Late February, 2017...
The first nights were all a blur due to shock and sleep deprivation. Most of the days were spent running at a jog pace, putting distance between him and everything. On the fourth day, he stopped in a small clearing in between sprawling, new subdivisions and sat.
He looked around him, making sure he wasn't near anyone or anything, and he found himself panicking slightly when suddenly it hit him. He needed a plan. Running just to run and stay alive wasn't a solid plan, he needed something more, at least something to run towards.
He heard two gunshots fired far off in the distance and was roused from his thoughts. Death was everywhere and it was worse than he could have ever imagined. One would imagine that in a time of crisis like this, people would come together, nations would find a common cause, and trivial conflicts would be over looked. At first it seemed that way. People helping, offering shelter, donating things and giving excess things to those in need.
Then, bad things happened. Yes, amidst something like in infection that reanimated bodies, OTHER bad things. Nuclear weapons were fired. Countries were at war. Minor looting broke out. Then, not even an hour after he'd left Phoenix and made it out to the suburbs, 2 fighter jets ripped by over head, followed by a larger bomber of some sort (or at least that was his guess). Both dropped payloads over the city.
The. Whole. Fucking. City.
It was shocking, awe inspiring and terrifying, and that was only added to when the force of the explosions pushed everything outward, and eventually, he was forced to hide inside an abandoned car as dust and debris moved past him. He laid there, moving in and out of half-sleep, until things outside calmed down and he felt it was safe to exit. He looked around and didn't know what to think, what to make of the situation. He jogged off east, never looking back at until the city was out of his sight completely.
That was about, what, 9 or 10 days ago now, and he sat in the field, alone and with nothing but a bat, a sword and a backpack with some clothes and food. The only thing he could think of was "head east," but that was too vague. Then he thought of something. Find a small town, or maybe an isolated house somewhere and either see if they'd let him in, or if it was abandoned, stay there and find a secure and safe place to sleep.
It wasn't long before he chanced upon a new home off of a two lane highway, a two story yellow house with no vehicles parked anywhere. He made his way to the door and on it was spray painted was "Empty. Enjoy. Pray hard." After a quick walk through the house, he made his way upstairs, closed a door behind him and laid in a bed. He was about 3 thoughts into figuring out a plan when sleep over took him.
It was the best sleep Fuad could remember in a long time.
And that sleep was ruined when he was roused by a violent shake. He suddenly became aware of the words around him, people yelling. "Get the fuck up, slow."
"Now!"
At first he thought they were police, but even in his sleepy state of confusion and shock, it immediately became apparent that they were not. They were guys in clothes, armed randomly and there was shouting and arguing below, on the first floor.
There arguing below intensified as Fuad heard men arguing about something "being mine" while another said the same. Then some others laughed but Fuad was shoved and one man who was holding a shotgun commanded "gimme your shit Osama."
The other who didn't seem to be armed added "poor habibi, looks like no virgins for you."
He reached for his back, debating grabbing his sword when the argument downstairs intensified and gunshots were fired. Both of the men looked out the door, towards the stairs and Fuad wasted didn't hesitate. He picked up the sword and slammed it up with all of his force into the man with the shotgun. The sword went in through the man's stomach, just below the belly button and came up through the back of the man's shoulder blade area. There was no hollywood scream or spray of blood.
But Fuad would never forget how disgustingly hot and wrong the blood felt as it immediately spilled out onto his hand. It took a moment for the other to realize what happened, but Fuad was quicker. He grabbed the shotgun from the man's weak grip, aimed it in the general direction of the other man and pulled the trigger, just as more gunshots were fired below.
By sheer luck, the buckshot round took the unarmed man clean in the neck and lower face, and at less than three feet, the damage was devastating. "Holy fuck," he said.
Sometimes Fuad still saw that in his nightmares.
Thinking quick, he grabbed all of his gear, the shotgun and looted the bodies, then closed the door. He took a moment to listen and no one seemed to be worried about upstairs, since there was chaos below. He opened a window, climbed out and dropped down into the grass, sneaking away.
His hands didn't stop shaking for several hours that night...
Blizz