No Goodbyes

His newly opened eyes settled on the glass window.

It was no longer dark, but still dim… he woke up just before dawn as he had intended. It had always been the case, that whenever he sleeps full of thoughts about the plans he had for the next day, his body rouses him up automatically.

He sat up in bed, for a moment, scrambling for relevant thoughts. A part of him expected to wake up in his apartment. A part of him expected to wake up to the same life, he had always had. Boring, peaceful, and predictable as he had always preferred it.

Memories of yesterday poured in and confirmed the fact that the world had indeed turned upside down. It was not simply a nightmare. Demons had invaded Greystone, no, the entire world, and many had died. And he needed to save his family in Thornston, in the forlorn hope that they were still alive.

Confusion, then despair, and finally blind resolve consumed his heart. Just like how his parents had sacrificed for him, now he must sacrifice for them.

He forced the blanket and its warmth away from his body. He took his phone and the clock said 4:30.

Pierre then fetched the suit that Clementine had kindly washed and dried, last night. A more casual attire would have been more appropriate for the task. The only fighting he did in a suit, was during prom in high school, when he tried to impress a girl and got beaten badly as a result.

But beggars can't be choosers. He had nothing with him, no clothes, no weapons, and no supplies when he left the university. He had forgotten to fetch his bag from the office, but even that did not have anything other than books and papers in it.

Clementine most probably would have provided him appropriate clothing, if he had asked, but he did not. If he did, Clementine would have likely tried her hardest to convince him out of what he intended to do. He was afraid he did not have what it takes to refuse her.

He will scavenge, just like in the many zombie apocalypse movies he had watched. The idea put a flicker of excitement in the bonfire of anxiety and fear.

Everyone was still asleep, or at least that's what the silence that greeted him outside the room, told him. Only the smoldering of the coals from the fireplace and the creaking of the floorboards under his black shoes reached his ears.

He headed for the exit and almost let out a shriek of surprise. The colonel was already up, taking his usual place on the porch. He was sure that they both went to sleep at the same time last night.

"So, you wouldn't be saying goodbye to your friends then?" said the colonel, still caressing the antique rifle and still staring at the uneventful scene that was the dimness in the prairie.

Pierre caught his breath. "I am not close to Robert, and his grandmother, for that to be needed."

"And my daughter?"

"I've said my goodbyes, last night," he said, and that was not exactly true.

"You're all set then," said the colonel. He leaned forward on his rocking chair and grabbed the small plastic bag from the table, "There's a few strips of beef jerky in there, and two bottles of water. I can't give you any more than that. I've got to prepare for the worst."

"Thank… you." Pierre received the bag, pleasantly surprised, but not too surprised.

The colonel was known to be quite stern both to friends and enemies. But he was not heartless nor needlessly cruel. He simply suffered the same over pragmatism, which afflicts those who had to sacrifice a piece of their humanity, to be proper soldiers.

"You better go now, and hope, the demons hate waking up early."

Pierre caught the key that was suddenly thrown at him. He was reminded of the motorbike and saw it already prepared for him at the bottom of the stairs. The colonel, truly, was exceeding expectations. Perhaps it was true, that some people do get milder with age.

"As payment for bringing me my daughter back," remarked the colonel, "I hate to be indebted to anyone."

"Then, you must not value your daughter that much," Pierre said jokingly, as he went for the stairs.

"I have always wondered if a Loch-Gilder Rifle could kill an Assistant Professor who teaches history, at Everett University."

"It… probably can," Pierre chuckled, "But what I am certain about, is that it wouldn't do a thing against demons."

If the man's always-serious face could ever get more serious, it did with what he said. The colonel raised the rifle and aimed in the direction of the highway leading to the crossroads. His left eye closed as the other eye narrowed, on whatever was at his sights. He laid it down.

"It's better than nothing. I am planning to build a wall around the property anyway. Your student, Robert, I think he can help me with that if he wants to earn his keep while he's here."

"Unfortunately, the demons have wings." Pierre rebutted, and he found no pleasure in it.

"So, you are leaving us to die."

That got Pierre to think. That could be what he was doing. Without him, they would be as vulnerable as the rest of the population. But… they weren't his family, not his priority.

"Barricade your doors, just in case. Don't add another boarder in the house. The fewer the people, the lesser the chance, the demons appear." Pierre advised, and even as they left his mouth, the words sounded like a pathetic attempt, "And always have eyes on the road, and have your family move to somewhere even more remote at the first sign of trouble."

"I don't need your advice, pup. I have stared death in the face. I can protect my family," the colonel spitted out, "Now, go and try to protect yours."

Pierre pressed his lips. He took one last look at the door and the colonel and his dogs before he continued down the stairs.