The Riots of Chaos

Rescuer

I had already left the hotel, biking away as fast as I could to escape the putrid smell of death that was soon to thicken the air. 

After exploring the pockets and belongings of the men I had murdered, I found that they were Old South Rioters, one of the many recognized groups of murdering lunatics that banded under a common "cause," which for them was a desire to return to the ways of the south before the civil war, with Negros as slaves and the Confederacy restored. 

I spat on the last man's face before I left, desecrating the body and providing a release for my caged anger. 

I drove for miles towards where the sun had began to set in the west, the red-orange washing over the desert scenery and coloring the harsh landscape with fiery warmth that made me sweat in the black clothes I refused to shed. 

Finally, another town appeared on the horizon and I allowed myself a sigh of relief. My tailbone ached, as did the rest of my body, most particularly my head. A splitting pain had descended deep within my skull, clouding my vision and causing my eyes to tear up. 

Another abandoned town awaited me, the air heavy and dry. There was no sign of life, but no sign of death either. I saw no dead bodies, and no crashed cars as there were in nearly all of the other towns I had visited or come through. 

With narrowed eyes, I stared at the town and leaned the bike against a tree, keeping one hand on the .45 and beginning my slow walk through the main street. 

I had learned not to trust a seemingly quiet town, as ones without destruction were usually ones that involved Riots of some sort. The thing about the world today was that the Riots were no longer completely physical in nature, creeping its way through human minds and twisting them to ways of evil and insanity. 

Silence met my straining ears, frustration adding to the already throbbing sensation in my head.

As I was turning away, I heard a rustle coming from the first alley to my left. 

Automatically, I drew my gun. 

Pressing myself to the filthy wall, I inched my way into the dark space.

All was quiet.

It appeared to be empty.

I relaxed, exhaling and lowering the gun in relief. 

And suddenly, I heard a shrill yell, and something dropped from a fire escape above and landed directly onto my back. 

I shreiked and threw the form back, surprisingly light and small for an attacker. Springing up and snatching my .45 from its holster, I pointed it directly at the oncoming assilant, stopping them dead in their tracks. 

Gasping, I eyed what had attacked me.

A small girl, no older than twelve, crouched on the ground in fear and anger. Dirty blonde hair was matted against her head but would have stretched to her midsection, brown eyes narrowed in terror. Her skin was milk-white under the filth, and I holstered my gun quickly before taking a knee. 

"Shhh....I didn't mean to hurt you. You scared me, and I'm very sorry. I won't hurt you, I promise. You're safe, it'll all be okay...." I rambled on and on, trying to calm the child down. The logical part of me knew it was a bad idea, and that she could slow me down if I ever persuaded her to accompany me. 

However, I knew that I could never leave a child alone in a world like this. 

Biting my lip, I sat back, my headache worse than ever. I longed for the pill bottle hidden in my saddlebag, but I refused to leave the little girl alone and trembling in a filthy alley.