Man's Disease

There were beasts on the field that day. There were ghosts. It was a place where the living and the dead collided like a front-end collision. Nothing could have prepared us for what lay ahead. We were young, naive, and blind. Blind to the fact that man can be the most dangerous and evil whirlwind in the heavens and the earth, maybe even hell for that matter.
     The corpses were still fresh as we walked over them. Picking clean the items we needed for survival. She found a compass and a map from one of the dead men. I gathered the weapons and ammo we would need to continue on. Our journey had been arduous, and now on top of it we were alone. Milo and the others were dead. We would be dead soon. The enemy line was miles back, and we knew the risks of crossing it, but there had been no other way.
Food was scarce, and we had not eaten in two days. Rifling through the bodies did help some. A few M.R.E. meals and multiple bottles of water would be one saving grace. If the word grace could be found on my tongue the rest of my life. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air, along with the smoke. Powder from the firearms and the small brush fire burning off in the woods from an explosion that had shaken my bones and resolve.
We continued on foot. Julia washed her blackened face in a stream while I scanned the area before taking a dehydrated piss. My mind spun like a record. Two days ago we had been enjoying life at the resort. Bed and breakfast, sex and the beach. It was what two newly weds only dreamed of. It had taken a turn when the local militants rebelled and began their path of destruction. The lucky ones died first. The rest were left to pray for help, which was not coming soon.
The first bomb took out half of the guest rooms and the small lobby. It wasn't a big resort. In fact, it was one only few knew about. The fact that it had not been a hot-zone only a week previous was a plus to be basically alone with her. The guests were few, maybe fifty in all. At least half had been  dead when they left with the militia. The men whom had not gone radical in the blink of an eye. It was strange, they admitted. Some of the men that turned had been not just allies, but friends only days before the coup.

To be continued...