Sober Is a Mask

Determination

Howling wind, the ticking of a Geiger counter, gunshots and yelling.

Darkness was all that pervaded her vision. She pushed the body off the top of her with her right arm, noticing her left was unmovable. Struggling to sit against a ruined wall, she saw her shoulder bled slowly. A break in the glass visor of her mask partially obscured her vision. Panic occupied every space of her mind as she urgently searched for her repair tape. She gasped and grit her teeth as pain consumed her consciousness, carefully pressing her wound on her shoulder with her hand to prevent more bleeding. Reaching to the dead body beside her with her right hand, she snatched the repair tape. The tape was very adhesive and was used for repairs in clothing and armor, but did not react well to moisture for long periods of time, making it useless to bleeding wounds. Her mask was repaired, but her wound could still prove fatal. She vaguely wondered how long she was unconscious and how much blood she lost. She sat there for a long while, every movement provoked more pain, and night fell.

As she became more drowsy, she considered her options. It was inevitable that mutated scavengers would find her location, but shouting for help would only speed up the process.

What felt like a few moments later, quiet, inhuman footsteps approached her from about twenty yards away. A pair of yellow eyes, accompanying an animalistic figure.

Not quite accepting her fate, she reached for the rifle strapped to the chest of the dead soldier. She fell on her back, landing atop the gun and groaned in pain. Twisting herself, she reached the gun, checked the safety, and steadied it on the dead man's chest. Her hand shook, and even while aiming down the sights, she missed. The night became perforated with her loud gunshot. The animal was moving rapidly now, and she went for the follow up shot, but the gun clicked empty.