Welcome To The New Age

I get some type of rhythm going based off my heart beat. A trick I learned to not panic. It pounds in my mind like a song.

Shoot, duck, move.

I follow these three words like they're the instructions to my survival in a video game. Except I don't have any extra lives and game over means game over. It's hard to nurse an injury and try to shoot accurately. Every time I fire the gun my arm decides to hurt me more and more. Looking for Janie's not exactly working out either. After firing a couple rounds at the officers I take a little bit of refuge behind a huge piece of concrete that was blown from the bomb. I take in sharp breathes and just hold my arm for a little while.

I need medical treatment. Now.

Yeah, because this is just a place full of hospitals.

Not loving the sarcasm.

Never said anything about wanting an opinion

And I never said anything about wanting input!

A stray bullet fly's towards my little hide out and lands maybe two inches from mt foot. Who ever they are, they're way too close for comfort. I start to get up and aim my pistol, but another bullet tags me on my left bicep. Barely missing my shoulder, it just blazes a trail of blood that ends at my elbow. A choked cry escapes my throat and my knees buckle at the impact. I hear someone shouting and then a single pair of boots coming my direction. Who ever they are, I doubt they're coming to help me.

I grit my teeth and take the pistol in my right hand. What I'm about to do might be stupid, but it's way better than doing nothing. I randomly aim it over the top of the concrete slab and pull the trigger. There's nothing that comes out. Not the blast, not the bullet, not even the recoil that I was expecting to slam my hand into the ground. Did it jam? Quickly, I drop the magazine and have to stop myself from wanting to bash it over my head. Empty. How could I be so stupid!? Why didn't I think to save come bullets or take some from a corpse or something?!

Because you're you...sadly.

Shut. Up!

I see a pair of boots appear at the corner of my refuge and close my eyes when I hear the click that signals a gun off of safety. The sound of that one gun firing rings out above all the others around me and I brace for the pain that will surely mean the end of my life. But there's nothing. Did he miss? Impossible. No one, not even a six-year-old, could miss at such a close range. I open my eyes immediately to find the officer face down in the dirt, blood flowing like a river from the new hole in his back.

Someone's shadow looms over the top of my concrete slab and I whip around to come face to face with a guy in a black motorcycle helmet. In his right hand is a type of machine gun that I've only seen mobsters use in the movies. You know, like the one Al Pacino used in Scarface. And his left is being held out to me. I look at his hand, his hidden face, and back again. Someone actually helped me?

"What's your name?" his voice is short and to the point. Like that's the only thing he ever wants to know about me and nothing else.

"Maybelle," I say cautiously.

"Maybelle, you're wounded, I can take you somewhere you can get treated. I also doubt you have enough ammo to survive out here,"

Was I actually going to trust this guy? Who's face I can't even see and who's name I don't even know? I can't help but think of those girls in horror movies who you yell at not to go in the closet, but they do it anyway. I move my hand forward to take his hand, but stop.

"Your name,"

"We don't have time for this, just come o-"

"If you think I'm going with some strange guy and I don't even know his name, you're sadly mistaken," I say it in such a firm tone, I even surprise myself.

For awhile he just stands there and looks at me. Well, I'm pretty sure he's looking at me. I can't really tell. His helmet visors too dark.

...

"Tell you what, we survive this, you get to know my name. Deal?"

I take his hand as a reply. His hand is large and calloused from working with them, but warm. And it's that warmness that gives me comfort that I hopefully didn't just make a huge mistake. Hey, just because America got bombed, doesn't mean stranger danger don't apply anymore. He helps me up and covers the both of us as we make our way to a cluster of people dressed similar to him. Once there I see that there are medics helping slaves and other people who got shot. For just a second I think everything's going to be alright, then I spot the vans.

I see people in motorcycle helmets loading slaves into the back of vans and driving away. Red flag, red flag, red flag.

What was it that I said earlier? Oh yeah, something along the lines of 'don't trust anyone you don't know!'

My eyes widen and I try to run the other direction, but this guys still got a grip on my hand and he won't budge.

"Calm down, we're helping you guys," he says impatiently.

"Trading me is not helping me!" I shout.

Everything just feels like it's coming at me all at once. I can feel blood dripping from my arm down to my finger tips and I don't know if it's the blood loss, but everyone's starting to look just a bit blurry. I can feel my legs start to stagger and then I fall to the ground.

"Hey! Maybelle! I need a medi-"

The rest of what he yells just completely fades out. My eyelids feel heavy and I close them without much protest. The world around me slowly fades and I leave with the sounds of bullets whizzing through the air to bid me goodbye.