Chapter 3-Home Run
I headed straight back the way I had come, until I encountered the tracks made by my dead father. I charged along the jagged path left by his stumbling feet, feet that could once let him cover a four hundred metre distance in just under 50 seconds. Now he was gone. I let out a roar, and my brain went into a fog. I saw red, as I charged the few hundred metres to the body of my loving father, thrown away like so much trash, by a large rock pile, his blood staining the surrounding golden sand a ruby red in an uneven splatter. The thing sat on-top of the rock pile, head cocked my way as it slurped at my late fathers’ intestines. I roared at it, “Come on then, you monster! You want the rest of him you’ll have to get through me!” It paused, and just as I started to falter it pounced. I just had time to swing up my knife before it was on me. It scrabbled at my chest, nails grating deep, as I slashed at its’ face. I managed to lodge the knife through an eye socket, and into part of its brain. It bellowed, and leapt off me, using my stomach as a springboard. I wheezed, and got back up. It was 50m away, trying in vain to pull the knife out of its head. It suddenly flew out with a wet slurp and a grating of bone, and a black, sluggish waterfall oozed out over his face, cerebral matter plopping to the ground in clumps, and the thing whimpered. Well, they can feel at least. It turned to face me, and I could taste the hate rolling in waves off the thing from here. I dropped both backpacks, and turned sideways on towards the creature. I hefted the bat in a baseball player’s stance, and swung the bat a few times, to psyche the thing. It just cocked its head and bared its teeth in what I guessed was a grin. It leaped at me, arms outstretched, hands twisted into claws, and fanged teeth bared. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and swung. My bat connected, and I heard a crunch. I opened my eyes, and the creature was crumpled at my feet, neck bent backwards at a 100 degree angle, and blood spurting from its neck onto my red Jays. “Damn it,” I sighed. “My favourite…” I walked over to where my bloody knife was lying, and picked it up, and cleaned it off on my gory sneakers. I walked over to my father, and had to choke back a retch. His whole torso was split open, every organ lying bare and exposed. His head had been cracked on a rock, and his brains were lying in a pool by his head. His limbs were broken and twisted at horrible angles, and his face ravaged, and stuck in a scream of pain. I bent down, ignoring the stench of faeces, blood (which smelt strangely rusty), and overall gore of the corpse lying in front of me. I closed his eyes, and got up the courage to roll him into a crevice in the rock pile, and whack it enough times with the bat to call a mini avalanche to bury him. “Goodbye, Father. Sleep well…” I felt the hot salty tears rush onto my cheeks. That’s when I heard the groans. I looked to the West, where the sun was setting. A shadowy horde was ambling in my direction. I looked one last time at my father’s tomb, and fled into the night, wishing I had a choice between the bloody weapons, and having my father back.