Finding Lucas

(**This story contains explicit language, violence and gore**)

“He’s in there. I know he is,” said Mark to no one, kneeling behind a tree and staring through binoculars. He started to count, “three, four, five. I can take five.” This was only the people he could see, and he couldn’t be sure that there weren’t more. He’d have to wait another hour, then go in under the guise of darkness or risk being caught. An hour was a long time to wait when all you want is to be reunited, but if he wasn't smart about this, he’d die before he could ever help Lucas.

  Three days earlier, Mark and his six year old son, Lucas, were eating cans of beans by a fire in the desolate woods. They assumed they were all alone, and why wouldn’t they? When you’re living through a zombie apocalypse you’re almost always alone. Mark had been recounting tales about the boy’s mother from before he was born. This only saddened Lucas, since he never got to meet her. She died giving birth to him, back when modern medicine wasn't hard to come by and before the day of darkness; the name the survivors dubbed for the start of the apocalypse. 

Survivors was a funny word to both of them, since they hadn't seen a single other human in the past six months. The last human they saw met his end at the hands of Mark and his trustee eight inch blade he kept strapped to his ankle. The redheaded drunk had stumbled upon the two of them while they were pillaging an already slim rationed convenience store. Seemingly friendly at first, he approached them with a good natured spirit. It turned dark very quickly when he elbowed Mark in the face, picked up Lucas, and made a run for it. Carrying a six year old boy slowed you down mightily, and Mark caught up to him rather quickly. In the old days, Mark would have just tackled him to the ground and called the authorities. But that was the old days. Now, the only justice was the one you served up yourself. Mark stuck his blade directly between the drunk’s shoulder blades, and he went down hard, splitting his head open against the pavement, choking on his own blood in the process. He had fallen on top of Lucas, but luckily the boy had not sustained any injuries. No physical ones, that is. The trauma, on the other hand…

Back in the old world, children were just that; someone’s product of love. In the new world, after the day of darkness, children became a commodity. This was because the disease that had infected humans and made them turn into the creatures we so eloquently refer to as “zombies” affected 99.99% of children. Studies showed - this was when there were still studies to be had - that it only affected about 96% of citizens above the age of fifteen. This made children a delicacy; a chance to repopulate the world one human at a time. A modern day Adam or Eve. 4% of the world’s population went unaffected, except for the after effects. After the day of darkness, everyone resorted to killing each other to preserve any food or shelter that still remained. For all Mark knew, he and Lucas were the only two people remaining on earth. That’s what he thought, until three nights ago.

“Are we going to see mommy in heaven when we get there?” Lucas asked, innocently.

“Yeah, buddy,” Mark said glumly. “We sure are. She’s waiting for us.”

“I wish she didn’t have to be there. I wish she was here with us right now.”

“Me too, pal. Me too.”

They sat in silence, listening only to the crickets singing their nightly ballad and the sound of the spoons scraping against the bottom of the cans of beans. But then. Crack. A twig snapped. Mark’s ears perked up, but then the silence continued. He glanced around, and all he could see was darkness. His eyes stopped on his boy. His sweet, innocent boy, who didn’t deserve this life. He deserved to be a normal kid. To grow up with parents who loved him, in a house with a swing set and video games on the TV. Instead, they were always on the run, preserving their lives. A tear formed in his eye as he stared, watching that wonderful boy spoon a mouthful of beans into his mouth. His son made eye contact and gave a smile, but then his face instantly turned to a look of terror. Mark noticed movement in the bushes behind Lucas, and assumed Lucas’ terror was brought upon by noticing movement behind Mark. Before he could turn around to see, Mark was knocked out cold.

He wasn’t out for long, maybe a minute or two, and when he came to the group of pillagers were leaving. They had the boy hogtied, and two burly men carried him like he was a pig on a stake. Mark went to jump up, but a knee met his back. At least he thought it was a knee. Instant pain struck him. He turned over to see the man’s face, and that's when his world started to blur. He had a small knife protruding from his side. 

“The boys ours, motherfucker,” said the gangly man who was missing two teeth. “Go to the clearing now.” Mark passed out.

That had been three days ago. He had spent the last three days trying to follow the tracks of the group who had taken his son. He was slow paced, having limited flexibility and immense pain from the gash in his back. The knife missed any major arteries or nerves, and mostly just caught the fat muscles. Still, the pain was excruciating. But Mark knew if he let too much time pass, the trail would run cold, and he’d lose it forever, along with his boy.

The tracks had led him to a small town. He found a tree to hide behind while he could scope it out. In his satchel - which he was fortunate enough to still have; he always stored his gear fifty or so yards away from his campsite just in case - he had a pair of binoculars, which he took out and used to get a better view of the town. He knew he’d have to wait another hour or so until darkness fell, but he only saw five people, and he thought under the darkness of night, he could take five people out. He would be reunited with his son soon enough.

Night came, and he readied himself. He carried a long machete which was stained brownish red, having been used on one too many people since the day of darkness, too many people that Mark hated to admit. He slowly approached the town from the South side, where he saw only one guard. This would be the most crucial. They had firearms on them, and he knew if he could take down the first guard quietly, he’d have a firearm of his own if needed.

He waited patiently as the guard did their stroll backwards and forwards. Once he knew the pattern, he took a deep breath and waited for his opportunity. After he heard three steps, he knew the guard would turn and that's when he would pounce. One. He thought about his wife. Two. He thought about Lucas, scared and alone. Three. He knew it was time to pounce. 

Mark jumped out from behind the wall, and the guard turned around instantly. The guard went to scream, but Mark brought the machete down rapidly into his neck, spraying a fresh coat of blood all over Mark’s face. The guard went down without a minimal thud. Mark picked up the AR15 rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He was just getting started.

Taking down the next two was easier than he anticipated. When someone had a gun and they were “standing guard,” you’d assume they were a trained soldier. Sometimes even Mark forgot that they were living in this desolate world, and these were just normal people who had normal jobs and normal lives before the world went to shit. He himself had been a CPA, and now he’d branded himself a modern day Rambo. The world had changed, and everyone had to adjust. These two guards, one man and one woman, didn’t even realize he was there until it was too late. He had grabbed the women’s mouth from behind while swinging the machete upwards towards the man, slicing from the bottom of his protruding gut right up to his chin, killing him instantly when it sliced his jugular. The woman fought, but Mark snapped her neck, killing her instantly too. Three down and two to go. He had to find Lucas.

Slowly, he tiptoed around the town, looking into empty house windows and around corners, until he finally saw a firepit with three people sitting around it. They were enjoying dinner and joking and laughing. He recognized two of them immediately. The two bigger ones were the two who carried Lucas away. They had Lucas somewhere, and he intended to find out where.

He approached them from behind, AR15 raised at the biggest of the three, set in his sights. He got as close as he dared before making his grand entrance. As soon as he stopped, he shot the tall guard sitting on the left of the fire straight through the head. The other two were startled.

“Don't fucking move!” Mark shouted. They didn’t. Both men raised their hands, but didn’t dare turn around to face their attacker. Mark flanked them on the left, rifle raised and aimed at them until they were in eye sight. “Where’s my son?”

The third man said, “Mister, I don’t know what-” Mark shot him in the forehead, and his body collapsed with a thud. The remaining man, the second guard, perked up stolidly, trying not to show any fear or weakness.

“Where is he?” Mark said, anger trembling in his voice. His finger was pressed on the trigger with enough force that at any second, the bullet could discharge. But he stood firm. “Where?!”

The man picked up a piece of meat from his place and took a bite. He smiled at Mark, then said, “this was his leg. It’s delicious.” Mark instantly felt numb. They had cooked and ate his son. This is what the world had come to. No, he couldn’t believe it. The man was just trying to mess with him. And then, the man started to laugh, slightly at first, then harder and more wildly. 

“NO!” Mark said, and pulled the trigger. The man’s top half of his head was ripped off, and he fell backwards. Mark approached and stood over his body, then emptied the clip bullet by bullet into the man’s chest. He was sobbing as he did it, and continued to pull the trigger until he heard that fateful click click click of an empty chamber. He fell to his knees. And that’s when he felt the pang of steel press against the back of his head.

The man who stabbed him, the gangly man with two teeth missing, was pressing a pistol against the back of his head. “Well lookie here… back from the dead, I see. And from the looks of it, you’re angry and taking your vengeance.” The man looked around at all his dead friends. “That wasn’t very nice, now was it?”

“You killed my son, cooked him, and ate him,” Mark pleaded through tears. “And I’m supposed to be nice?” He was breathing heavily, angry and full of adrenaline.

“Ate im’? Boy, we ain’t cannibals here!” Mark got a spark of hope, reached stealthily into his ankle holder, and pulled out the eight inch knife he kept there. When he could tell the man was distracted, looking at his dead friends, Mark dove right, swinging his left arm up to hit the man’s arm and knock the gun away. At the same time, he came across with his right hand, slicing at the man’s legs, instantly causing the man to go down shrieking in pain. Mark jumped on his back, wrestled him fully to the ground, and grabbed a tuft of his hair. He yanked back and pressed his blade against the man's neck. 

“Your man just admitted to it!” he screamed.

“He was trying to get under your skin!” the man pleaded. “Please. I’ll tell you where he is. Just don’t kill me! Please!” Mark pressed the knife harder against the skin, and the man could feel the cold steel pierce the thin skin in his neck.

“You have ten seconds,” Mark said.

“How do I know you ain’t just gonna kill me after I tell you?” the man asked.

“You have my word. Tell me where he is and I’ll let you go. Six, five, four…”

“Okay, okay! About a mile south of here, there’s a village. A bigger village. They have goods that we never had access to. We traded him this morning for food and booze. It includes that whole pig you saw my man eating over there!”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Mark asked, pressing the blade slightly harder.

“My pocket,” the man choked. “There’s a written bill of sale in my pocket.” Mark loosened his grip, and the man let in a deep gasp of air. “It includes two more restocks of supplies over the next three months. Your boy was worth a hell of a lot to a village looking to build the world over again.” He heaved, trying to catch his breath, and coughed. Mark reached into the man's pocket and grabbed the paper. He was telling the truth. 

“How many people in the village?” Mark asked. 

“I don’t know. Twenty? Twenty-five maybe?” Mark had what he needed. “Take the paper and use it to barter for your–”

Mark slit the man's throat before he could finish. Blood oozed from his throat at a rate Mark had never seen. The man went limp, and Mark stood up. He spit on the man’s back. “Go to the clearing,” he said, then kicked the man’s lifeless body. Lucas was alive. Still lost, but alive as far as he knew. He was in a village a mile away, with twenty-five people guarding it. He’d need weapons. He’d need rest. He’d need courage. 

Mark gathered up all the weapons and ammo he could find in the town and brought them into one house. He cleaned everything, loaded everything, and made his plan. He’d sleep, heal and rest. Then tomorrow, he’d get his son. 

One way or another, he’d get his son.