If Tomorrow Never Comes

A New Day (III)

Hours later, as the sunlight peered around the corner of the building, she took in a deep breath and felt the long-missed warmth spreading around her body. Frost had grown through her hair, the mark of a cold winter night.

Her eyes blinked open to the new day and she began to sit up. The air from her lungs danced in the wind.

As she awakened her vision focused on the image in front of her, and soon came to the realisation she was staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Don't move."

With breath catching in her throat, she looked up at the face of her assailant.

"I mean it. If you move I'll shoot your goddam head off," he growled.

"What do you want from me?," she blurted out.

"Caps, chems, stimpaks! Whatever the hell you've got! Either you hand them over or I take them from your dead body." Spit flew from the man's mouth as he yelled. He was tall — almost skeletal — and dressed in mismatched armour. His face looked gaunt and his eyes manic.

She thought of fighting back, of catching him by surprise. Her eyes flicked down to her pistol... it had landed too far away when she fell. Perhaps kicking him down before he had time to fire could work, but it was all too much of a risk.

With no other option, she reached down for the small bag of caps tied to her vaultsuit, throwing it to the side with a shaky hand.

He stepped towards it and picked it up, all the while with his weapon levelled at her head. As he shook it his face grew into a scowl, "And what's in the other bag?"

The brown, well-used rucksack sat against the wall beside her. It was packed so full the shapes could be seen from the outside.

"It's just building supplies." Her voice cracked as she spoke.

He smiled bitterly, "Building supplies? I'm supposed to believe that?"

His tattered boots hit against the ground as he stalked over to it. He rooted around inside, throwing pieces of aluminium and cloth out as he dug.

He groaned, making the veins in his neck pop out. "Fine, you crazy bitch. Count yourself lucky I didn't just shoot you!"

Suddenly he raised his foot and stomped down on her wounded thigh. Even more blood spilled out over the top, staining the blue fabric a strong crimson red.

She let out a groan and scrunched her hands against it. The agony washed over her — the only focus.

With this, the man took the caps and ran. He was out of sight in seconds.

The pain was unbearable. She couldn't stop herself from trembling. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She put pressure on the wound, gritting her teeth but knowing it had to be done.

Breathing in and out. In and out. In and out.

The initial shock gradually faded away. Distressed and hopeless, she clambered to her feet in need of some help. The addict had gone, along with her money. There was no one around. She knew even if there was, they'd be more likely to finish her off than to lend a hand.

She gathered up her scrap that lay scattered across the ground. Throwing the rucksack over her shoulder, back where it belonged, she started walking.

Buildings hung over her, casting shade and watching her steps as she traveled. Now limping through the streets, sticking to the shadows, heading towards a place that could be her safe haven.