dimlylitwritingblog

[dimlylitwritingblog]

A small excerpt I have planned for a story I’m currently writing with my sister. It’s a bit of a nuclear apocalypse type of thing. I thought this scene was a really cool idea and wanted to share!

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He couldn’t run anymore. His ankle was on fire and even though he wanted to, oh how badly he wanted to, he knew it wouldn’t hold up any longer. His head whipped frantically as thoughts flooded his head. What could he do? The boy in his lap was bleeding and unconscious, and the bloodsuckers were getting closer. If those things found them they were dead. They were worse than dead.

They needed to hide. Needed to find somewhere safe.

Anthony scooped the mud up from around him and started to lather it on Charlie’s skin. His face, neck, under his arms, in his shirt, up and down and between his legs, anything he could cover he caked in the thick muck, scooping more onto himself and frantically patting it down. It was nasty. Cold, thick slime that stuck to him like glue and felt grainy on his skin. It mixed with the blood and sweat already covering him, filling the cuts and scrapes along his face and arms and back. But it would hide their scent, or at the very least scatter it all over the place and make it harder for them to be sniffed out.

Anthony hoisted Charlie up into his lap, cupping him under the arms, and started to scoot backwards towards a tree. He could see a small burrow underneath. They might not fit. They had to. He would make them.

He didn’t know that scooting with one foot was hard, but he figured that it was a day full of learning new things. His breathing was hard and raspy, almost desperate as he pushed himself across the seemingly frictionless ground with his good foot. He choked a few times, catching the air in his throat and coughing through the mud. When he got to the burrow it was full of mud and water, more seeping into the open hole as he moved towards it and the rain continued to pick up.

Lightning flashed and the rain pounded against him, the rabid snarls of the beasts behind them getting louder and angrier.

He sat Charlie down against a root before he climbed in, falling backwards into the hole and hitting the muddy bottom with a squelch. He quickly grabbed the other and pulled him in too, grunting through the exhausting effort of carrying the guy.

It was a tight squeeze, barely enough room for the two of them to sit out of sight. The roof was pressing against his head and he had to lie with his lower back pressed into the mud. Anthony pushed himself against the furthest point of the burrow, just barely able to see the outside world as he squished up against the muddy wall. He sat Charlie in between his legs, his back against his chest. The walls pushed against him tightly on all sides as he spread out to make room for the other, he felt like he was being strangled by mud. With hard, uneven breaths he held the gun out in front of them, one arm around Charlie and the other held uncomfortably against the dirt, his muddy hands shaking against the trigger as he waited.

He waited. And waited. Grimacing and holding back groans and coughs as the mud continued to pool by their feet, steadily rising towards his hips as the rain washed it inside.

Then he heard it. The heavy beating footsteps of those nasty creatures above them, their hot putrid breath panting heavily as they sniffed deeply to find their scent. His eyes widened, and his grip on the gun tightened. He wouldn’t let them die. He couldn’t. He had to get back, had to stop Sylvester from killing the few people he still cared about.

The animals huffed, sharing a few clicks and agitated grunts before they started to move. Slowly, this time, they were looking for them. Small flecks of dirt sprinkled down from the roof of the burrow as they walked overhead, a deep scratching sound coming from above as it moved the muddy earth.

It stopped, and Anthony did too. They knew he was there. Things became very still despite the violent rain, and then, after seconds that felt like hours, at the entrance of the burrow he could see its nose. The boney, nasty nose, with rotten skin and a permanent bloodstain. It sniffed, quickly and precise, then it paused, and a deep low growl bubbled from the pit of its throat.

It was a horrible feeling, the sense of impending doom. Anthony’s heart pounded in his chest, his brain screaming at him to run. Get out. His gut was churning and everything was telling him that it was wrong. He held the gun towards it, watching as its large claw pawed at the muddy entrance. Shit. He hoped they couldn’t get in. It was much too small for that now, but if they dug he bet they could fit.

More soft pitters came from above his head, and the one at the front stuck its full arm in, blocking off most of the moonlight as it tried to grab hold of something. Anthony pulled his feet back as quietly as he could, lifting Charlie’s up with his own and scrunching up against himself as tightly as he could. It hurt like crazy, but he didn’t care. There would be a lot more hurt if that thing touched his shoe.

He waited, holding the other tightly and doing his best from losing his grip on the gun. The creature swatting a few times, sloshing the mud against the walls and Charlie’s legs before it pulled out, baring its teeth angrily before walking away.

Anthony watched the entrance carefully. He felt like he was gonna puke. Thunder rumbled above them, flashing the sky blue with lightning, only thick heavy rain padding against the mud and the soft rattling of his shaking hands against the gun.

He didn’t let his legs down despite the ache building in his thighs, even if he wanted to he couldn’t, because the thing came back and it was clawing and screaming at the entrance of the burrow in a frantic attempt to get inside. It was loud, so loud, and it dug its face further inside and it was looking at them.

Anthony yelled, pushing further back against the wall as it tried to snap at them, turning its head so hard and so desperately that it pulled the skin from around its eyes into tight slits, its tongue hanging out covered in drool and blood at it tried to reach them.

He pulled Charlie away as much as he could, loosely pointing the shotgun towards the thing and firing out a heavy shot. His ears rang painfully as the bullet exploded out of the barrel and smashed into the things face, sending blood and bits of bone exploding everywhere. The thing screamed and flailed around as it shoved itself out of the burrow, and Anthony could hear it whining above him, and he was sure it stopped moving because then he only heard the faint footsteps of one. His chest was pulled tight still, and he scrambled to shove more bullets into the shotgun, gasping for air against the constriction of the burrow and the nausea from the volume of the bullet.

He wished Charlie would wake up, at least then he’d have some sort of reassurance that they’d be okay, and he wasn’t sitting waist deep in mud, bleeding and trying not to throw up for nothing. It would be a lot easier to do pretty much everything too. To breathe, to move, to think. But he was still unconscious and limp against him, caked in thick wads of mud and slime and breathing slowly.

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There she is! The boys have it out for them 😔 I am always up for constructive criticism to improve my writing, so let it rip!