Alina was so, so tired. The bullet graze on her thigh was dripping a sickly red onto the milky white snow, staining it permanently. She needed to hurry, to move faster for Christ's sake. The makeshift tourniquet she had fashioned seemed to do nothing by the way she was bleeding.It was digging painfully into her upper thigh and hip, but she never stopped moving. She fell into the cold, icy sheet of snow, nearly up to her knee. She grunted, pushing herself back up, only to fall again. Alina lied there, lip quivering- but not from the cold. She whispered something, so small, you almost wouldn't be able to hear it. "Fucking apocalypse."