Until Tomorrow

Three infected surrounded Charlie as he backed himself against a tree. He tried to duck behind the old oak to get away, but Charlie was too small and slow. He was only seven years old and his little legs and coordination were not cooperating with him. He tripped over a root, and they were on him in seconds, tearing at his clothes. Charlie’s father Bo had just arrived back on the scene to see his son flailing like one of the old tube men you’d see outside of a tire dealership. He raised his pistol in the air and fired a round. The noise instantly drew them to the older, more capable of the two. Charlie got to his feet and hid behind the tree, creeping around just enough to watch the following. His dad holstered the gun and went for the hunting knife, slashing out and sticking one of them through the eye. He pulled back and a long slimy trail of blood and brain matter came with it and flopped to the ground like a big slimy booger. 

The second infected grasped at him and came down hard on his forearm with his teeth, and fear flooded Charlie’s entire body. His blood ran cold and gooseflesh trickled up his arms. Everyone knew, even a seven-year-old boy, that the bite meant the end. Lights out, no encore folks, that’s all she wrote. He didn’t scream, and he didn’t run to his father’s aid. He sat at the trunk of the tree and began to cry.

Bo didn’t have time to think about the bite yet. He woke up with one goal every single day, and that goal was to get Charlie to the next day in one piece. He jabbed the knife upward under the throat of the one that bit him. It let out a bloodcurdling hiss and fell like a sack of potatoes. The hiss wasn’t out of pain, he thought, rather it was out of pure hate and rage. That’s all these things knew; it didn’t matter what or who they were before. 

The third one never even took a second glance at its fallen comrades, these things were also stupid, so it did the obvious and made its lunge. Bo juked to the side, tripped it, and brought his knife down hard in the center of its forehead. The third fell dead, for the second time Bo thought, as he wiped the blood and puss from his blade and resheathed it. Only then did he feel the shearing burn in his arm, so he looked down to assess the damage. Sure as shit, he thought as he looked at the perfect imprint of a full set of teeth. You just have to get Charlie to tomorrow, he thought, but what about after that? How could Charlie make it to the next day after that?

He had to think fast. He knew he had a little time, these things could sometimes take days but he had to stop the infection, “Charlie,” he said more patiently than he felt. “I need you to bring me my duffle bag.

“Okay, Daddy,” the boy said. “You’re. . you’re not gonna bite me, are you Daddy?” he asked, quivering.

“No son, I’m not gonna bite you, but I need that duffle bag now, you hear?” The boy nodded and ran to the bag sitting next to the still-burning campfire. He dragged it, using all his effort. The thing probably weighed as much as him or more. Bo quickly unzipped the black bag and started rummaging through it until he found what he needed. He pulled out a small hand axe and held it up. “Alright Charlie, now you need to listen to me and you need to listen to me real good, understand?” Again, the boy nodded. “Okay,” Bo said with a sigh. “Now I’m gonna start the process, but you might need to finish it 'cause I’m gonna pass out at some point. We have to cut my arm off at the elbow before the infection spreads. That’s the only chance I have, do you understand?” 

Charlie looked mortified, and Bo felt a pang of guilt in his chest because his young, beautiful boy had so much stolen from him so fast. If there is a god, he’s one cruel motherfucker. The fair-haired boy stared back at him with teary blue eyes and said, “Yes Daddy.”

“Good, Charlie, that’s a real good buddy. Now listen, there’s a second step and this is important to remember otherwise I’ll die from a different kind of infection anyway. When the first job is done, I need you to hold the axe blade into the fire until it’s glowing red. Then after that, I need you to press it against the stump of my arm as hard as you can, okay?” The boy was trembling and already looked like he was ready to pass out. I’m gonna have to make these first few swings count, Bo thought. He didn’t wait for a response. He put his arm on the wood chopping block he had just been using for firewood before he walked away to get more logs. I’m such an idiot, why would I have left him alone like that? 

Bo got his arm in place as his son watched in terror. The first swing was the worst because it was the only one he fully felt. The sleepiness and nausea filled him instantly as he brought the short axe down as hard as he could on his elbow. He heard a loud crunch and watched the blade tear through meat and bone. He let out a shriek of pain, but before he even had time to think about the pain, he was bringing it down again. He heard another pop and knew the most challenging part was over. He was completely through the bone now. Dizziness was beginning to overwhelm him as he brought the axe down a third and final time. His body was in shock and he didn’t make another sound as his severed forearm slipped free from the rest of him. He fell back in the dirt, holding the axe out to his son, mouthing the word, “fire,” as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Charlie took the axe that was dripping wet with crimson blood, and his instinct took control of him. He held the blade over the fire as instructed and waited until the metal was as bright red as he thought he could get it. He took the glowing steel and jammed it against his father's bloody stump as hard as he could. He heard the flesh sizzle as the metal pressed against it and he could smell the scent of the cooking meat. He lurched over and vomited on the ground before passing out. 

When Bo came to, he was aware that not only did his son finish the job, but it had taken everything out of the boy to do so. He wished he could've shielded him from it, but that thought was ripped from his head when he felt something grab his leg. He looked to see an infected, or half of one rather, as it was just the torso shimmying toward him, pulling itself in an almost comedic fashion. He kicked it away and stumbled to his feet. There were more behind the one that grabbed him and they had their legs intact. He scooped up Charlie with his one good arm and made a beeline toward the junkyard they had been making their way to before they stopped for lunch. Where the woods ended there was a large clearing, and off in the distance stood a junkyard about a football field away. Bo had hoped to rummage for supplies, but right now they needed shelter. 

Scattered throughout the clearing, there were a few stray cars. An old cargo van was about halfway between them and the junkyard, and Bo saw no other choice but to try to hide out until he and Charlie were feeling up to par again. “Charlie,” he said, shaking the boy as well as he could with his one good arm. “Charlie, wake up.” The boy’s eyes flew open in a panic. “Charlie, I need you to take the gun from my waste and try to take care of those three behind us.” He was aware that he was running out of gas and didn’t know if he could make it the rest of the way. The boy was young and inexperienced, but God knows they’d put the practice in. It was time to see if the work had paid off.

The panic look in the child's eyes washed away immediately and replaced with a serious expression. Bo was proud to see how quickly he became cool and calm. Charlie took the gun from his father’s holster, and Bo thought he looked like a true gunslinger. The boy took aim and the gun made a deafening crack. The first infected’s head blew back in several pieces, showering its comrades with more blood boogers. The boy smirked and in that moment Bo felt bad for him because this was the bloody new world he was going to grow up in. Soon enough, it would be the only thing he remembered. His beautiful boy, who not long ago spent his days watching videos of other kids playing with trains or legos, and didn’t have a care in the world, would now grow up seeing nothing but gore.

The gun went off again, this time his aim wasn’t as true, but he managed to take out the second one’s knee. It fell to the ground, thrashing furiously. Another loud crack and the final infected’s face disintegrated into nothing but a spray of grey and red. The cargo van now seemed so close, and the infected were for the most part taken care of so Bo put Charlie down and slowed to a walk. The boy still gripped the pistol fiercely. He turned and walked slowly to the remaining one that was crawling toward them. He pointed the gun again, and pulled the trigger one last time, putting the last one down. He turned and rejoined his father and they walked the remainder of the way to the van. 

The doors were unlocked, and they climbed in for a rest. Bo drifted off almost instantly and was quickly taken by nightmares of infected. They were tearing Charlie apart bit by bit. The boy screamed and thrashed and blood sprayed to and fro as his limbs were severed. One of the infected sunk his teeth into the boy's throat and ripped out his jugular, silencing the screams. The boy went limp and the monsters continued to feast on his carcass. Bo was trapped in the frame. He was there and observing, but wasn’t physically capable of moving. This is the same dream he had every night, and he tried to remind himself every time that was all it was. A dream. Nothing more. The problem with that was that he knew they were always just a few bad decisions away from it becoming reality. 

He jerked awake and immediately turned his attention to his son that was just sitting in the passenger seat, turning the gun over and over in his hands. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but the sun was going down so at least a couple of hours. “Dad,” Charlie said in a shaky voice. “Do you think that things could ever be normal again after all of this? Like, Could things ever go back?” The question brought tears to Bo’s eyes.

“Well, I don’t think it could ever be that simple son,” he said with a sigh. “I think there’s a chance that things could get better, but. . . to answer your question, no. I don’t think things can return to how they were before. That doesn’t mean we can’t still make it a life worth living though. Hold on to hope and love, kid because if you lose it, then you won’t have anything left worth fighting for.” 

The boy nodded his head and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I love you, Dad,” he said before turning his head to stare out the window. 

“I love you too, Charlie. Don’t ever forget that. I know I’m harder on you than I used to be, but it’s only because you’re all that I got. I need you to live. I need you to see the better end of this.” He was really crying now, and less discretely than his son. He felt a sense of pride though. He woke up with one goal today, and he achieved that goal. All he could hope for now was that he would achieve that goal again tomorrow. He wiped the tears from his eyes, and leaned over to pull his son into the tightest hug he could muster.