Now he was running on empty with sandpaper eyes, half-blinded by snow. He should have seen the movement. Maybe under normal conditions he would have, but he was too focused on the woman in front of the Target, her head shaved, spitting fire from her shotgun like a goddamn action hero. She rotated her shotgun again, and he only had a moment to realize that he was in the line of fire. Without thinking, he dove down into the snow again, waiting to hear the boom of the shotgun.
He didn't know if it came, as he was in too much pain. Something poked him in the eye, and he pushed away, screaming in agony. He stood up then, which was harder than it should have been. A great weight came with him as he stood. Hot fire engulfed his brain, as he felt something tear in his face. With his good eye, he spotted a frozen face, a set of teeth, and he realized that he had lunged face-first into an Annie hidden under the snow.
"Help!" he screamed, knowing somewhere in the back of his head that he was already gone. He was dead, he just didn't know it yet. He pushed and battered at the Annie hanging from his face. It had no legs. It was just a torso, one skeletal hand dug into his face, the other pulling at his beard. He swung his hatchet at the thing, but the angle was all wrong. He chopped flesh, creating wounds that would have felled a living man but which didn't affect the Annie in front of him.
He continued to chop at the thing, and then he pulled his handgun free. He placed the barrel of the handgun underneath the thing's jaw and pulled the trigger. It went limp, and he fell forward, trying to remove the Annie's frozen digits from his eye socket.
"Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh fuck," he muttered, the pain so great that he couldn't even identify it. Finally, he got the thumb unhooked, and he leaned back. He could see nothing out of his right eye. He put his hand up to his face, and it came away with blood. He rocked back and forth on his knees, tears falling from his good left eye.
That's it. That's fucking it. I'm dead. The words replayed over and over in his head, and he faded from the world, the cold of the snow washing over him, hot blood leaking from his ruined eye.
He heard a voice and saw Epps squatting next to him. He spoke a few times, but Day couldn't hear what he was saying. He was too busy thinking, I'm dead. His whole life had led him to this point, this single moment in existence. He had survived overseas, actual firefights with people that wanted to kill him. He had survived the downfall of the Memorial Coliseum, hopping on one of the last helicopters out of there before the whole place had gone to shit. He had survived the Burnside Bridge and the escape from Portland, and now, here, in a motherfucking Target parking lot, he had been killed, but he wasn't dead yet.
He looked around, panicked. Were they just going to shoot him? Right here? Just execute him like a rabid dog?
He finally became aware of the people around him, Epps, Tejada, Rudy, and Amanda. The other soldiers had work to do. They had someone living to save. He hoped the woman died. Let his death be for nothing. Hell, his life had been for nothing. He left nothing behind. No kids, no wife, hell, not even a serious girlfriend that might wonder what had happened to him. His parents had basically disowned him once he turned eighteen. He had nothing, was nothing, and once he was gone, there would be no record of him ever existing on this fucking planet.
"You ok, son?" Tejada asked.
Day sobbed. Unable to find the words to say.
Tejada and Epps patted him on the shoulder. "What do you want to do?" Tejada asked.
He didn't want to die. That's what he fucking wanted to do. He wanted to live.
Tejada rubbed his shoulder gently, circular motions. He still sobbed, unable to get the words out. Unable to say what was on his mind. A flare of pain shot through his head, and he started to feel warm, despite being knee-deep in the snow, despite losing a ton of blood from his ruined face.
"We gotta go," Tejada said. "Do you want us to take care of you?"
Day leaned into Tejada's squatting form, and he felt the thread of his life snap. He was done fighting. He wouldn't get to see how the world turned out. He wouldn't be able to leave a mark on the world. But that was ok. He was tired. He was so tired. Day nodded his head one time, and Tejada patted him on the shoulder.
He felt Tejada stand beside him, and he stared down in front of him. He focused on the snow, on the glitter of the sun within thousands of frozen water crystals. His one good eye, bleary with tears, was flooded by the light. He imagined this is what it was like in heaven. He hoped it was warm there and that there were no Annies. And then the darkness came.
****
Tejada holstered his pistol. He clenched his jaw so tight he thought he was going to turn his molars into powder. Another one. Another one to add to the list. Another kid he had gotten killed. He was a loner, cursed with bad looks, and an abrasive personality to match. But he hadn't deserved this. No one did.
He felt Rudy
