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Jesus fucking Christ, my head hurts like ass.
"Alisha? What the fuck." Ken's voice boomed.
I blinked.
"What?" I asked him, my vision still blurry.
"We have to get out. Your wound is bleeding a lot."
Are we still in the same place? That damn hot dog shop? I groaned, still on the floor. Are the shooters still around? I wanted to ask, but every time I open my mouth, I just feel like I'm tasting blood.
But I still try.
"Where the fuck are we?" I spat.
"Still in the shop. They stopped shooting. I don't know what happened to everyone."
Why was there a fucking shooting, anyways? Here, too? In this fucking place. I checked my wound, a white cloth covered but the blood didn't stop dripping.
What the fuck.
"Are you wearing a vest?" Ken whispered. I shook my head.
"No."
He glanced at me, groaning, "Well, lesson learned, I hope."
"Funny. I didn't get hit on the stomach, did I?"
"You're alive and well. Let's get the fuck out of here."
I agreed to the plan. He took the lead, we decided to find an exit at the back. The tables were everywhere, scattered on the floor. It was easy to crawl, but not for me, every time my wound hits the floor, I could feel my insides moving. Every time I try to even use my shoulder, it fucking hurts.
When I breathe, it hurts.
"You good?" Ken asked while he crawled. We were near the counter, or kitchen, somewhere there. That means exits are near.
"Yeah." I groaned.
When we got to the kitchen, Ken looked around, I did, too.
The kitchen was null. Where the fuck did everyone go? I mean, good job on thinking to not go inside the store just in case the shooters decide to sweep the place.
Apparently, they forgot that part. Sweeping the place. Ken stood up, and I followed suit.
The kitchen didn't have much, but it was enough to make hotdogs and buns. It would fit five to six people, but overall, it was a small room to cook and make the hotdogs.
My stomach growled. I groaned. Wow.
Wrong time to want the hotdog, right?
Ken walked at one of the stalls with freshly made hotdogs. He grabbed one, a plain looking hotdog with ketchup on it.
"Here." he spoke, grabbing the hotdog with a paper towel.
