Your Revolution Is a Joke

“Pull yourself together!” Alexa hisses to her reflection, splashing what little water that comes out of the tap over her puffy, bloodshot eyes. “It's been three days. Your parents are dead. It's time to move!” She growls, hauling her backpack over her shoulder, but the tears don't stop. She chokes, tossing her bag across the small bathroom and dropping to the floor.

Burying her head in her hands, Alexa feels her heart continuing to break. Everyone is dead. What is the point? There's nothing to live for any more! All hope is gone!

“Matt!” Realisation motivates her. Alexa scrambles to her feet, taking her pack and pulling out a a gun, a fist-full of ammo and a pen. “Paper, paper,” she mumbles to herself, strolling through to her bedroom and out into the hall. She stops right outside her older brothers bedroom door, not knowing what or or is on the other side. She knocks lightly, pressing her ear against the wood. As she greeted with silence, she slowly creaks the door open.

Nothing has changed. Matt is a thirty year old man and their parents still kept his room exactly how it was when he was seventeen.

Spotting the notepad by his side-drawers, Alexa dives, scribbling with her pen before shoving everything between his mattresses. She huffs, feeling completely torn between staying and waiting for him or leaving and assuring her safety and survival.

Grunting, Alexa kicks herself out of the room and back to her own. She throws her bag over her shoulders and taking one last look to her parents sealed bedroom door, she fights the tears and finally leaves.

The virus has been surging through the city for a week. If Matt is alive, he'd surely come here first. Alexa had waited three days and now, it's time to move on. She closes the front door, her chest heavy over her heart as she refuses to look back, her knuckles turning white at the grip around her arms. She hauls ass down the front steps, but suddenly she's knocked to the ground, her arms flailing as her pack is torn away from her.

A heat suddenly oozes through her hair, seeping through her strands and down her temple. She groans, rolling onto her back, her hand sporting blood as she pulls it away. Three men stand over her, their greedy hands digging through her bag, each one taking something of value to her. She fights the urge to cry as the family portrait to tossed aside like garbage. Her head spins, her vision blurring for a moment.

The echo of a gun greets her.

The three men scatter, fear taking over her and bringing her back to conciousness. She flips around, whipping the gun on her thigh out of his holster. She swallows, horror standing before her eyes.

The man holding a gun smirks, his six companions strolling forward ahead of him. They surround her and Alexa estimates she may have one bullet for each of them, if she needs it. A hiss greets her ears and she flips around again, her eyes meeting one of the men who'd so rudely knocked her to the ground. Her eyes follow his arms, blood soaking through his blue jeans, obviously from where the bullet landed. She cringes, watching as the tallest of the mysterious men drags the boy away by his hair, ignoring his protests.

Another man tuts, stepping toward the boy and sending another bullet through his kneecap. Crying, the boy thrashes.

“Don't shit yourself,” the one with the gun chuckles, he kneeling down with a harsh crack to his knees. “We're not here to hurt you. After all, we did just save your life.” His smirk grows and Alexa keeps a firm grip on her silver pistol. He tears his mask away, the black paint over his face illuminating his crystal blue eyes. “They only picked you because you were alone,” he shrugs, sliding his gun into the waist of his pants. “If his friends give a shit, they'll be back. C'mon,” he
holds out his hand, Alexa taking it with caution.

She stands, wiping the dust from her cargo pants before following their gazes to the cowering boy. His body rattles with fear. “The dead can have him now,” the shortest one offers, kicking the boy lightly in his oozing kneecap. He tuts. “Picking on the weak. If -”

“Hey!” Alexa snaps defensively, her brows knitting together aggressively. Her hazel eyes go dark. “You have no right to judge me!” She roars, taking a step forward, her finger pointing accusingly.

“Cut the crap!” Blue eyes demands, his eyes stern. “Both of you!” He looks to his companion, who raises his arms and silently follows his dispersing comrades.

She frowns to the blue eyed man, his mouth stretched to a thin line. He must be the leader.

As the young man beside her groans, Alexa's heart stings. The poor kid had no idea. She kneels beside him, slipping a knife into his hand, but it's quickly torn away. “That scum doesn’t deserve protection!” Blue eyes growls, his tone harsh.

“He's just desperate!” Alexa screams, reaching for the knife. He jerks it out of her reach, everyone turning back around. “Aren't we all?” Alexa offers, surprise glistening in everyone's eyes.

She has a point.

He tosses the blade by the cowering boy, his anger getting the better of him for a moment. “You won't last anyway.” He turns, walking away without a second glance.

Alexa frowns. She doesn't know these men, but they had saved her life, and her things. Her frown deepens as she drags her bag back around her shoulder, ignoring the thundering pain from the back of her head. She shoves the family portrait into her pocket and storms ahead, ignoring the pleading from her attacker. He isn't going to survive, she understands that.

In this world it's fight or flight, and she wants to live to fight another day.