The Survivor Ch4 Pt5

Peter caught his breath, then moved on. He moved a little girl, not older than 4, then a 16 year old girl sprawled across theater seats. He picked up another teenager, a boy this time, with a knife in his hand.

FLASH! The boy leapt over a seat and plunged the knife into the 16 year old girl, who clawed at his face, oblivious to the knife in her chest. He pulled it free and then plunged it deep over and over again until she stopped moving. He started racing over the seats at another kid when a bullet caught him in the shoulder mid-stride and sent him tumbling sideways, landing on his head and snapping his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw the mother shoot her son.

Then it was over. Peter got a chill as he moved the boy with the rest of the bodies on stage. There were almost 30 bodies, and Peter didn’t have any more visions until the end.

There was a man leaning against the wall with a teenager and a small child around him with gunshot wounds and a child in his lap. Peter moved the children without incident, but things changed when he touched the man.

FLASH! The man had a leg wound and was sitting against the wall with his gun in one hand, and his other restraining his child. Peter saw the boy with the knife take a bullet, and then the mother pull the trigger. The man’s son was struggling fiercely, trying to claw and bite him, but the man held him just so. Suddenly a teenager comes charging out of the fog and the man puts three in his chest. The teenager slides to a halt just a foot away. Then a smaller child comes at the man, and he shoots him too. Suddenly, the man’s grip slips and his son is free. The boy lunges for his father’s neck, sinking his teeth deep. The man jerks and yells, the gun goes up, there is a sharp CRACK, and the boy drops into his lap. The man doesn’t look at first, then a look of understanding crosses his face and he slowly looks down as his blood pours from his wound. He pulls his son in tight and rocks slowly, crying. Slowly, the gun comes up, the barrel finds his temple, and there is a sharp CRACK.

And the vision is over. Peter didn’t know how he was puking again, but there it was: vomit covering the man’s feet, mostly clear, but with a slight discoloration of bile. Peter had a headache. His soul ached, and he just wanted to sit there until the end came. Something in the back of his mind said, “There’s an easier way.”

He sat there hearing the voice for what felt like hours, until he realized that it wasn’t in his head. He jumped and spun around and saw another person. She looked as crazy as the rest, and she had a gun.

She limped forward a step, “There’s and easier way,” she said again, this time holding the gun at to him. He just stared at the gun. And her. She held it there for several moments until it was obvious that he wasn’t going to take it. She lowered the gun, “There’s an easier way.” She raised the gun, “There’s an easier way.” She placed it to her temple, “There’s an easier way.” There truly is an easier way, and she pulled the trigger to find it.

Peter watched numbly as blood tinged gray sprayed across the theater and her body collapsed in an easier way. Then, as if in a trance, he found his way forward and reached down to pull the gun easily from the dead woman’s grasp. He stood up straight.

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Suddenly his eyes widened and he jerked his head and hand as his finger squeezed the trigger. The round grazed his forehead and he dropped the pistol, stumbling back and tripping over the dead man’s legs. He lay sprawled on his back, bleeding from his forehead, wondering if he was actually dead, and if so why his headache was getting worse.