The Riots of Chaos

Intersection

The bike chugged to a stop just outside the next town, which was again, empty. There was no wind this time, and the heat beat through the leather of my jacket and pulled the sweat from their ducts easily. 

I stripped off the jacket and stretched, the tank top giving my arms room to move and feel the air that helped cool them. 

My head pounded, and I moved the bike into the shade and yawned, aching badly for a smoke. 

Luckily for me, the sun had begun to set and the temperature began to cool as I set off for a place to stay. 

A small motel revealed itself only a block away, one story, with rooms that were the size of closets, but seemed clean. 

I found no keys, so instead of continuing a fruitless search, I walked over to the nearest door and assessed its strength and thickness. 

Realizing how old the hotel was, I squared my shoulders and kicked at the door with all my strength. 

It swung open awkwardly, and I realized that it hadn't been locked. 

Ignoring the growing feeling of stupidity and the pain in my leg, I grabbed the saddle bags off my bike and walked into the room. 

It was small, smaller than I had expected, with only a twin bed, a black-and-white TV, and a small desk. The supposed kitchen consisted of a sink and a mini-fridge with one counter, and the bathroom was again, minimally stocked with only a sink and a toilet. 

I shrugged again, rolling my eyes at the pathetic accommodations as I lit another cigarette. 

Smoke filled the room as I unloaded the saddlebags, moving my Marlburo to the side of my mouth when I laid my belongings on the bed. 

When the world first ended, I was lucky enough to come across a neighbor's house, full of illegal weapons and other things that would be useful to me. 

Two Desert Eagles, a double-barrel shotgun, a Colt .45, and my baby, an Uzi submachine gun. 

They were running low on ammo, so I began to reload and clean them, taking long drags on my cigarette as I continued my cleaning, trying not to think about how it had been before I even knew how to fire a gun. 

Finishing in record time, I re-assembled them and listened to the cracks as the pieces fit together perfectly.  Boredom took over quickly, and I looked at the shotgun with interest. 

Eyebrow raised, I fired the gun at the wall with a deafening bang. 

A hole had been opened up, and I crushed my cigarette out and tossed it through. 

The smoke began to clear out, and I began to hear voices in the distance. 

Upper lip curled, I slid the Desert Eagles into their holsters, the Uzi across my back, I peered out the hole in the wall. 

It was a group of people, about ten by my estimate. The carried a flag with them, the old flag of the south during the Civil war. 

I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair. I was in need of a shower, and I hoped that these Rioters weren't hostile and would leave me alone. 

I turned on the TV, glad that the Rioters hadn't reached the powerplants yet. 

A  bang on the door interrupted the fuzzy pictures on the screen I was barely watching. In that split second I knew that my hopes had been dashed. These rioters were hostile. 

I turned off the TV and swept all my other belongings into the saddlebags. Slinging them over my shoulder, I opened the window and clambered onto the low roof, watching as three of the ten busted down the locked door. Finding nothing, they made their way back out into the tiny courtyard and formed a circle with the others, passing one bottle of beer around and smoking. 

I pulled out the Colt .45, aiming carefully. 

My first shot killed one person, going clean through his skull and hitting another in the leg. 

Before they could raise the alarm, I had killed two more and crippled three. 

"The roof! The roo-"

My shot cut off his speech, and he fell to the ground with blood pooling underneath his open mouth. 

For the next two minutes my rapid fire sang the song of death as they fell, one by one to the metal bite of  the bullets. 

Only three were left, one firing aimlessly into the air while the other two ran, getting back into a beat up Toyota and driving away, leaving the last one to die.

I inhaled, staring in pity at the lone man, madness overtaking him as he shot at an unseen enemy.

As I exhaled, I squeezed the trigger and watched him fall, my vision red with the blood of the rioters and head pounding from the strain of murder.