Apocalypsis 02 - Warpaint

grabbed the chains and got ready to unwrap them from the two handles that were holding the two parts of the door together. Someone had bolted in some weird rings of metal to keep the two sliding doors together, when normally there’d be no lock at all on this side of it.
    As soon as I got the lock off, Trip took the chains out and threw them into the yard. I cringed at the sound of the metal clanging as it landed in the tall weeds, but it was too late to suggest a less obvious form of removal.
    The door slid open and the first thing that hit me was the smell.
    ***
    My stomach rolled with it - the unmistakable stench of rotting human flesh. I’d smelled it before from a distance, as my neighbors had died inside their homes to be forever forgotten and neglected by the authorities who no longer did their jobs, overwhelmed with the task of delivering the dead to the places where they were supposed to rest in peace.
    I had thought those days were behind me and that I’d easily forgotten what death smells like. But I was wrong. Here it was again, hitting me in the face with its sorrowful odor, making me want to vomit up the food that I’d not so long ago eaten with a smile on my face, obviously not fully appreciating what I would be dealing with this day.
    There were kids on the floor, some of them sitting, some lying down. Peter and a black girl I assumed was LaShay were the only ones standing. Everyone but Peter was missing at least one limb; some of them were missing several.
    Tears stung my eyes as my stomach burned to turn itself inside out. I shoved it all away in favor of survival, gritting my teeth in determination and facing Peter.
    “I told you they would come,” said Peter proudly. He grabbed me by the arm, shaking me gently. “Bryn! I’ve done a triage. We have seven kids who can go, including me. The rest are too far gone to save.”
    “Bullshit! You can’t leave anyone here!” said LaShay, her shoulders telling me that even though she was missing half an arm, she was ready to fight anyway.
    “We have to,” said Peter calmly. “We don’t have enough room for everyone, and we can’t waste our time taking people who are going to die soon anyway. I’m sorry if that’s harsh, but that’s the way it is.”
    I was taken aback by Peter’s matter-of-factness. He was absolutely right, but I had expected him to be a puddle of loose doodles right now instead of piss and vinegar.
    “He’s right,” agreed Trip. “Get the ones who can go up, right now. We’re going in less than a minute.”
    “There’s no way out, though,” said LaShay, now sounding more panicked than angry. “We’ve tried. All the doors are locked or the dogs are there. And we can’t go through the house, they have tons of guys with guns in there.”
    “We got a wall door open. Our truck is waiting for you. Let’s go.” He grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her towards the door. “Line up! Whoever’s going, get up and move it!”
    He didn’t have to say it twice. Five kids got up, some of them quicker than others, and lined up at the door behind LaShay. One of them had to hop because he was missing his leg below the knee.
    Peter got busy helping them, lending a hand when needed for support and then covering the ones who were left with whatever blankets or sheets there were. I watched one of them speaking to Peter in low tones. He had no arms left and only one leg.
    Peter stood up suddenly and came over to me, his face white.
    “What?” I asked, almost afraid to know what he was going to say.
    Peter leaned in and whispered in my ear. “He wants us to shoot him before we leave. He wants us to end the misery now.”
    “Can he make it out?” I asked.
    Peter shook his head.
    “Are you sure?”
    Peter nodded. “His wounds are green. He has a really high fever. He’s not going to live no matter what we do.”
    I turned to Trip. “Give me the grenade from your bag.”
    “What? No!”
    “Yes.”
    Trip growled at me, but shook his bag off, reaching inside to get the wrapped weapon out and hand it to me.
    “Tell him, if he and the others want, I’ll blow this place to heaven when we go.”
    Peter nodded once and left us to go back to the kid who I soon saw nodding weakly. Peter went to the other kids each in turn, either receiving a nod or nothing because the kid was unconscious and unable to respond.
    He came back and said solemnly, “They all agree to your plan. And they also said thank you.”
    The tears would