No. 3

Chapter 1

I stood up, looking down at the man. An average looking white male. Brown hair, and brown eyes. Typical look of one like him. I sneered, kicking at his side. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and fearful, his lips pressed together to avoid crying out in pain. I surveyed my surroundings, an old habit lingering from the days that cops actually patrolled this area. I grabbed the collar of his filthy shirt, yanking him close enough to my face that I could smell his breath. Drunk. A smoker. Shoving him back to the ground, I drew my knife in case he decided to attack my once again.

Clearly homeless, he had seen the bags I was carrying and must've assumed it was food. Or money. Like I would carry something so precious in such an obvious way. I was only carrying some stolen items. Some guns, some ammo, and an odd looking sword. It had a black curved edge that looked to be about three feet in length. The handle was pretty disappointing, just plain stone wrapped in what I assumed to be old leather. I had picked up the gun and ammo from a collapsed military base, which was rumored to be 'toxic' after the bomb that had been detonated. Bullshit. It was completely fine, from what I'd seen. The troops there had been idiotic enough to leave some weapons, so if I was running low, I could take a quick trip and snag some. How kind of them. Oh yeah, possession of any sort of weapon was illegal. So if they found my bag, I would be in some deep shit. But obviously they wouldn't. There were only around about one thousand cops in my area. That sounded like a lot, and everyone was excited, thinking everything would get better soon.

That was until they found that there was only 4 areas spanning over America.

Area 1 defended New York, New Jersey, and Washington D.C., obviously the areas that housed government and higher population. It was very well guarded, housing most to all of the Army, Air Force, and Navy. Area 2 spanned post of the West coast, California, Washington, Oregon, Nevada, and about half of Arizona. It was mainly covered by the Navy, considering Japan and Russia could attack most easily there. The remaining states were divided at about Kansas, following the oh-so convenient line pretty much drawn by the existing state boundaries. The Northern side was Area 3, since Canada had now become an enemy, and the boundary was closed. All of the remaining Southern states were Area four. The area no one wanted to live in. The area I lived in.

Whatever measly law enforcement could be mustered up was immediately sent to the capital of each state, leaving the people of every other town and city to fend for themselves. I lived in Houston. Once a booming city, one of the most prominent of the country in fact, now run down, and home to whatever rebels would muster up the courage to come. Me? I had no choice. It was the safest place, where many useful buildings had been evacuated quickly, leaving useful supplies scattered around. There was many minimarts with packaged food that could possibly last for years. There was isolated suburbs not too far away. It was overall an okay place, except the heat. On extremely hot days, my eyes prickled with sweat and my skin burned. But I had to live with it. There was no were else I could go. I had learned to survive on the streets, and it was all I knew how to do.

I eventually reached my home. Well, it was only a base. I jumped the fence that guarded from prying eyes, and lifted the stone I knew was light. Since all the concrete in the city was spider webbed with cracks. The stone led into a dark cave like structure, and I reached for the lantern, flicking it on. It was powered by batteries, which I had a large pack of. Obviously stolen. I sighted and sorted my finds, keeping the sword by the door, and hiding the gun with my revolver. The new gun was quite unfamiliar, but it looked like some sort of rifle or machine gun. I sighed, leaving the bullets in the bag.

I drew my knife, and pulled the block of wood I'd been working on. It was a model of the only place I had ever visited. I was six, and we had all visited Disney World, in Florida. I smiled bitterly at the memory, knowing nothing would ever be like that again. I whittled away at the relatively soft wood. I cursed as the knife slipped and I tried to move my hand, but wasn't quick enough.

I saw a flash of red, and felt pain, and then a warm stinging feeling. I glanced down at my hand, and winced as I saw the dark fluid covering my split skin. I groaned, giving myself a second to acknowledge the pain before yanking off a strip from my jeans and using it as a bandage on my now injured hand.

I examined the wound, toying with the possibility that my stupidity may end with me having to find a useful first aid kit with a needle and sterile thread, and then stitch myself up with my left hand. Which would be damn near impossible.

Sighing, I tightened the bandage and hoped the bleeding could be stopped by the time morning came. Flicking off the bright yellow lamp I stared at the endless dark in front of me, around me, in me. In the chilling silence, every small sound kept my awake; every drip of water from the leaking pipe made me grip my knife more tightly in my hand.

The thing is, when the silence is deafening, and the darkness is blinding, how can you tell if you are dead, alive, or asleep?

The answer is simple:

You can't.