She gathered her breath and stood, nonsense, she thought as she slipped her pants. Absolute nonsense, bullshit. I didn't come this far for them to kick my ass, no, no ma'am. Not like that. She put her sweater over her head and rubbed her fingers. Am I joke to you all? I came here to grab and tear off, she grumbled with irritation. When she put on her boots and coat, she went out of the cube and waited patiently. She was stretching her shoulders, straightening her back, and wore the most severe expression she could get on her sunken face.
As the soldier said, she stood and waited for the escort, trying to forget the thirst burning her throat and tried to concentrate. She had arrived at the camp and had gone through the door. Now it was necessary to walk with the escort, find any paramedic and persuade the attendant to give her medicine. That was her current job. Nothing else more for now. Simple, sequential, and possible. Softly she nodded and justified herself, she was right. She was the most rightful person in the world at that moment. Still, a part of her mind knew that being right doesn't mean anything after all, and that little crumb of thought was spreading like hot tar among her cautiously arranged ideas. She raised her eyebrows and blinked quickly, glancing at the soldier to relieve this improper worry. The man was no longer interested in her. He was focused on his duty at the door.
Seeing that the soldier had locked the gun's safety and that the annoying machine was happily no longer pointing at her, she relaxed a little.
Though there was no bullet in the gun, such things had gone out long before she was born, still closing the lock meant something. She smiled, thinking that I was not causing any problem for anyone for now, and clung to her coat a little more. Things will get more convenient if I don't cause any issues, she murmured.
After a while, hearing the rhythmic and harsh steps behind her, she suddenly wiped the smile from her face and made a serious expression again; listened, staring at a spot on the fence, without turning to the sound. The person who came was the escort she was waiting for. The man came stepping firmly on the ground, glanced at her for a moment, and had a brief talk with the guard. Their voices could not be heard where they were speaking, so the visitor watched, trying not to seem too curious. The escort spoke a few words to the soldier, the soldier replied in a word, the escort said something again and held out his hand, the soldier left the visitor's ID in the escort's hand and bowed his head down sharply only once. Then they nodded to each other, and both returned to their work. The escort walked towards the visitor and stopped a few steps away while the guard turned his face beyond the fence and kept quiet.
He was a man of 1.80 meters tall, built, and tough. Her auburn hair was simply short so that his wide straight forehead and slightly arched neat nose were well exposed. His thin lips were tightly closed, his jaw muscles stiff. Besides these mundane physical features, the most obvious thing to see in this man was a huge light brown burn scar covering almost half of his face. The scar started diagonally from the half of his right eyebrow, going downwards by wrapping the upper half of his nose, the entire left eye, and cheek, grabbing the left part of his lips, and finally covering a considerable part of his ear. His left ear had completely lost its shape, and on the left side of his face, where his eyebrows and eyelashes were, there was nothing at all. Thus, a very frightening expression had remained on his face, which would have been quite brusque even without this scar. There was an air of feeling that if he saw the slightest trouble, he would break the neck of the source of trouble without hesitation. Well, as a matter of fact, that was exactly what he was doing.
"So, you entered the camp for medical support," said the escort, not as if he was asking questions or pointing to a particular situation. However, he also didn't act as if he wanted the break the silence. He just had an attitude that did his job well and knew that he was doing well. There was something to be said, and he was the man who said what was meant to be said.
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The Gravity Doesn't Hold Us Anymore l ONC 2021
General Fiction*Post-Modern Literature *Mature (Not Pornographic) ------------------- Forty-two years have passed since the downfall of civilization began. Now there is nothing left in the world. Well, almost nothing. The walkers who take care of themselves on the...
