Bulletproof Heart

Chapter 4

A/N I didnt have time 2 proof read this so RIP to your eyes for my errors!!

***

My day consists of-- shocker-- walking. I like to keep moving when I'm alone; I find the constant motion of my feet kind of therapeutic. I take short breaks throughout the more or less uneventful day, pausing to catch my breath and to take sips of water.

Once, I think I hear the low rumble of the Dracs' signature motorcycles, but after carefully listening for a few moments while crouched hidden in the underbrush, I decide that I imagined it. The desert tends to play nasty tricks on those who try to cross it.

Like, you know, death.

It's been a long time since the sun was at the center of the sky, and now the ball of fire is rapidly descending to the earth, turning a brilliant shade of orange as it prepares to make impact with the horizon. I walk at a steady pace, swigging the last of my water before tossing it to the side of the road. Being a litterbug is the least I have to worry about right now.

As the sun sets, I decide that it's time to make camp for the night. I veer off the road and wade through the thick underbrush until I'm a good distance away from the road. Kneeling down, I use my hands to clear away the layer of fallen foliage atop the sand. Then, as the sky grows darker above me, I start digging into the sand until I have a deep, me-sized hole.

Next, I walk around the area near my hole and strip off the longest branches from the thicket and carry them back to my pit. I throw my duffel bag in first, then climb in myself. I lay down and spread the branches across my body as insulation to keep me warm.

Staring up at the sky that is now a rich, inky black dusted with stars, I will myself to fall asleep.

***

My dream brings me back to one of many places that I hope to never see again: a particular rat's nest in Zone 1. A

A rest's nest is supposed to be a safe area for runners to stay when they need it, but sometimes a nest can be more dangerous than the zones, like the one Static and I found one night when the temperature forced us to find cover.

The nest is what looks like an old warehouse, or maybe a commercial building of some sort. A white rat is spray painted on one side, inviting runners in.

In my dream I'm a teenager again, gangly and awkward in my own skin as Static leads me through the hidden entrance to the rat's nest. We both still stink of hairdye, as Static decided that we needed to disguise ourselves. Mine is a dull pink, the color of a fresh sunburn. Meanwhile, Static went with a full-on bleach that sucked the black out of his hair, leaving it lily white. It contrasts sharply with his light brown skin and dark eyes, making him look striking in the moonlight as we slip inside the rat's nest.

The minute we're inside, my nose is assaulted with the putrid smell of human misery: a mixture of sweat, piss, and vomit. Even though the only lighting breaking through the dark grime of the room is from the span of windows across one wall, I can make out huddled packs of people sitting on the bare ground.

As we creep further into the room, all the mumbled conversation of the other occupants ceases. The two dozen or so other heads in the room perk up, watching silently as Static guides me across the floor. He keeps a tight grip on my arm, as though he fears that one of the onlookers will try to snatch me away.

But I can see that their dim, hungry eyes are raking up and down Static's body, not mine.

We make our way to the very back of the nest where we find a vacant spot in the corner, next to a figure lying on its side. Static gestures for me to sit down, placing himself between the other person and me.