The Bunker (500 words)

The bunker smells of sweat-covered cotton and anxiety. I’ve gotten used to it. This has been my base of operations for the last six months. The smell doesn’t bother me much. The halogen lights buzz above my head and ring in my ears. I’ve heard gunfire, explosions…even a man’s last gasp of desperate air. In pitch black chaos, I find myself. In the crucible of combat, I feel whole. Under these lights…it’s like I see them again. The faces. The lights…they get to me.

My gloves feel cold when I slip them on, and my hands welcome them. The initial cold of the fabric makes me feel the stakes of my upcoming endeavor. This mission is a Hail Mary, and I’m the tip of the spear. Some have told me it’s a suicide mission. The beasts outside ravaged the world into a hellish reality. They meet my blade. They feel my rounds. They die by my hand. I’m the best – and they want me to lead. But the lights…they won’t stop.

My vest is heavy on my shoulders; it wraps around me like a comforting hug. It squeezes me, reminding me of my dad before a game. He loved watching me as a Running Back and would embrace me around my pads. It was embarrassing. Now, before every mission, this is my thought.

I strap on my boots while thinking of him. He didn’t want this life for me. He wanted me to be a doctor. I kind of am. I’m a field medic of sorts. My medical bag is on the table, and I hook it to my flak vest. My rifle feels like an extension of my arm. The smooth grip feels like a pillow on my fingers. I just cleaned my gear, so my magazine is shiny and full. It slides in easily with a satisfying click. 

The sound takes me from my father’s love to this harsh reality, reminding me of where and who I am now. Not the star running back with a 3.8 GPA. Not the classically trained pianist with a talent for the trumpet. The soldier that was created when these beasts began to roam. They fed on the living. Then, the living started fighting back. We were formed. I was formed. It amazes me what society has become since the fall. Thoughts of the old days flood my mind. But the lights…they’re constant.

My unit was the first of its kind, made up of the best soldiers the government could find. Some of us had seen combat, some of us simply had potential; I was the latter. I’d never fired my weapon until my first day in this unit. I shot a wraith and the man that was controlling it –  a monster and the beast he commanded. 

It is we who will fight these wraiths and we who will secure our people. It’s up to me to lead these soldiers through this impossible mission. We have to survive. The Death Walkers.