More Than a Battle, Less Than a War || tøp AU

1

Don't stop running, I tell myself.

I don't know where I'm headed, I just know I have to get away.

Don't slow down.

My legs ache and burn from the continuous patting of my feet against the absent sidewalks, the sound bouncing off the empty road and vacant buildings.

I've lived like this for a while now. Everyday it's the same thing, I rest up and travel aimlessly for as far as I can bear, all while staying hidden.

Yes, I'm a wanted man, but I'm no criminal.

I have lost track of time and location and all the things in between. I'm actually surprised at how much I don't know. But I do know one thing.

I'm in an experiment.

Everyone is. Or, at least, I'm pretty sure everyone is. I guarantee that there are people out there looking for me at this moment. I don't know what they want from me, so I'm always on the run and go.

If I'm lucky, I would come across an abandoned grocery store with unpurchased goods or a crumbling shopping mall in which I may find other necessities worth the salvage. Today seems to be my lucky day.

Walmart, reads the large sign above the entrance. Huh.

I pry the no-longer-automatic door open just enough so that my slim, underfed body can fit through. The late afternoon daylight shining through the windows are the only source of light in the store, making the entire place look like a nightmare alive. Taking a half-dead flashlight out of my backpack, I shine the light on the disgusting amounts of dust everywhere, a buildup of what looks like a year.

Have I been running for a year?

No. No way. That's too long.

As I walk through aisle after deserted aisle, I observed that only toys and sports balls and best-selling novels remain. It seems as if this store was raided of its goods before I got here. I then came across the gun section.

Various guns and ammunition lay untouched in a case shielded by cracked bulletproof glass. Judging by how the glass was cracked and the absence of valuable items in the other parts of the store, I'm guessing the raiders who came before me just couldn't get their hands on the guns. I chuckle to myself, thinking of how mistaken they were to weaken the bulletproof glass for me to come and break through it.

I repeatedly pound at the glass with a crowbar I found from the auto section. Tiny shards of glass fly in all directions, yet the glass doesn't give in.

Frick, how am I going to do this?

I run to the bicycle section and hop on a dusty red dirt bike. The moment I boarded the wheeled contraption was the moment I sadly remembered-

I don't know how to ride a bike.

I attempt to pedal the gosh darn thing forward, but end up losing balance and control. I ditch the bicycle and spot the last tricycle in the store. That one should be easier to ride.

Crowbar in hand, I charge at full speed toward the gun case, riding the tricycle.

I harshly collide with the glass, my crowbar managing to impale it. Shards of glass are scattered around the floor. The sense of accomplishment is very satisfying. I wipe away a bead of sweat from my forehead.