells

A knot had formed in Kross' chest thinking about the mutated humans surrounding the remote village where he was hiding. And these despicable living dead would reach the abandoned garage where he was hiding. He sat behind barrels of gasoline and was ready to ignite them if needed. This was his last resort and would welcome death with open arms. Hope was gone. Despair and agony were what's left within him.

An eerie silence filled the air as he sat, waiting for his hunters and prey as well. The smell of gasoline filled his nostrils, and he hated it but had to endure it. Although he was a man, he wanted to cry but tears had long run dry, and it wouldn't change his situation for the better. After weeks of running and hiding alone, his last ammunition was only a hand grenade. If he could kill a horde of zombies as he dies then it would mean victory for him.

He placed his hand in his jacket's front pocket for the grenade but touched another cold metal inside. Loneliness crept in as he pulled it out. It was a silver engraved cross, a gift from his fiancee. His mind went back in the past and a tear silently fell unhindered.

"Damn, Layla, I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Don't worry, I'll join you soon."

Out of a sudden, rustles of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. His heart pumped wild like a stallion running for his life and closed his eyes. "This is it… oh Lord, have mercy on my soul. Save the living from this turmoil."

There was the random and uneven shuffling of feet. Some were slow with heavy stomping, while others sounded like dragged feet as if one leg was behind. The noise went nearer. Dust slowly filled the air and thickened as time went on.

He coughed as the dust settled on him. Kross covered his nose and mouth with his collar. It seemed the land also died with the living to become desolate and dry like a desert; he thought.

His hand went to his pocket again and took the grenade. He looked at it and pulled the pin, ready to throw it at the right timing. "Come on… come closer… and I'll blow you all so you may rest in peace forever..." His voice quivered, yet determination was on his face.

He heard howling yards away from him… and the movement became faster and closer.

"They found me. It's time…," he cried as the obscure howling went louder. "Goodbye, my wonderful twenty years of life," he whispered and lifted his hand.

As his hand was about to let go of the object of death, he heard a fierce rapid sound of gunshots. Thank goodness his mind was clear and his other free hand caught the bottom of the grenade in haste. Both hands clasped it tightly and brought it to his bosom. A trembling hand hurriedly placed the pin back as hope plunged in his heart.

"Careful with your shots. Barrels are full," shouted a man.

"Aye, aye, Kapitan," another man with a high-pitched voice said.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, boss."

"Comprendo." More replies rang. She could even hear women's voices.

Tears of joy welled like a broken dam down his face. The intense speeding gunshots were like a victory song to his ears. "Thank God...," he sniffled between sobs while clutching the inch-sized cross together with the grenade. He remained where he was for hours, careful from stray bullets. He couldn't forget what his father, a former police officer, taught him.

Suddenly the noise stopped. Minutes passed, he wondered what happened, and curiosity set in. As he thought of standing, he felt a presence above her. Kross jerked his head up, ready to fight if it was a zombie, but he saw a black-haired and bearded man with deep-set brown eyes. An M-16 gun slung on his shoulder.

The man gave him an assuring smile, watching his red nose as he wiped the watery object coming out using his jacket's collar. It's a familiar scene when they saved surviving humans, young and old.

"You can come out, boy." The man said and offered a hand. His smile warmed Kross's heart.

Kross looked at the extended hand and shook it.

"Can you stand up? Need a hand?" The man asked, feeling silly for getting a courteous shake when he offered his hand to help Kross stand up.

"Yup, wait." As Kross tried to stand, he cringed and sat back, trying to move his legs, both numbed and hardened. As he continued to move, it felt as if ants were crawling all over it. The result of being cramped between the barrels for an unknown number of hours. He looked up at the man and shyly said, "My legs are disobedient today. Numbed."

The man laughed. "No problem. How long have you been hiding here?"

"Days…," Kross simply replied while lightly punching his legs.

"Take your time. We'll wait for you." The man left him.

Kross continued massaging his legs and tried with full effort to stand up while holding at the covered barrels at his sides. After minutes of foot-stomping, the numbness along with the crawling ants' sensation disappeared.

He walked toward the man standing beside an armored car. "Thank you for saving me. I'm Kross"

"Marcus. Well, I think the gods brought me here to save you, Kross. We only came for the barrels and found you. And you don't need that, boy. Can I?" He pointed at the grenade clutched between his fingers. He willingly handed it over, knowing he was safe, for now.

"Thank you. You can ride with me here." Marcus placed the grenade in a waste holder like a pro and looked around. "Guys, carry all the barrels within thirty minutes, but this time, leave nothing behind. You get that?"

Each responded in different languages, but no one complained. They worked together as one and finished the task before the bearded man ended the countdown. The dump truck was full of barrels while men sat down in another truck.

An armored car with a long-range machine gun attached on the vehicle rooftop went ahead while riders on three-wheeled bikes rode at both sides of the trucks.

Kross didn't wait for Marcus, opened the backseat door, and sat on the partly uneven chair. It clearly didn't belong there before.

"Let's go home…," Marcus said as he opened the back seat and glanced at the rear mirror, watching the red-haired Kross, and nodded. "Ready?"

Kross happily smiled back with a salute. "Yes, sir."

They left the place last, behind the trucks. Kross looked outside the window, welcoming the wind brushing his face and thankful that he was still alive. He almost died several times, more than the number of fingers he had, and was saved by people and animals alike in the most unexpected way.

However, his mind was full of questions.

Home? Was there a place he could call home? The home he knew he left it a long time ago. And every place or camp he went became a graveyard right minutes after. He was weary of settling anymore. At these uncertain times, it was nothing but a dream.

What would happen to humans? Would the living still have a place in this dead state world? Only pain and uncertainty were in his heart.

And the puzzling and the hardest question he had: how could this mutated or infected human, or he preferred to call the Turned, found him even when he hid in the remotest place he could think of?