Run

Chapter 3).

     Taking  a few more gulps of air hungrily, as if they were my last, I quickly jog to the side of the road for another brief rest. I look up at the bright blue sky, squinting from the Sun's harsh glare, and note it's position. I must have been running non stop for about three hours or so, well at least that's what logic tells me. But then again, look where logic got me now.

With a grunt, I plump myself down onto the gritty gravel rather hard, and regret it as my muscles scream in agony from the poor treatment. Contorting my lips into a grimace from pain, I get a sudden urge to scratch my head. It was as if small birds were pecking the top of my head lightly enough so it didn't hurt. 

'Oh god, I hope it isn't lice.'

Lice was a possibility since I have slept in numerous abandoned places, and most of them didn't have the water working. If it did then Drew and I usually saved it for only washing dishes because there was no telling when the pipes would finally break or when the water would stop coming through.

I can't even remember the last time I took a shower. We only bathed Lily about once a week since she was the weakest among us, and its not like Drew or I ever got sick, so we didn't really worry about our own health as much as hers.

A pain started to throb in my chest as I was reminded of Lily. She was like my little sister too, never mind just Drew's. Little Lily, possibly on her own. She's probably scared to death. She could possibly be anywhere. Possibly dead. 

I sigh as I try to forget about her and instead try to distract myself with my annoyingly itchy scalp.

Bringing my hands up towards my head, I start scratching furiously with one hand and comb through my tar black hair with the other. I can't help but flinch every time my fingers find a knot laced in with the rest of the mound on my head. Soon, I realize that it has nothing to do with lice, or the lack of hygiene, or even just a flaky scalp. 

 "BUT THEN WHY IS MY HAIR SO FRICKEN' STICKY?!" I yell at the clear blue sky angrily, as if it was its        fault that I can't solve my own scalp problems.

Yelling didn't help my throat at all, I think to myself as a sharp, jarring pain sears up and down inside my throat, automatically shutting me up. I exhale furiously, angry at the world.

Angry at the fact that God knows who decided to control the human population by bombing them. Angry at the fact that I got separated from the only people I love. Angry at the fact that I ran to the middle of nowhere, and that the only sign of humanity is a small road that continues for miles and miles that I unwilling volunteered to follow.

All my thoughts are jumbled up in one heaping, confusing, angry mess.

I release my hands from my head and am dismayed to feel stickiness covering my fingers and thumbs. A white, thin and creamy substance is all over my hands. Great. Just what I need. I grunt from frustration and the effort of getting back onto my feet, finally realizing just how tired my limbs are, and the thought of more rest starts to peek my interest.

'No,' I contradict myself. 'You have to keep going.'

I dismiss my thoughts, trying to seek peace from the pounding headache that just formed.

I turn my attention back to my hands.

'It's probably just sweat...' I try to comfort myself. 

'You use up too much effort in trying to reassure your self, its time for you to face reality head on,' my inner self says in a scolding tone.

I lean over the curb and hear my bones creak like an old wooden door would, and I open my brown leather bag, spilling the contents onto the grass, while crouching on the pavement. I can hardly remember what I packed in it because I was in such a rush, and it doesn't help that I'm already over come with fatigue.