Days of Love and Blood

phones went down that evening, before the power went out. That was two months ago.
    After storing the empty cans, I sat on the edge of the small bed where Ronan slept. My hands drifted through the blond mess of hair on his head. He looked so much like Ritchie. The white alabaster skin, the straight Roman nose, a strong jaw. He was beautiful. He would be tall, like his father, too. The only thing my Ronan inherited from me was my dark blue eyes. I was small and dark, with curly raven hair to frame my face. My features came from my father’s side. Although small, I was strong. I had lean muscle and little fat. During our time on the run, I took every opportunity to stay in shape. I needed to stay strong now more than ever.
    A new noise made my muscles stiffen. The scraping of metal against concrete. I could hear it even through the constant smattering of rain against the metal roof.
    The door was still open.
    No one would be able to see in through the windows. No lights were on and the glass was tinted, yet I crouched low to the ground and swiftly edged my way to the door and listened again. I rose up slowly, just enough to look through the window. Too dark.
    I heard the scraping again. It was louder now - closer, and I ducked underneath the window frame. Someone was there. I couldn’t risk extending my arm out to shut the door. I would have to let him make the first move and surprise him if he tried to enter through the door.
    I reached behind my shoulder and silently withdrew one of my swords from its sheath. I arched the sword over my head and waited, like a cat patiently waiting for its prey to emerge from hiding. I could wait all night. I had the endurance and the reason. Ronan.
    The open door shook ever so slightly but there was no wind. He was behind the door. Another metallic sound and shudder of the door. I remained perfectly still and focused. Something which differentiated me from them.
    I would plan.
    They would charge blindly into battle.
    I had patience.
    They never waited.
    I took steps to protect myself.
    They couldn’t be bothered to wear a helmet.
    I would always win .
    They would always die .
    With my breath held , I tightened my grip on the leather handle of my sword. The door swung backwards and slammed into the side of the trailer. There were four heavy, stumbling steps and a smash of metal on the ground before I saw a hand reach up to grasp the metal railing. Even in the darkness I could see the open lesion splitting the back of the hand in two ugly flaps of skin. There was no question; it was a homicidal. He was slow and cumbersome from the disease while I retained the element of surprise and speed.
    Without another though t I lurched forward and raised the sword high above my head. Before I struck, I saw the long blond hair, wet and plastered to the face and neck of someone who was once beautiful.
    No pity .
    I brought the sword down and watched the putrid limb fall to the bottom step of the R.V. The woman screamed and stumbled backwards.
    “You bitch! I knew it!” She fell down and doubled over slightly, cradling the spurting stump against her abdomen. It didn’t take long before she looked up at me to regain her incentive. “You. I knew it was you.”
    “Sure you did.” I jumped off the last step and approached the woman. She lifted the shovel in her left hand and stood up, pointing it at me as easily as someone would a knife. She was left-handed.
    “I’m going to fucking kill you, you fucking bitch!” she screamed. The homicidal lunged forward, holding the shovel straight out in front of her. I pitched to the side and while she tumbled past me, I whirled around and planted my left foot firmly on the ground. In the same instant, I brought my sword up and swiveled it in a wide arc with both hands gripping the leather-bound hilt. I used the full force of my body behind the sword, stepping into the swing, and carried the blade perpendicular to her neck, putting all of my weight directly behind the blade’s edge. It easily slid through the back of her neck and out the front. Her body fell to the ground and her head rolled underneath the vehicle.
    I held my sword in front of me and turned around several times before making my way back to the door. They usually walked in groups. Sometimes they were alone, but more than often they would hunt in parties. They congregated. Stayed together.
    With my back to the stairs, I stepped up and kicked off the arm that twitched on the steps. After