Chapter 2
"You gettin' it?" asked Alex breaking the silence.
Roger was to focused on sliding the points of his tweezers around edges of the lead pellet in his calf to answer back. When he had the best hold he was going to get on it he pulled back ever so slightly, willing the BB to come loose. The tweezers prongs snapped back together pushing the BB right back to where it was before.
"Oh you lousy bitch!" muttered Roger.
"Lost it again?"
Roger flung the tweezers at the wall beside him, the points digging into the drywall and resting there. "I can't get the goddamn thing out and it's starting to kill my leg."
"Could you try squeezin' it out?" ask Alex
Roger looked over at Alex who was comfortably lounging on the couch then back to his leg. He put his thumbs about one inch on either side of the hole and took a deep breath before jamming them into his muscle. His face contorted in pain as he let out a series of gasps. Alex was watching him intently.
In a deadpan voice Alex added "probably hurts huh?"
Roger looked over to see Alex quaking with suppressed laughter. Angry, he grabbed a binder off the floor and flung it across the room at him. No sooner did it hit the wall above Alex's head that a shot rang out from across the street sending a framed picture spinning off of a desk between them. Alex laughed out loud at this.
"It feels like I'm popping a pimple on my ear times about a thousand" said Roger. He wiped the sweat off of his brow and readied himself for a second attempt. After about ten seconds of intense pain the lead ball popped loose and fell to the floor. Roger picked it up and inspected it in the light of his pen torch that had been illuminating his leg. It looked like a 20 gauge pellet. He flicked it out the window.
"Toss me some water, I'm all out." Roger asked.
Alex began to get up saying "why don't you just run over hear real quick, they won't get ya."
Roger looked at the 12 feet or so of open space that had become a firing range. With a grimace he replied "I'm not gonna risk it and I don't know how fast I can move right now."
Alex poured some water into a freezer bag that he found in one of the cupboards, sealed it and tossed it over to Roger. He caught it in both hands, no shot came this time.
"Thanks. You might want to put a new bandage on your head, that bandana's starting to look filthy."
Alex slipped the bandana off of his head revealing a pretty nasty gash. It was inflamed around the edges but thankfully not infected. He'd received it when the two men had first met. Alex had been creeping around on the second floor of a dilapidated factory unaware of Roger sleeping under a conveyor belt one floor down. One wrong footing had sent him crashing through to the floor below. Roger had woken up at the sounds of the boards cracking only to find a teenager come falling through the roof, bouncing his head off the conveyor as he came.
When Alex came to he found himself on soft pile of cardboard. Roger was sitting on a stool ten feet away with all of Alex's possessions leaning against the stool. A lengthy conversation had ensued and surprisingly to both of them they had agreed to travel together.
"I ran outta gauze like a week ago, the ones sides still fresh though." Alex said turning the bandana to an untarnished side to put it back on.
"I'll make you deal" announced Roger.
Alex's ears perked up.
"I'll give you a sterile bandage for a piece of that electrical tape."
"Where'd you get bandages?" Alex asked him
"I picked up a pack of pillow cases in a department store the other day. They're hypoallergenic." answered Roger.
"What's that mean?" Alex inquired.
"Means it's less likely to harbor allergens. Twelve hundred thread count too."
"Deal" said Alex. "What's thread count mean?"
"Not a thing" stated Roger.
Roger took one of the pillow cases out of his pack and shredded it with a pocket knife. The two then exchanged their goods.
With the piece of tape next to him Roger once again took the pint of Stoli out and pour a little on his leg, wheezing as the liquor soaked in and stung him. "Here" he said, tossing the tape back. "I'm gonna eat." He pulled a can of pork and beans out of his pack and peeled the top off.
"I though you couldn't eat from cans anymore" cooed Alex while he gnawed the piece of stale jerky he'd taken out of his own pack.
"The tops not bowing out yet, I should be fine. Worst thing that's gonna happen is I get the runs."
"Not if you're in the same room as me!"
Roger smiled. Close to finishing his meal he started feeling a whining in his stomach. "Toss me that trash can."
"Dude, you're not taking a shit in here with me" asserted Alex.
"I'll do it with or with out the can, at least with the can I can chuck it out the window" finished Roger, his head tilted, waiting for Alex to fold.
Alex threw the can to him. Again, no shot came due to the movement.
Alex wondered "Why aren't shooting anymore. You think they peaced out?"
"They probably think we're fucking with them trying to get them to waste ammo" Roger explained.
Alex started to get up saying "well I'm gonna check out the place. Definitely not sitting around while you make."
Roger considered him for a moment. He knew the kid was all to capable to be on his own. What he actually worried about was being left alone in such a vulnerable position. He opened his mouth to speak. "Just make sure you shut the door and come right back if you run into anything."
Alex grinned as he took the stoppers out from beneath the door. "Don't worry about me old man, worry about toilet paper."
Roger looked around for a moment panicked. When he looked back up the door on Alex's side it was already closing.
Roger stood the can up and set down on it. While he did his business he tightly crumpled sheets of yellowing paper until they were worn and soft. "That'll do." He thought. When he was done he picked up the can and with a thrust sent the contents flying out into the night. He put the can as far from himself as he safely could and laid pack down.
He took the rolled up fire blanket off of his pack and laid it over himself. Once he was comfortable he took out the book 'A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson' and turned to the page he had dog eared. He found it in someone's three days earlier apartment and it looked like a decent enough read.
For the next six hour he lay there and read, the occasional round flying in the window kept him alert and awake. Alex had yet to return but Roger hadn't heard anything to merit his concerns. He also doubted the kid would take off without him in the dead of night. It wouldn't be the wildest thing to happen to him but irregular all the same. A few times he took out his scope to spy on the neighbors only to be jealous of the fire they had going and the audible bursts of laughter that sometimes crossed the street.
Close to sunrise Alex returned. He stepped slightly through the door almost making Roger jump. He stood in the doorway with his arm still outside of it. Roger sat up cautiously reaching for his sawed off, his thoughts in high alert. Alex wasn't smiling and looked like a dog that got caught ripping a shoe apart. Then his face lit up.
"You are not going to believe what the fuck I found!" whispered Alex in an excited tone.
Roger waited on baited breath to hear. That's when Alex revealed the surprise. From behind him he pulled out a rifle. Not just any rifle either. A L96A1 matte black precision rifle.
Rogers' eyes glowed and his mouth hung a little agape. "Where the fuck did you find that?!" he seethed in glee.
Alex planted himself on the couch, the rifle laying across his lap and leaned forward to tell the story. "So I was up about three floors. The higher I went I kept find huge pieces of this place blown out. The place is totally fucked the further up you go."
"Get to it!" Roger interrupted.
"Alight..." chastised Alex. "So I'm just looking around a few rooms when I come to this one room that has a giant hole in the wall. There were cabinets and shelves and shit all over the place. When I go poking through, I find a leg. Nearly shit myself. Shoe and everything, I thought I stumbled on to a guy sleeping like I did with you. Only thing is, if a guy was sleeping there he decided to do it with about four hundred pounds of filing cabinet on him."
Alex cracked his knuckles and continued.
"It took me a little while to lift the fucking thing off him and I only did it after kicking him a couple a times. When I pushed it off of him I found this!" He held up the rifle proudly. "It's got four bullets in it and there was another ten of them in a pouch on him." He twisted in his seat to show Roger his side. Tucked in his pants was yet another Beretta 92. "All in all I got about another twenty 9mm."
Roger finally regained some of his composure and asked the obvious question. "What was he doing up there?"
Still smiling Alex shrugged "you got me, but I did find this around his neck." He tossed something to Roger.
Roger caught it and it took a second for the moonlight to help him register that it was a Firefly necklace. He breathed out audibly and said "I bet ya
I can tell you what happen."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yup" nodded Roger. He explained "there used to be an old Q-Zone about a block from here. My bet is the guy was trying to pick off soldiers and they got sick of him. Turned the artillery on his ass until he stopped shooting or the building came down. All that racket probably brought the furniture down. Is that all you found on him?"
Alex looked thoughtful for a moment before his face changed back to giddiness and he cajoled "I found some food to but it got crushed and went bad. I mean, the guy was probably there for at least two years. Just the guns."
"Just the guns" Roger mimicked looking skeptical.
Alex said guiltily "There was an M.R.E..."
"Which you ate all to yourself." Roger huffed, exhausted.
"Aw c'mon, you had pork and beans, all I got were some shitty mints and jerky that tastes like dick."
Roger rolled back feeling a mixture of bemusement, annoyance and jealousy. He'd been at this too long to feel that way but it was a hell of a rifle.
Alex said "I was gonna give you the pistol since I already got one. I figured I'd wait till you were over here.
Roger glanced over feeling ashamed of his previous thought process. "Thanks kid. It's about time for us to be getting out of here anyways, sun's almost up."
"You mind if I grab like a half hour of sleep real quick before we do?" Alex begged. "I'm fuckin' tired.
"Sure" agreed Roger.
Roger woke Alex up a short while later with another binder.
"It's about that time" told Roger to a sleepy Alex.
"Mmmm" Alex responded. He sat up and fight back the sleep on his face with a few quick slaps to it.
Roger had already pack up all of his things and put the pen torch back into its slot in the crank power flashlight it was a part of. He steadily slid up the wall, feeling the dull thudding pain radiating up from his leg to his temples.
"Alright, I'm just gonna go for it." said Roger psyching himself up.
Alex, getting on all fours began to move towards the center of the room.
"What are you doing?" asked Roger in a high, harsh whisper.
"I got a bullet or two to spare, I'll pop a few off in their direction, get em' to foul up a little on the aim. It'll give you a shot at not getting shot."
Roger didn't really think this was the time to argue, the sun was going to start creeping through the buildings in just a few minutes. Once Alex had positioned himself behind an overturned desk in front of the blown out window closest to his side, Roger poised himself. It was in that moment that the shooter across the street decieded to send another random round their way.
The scarlet pattern of blood on the wall was academic. The bullet had cracked right through the desk, continuing onward into the soft viscera of Alex's neck. The young guy clutched at his throat for a second or two before the power in his arms gave way and he slumped forward. With the side of his face pressed against the carpet it pulled the skin back taut to form a hearth wrenching mask of deformity. He didn't make a sound, he couldn't. All he could do was move his one arm around vaguely, smearing the pooling blood around the carpet.
Roger had been just about to spring forward when the shot came. He stumbled, nearly exposing himself to the open window. He faltered and then fell back against the wall. From his crumpled position he watched the last bit of Alexs life trickle down the wall and soak into the carpet.
With reckless abandon Roger stood up, relishing the thumping in his chest and leg and bowled over to the other side of the room. The rushing in his ears didn't allow him to hear the shots follow him or the shouts from outside. He didn't stop moving until he slammed into the coach.
When the room stopped spinning he turned around. Alex still sat in a huddled mass. Roger got to one knee, reaching as far as he could, he grasp Alex by the shirt collar and pulled him back. Laying him flat Roger saw the devastation. In a few days he'd be able to justify not scolding Alex for crouching where he did but for right now all he could feel was the hurt and the anger.
He knew that returning fire on the men across the way would most likely result in his death. Besides, what was the point now? The sun was almost up and the exit was right behind him. He laid Alex's corpse on the couch, shutting his blank star and pulling the pillow case remnant off of his head to replace it over his neck instead. After a moments of quick riffling he stood up. With a full canteen and several double bagged bags of water, three new weapons to add to his arsenal as well as whatever else Alex's pack could yield, he quietly shut the door to the office behind him.
