Page 4 of The Bounty
This can’t be happening.
I wash the cut as best I can again with bottled water, but yelp as I apply pressure to the wound.
There may still be glass shards inside, but without tweezers…
Shit.
I absolutely need to go back out for supplies.
I groan.
Hopefully, the boarded up gas station will have what I need. Hydrogen peroxide, tweezers, cotton balls…
The rest of the city likes to forget what happened to the buildings over here. They turned a blind eye to the violent protests and the ruined businesses that went up in flames.
And in the end, the elite won.
Pulling my oversized hoodie over my head, I quietly limp down the concrete steps of the apartment building, gripping the iron railing to keep from collapsing. Once I reach the bottom, I open my backpack and spray myself with sanitizer, the overwhelming smell of alcohol enough to make my eyes burn.
Despite the pain, it dulls my scent enough that I won’t be detected for a short while.
Which is why I have to hurry.
Sirens echo in the distance as I keep my head down, walking past gutted cars and plywood. I’m not able to move as fast as I’d like due to the burning pain, and I hold my breath as I finally reach my destination.
The wind howls in my ear. It’s particularly cold for a Southern California night, and I shiver as I hobble to the piece of wood pressed against the front entrance.
Crunch.
My foot smashes a piece of glass, and I freeze.
The wind continues to howl, whipping my hair in my face.
Hopefully my clumsiness was drowned out.
I haven’t seen another person in weeks, so I doubt anyone is near the area.
Even so, I remain cautious.
Moonlight shines in from the sliver of plywood I ripped away, and I click my flashlight as I slowly step inside.
My footscreamsin pain, and I end up half crawling, half limping down the aisles, keeping my head down.
I fill my backpack with water bottles, nutrient bars, and wipes as I make my way past different shelves.
And finally, blessedly, I find the first aid section.
There’s more than enough of what I need.
Opening the front pouch of my backpack, I steal a bottle of peroxide, a tube of antiseptic cream, and a pack of bandages.
Now all that’s left are the tweezers to get the glass shards out of my foot.
CRUNCH.
I freeze.
The noise came from the front of the building, near where I pried the plywood open.
