Bulletproof Heart

Chapter 3

My dream that night, it isn't a dream. It's a nightmare, a bastardized memory that's been nimped at and tucked  by my brain until it's more imagination than what actually happened that day.

I'm standing in the center of a road in the middle of the desert. Suddenly, three Dracs appear about thirty feet in front of me, their hideous white-masked faces turned to me. I reach for my ray gun strapped to my thigh, but it's not there. I look around desperately for an escape, but he's standing at my side. Deep blue eyes shining out from under wild white hair facing every direction. His lips are drawn in a tight line as he looks at me with a look of contempt.

"Well aren't you going to do something?" He asks me.

I move my mouth, but nothing comes out.

"God, you're useless." He sneers.

Then in the blink of an eye, he's next to the Dracs. They spring on him immediately, holding him tightly as he struggles against them. "Do something!" He snarls at me, almost like a dare. "Or are you just gonna stand there like you did last time?"

He tries to pull away from the Dracs, but one grabs his left arm and twists it. He shrieks in pain, but the Drac doesn't let go. I can tell that if the Drac doesn't lighten up his grip, it's going to break his arm. And it does, with a sharp crackling that rings through my ears, mixing with Static's pained scream.

But it's not the crack of bones that I awake to, but instead the sound of breaking glass. And it's not Static's cry of agony, but instead the grumble of swears that I hear.

"Shit," A male voice mumbles. "I think I got some glass in my shoe."

Footsteps, two pairs, travel around the store. I sit up as quietly as possible and crouch hidden behind the counter. I draw my ray gun and prepare to spring up and shoot if needed.

I hear a voice come from near the refrigerator. "No water."

"We have plenty back at base," another answers. "Let's hurry up before Kobra dies of heatstroke."

Runners? I wonder. They could be. I slowly rise up just enough to see over the top of the counter. I am just able to catch a glimpse of a pair of men dressed just as unlike the standard Drac uniform as I am-- one with a wild mane of hair, the other a considerably short guy with jet black hair slicked back-- before I am forced to duck back behind the counter. Two guys in the gas station with me and at least one other waiting outside.

Great.

Taking another quick peek, my eyes move to their hips, where ray guns like my own are strapped.

Two armed guys.

Fucking Spectacular.

And it's only a matter of time before they notice they are not alone.

The short one looks down and frowns. "Hey, Jet," he says, calling his friend over.

"What?" Jet asks in a surprisingly higher voice than what I expected him to sound like. It's almost comical, really.

The short one points down at the floor. Suddenly, it hits me. All that dust, thick enough to write your name in...

"Footprints. And set of 'em isn't ours." He says.

Jet shrugs. "Big deal, I'm sure other runners have looted this place before."

"Yeah, but these footprints don't go out," He says, pulling out his ray gun. Jet's eyes widen and he does the same, keeping the pistol at the ready.

I bite my lip and silently scold myself. What if it was Dracs who showed up instead of runners? I'd be dead meat, and still might be if these guys accidently blow my head off. I decide that it's best just to make myself known rather than have them find me. Still keeping my hand on my ray gun, I slowly stand up, making myself perfectly visible. And shootable.

I clear my throat loudly.

The two men whip around quick as lightening, pointing their guns straight at me. I decide that my own weapon will be useless against them and raise my arms above my head.

"Don't shoot!" I shout.

They still keep the guns trained on me. "Zone runner?" The dark headed one asks. He looks me up and down and quirks an eyebrow. "...Or motorbaby?"

"Runner." I answer. Then, "Motorbaby? Really? God, I'm not that young." Motorbabies are kids who were born on the run in the desert, not like runners, who at one time knew a different world, even if we can't remember it.

He stares at me, considering. He gives the other guy a look and they slowly lower their weapons.

"Thanks, getting my brains blown out would've been a shitty way to start this lovely day." I state, lowering my hands and smiling sweetly.

The short one smiles. "No problem. Got a name, kid?"

"Whitenoise Explosion."

"Nice to meet you, Whitenoise Explosion. I'm Fun Ghoul," he cocks his head towards the wild-haired guy. "This is Jet Star."

"Wonderful to meet you sirs. Nice weather we're having." I say mock-conversationally, sticking my hands in the back pockets of my dirty white jeans.

"Quite." Jet Star answers, thrusting his gun in his holster. Fun Ghoul follows suit, and we stand there for a moment just looking at each other in awkward silence.

"You with anyone else?" Fun asks me.

"Nah, I prefer the Lone Wolf life." I tell him, brushing some of my neon blue hair out of my face where it fell out of my ponytail.

Fun Ghoul gives a half-smile. "Sounds exciting."

"Totally. I'm the life of the party."

The pair start to make their way to the door and I follow.

"That also makes you the most boring." Fun Ghoul says, running a hand through his black hair.

"The most attractive." I respond, carefully slipping through the doorframe. I notice that a chunk of my jacket is still stuck on a jagged point of glass.

"But also the ugliest." Fun laughs as we step into the already steaming desert air.

The first thing I notice is the car: a white Trans Am by the look of it, probably Drac issue. However, what isn't Drac regulation is the different hues of neon paint it's covered in, the graffiti stretching from bumper to bumper. The swirls of color are pretty enough on their own, but the obvious centerpiece is the huge black spider carefully stenciled onto the hood.

The car's beat up and faded, with both tail lights blown out and a cracked side mirror. Its tires are well on their way to balding, and it looks like it hasn't seen a good wash since the day it rolled off the production line. But it's running-- I can hear the motor grumbling from here in the silent air-- and that's what really matters.

I can see a figure inside who I assume is Fun Ghoul and Jet Star's friend, Kobra.

"You guys have a car?" I ask, my mouth hanging open.

"Yep." Jet answers like it's nothing.

"Cool." I stare at the ground and prod the sand with the tip of my shoe. "I guess I'll see you guys around?"

"Yeah, maybe." Fun Ghoul says with a quiet smile. "Good luck out there, kid."

"You too," I say.

He and Jet climb into the car. Fun gives me a final farewell wave before they take off, sand billowing up from the tires. I watch them until I can no longer make out the car.