"God damn...what day is it? Tuesday? Friday? I think I've actually lost track..."
He opened the door to his meager home near the top of an apartment building on west side and walked out into the hall. He took the smartphone he had rigged for solar power and browsed to the music player. The phone had no service, obviously, but it was still very viable as a music player. He had quite a few applications that saved battery life so he could keep it going for quite a fecking while. He went downstairs, popping in the pristine ear buds and went into a separate apartment. The apartment he went into was destroyed, walls knocked down, everything upturned, a huge hole on the far side across from the door, but it was still very useful. The balcony was still intact and he had a board duct taped to the rail to connect the balcony to another building. The entire bottom floor took in the debris from a building across the street and was completely blocked off, as was the first three floors of five. He had used debris and furniture from the other rooms to seal everything off so anybody wanting to get in had to go leaping across multiple buildings to access room 4D on the forth floor. He was in a literal safe zone as the ground floor was filled with "The Haze", which was a poisonous gas from other parts of the city. There were few buildings in the outer edge of manhattan, where he was stuck, as most were knocked down from the quake. The five or so buildings around were connected by dangerous jumps and duct taped boards of old wood. Harper's home was on the edge of the water on the far side of the haze, protected and safe from anybody stupid enough to try and get there.
Jumping across the roofs of the buildings were very common to him now, having barely any fear left to spare. He kept close to home, luring survivors into scope with cans of food that he had emptied and turned upside down. He often ate heartily and had enough ammo to last him a long while...He had found a poodle yesterday...a cockerspaniel-poodle mix to be exact. A "Cockapoo" if one felt jovial. Black in color with dark brown eyes poking out from it's long, unkempt hair. It whimpered from a splinter in it's hind leg, it's tail kept wagging, happy to finally find somebody to take care of it. It tasted like chicken when it was cooked over the fire. The sun seemed to be getting faster...every time he opened his eyes, he felt them closing yet again
Was he going insane?
Last couple weeks, he kept thinking he could hear somebody behind him, screaming. Yet there was never anybody there. Perhaps it was the ghosts of the dozens of skulls he had put a bullet through...he had sworn to protect them at one point. Put his life on the line trying to help them out of fires and rubble only to shoot them a few months later. He didn't care if it was a woman, man, retard, cripple, thug, or gang member. They were but extra food and ammo to him now...he figured that that was what he was to them as well. He was alone in his little world and he was happy with that.
He knelt down over the corpse of a little girl, a homemade spear through her heart. She had died maybe...half an hour before he got there. Somebody nearby had fallen lower than he had, gone feral. She was blonde with green eyes glazed over. She was pinned to the asphalt of the multi-story parking garage by the spear made out of sharpened wood and concrete. Blood still trickled out of her mouth...she had been reaching toward somebody when she choked and gargled on her own blood. It was a sight like this, a dead child, that made him realize that he wasn't insane...just surviving. He ran his hand over her face and closed her eyes. He took the spear out of her chest and lay her flat and put her hands together on her bloody chest. He snapped the spear into several pieces and threw it aside. He went to the top of the parking garage and pulled out his rifle, situating himself behind an old air conditioner for the former valets when they were on break. He did this so he could see over the city and be hidden at the same time. He saw several ants below him walking around, but one in particular on a neighboring roof had multiple spears on his back. A white adult, black war paint covering his naked body. He had pinned another little girl to the ground by spearing her legs...he had the black haired little girl bent over and he was releasing his tension into her most likely ripped, bloody, and destroyed genitalia, His brain exploded like any other man's skull would when hit by a .308 round. The fecker deserved to die for what he did to the little girls. He shot the base of the spears as close to the girl's skin as he could manage so she could slip out and be able to crawl away...but she didn't try to move. She got the spears out of her leg, grabbed one of the raper's spears and jabbed it through the bottom of her jaw and into her brain...committing suicide, not wanting to live with the apocalypse anymore.
Sighing and getting up, he continued on his journey to nowhere, reloading his rifle. Three bullets down, he would have to pick through the small stockpile at home to replenish his supply. He wasn't phased by the child's death as he had seen it dozens of times before from both adult and child alike. It was a sad action, but it was understandable. To live in hell or die to go to whatever purgatory may lie beyond is not a difficult choice to make. Often you had to choose the lesser of the two evils...and decide to take as many along with you as you can or to go alone. Harper? He chose to go alone when his time came.