Prologue

“Some days, I wish I was one of the ones who died.”

It was when the world ended that we all died. At least in some way, I mean. Those of us who were fortunate (misfortunate?) enough to survive lost everything we had ever known. I will never see my mother again or play another game of catch with my dad. I’ll never tell my brother that he’s a dork again. That life is gone.

In its place is a different one. I am one of the few survivors of a time that I have come to know as the Change. It was at that time that the world was baptized in nuclear flames and most of the population was purged. Me? I was one of the few people who was safe and I should’ve been one of the people who died. I mean, if I had done what I was supposed to and actually gone to school instead of ditching to go spelunking, I wouldn’t be alive to pen these words right now. Maybe I have a guardian angel looking out for me or maybe I’m just unnaturally unlucky—I’m not really sure.

When I emerged from the caves, I thought I was dreaming. The blanket of grey in the sky and the fact that every tree within sight was a charred skeleton made me believe I was having a nightmare. But there was one thing that really stood out amongst it all. There was that scent in the air. It’s almost indescribable with how—strange it was. It was like burnt hair and charred meat.

Maybe I was a fool. Actually, let’s scratch that—I was a fool. There’s no denying it at this point. Something possessed me to crawl out of those Caverns and it was as I walked that I saw it all. This wasn’t the place I left. The place I left was a lush park. Yeah, that’s not what I came back to. I came back to a field of black with a few ebon statues arising from the field.

You ever see the kid who’s completely in his own little world? Usually he’s a druggy strung out on some acid or he’s a hardcoe coke addict who’s tweeking. Yeah, that was me right there. I was in awe, not even paying attention to where I was walking (which ultimately ended up with me running into one of these things that we used to call trees). I managed to survive the end of the world—still got my ass kicked by a tree. Way to go, me—you’re a real winner.

My route home brought me through the 6^th Street. 6^th was like downtown in our cozy little town. You wanted to go shopping at our local stores, you went here. You wanted a slurpee, you went here. You wanted a—you get the picture. It was kind of our hangout spot for the crowd who didn’t bar-hop yet. What I saw on 6^th Street was as disturbing as what I saw before. A sea of derelict cars with owners face-first into the steering wheels was what was down 6^th Street. Lots of buildings looked ransacked too. Windows broken, shelves swiped clean, it looked like the entire town had been hit by riots.

Anyone in their right mind would’ve pieced it together by now. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in my right mind. I was in a loop trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Why were there so many people dead in their cars? Why was almost everywhere picked clean of anything on the shelves? What the hell had happened?

The closer I got to home, the more and more the town looked like it had been ripped apart by some supernatural force of destruction. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that one god from the Elder Scrolls was real. Couldn’t remember his name for sure, but I knew it was something Dagon. And it looked like he had just swept through and crushed everything. So many houses were ripped apart and cars everywhere.

It was when I got home that something really bothered me. The door was open. Dad never left the door open. He would always snap, “It’s a waste of electricity!” It was at that moment that it clicked in my head—something was wrong. With all the energy I could muster, I sprinted into the house and saw it. The floor was covered with blotches of a sick solution of regurgitated bacon and eggs and dark brown hair. Then in some of them was blood. Jesus Christ, what the [censored] was wrong? That was the phrase that went through my mind as I slowly stepped through, trying to avoid getting any of that stuff on my sneakers.

I looked to my right to see the stairs covered in just vomit. When I looked to the stairs, I heard it in the kitchen. That growling of ecstasy as a dog gnaws on bones. But we didn’t have a dog. It was when I slowly pushed open the door to the kitchen that I saw it all. There were no words as I saw my mother slouched down against the cabinet. Her face and shirt were covered with dried puke and her eyes had rolled to the back of her head. And then I was filled with a look of horror as I saw it. My neighbor’s German Shepherd chewing away at her arm.

The canine rose from its meal and locked eyes with me. I heard him growl; it was like nothing I had ever heard before. He was always the most playful dog in the neighborhood. It was in that moment that he darted for me. Honestly? I don’t know what came over me, but I just bolted up the stairs into my dad’s bedroom and locked the door. I could hear Cerberus’ barks as he scratched against the door. [censored] me.

That was when it all hit me. All at once. This wasn’t a dream—this was real. My mother was a [censored] chewtoy for some [censored] dog. I lost it at that realization. There was nothing I could do to keep the tears back as they rolled down my grimy cheeks. A dog was about to rip me apart if he got through this door, my mother was dead, and all I could think about was her waffles. I loved those waffles and how every bite was like one into a cloud. Some people hardened badasses like the Punisher when faced with tragedy, I chose to think about my mom’s waffles. I guess that was just my way of coping with it.

There was a reality check though when I felt his breath against my neck. That was when I jumped up from sitting against the door and looked around the room. Dad never kept guns in the house and all the knives were in the kitchen. I looked at the Cerberus who continued peeling away layers of the door and looked for anything. A knife would’ve been preferable, but I could’ve worked with a pen or pencil. Just something to stab this damned hellhound with!

That’s when I saw it. The plastic toothpick from my Swiss Army Knife was resting on the nightstand. Dad always stole those from my Swiss Army Knives (after he snagged the knife itself), but that wasn’t important. Even if it was kind of annoying. But where the hell was the Swiss Army Knife?

I ripped bedding apart, slid things off the nightstand, I tossed DVDs everywhere. Where the Hell was it? Bam! That was the sound of the dog literally throwing himself against the door. And I watched the wood begin to splinter. There was one thing I couldn’t stop myself from shouting, “[censored] it, Dad! Why are you always such a tightass!”

It was as I watched the wood splinter more and more each time that I placed the toothpick facing up (with two DVDs to keep it like that). Maybe that would’ve slowed him down if I was lucky. At least that’s what I thought would happen.

Slam! The dog came crashing through and he pounced onto me. I was knocked back against the nightstand and it went for the throat. Some supernatural strength overcame me (okay, not really supernatural) and I threw—yes, threw—this dog across the room. Onto the bed it jumped and it pounced again right into my chest—that’s when I fell forward with him against my chest. As we hit the ground, I heard the sound of metal bouncing off of the hardwood floors and I saw it—my knife. [censored] yes, God was with me!

With my forearm, I held Cerberus pinned to the ground and with my other arm, I pulled the Swiss Army Knife to my teeth and pulled out a blade. Right as I was about to bring it down to slit his throat, he scratched at my own and I could feel the hot blood roll down my neck. The Dog barked and tried to get away as I reached for my throat and he did. However Cerberus wanted the kill and turned around for one final strike. With his jaw ready to snap down on anything he could get a hold of, I shoved my hand into his mouth and jerked the knife up.

It was when the dog fell over that the knife simply fell out of my hand. What the hell just happened? That was a question that was running through my mind. And then there was a sweet satisfaction—I was alive. I survived! That high really did wear off fast when I came to face the bitter reality of it. I kind of did him a favor by saving him from the Changed World.

I stood there watching the dog’s blood pool. Slowly it grew larger and larger until it surrounded my sneakers. I slowly squatted down, pulled my knife out, and looked at the toothpick. It was soaking in the crimson pool. “Sorry Dad,” I kind of blurted when I looked at it. “Didn’t mean to ruin your favorite toothpick.” But there was no response. No sigh of annoyance. No stern look. No anything. And honestly, that bothered me a lot.

The only thing I could think of as I walked down the stairs was if this was what life would be like from now on. Well would it be like that? I wasn’t really sure at the time, but now I can say one thing with confidence. Yeah. It is always like that. Maybe not so adrenaline-pumping, but it really is a fight for survival every day. A fight to get somewhere warm. A fight to find something to eat. A fight to find the motivation to trek through this day when you know tomorrow will be just as bad, maybe even worse. Yeah—life really would be like that.