-8 Months Later-
I’m drinking from the belly of a doe I just tore up. I like chewing on the fleshy parts just underneath the fur, it is elastic and keeps me preoccupied. The aroma of blood, the dissipating essence of death has already left her.
In the distance, I hear a growl. Not from an animal but something else. Something I had forgotten. There is a grinding and a roar, it’s getting closer.
I rip some meat off the doe’s thigh and run toward my shelter about a mile away.
It’s trucks.
A whopping sound above belonging to a bulbous metal thing, the blades spin in a circle, keeping it afloat. Helicopter, that’s right. They had those in the city.
The men used them to hunt for other men.
They must be looking for the body I left in the boulders. I had forgotten all about it.