Feed

Feed. Feed. Feed.

The words echoed inside Dead’s skull. He didn’t know what they meant. He only knew that they compelled him to move forward, to follow the strange but familiar scent through the empty wasteland. Dead didn’t know why. Dead didn’t know a lot of things anymore. 

A shriek filled the air. Dead glanced in its direction. Two more of his kind had cornered food. A weak-looking, old one. Dead watched as the others dug their nails and teeth into its flesh, blood spilled onto the dirt. The barren land drank it as if hoping to restore its life through the food’s sacrifice. 

Food. The word sounded strange. Did Dead eat “food?” He had images, flickers of memories from before he woke, but they weren’t the “food” he knew now. Round, red things with blood, but not blood? Meat in fire? Were these food? Whose? Not his.

Dead heard a sharp, hollow sound as his foot his something. He looked down at it. Metal. Round. He picked it up. At one time it had been wrapped in paper, but the paper had long since rotted. Only the metal remained. 

Can. Can? What was can? Can! Can was food. He remembered. Can was food from before, but not his food. Whose food?

A breeze blew up a cloud of dust from the barren land. Dead caught a scent in the breeze. Strange and familiar. Feed. Feed. Feed. The words echoed inside his head. Dead held the can tightly and began to follow the scent again. 

Dead didn’t know why he knew the scent. Dead didn’t know a lot of things. He woke up surrounded by trees. And the scent. He knew the scent as soon as he woke, but he didn’t remember it. He only knew he needed to follow it. Why? He didn’t know. No reason. Just follow it. Feed. Feed. Feed.

The light was leaving. Dead knew the food would come out soon. Some of them. The easy food. Dark. Light. They didn’t matter to Dead. He could see, he could smell. The food couldn’t. 

Empty. Flat. There was nothing. Dead woke up surrounded by trees, but that was long ago. Now there was nothing. There had been nothing for a long time now. Had there ever been something? He thought he remembered there being something, but he didn’t remember it. He didn’t remember a lot of things.

Then he saw it. Food. Trying to hide in the darkest parts of the dark. Dead could see. Dead could smell. He was hungry. 

The food didn’t see Dead. They couldn’t see well in the dark. The food was bent over a wooden square, quietly searching through it. Box. The food searched a box. The box had nothing. The box was empty. The box had no food. But the food was food.

Hungry. It was they only thought that filled his mind as he approached the food. Dead kicked up a small cloud of dust as he drew close. The food noticed. It looked in his direction. It was too late.

Dead heard the screams as he ate. Screams were bad. He knew, but he didn’t mind them. Did he used to? Why was scream bad? 

As Dead finished he stood again. Where was he? Why was he here? His hand was empty. Did it matter? Wasn’t his hand always empty?

Can! He looked around a moment. The can shone vaguely in the moonlight. Dead picked it up. Why? Can was food. Not his food. He didn’t need can. Did he? He needed can. Again, a gust of wind swept across the emptiness. The scent. Feed. Feed. Feed.

Dead walked in the darkness. It was silent. Abandoned. It wasn’t always this way. Was it? He was sure there was something this way. Wasn’t there? Something flashed in his mind. Bunker. What was bunker? Dead didn’t know. Dead didn’t know a lot of things.

These flashes. Things from before he woke. They told him so little. Food. Scent. Bunker. Even his name. Dead.

He didn’t remember his name. Was Dead even his name? He thought so. He remembered someone calling him by it. Dead. Dead. Deady. Deady? Dead? Was this him? He didn’t know. He didn’t know a lot of things. Only follow the scent.

The scent. It was sweet. He liked it. He knew it. It was getting stronger. 

Dead followed the scent for a long time. Where was it? Where was he? Bunker? What was bunker? He didn’t know. He only knew the scent. Feed. Feed. Feed.

The light was starting to return. Dead could start to see more things. In the distance, there was something big. He knew it, but he didn’t remember it. Bunker? Was this bunker? He saw food around it. A few large food were doing something to bunker. A small food sat near the front. He saw it more clearly as he approached. The small food looked his way.

Food? No. Not food. Girl. Girl is not food. But why? Girl is food. No, not food. He was sure. He drew closer. The small food stood up and walked towards him. Food is afraid of his kind, but Girl is not afraid. Girl is not food.

“Dad? Daddy?” She called to him.

Dad? Dad! Not Dead. He was Dad, not Dead. He was Daddy. 

As he got closer the wind blew again. The scent. It was Girl. So sweet. Feed. Feed. Feed.

“Fuck! Sandy, get away!” A big food cried.

Girl looked at the big food. She pointed past the fence.

“It’s Daddy!” She said, smiling. “Daddy’s home!”

Home? Yes, home. This was home. This was Girl. Girl was his. Her scent. Feed. Feed? Feed! Girl needed to feed! Girl was hungry. Girl eats can.

A sharp crack broke through the air. Dad fell to the ground. Girl looked at him in horror. No. Girl must feed. 

The big food ran over and grabbed Girl. Another girl? No, not a girl, Woman. Dad knew Woman. Who was Woman? Mom? Mom! He is Dad. She is Mom. Girl? Girl is Sandy. Sandy needs to feed. Sandy eats can.

Dad lifted his arm. He held the can out to Sandy. He remembered. She was hungry. She needed food. He went to find food. He didn’t. He met some of his kind, they put him to sleep. Then he woke up. Sandy still needed food.

Mom looked at the can in horror and confusion. Dad rolled the can across the ground. It made a small thunk as it hit the fence. 

“Dad feeds Sandy,” Dad’s voice creaked. 

Tears ran down Mom’s face. Tears? Tears mean sad. Why sad? Another sharp crack. Dad went to sleep again.