Cold Water

The blade made a disgusting “shick”ing noise as it slid through the decaying flesh. It came away with a thin layer of grey sludge that was covered in sandy particulates.

Before the owner of the sword could wipe down the blade, however, she spun on her heel and shoved it up through the soft flesh just below the chin of the next attacker. It slid easily through the thin muscle and continued up through the skull before stopping midway through the brain.

Mila removed the blade before she struck the top of the cranium. She’d sharpened the blade only the previous evening, it would irk her if she dulled it on bone too quickly. She used her attacker’s own clothing to wipe down the blade, wanting as little of the offender’s stick on her as possible.

Mila carefully pulled together the carcasses into a pile and gave a whistle. She hardly had to wait a minute before the carrion birds descended. The cawed at her, possibly in a ‘thank you’. She wasn’t entirely sure.

Though they were feeding on desiccated, greying flesh, the birds were flourishing. Ever since the apocalypse, the various buzzards and corvids were at record numbers, their bodies plump from unending feasting.

Flocks of them had been following her slow trek north, eagerly cleaning up after her. They were a peaceful sort of company, giving her a wide birth until she called and even assisted in her scavenging. They could even be relied upon to scout ahead.

Mila left them to their meal now, moving upwind from them to find a quiet place to set up camp for the night. Her camp was entirely minimal, using a single tarp to craft a lean-to under which she placed her sleeping bag. Her meal consisted of a can of creamed corn and jerky and she used the fading light of the setting sun to read a little more of the one book she carried. She was nearly done with it, she would need to enter a house or town to find a new book soon.

It hardly felt like she’d closed her eyes when the birds alerted her that it was dawn and therefore time to rise. Her breakfast was a crumbly protein bar and a rock-hard green apple that was sour enough to pucker her lips. She drank her water sparingly, putting away her camping material and heading out again.

She wasn’t going anywhere in particular, but she felt no need to stay longer as there wasn’t an obvious water source. She would need a place soon to bathe. Her hair was beginning to develop matts and her own body odor was quickly becoming pungent in the protective leather.

She moved at a leisurely pace, admiring the forest and its beauty. She had no destination and no purpose for the first time in her life. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. It had been nearly seventeen months since the end of the world. Thirteen since she and her people had wandered apart.

It was still a novel thing to live in seclusion. Never once in her existence had she ever experienced it. It didn’t frighten her. Few things did. She’d simply never been alone in her own headspace for any real length of time. Now, she potentially had forever.

The world had ended in relatively little time. It had started first in the cities, the heavily populated areas. From there, it had branched out toward the smaller towns. Expanding further and further out to the lesser populated areas until the most abundant species on the planet was destroyed.

All that was left of the human race these days were the disgusting husks that mindlessly kept moving about until either too rotted to be able to continue, or were cut down by others like Mila.

Mila wasn’t concerned about the disease or curse that had afflicted the humans. She was not human and had never been affected by the diseases that ran rampant through humanity and she was part of a minority that had no reason to be targeted.

Mila was a mermaid. A slave race that until a little more than a year ago, had worked as a hive mind. Unlike most, she’d known her god and had followed her god for her entire life. Until the apocalypse.

When her god had seen it best to abandon the human world, most of the loyal followers, Mila included, had been left behind. Shortly after, the connection of minds was severed and they all began going their separate ways. They had lost their purpose.

Mila had never been the type to wallow in self-pity. She didn’t know what this meant for her exactly. Perhaps she would now be alone forever. But she’d been alive for centuries under her god’s will. If it was the will of her god to be separate for the next few centuries, so be it.

That was how she came to find herself in the Canadian wilderness with all that she had was tokens of the past and a small army of birds waiting for her to score their next meal.

On her wrist was a gauntlet with a small, but powerful crossbow. At her waist was a sword and scabbard. It was a strong sword she had once crafted herself many years past. She wore a chainmail tunic that hung low on her slender frame, having had it fitted back when she wore a different face. Her leather boots were tough and thigh-high, providing her legs with firm protection and on her head was a helmet.

The only other weight she carried was a small backpack and quiver. The quiver held bolt for her crossbow while the backpack held basic survival items.

While it would be natural for a human of this era to look awkward in the get-up she wore, she continued through the trees with a graceful ease. She’d long ago learned how to remain light and go unnoticed. Now the ones able to track her progress were the birds who flew high above.

They alerted her that she was nearing a former human residence. Cautiously, she unsheathed her sword, her senses on alert. She breathed carefully, tasting the air. There was no foul scent of the zombies or ghouls, but that didn’t mean she could relax yet.

She approached the lonely house that may have been a hunting cabin once. There was no hum of electricity, nor any sign of light. The birds quieted so as to allow her to listen closely for movement.

She opened the door, annoyed by the creaking sound it made. Checking every corner that might house something nasty, she peered through her second lids, checking for heat signatures. Once she was satisfied that there was nothing stirring within the cabin, she sought out supplies.

She was just putting the last of the canned sausages into her bag when she felt a chill run up her spine.

She spun on her heels, sword ready, her second teeth unsheathing themselves in preparation. Her lips curled back from the sharpened, shark-like teeth and a snarl rose up from her chest.

“Now now,” said the man in a thick accent. “I ain’t gonna bite, darlin.”