A Bullet for Daddy

    Metal clasps rattled along the gun's frame. The enormous weapon's weight provided Mara enough challenge in holding it steady - her sobs weren't helping matters.
    “Just like we've talked about, baby,” replied the middle-aged man standing at the end of the barrel. “Just like you've been practising for. I know you can do it.”
    She struggled to fight off another round of tears, squeezed her eyes shut – as tight as she could so as to pinch the tears inside - but one quick sob managed a jailbreak and her lips quivered in its wake. The gun rattled once more as the trembling reached her tiny hands.
    The man sighed and bit his lip, trying hard to contain his own sobs. “Baby, you can do this. I know you can. I'm so damn proud of my little angel – I've seen everything you've done and I know you can do this, too. And once you've done this, you'll be able to do anything. I promise.”
    Mara looked up at the man, or at least his blurry silhouette. She tried to wipe the glaze of tears from her eyes but found the gun too heavy to hold with just a single hand. No longer able to resist, she let the tears run down her cheeks, dropping onto the filthy Dora the Explorer shirt she had been wearing for the past few weeks.
    “Baby, I know–” he paused as his voice cracked, then began again. “Baby I know this is hard, but you can't let me turn into one of Them.”
    Their eyes, in unison, traced an invisible line to his bandaged arm. The white gauze had grown dirty in the last few days, and the maroon stain seeping through the fibres had grown a rusty brown as it dried.
    “Believe me, I want to do it myself,” he explained. He tore his eyes away from her, stared off into the trees in silence.
    She had noticed the wrinkles in the corner of her father's eyes before; she'd seen the grey hairs creeping into his temples, but they never seemed more prominent than they now appeared, illuminated as they were in the late afternoon sun. He had never seemed old before now, but his face bore the look of a man defeated, something she never thought she'd see in him. She fell to her knees, weeping.
    His own lips trembled while his gaze remained vacant, his glassy eyes wandering around the dense forest. A howl rang out in the distance – a human voice making an inhuman shriek. The man closed his eyes as the wail tore through the warm July afternoon once more. “Look, angel, I've not been much of a father to you,” he began, his voice breaking under the strain of fighting off sobs. “In fact, I've not been much of a human being.”
    Painful memories raced through Mara's mind. The burning scent of whiskey on her father's breath; the rattling sound of a belt being unfastened by drunken hands. The smell of body odour and cheap cologne. Bruises and bleeding and tears and shame.
    “I'm going to burn in Hell for things I've done.” They looked at each other through films of tears. “Many in my shoes would claim that the merciful thing to do would be to gun you down; to spare you a shitty life of fighting off human monsters. But baby I already took that comfort away from you. Your life has already revolved around fighting monsters. I have no words or deeds available to me to ever make up for what I've done to you. In a minute you're going to put a bullet through my heart, the same as I've done to you for all of your ten years.”
    Mara wailed but tried to stifle it, so as not to attract the attention of Them.
    “Baby, we've been fighting Them for the past few months. One of Them has bitten me. You know what happens next. I become one of Them. But the truth is I've been one of Them all along,” a tear finally broke free of his iron grip and streaked down his face, followed by another on his opposite cheek. “Just another fucking monster.”
    She closed her eyes and prayed she was a million miles away. Far from her father, far from the corpses that walked the earth. Far from the gun that was as big as she was. She wanted to go back to being a ten year old. Eating candy and watching My Little Pony.
    “Baby, most of this ain't gonna make sense til you're older, but letting you put the bullet in me is the best thing I could ever do for you. Y-you'll see,” he sobbed. “You'll probably be thankful for it one day. And maybe I'm a coward for leaving you on your own, but I know you're strong enough to survive. To help protect others out there. I know you'll make it. I just know–”
    He trailed off as he looked at his daughter. She was no longer crying. She was no longer trembling. The girl in the dirty Dora shirt stood before him, as steady and confident as any battle-hardened marine. As she had done so many times in the past, his daughter vanished before his eyes only to be replaced by a stranger wearing his daughter's skin. Alisha, as she called herself in these moments, raised the barrel of the assault rifle, traced a line from his feet to his crotch, paused there briefly, then continued to his chest then finally to his head. During their encounters over the years, Alisha never showed any emotion toward him, and was often so cold and stoic it admittedly scared him. This time, however, he could swear there was a look of relief (perhaps even joy) in her eyes, knowing this was the last she would ever see of him.
    “Good girl,” he said as the muzzle flashed.