Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
The sound of the fire crackling kept Malachi company. He scooped out a pear from the old can he’d found when he’d been scavenging and stared at the fire in front of him.
He was alone, had been for so long now he didn’t know anything different.
But he welcomed it.
Malachi had never been a “people person,” not even when he’d been on top of it all.
He’d expected to at least see someone in his travels, but it was probably best he hadn’t.
The world now wasn’t good, and men like him were dangerous. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone, not then, and certainly not now.
But this life now meant everyone was out for themselves, only took care their own skins, and that was how it should be.
That was how it always should have been. That’s how he had always known who to trust.
He kept going, moving higher up the mountain, away from the city, from civilization. He’d been on the road for weeks, the reserve of his food and water gone, and now the only thing he had to rely on was himself. This was a far different world than what he’d grown up in, than the one he’d ruled. But it was the same as well.
A wasteland.
Feral.
Survival of the fittest.
If you’re weak you’re dead.
Easy as that.
The same world but different.
He reached in and grabbed another pear. In the distance the sound of twigs snapping came through the air. Far too close for comfort. Malachi stood instantly. He scanned his surroundings, the shadows thick, the darkness not able to be penetrated with his gaze.
He set the can down, reached for his gun, cocked it, and continued working his gaze in all directions.
For long moments he saw nothing, but he felt it. Someone was out there.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then he saw him, a man emerging from the tree line, his beard long, his eyes wild. Malachi tensed, this feeling off, one he knew well.
He reached behind him to the waistband of his jeans, pulled out his hunting knife, and stared at the man, never taking his focus off him.
“There’s nothing for you here,” Malachi said.
The man smiled, his teeth brown, his eyes still fucking feral looking.
“You have food,” he said, his voice scratchy. He took a step closer and Malachi lifted the gun, aiming it at the stranger. He felt no fear. Malachi only felt resolve and the will to survive. He knew this cat and mouse game well enough. He’d grown up fighting for what was his.
And all of this shit was his.
He was out in the middle of nowhere, and this fucker was about to realize he’d messed with the wrong guy.
“Last chance to leave while you’re still alive,” Malachi said, not retreating, not feeling anything but cold hatred. This man would die tonight, and Malachi would have no trouble sleeping.
“I need your food,” the man said and came closer, grinning, the rusty knife in his hand the only weapon Malachi could see.
“You come closer and I’ll put a bullet right in your fucking head.” Although he’d prefer to save his bullets because anymore they were hard to come by, he’d end this sooner rather than later.
But then again, he had his knife.
“We’re all dead anyway,” the stranger said and lunged forward faster than Malachi had anticipated.
He slammed into Malachi. They both stumbled backward, and without thinking, because this needed to end now, Malachi thrust his arm forward. The knife went into the man easily, like a hot knife through butter. There was a moment where the man looked stunned, opening and closing his mouth as if he were a fish out of water.
He shoved the stranger away and the man fell to his knees, looking down at the wound on his side.
And yet Malachi felt nothing.
No remorse.
No sadness.
Nothing but the feeling that the world still moved forward despite the shit thrown his way.
And once again, he realized how much he was made for this new world.
The man fell forward, the life fading from him as he stared up at Malachi.
Malachi stared at the corpse in front of him, the blood covering his ratty, dirty clothes, the scent of death in the air.
Then he tucked his gun in the waistband of his jeans and cleaned his knife off on the coat sleeve of the man on the ground.
Death wasn’t a new concept to him.
He lived it, embraced it.
He felt nothing but resolve.
The night and the heavy trees around him made it impossible for him to really see the once living man.
Malachi turned without giving it another thought, knowing that he’d pack up in the morning and find another place to set up camp. He’d been staying on the mountain for this reason …. to stay away from others. But he had to keep moving, had to keep scavenging to stock up on more supplies.