Dying world

Andrew has not eaten for three days and has gone in search for food. Can he escape the dogs and birds mutated into ruthless killing machines by aliens? Will he have to use his pistol? He knows all to well the sound of the gunshot would alert every mutant dog and bird in town to his exact location.

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3. Six Days, forty six bullets

I woke coughing and gagging as smoke filled my lungs. Still woozy with sleep I rolled of my bed and stood. Fire? The smoke was rolling under the door in thick clouds and I could hear the fire roaring on the other side. Think!

I grabbed my rucksack from near the door, gagging as a new burst of smoke poured around the door. I gathered all the food together and stuffed it into my rucksack before pouring in all my bullets after it bar five which I stuffed into my pockets.

I grabbed the gun and ran over to the window before pulling it open and I was about to climb out when I remembered my knife and went back to get it.

Just as I reached it a black form flew through the open window strait at me. I slashed at it with the knife and it fell to the floor but still moving. I ignored it and ran back to the window.

I stepped out onto the window ledge and looked down at the street. It was swarming with the dogs, each one barking manically. I gasped, there was no way I could get down onto the street and survive.

I looked to the next window ledge and stepped onto it. Flapping behind me alerted me to the presence of ravens and I hurried, pulling the window open and diving through.

A flock of ravens were diving at the window claws outstretched and I struggled the window shut just in time leaving the ravens smashing into the glass, their evil eyes showing no sign of pain. The smoke was less thick in my parent’s room and I knew it was safe to open the door. As smoke billowed in from the hallway I took one last look around the room and, praying my parents were alright I took a deep breath and ran into the smoke filled hall way.

The fire was raging on the stairs and outside the spare room just down the corridor. It was horribly hot and I sweating. The smoke stung my eyes making them water but I found my way to the tiny staircase to the attic.

I took deep breaths in the stairwell, coughing nearly every time. I hurried into the attic and ran to the sky light and pulling up a chair to reach it I unlocked it and climbed out.

I whispered a quick thanks to Mum for buying a house in a street where every roof nearly touched despite our want of privacy, the perfect part of the city she had said, wright near her work.

The swarm of ravens flew up from the sides of the house at me and I turned to run, slipping and sliding across the roof top until I reached the edge and I leapt across to the next roof.

I scrambled up the next roof as the ravens reached me. They tor at my shirt, sharp talons ripping into my back. I yelled and slashed around with my knife getting little contact. I kept running I had to, yelling in pain as I did so, I felt blood trickling down my back as more and claws scraped at it. I leapt another gap, I was now two houses along and a few second three. I slipped and fell hard, jarring my bones I yelled and pulled out the gun. I fired and I hit at least two, I swiped at them with the knife and pulled the trigger, the gun clicked.

Five round magazine, four shots last night, one just now. I scrambled up the roof, one raven got my neck making me yell more. I reached a skylight and thanked my luck on finding one. I dived onto it and the glass broke. I fell to the floor, glass raining all around me. I crawled away, cutting my hands on the glass. I scrambled to my feet and pulled open a door and shut it behind me.

I sobbed in the pitch back. How did this happen? I thought back to the night before, how could I have felt safe. I could have waited, survived for a week with the food I had, by then the dogs might have gone and I could have got more. Then maybe help would have arrived, the army might have fixed their helicopters, the animals would stand no chance.

Here I was, bleeding with countless wounds in my back. I lay down, on my front, not my back. The pain was already enough to make me cry.

I dropped out the gun’s magazine and shook out the empty shells. I took another five bullets out my pocket and slotted the magazine back in the gun. I pulled the top back, loading a round into the chamber. The click was satisfying. It gave me hope. I remembered the dog last night and the ravens. With this I could kill them, it could keep me safe.

It gave me hope. I pulled myself to my feet, wincing as the pain in my back flared. I stumbled around the room until I found the door and pulled it open.

I wish I hadn’t. A man stood, a silhouette in the light from a window down the corridor.

He held a large shotgun and it was aimed at my head.

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