The refulgent stream drew my attention as I slept with eyes wide open, the green glow soaking up the immediate area and giving a moment of beauty to an otherwise ugly world. In the distance I could still here the beasts of the night stalking around the perimeter of my fire. Seemed funny now at this time of night I was safer than in broad daylight. Seemed funny that the beasts birthed from the flames of hell were so terrified of their own creator. Some days I think I should just torch as much land as I can, destroy as much of what's left in what fatal swoop. Kick the world while it's down and let it come back when it's safe again. When things have gone quiet again.

Then I realize that I'd still be hunted. Even in the flames the children of the atom come after me. Their chants haunt me night after night, "DINNER!" The young ones always chant. The little ones who if it weren't for their rabid mannerisms you might take pity on and want to care for them when you saw them. Scrawny little things, pale skin, faces so battered by this world that I'm sure a mirror would kill them. It's always hard to run when you see them, you always want to stop and turn around. Offer them your flesh. Eat children, be healthy, life has been unfair to you. Let me help you. I laughed at the thought of grilling my own arm and serving it to them. Them, sitting all orderly like polite dinner guests. Minding their please and thank yous.

The moon is murky tonight; means the radiation storms tomorrow will be something fierce. I should check my suit for gaps now before the storm sets in. Its not like I'm sleeping anyways. I never do. Living in a nightmare but escaping the dreams of my sleep. Why does it hurt so much to dream the happy dream? The lonely dream of my Angela in my arms again. It's amazing how much more strength it takes to keep solitude from engulfing you than it takes to pry a beast from your flesh. It's not the dreaming, it's the waking up. Like saying good-bye to her all over again. Every night. All that pain compacted into tidy nightly dosages, death on the installment plan. Death seemed like a good idea every time I woke from a dream. All it would take would be for me to roll over into that stream. Take a deep breath of the irradiated water. Wouldn't that just kill the poor children, all that time spent stalking me only to have perfectly good meat ruined and sent down the stream? The beasts howling my requiem deep in the night into the morning, speakers for the dead and in their own way thanking me for the meal.

Looks like the children have stayed up past their bed time tonight, better pull my suit on and ditch into the usual position. My cheek pressed tight to my rifle, belly on the ground, concealed among the bushes, and yet all this pressure has become so relaxing, so fluid, so reflexive. I don't know if there's a time where I actually think about what I'm doing anymore rather than just doing it. I've been out in the zone too long. Out here in this god forsaken place. The way the pad of my fingertip glides along this trigger soothes me, like a far off ocean breeze would to a tourist I've only ever read about.

The brave figure crosses my line of sight, not one of the children tonight. The children are much stealthier, almost looks like another stalker, it can't be. Not this deep into the zone. My finger tensed, my teeth ground down, the force at my temples came as a sudden rush to a man once an island. Like ray of light streaming through the clouds my bullet stayed true. Nailed. Fried. Sodomized in the skull. The heap collapsed to the ground with a gasp. A direct hit. I bide my time, in case he had any friends near by. Sit quietly, wondering if the man I just killed had a family in another life. A love, like mine. I bet we could have been friends. I bet we could have even been neighbors at some time in our life. Driving each others kids to and fro. Sitting around each other's homes watching our wives prepare dinner for the two families. I know this man, he is my brother, he is my prey. He was alone and so I move in to collect my shame.

A night stalker, adorned in black. The hum of the night vision goggles disturbing the requiem the beasts howled for him. I leaned down and hooked my arms under his to drag him closer to my fire. Right away I noticed I have found myself a new pair of boots. The tears streamed down my face as I unwrapped my gifts. A new assault rifle, a knife that was actually sharp enough to tear through meat, and boots to protect my weary feet. For a night stalker his armor was quite paltry, nothing more than your standard flak jacket, I stashed it in my cubby hole of other ill begotten items. I stuck his knife into his flesh and began carving out my meals for the next week. Bit by bit the man disappeared along with my tears. This isn't human I tell myself, it's a cow. Just like back on the farms. Just like back in civilization. I am not eating my brother. I tossed his head to the beasts before I could see his eyes, in a few moments they'd be tearing each other apart for the taste. This scene has unfolded a hundred times before and I'm sure a hundred times to come. Unless I push, I push myself to the center and never return. I packed the meat and returned to my rest. Returned to my quiet meditation. Slowly the sun crept up on me, burning away the tears of the night. Clearing the way for the tears of the day. I packed up my satchel and got to hiking. I moved quietly and made sure not to head in the same direction I started from yesterday. The sun scorched at my neck.

What am I walking for? My life will end the minute I get to the center. The minute I get out and walk into the first stalker headed in the opposite direction. He'll see me and he will say, "Jeez pal, thanks for saving me the trouble of gathering this artifact all the way from the center. I bet it'll fetch me a pretty penny. Boy you must have been out here for ages." And I'll just be too tired to say anything. I'll hand it over and bow my head. Wait for the bullet to penetrate my skull. Wait for death to relieve me of all that's been done. But I can't. I have to live for her. My strength personified and ready when needed. Forging ahead in this endless land of death my mind wanders. I wonder what happened to Angela after I left. I wonder if she's lived this long. I wonder if maybe she thinks I'm dead. Maybe she married. Maybe she's married and has kids; little August and little Ana just like we had always wanted, only without me. The thought gutted me, a life so far removed that when I see her again we will be strangers. What was the point? I knelt down and slid my knife along my belly. Gutting myself the way the thought had. Leaving my mind, body and soul in the zone forever more.

The heat from my pain steamed out. The smell was so sweet I smiled and embraced myself. Huddling over into a tight ball while in the process of being released. I gasped as the last of life twitched out of my body. I whispered an exaltation of thanks to the brother who gave me the sharp knife. I'm sorry I had to kill you for it, but thank you brother. Thank you for saving me.