Bulletproof Heart

Chapter 1

The late afternoon sun burns the top of my head and makes wavy lines of heat ascend from the sandy ground near the horizon, a stretch of sky where bright blue means the dull brown of the desert. The dry sand crunches underneath my boots and gets scattered in my eyes and mouth when the wind occasionally picks up in hot, unwelcome bursts. Slick sweat sticks my neon blue hair to the back of my head, where my ponytail has allowed strands of hair to fall out. The heat is almost unbearable; it's at least in the hundreds.

I trudge along in the center of the cracked, faded road that etches across the desert like a scar for miles and miles. Clumps of juniper dot the landscape, filling the air with their heavy scent and making my head go fuzzy. After a while, I decide to take a break. Turning off the road, I slump down to rest in the shade of a particularly large juniper bush. I shrug off my duffle bag and unzip it, sticking my hand inside to route around for supplies. My hand closes around a cylinder of Plastic, and I pull it out quickly. Unfortunately, the water bottle is completely empty. I snort in disgust and throw the useless bottle back into my bag; I don't even remember drinking it.

I lay down on the gritty, uncomfortable mixture of sand and foliage, exhausted, the prickly branches of the juniper plant shielding my eyes from the sun. The ground is hot and clings to my face, irritating the flakey patches of sunburned skin.

I'm about to nod off when a sudden rustling noise off to my left jerks me awake. I sit up, my hand immediately reaching for my ray gun. I crouch amongst the juniper, trying to remain hidden. My eyes search the scenery. Everything is still, not even a breath of wind to break the silence. I cock the gun, making a loud clicking sound that rings through the empty desert.

Just then, a small brown bird zips out of the underbrush, skirting low to the ground and letting out an angry chirp before ascending into the sky. I let go of the breath I did not know I had been holding, both thankful and annoyed. What if it had been a Drac? I was asleep; it could have killed me before I had the chance to open my eyes.

I know I should keep moving. Although it's dangerous enough now, the desert turns into a warzone at night. I get up slowly, my sore limbs already burning in protest. I stick my gun back into its leather holster. Picking my way out of the thicket, I get back on the road and continue my journey.

My arms swing as I walk, one hand brushing against my ray gun. I haven't used it in a while, haven't needed to. I've been lucky enough to have avoided any firefights with the Draculoids since I left Zone 3. I'll sometimes see them from a distance, or just hear the growl of their motors, but I haven't had to engage any.

Part of me feels relieved, the other wary. They just don't seem to be after me.

Unfortunately, nor I have I seen many zone runners-- rebels against Better Living Inc., like me--  in a long time. I'll find a couple in a rat's nest, or pass them on the road, but I haven't stopped to chat. Now that I think about it, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time.

Not since Static's death, really.