An empty cartridge is the worst nightmare one can expect at arriving home in this apocalypse. The wolves at night are an unwelcomed party that seeks to devour any human they could get their hands on. With an empty stomach and six feet deep snow outside, the journey to downtown may take an hour when it used to take only ten minutes before we decided to not give a fuck about global warming. After fifty minutes of staggering in a blizzard, I arrive at the ever so crowded market to buy myself a cartridge so I can sleep in peace at night without the fear of being torn to bits and pieces.
In the lanes of this market, there was a human warmth, which I experienced after 3 weeks, with the familiar ravenous eyes of other struggling people to grab away from you, what could possibly be of little benefit. After looking around for a couple of minutes I arrive at a shop of the cheapest cartridges in this side of the town. As I push the door inwards, a strong metallic smell hung in the shop. A comforting smell, indeed. I glide through the congested vestibule and arrive at the reception.
A new face caught my eye, slouched on the cash machine, staring out into the cold bitterness of the street. A strange darkness covered his deep, swooning eyes. The hood on his head created a shadow on his face that almost made him unfathomable yet, appealing. I pulled out my ID when my old friend and shop owner, Craig, arrived to get it scanned so I can go in and grab my cartridge.
On my way back, I waited for Craig as I watched the mysterious man persistently ignoring everyone in the hallway, concentrating on nothing but the snow outside. Craig arrived and I asked about the guy, gesturing toward him.
He replied, "Oh, that guy? He's new here and probably broke enough to work with the likes of me." At once I thought he may have listened us talking about him but he sure did not give a fuck. I put my cartridge in my jacket and left.
Three days later...
Craig called for some business. I had to rush to downtown in another blizzard that almost ripped off my clothes. The heavy snow covered most of my hair and my hands were numb. I kicked open the door when I arrived at Craig's which, obviously, alarmed that mysterious guy and he looked straight at me as if he was some starving wolf in the woods looking at a potential prey that would help him last a week. I slipped into the hallway and found Craig in his seat, cleaning a shotgun.
"You're late!", he said.
"Well, someone's not been out in quite a long while." I replied.
He went about his business while instructing me to look at the new consignment of arms that arrived as I always did. Working my way through cartons full of arms, I looked up at the door with a sigh and was startled to see the mystery guy standing in the doorway. Awkward. No one's allowed this far in the shop except for me.
I looked back at Craig and he welcomed him inside asking him to help me out with the arms. Confused, I deny his assistance to which he did not pay any heed.
"Hi." I said
He replied with nothing but a blank stare. Maybe, he's got his tongue ripped out at the annual ceremony of ripping tongues out. Why'd he have to be so anxiety-elevating? While checking the firearms, he grabbed a carton without my permission and took it out to the main hall. I tries stopping him but Craig gestured me to let him go.
"How did you let him go like that?" I asked as I thumped my hands on his table.
"Listen, I do not care about why you hate him so much but that's that. He works here and I pay and well, I have to admit he's been doing pretty well at his job." He replied
"But you said you didn't trust anyone but me, how come he's the good guy now? Have your trust issues gone on a vacation or something?" I said, furiously.
