Standing there, waiting. The time ticked by. An eternity. Forever.

A movement. Lights were coming on.

Shadows surrounded him, the spot he was in was shielded even in the scorching sun. The merest shadow of a smile crossed his face.

It would soon be time.


The final rays of the sun illuminated the space nearby. His position was perfect, neither the rays, nor the probing eyes.. none of them would be able to find him. He moved his hand, the first movement in nearly an hour for him, and checked his side. All good.

The slamming reached his ears, this was standard procedure. He peeked in the direction of the sun. Soon, very soon.

He watched the rigmarole unfold, as it did every night. The light snapped off at each window by the steel gates slamming closed… the next… the next, they were all done. A barring sound coming as the gate closed. Security was above all.

He had vague memories of it not being thus. Memories of not having to wait, not wanting to wait, of the roads being asphalt and not grass.. of red not being the most important color around, of light not being hated, of a life that did not revolve around the next meal, of smiling, laughing… what was the word?… talking even. His fingers curled in towards the palm, leaving the thumb sticking up – that was a good thing. The thumb went in, the middle finger extended – that had been a frequently used thing. He stood staring at the semi-darkness that encompassed his hand, mouth not a little open… and the silence deafened him. He looked up at the house. It was time.

The prey in the house had it all wrong. They still had organization, albeit loose, albeit wild. They still knew that some things in the house were worth saving, even just to be hunted again. They had warned him when he had captured one of them. They knew that the carnage from one night ago had started here. They had sent him to follow, they had stationed him, and now they had come.

He moved… pattering on the stones as he had been trained to… the signal given, he moved closer to the house. The pattering was carried by the sound of a thousand feet pattering the same asphalt… running toward him, the notice was given, the game was afoot. A tinny sound from the house… warning!

It did not matter. The prey was not to survive. He passed a crudely painted sign. The scrawl would have meant something, once. ‘Dr. Robert Neville’ was savagely broken, and thrown.

It was time to feast.

Inspired by ‘I Am Legend’

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