Butterflies first

The evening winds were picking up quick, ripping on his clothing. The swirling trench coat tore at his arms, messing with his aim. The crosshair started to jump around, blurring his vision. Scope shifted his weight and fastened his dusters belt. Scope – the nickname had stuck with him since the beginning. Since it all had started. A lifetime ago.
Scope took a deep breath. He looked through the sights of his trusted weapon. The long shape of the winchester rifle was painted in a black, grey and white urban camouflage pattern. Not that it mattered anymore. The enemy didn't rely on sight so much as on sound and, for the most part, smell. They could sense a man from a mile away - a bleeding man from a dozen miles. Scope swung the rifle around a little bit. It was easy to spot them during the daylight. Now, with dusk setting in, it took the skill of a real marksman to pick them off.
Something rumbled through one of the outer perimeters early warning lines. It took Scope only a few seconds to find his target. He went into a special state of mind. There was him, the rifle and the target. Nothing else existed. His hand picking up the bullet, loading it into the chamber, adjusting the sights – all just extensions of a distant dimension, which coincidentally influenced Scopes world.
The targets face appeared in the rifles sights. Scope spent a second to get a good look at it. The rotting flesh hung down the mans cheeks. His dried out eyes had popped back into his skull a long time ago. Huge chunks of flesh were missing from his neck. Yet he was still standing, scuffling towards the hideout. One foot had tripped the early warning line and had gotten caught in it. The cans attached to the string kept dangling and make noise. Scope held his breath. Corrected his aim one last time. Squeezed the trigger.
400 yards away the zombies head was kicked back by the impact of the bullet. The already dead body sunk to the ground, finally resting for all eternity. Scope swayed the sights around, making sure no other crawlers – the name their group had given the Zombies - were attracted by the noise. He then lowered his rifle and pulled out a small leather bound notebook.
„You still keep track? Why?“ A womans voice, near the door. „There is nobody to compare these notes to, so why do you bother?“
„You really should not sneak up on people like that, you know. It is considered rude.“, Scope muttered, without looking up from his notes. „And dangerous, if some unaware and ARMED people do not have themselves under control like I do.“
„Now now, didn't your mom tell you that it's not polite to brag?“ She giggled.
„I am not bragging.“ Scope finished the entry and put the small book away. „I am simply aware of my skills. Which is why I am out here during the night shifts. But why are you here, Sarah-Ann? You should be resting during the night.“ The woman sighed.
„It's not sleepy-time, yet. Aaaaand you are a sentry, so you don't make the rules, remember? I could have come up here to check if you needed medical – or any other – attention.“
Now it was Scopes turn to sigh.
„Thank you, but I am fine. Was there anything else?“, he asked.
The woman the survivors had come to know as „Nurse Sarah“ walked over to his position at the edge of the roof and sat down next to him.
„Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.“ Sarah gave him a cooled glance. „You sleep during the day. You keep US up all night by shooting crawlers. You don't ever talk to people. What's with you? I mean, it's not that I or we are ungrateful for what you do, but... why?“
Scope shrugged.
„Somebody has to do it. I am a night person. I am the best shot with a rifle around these parts. I am the most qualified person for the night shift, am I not?“
„Stop sounding like some fucking human resource manager!“, Sarah shouted angrily. „Everybody socializes. You don't. Why? Don't you like us? Don't you like people? There's, like, 50 people down there, but you keep to yourself! Nobody knows anything about you. For starters, what's with your accent? Yes, I noticed. You hide it pretty good, but I was a school nurse, I know my way around people with migration backgrounds. And what's with that nickname, 'Scope'? Who gets nicknamed like that? Where you in the military?“
Scope shook his head. He stood silent for a few moments, then he pressed the air out of his mouth through his closed teeth.
„No. I was not in the military. I was named that when I first joined a group of survivors. I am from New York, but I was born in Georgia. My family moved to the United States when I was a child.“
He paused for a moment.
„Because of the war?“, Sarah asked. Scope nodded.
„Yes. Even though it was so many wars, but after a while you stop counting the intermissions. We traveled here and I began to finally grow up as a normal boy. Well, kind of. My father taught me how to shoot. 'Just in case', as he put it. I didn't disagree. After all, it was fun to shoot cans and rats and butterflies.“
„Butterflies? You shot... butterflies?“ Sarah shook her head. „Why would you do that?“
„They are small, they move very fast and they are spotted easily. They make for excellent moving targets, once you have reached a certain skill.“, Scope answered. Sarah pulled her knees to her chest and slung her arms around her legs.
„Alright, now I know your family history. So what about you and your 'Lone Wolf' style?“, she asked, wondering what would jump out of the dark box that had just so unexpectedly opened in front of her.
„I do not know. I do not behave like this on purpose. I just like my peace and quite, I guess.“ Scope scratched the back of his head. „In times like this, that means pulling the night shift. But I really do think that I am the one best skilled for this part of the work.“
Something broke, a long distance away. Scope swung his rifle, searching for the source of the noise. He found it in a crawler who had tripped over a shopping cart. Sarah didn't utter a word. She had seen Scope do what he did best and knew it was best not to disturb him. The rifle belched a bullet. Scope nodded to himself and took out his leather bound notebook again.
„You know, they still remind me of the butterflies.“, he said while writing down numbers that meant nothing to Sarah. "You see, they are kind of like the butterflies, only the other way around. They began their existence as humans, then they transformed into a new, ugly form." He took one hand of the rifle and waved at the wastelands. "Butterflies first. Then the caterpillar. And a caterpillar is so much smaller. A much more worthy target.“
Sarah-Ann shook her head and stood up.
„You are a strange person, Scope, you know that? Here I was, thinking that you are some kind of lonely lunatic and what do I discover? A lonely lunatic with a reason behind all of it.“ She winked at him and walked towards the door.
„Sarah-Ann?“
She stopped and turned around. The daylight had almost faded, but she thought she could see a slight smile on his face.
„My name is Dimitri. And if somebody asks... you may tell them. But at night, when I watch over you, I am Scope.“
„Alright... Scope. That's a deal.“ Sarah smiled and waved at him. Then she closed the door behind her. Scope turned back towards the wasteland surrounding their hideout. Like the item from which he had gotten his name from, it was his duty to spot the enemy. And now that he had one more reason to do so, he would not fail the people downstairs. He would never have thought it, but actually talking to someone felt good. Relieving. He always had felt a strong sense of responsibility to those entrusted to him. Now that he had found out how to share a bit of himself, he would never allow himself to let any harm come to the sleeping men and women gathered in the apartment building, which s roof would be his place to be for many a night to come.
Scope gulped down a small sip of coffee from his thermos flask. The caterpillars were waiting for him.