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A light rain drizzle of rain was reassuring. It fell over the small town like a shroud, lending a grey cast to the day and making the pavement underfoot shine in the weak light. It smothered the overwhelming scents of civilisation and left behind a simple, clean odour that didn't weigh on her lungs like the fumes of cars did. People didn't linger in the rain, they walked quickly, kept their gazes low. They didn't make eye contact and they didn't look for it – they just kept going with whatever it was that they needed to do. People always seemed to be in a hurry.
The young adult pulled the peak of her cap a little further over her face, her shoulders squared against the weather and the world as she walked. A plastic bag swung from her right hand, the handles thin and stretched from the weight of its contents, digging into the leather glove in a way they ought to cut off the blood supply in her fingers. In a way that ought to be uncomfortable.
It wasn't uncomfortable. Not in her right hand.
She was grateful she even had something to carry though, when she so often had to turn to more dishonest methods of feeding herself. The next step would be to find a place to stay that didn't involve swatting in an abandoned crack shack, somewhere with a lock on the door and not just a broken chair wedged against it. But that was trickier than simply earning enough cash to afford to eat – even in a place where it was so easy to pick up a bit of manual labour for a day and have a couple of dollars pressed into her hand at the end of it. You didn't need a name for jobs like that, you just needed to put your head down and work, and the shipyard just outside of town was always looking for extra hands.
Of all the places she had passed through, this was the longest she'd managed to stay, without feeling the inexplicable urge to run. Whether it came from the fear of being followed or recognised, or the sudden waves of hatred towards herself that came with the surfacing of some obscure memory, the urge usually came. If she was moving, she didn't have to think about anything other than finding the next place to hide, or the next person to kill.
Up until the beginning of this year she hadn't stopped moving, tracking down every piece of HYDRA scum she could get her hands on. It wasn't until now that she felt the urge to run, though she didn't know what had changed.
Even here though, she couldn't bring herself to feel settled. Not when she lay awake, listening to the car passing by on the road outside and that awful second where she waited for them to keep passing. Someday, she was sure the one day one would slow and pull into the driveway and come to my door, but she was certain they would come. She just didn't know what she would do if they did.
Or rather, she knew what she'd have to do. She just resented the thought of it.
Though, part of her hadn't expected that day to come so quickly.
At first, she though he might be another swatter, or even a crackhead looking for a fix – judging by the backpack sitting on the step beside him and the still-damp hood of his sweatshirt that was pulled over his head. He wasn't dress for the rain, with a Demin jacket slung over the hoodie, perhaps he was just seeking shelter – but they were too far out in the boonies, he leaned against a rotting wooden post, passing his phone between his hands in an attempt appear at ease.
