September 2030

Normal

Our eyes lock and he smirks.
"You up."
He got a deep voice.
"Yeah."
My own is raspy and dry. Like sandpaper. Right, my injured throat.
"I'm fine." I say when he's not asking.
"Can you move?"
"I think so." I answer while trying to sit up. It's still hard to control my body, my mind is still blurry, but I manage to sit up. A sharp pain in my left leg overwhelms me and even if I've gotten good at disguise, he must have seen the slight impression of pain shiver over my face before it's gone.
"What?"
"I think I hurt my leg as well when I fell."
The guy moves a little and looks down on my legs. They're not converred by the blanket anymore.
"Which one?"
"Eh, left."
"Where?"
"The ankle."
"It's probably just strained. You'll be fine."
I nod in agreement. I already knew that, but I need to start acting a bit more human, a bit dumber and a bit weaker. I need to be easy to connect with. I'm not very used to being personal and talk a lot, I was taught to act on logic, not feelings. So I did. But not now. I need to act normal.

He continues to look down on my ankle and I raise my head from the bed.
"Thank you."
It feels unnecessary to say it, but I think that's what I'm supposed to say if I'm acting normal. He nods, still looking at my foot. After a while he speaks again.
"You where gone for three days."
"What?"
"Three days."
Three days. How is that even possible?
"You got fever. Probably because of the wounds."
Aha. That's why. That also explains my blurry mind.
"Oh."
"I left some food and clean water for you in your backpack. It's right beside you."
I turn my head. It is.
"Okay? Thank you?
When I turn my head back he's on his way out of the door. What should I say? Well I don't know. I would have killed him by now if I didn't have a plan, and I'm not used to socializing and conversation and all that.

What would I say if I wasn't trained to kill?

You're trained to kill for a reason.

I shake of the ghosts.

"Excuse me?" I raise my eyebrows. "Hello?"
It works. He turns around. I lay still, looking at him. I haven't seen a person my age in days. Most of them are in the bigger cities with the rest of the countries populations. I wonder what he did for them to not let him in. Or maybe he didn't want to, but that doesn't seem likely. No one want this kind of life.

"Where are you going?"
"Out. You'll be fine. You can stay here until you're able to leave."

I'm speechless. He's leaving? He looks at me for a while before he turns around again and walks out the door. Making a fast decision, I sit up, and I clench my teeth hard because of the pain in my ankle as I grab my things and follow him out into the street.

"I'm able to leave right now."

He just keeps walking fast, and I follow him, not without pain. He's very tall, at least two decimeter longer than me, and built like an athlete. Maybe he was a football player or something before all this. Probably. It's very hot outside, like always, but the dark asphalt makes the air dazzle of heat. I'm already sweating.

As he notices me still following him, he starts to move slower, and I can stop jogging. I reach him fast even if my foot hurts. I didn't talk more in ten minutes than I used to do in a week just to be left behind.