It was much later that I awoke, my eyes seeing not the usual roof of a hotel but the open sky. Then the smell hit me, mixed bits of shitty sensations piecing together my reality. Pain started to throb in my leg. Little bits of memories hit me: a terminal, a man, a shot.
And blood.
So much blood.
I tried to sit up, pain flaring all over me. My muscles ached, and it felt like someone was sitting at my feet and jabbing a knife into my upper thigh. I swallowed, everything coming back together. Yesterday replayed through my mind.
And then... today. I looked down at my temporary bandage. It was orange now—the blood having been fully set into the fabric. I winced and reached to untie the makeshift bandage. The bits of fabric at the end pulled loose, and I began to fully peel off the bits of T-shirt.
I wince as the bloody mess that is my wound is unveiled. Bits of scabs come off, causing little pinpricks of pain. The smell of flesh hit my nostrils, filling my lungs. I gagged.
There was a mess of red blood and muscle torn up. It was obvious where the bullet had been lodged. Thankfully, no damage seemed to have been done to the bone. But there was something more concerning.
A faint smell of rot was drifting from the bullet hole. If that meant what I thought it meant...
I swallowed. I couldn't go into any hospital without money or a parent, and my face would be quickly reported. It looked like I would have to stay back here for a while.
I opened my backpack. My laptop, a couple of quick snacks, a water bottle, my wallet, and a notebook equipped with a pen were all of its contents. I gulped. This amount could only last half a day at most. Meaning eventually I would have to go out. In the side pocket I found my case of bullets—nine left. Nine shots to spare.
It pained me to rip off another piece of my T-shirt and expose myself, so I decided on getting another spare bandage from my pant leg. I went back into my backpack and found the hidden pocket containing my switchblade.
I pulled it out and reached out to roll down my pant leg with my other hand. I began carefully, trying to cause minimal rubbing against the wound. Three times it stung, causing me to pause for a second before continuing. In the end, I drew the knife to remove about two inches at the bottom of the fabric.
I sawed through easily, removing my new bandage. In a minute, I had reapplied the bandage, and I looked semi-normal. Zipping up my hoodie hid my cut-up t-shirt, and cutting the other pant leg to match the other just made me look impoverished.
If I put my hood down, no one could recognize me. I could act like a bored teenager, forced to buy groceries for his family. That would work. I loaded my gun and put an additional bullet in my pocket before shoving my wallet and gun in there too.
I put the rest of the bullets and my microchip in the secret pocket before hungrily devouring some crackers and meat.
This helped my hunger, but not enough, so I slung my backpack over my shoulder and stood. I began my journey back out of this twisted labyrinth.
After only ten minutes of journeying, I encountered another person. A lady who looked shriveled and ancient, but could only be in her twenties, met my eyes.
"Stop!" She screeched. I jumped. Her voice was shriveled, her face dirty, her blonde hair in strands. The way she smelled... she could have never taken a shower in her life. The worn pink shirt and jeans seemed like they had almost never been removed from her skin. Her clothes were stained by God knows what... and I don't particularly want to find out.
I gulped. "What do you want?"
She gasped. "Are you... a child?"
"No, ma'am." I said, trying to deepen my voice.
"Don't lie..." she hissed. But her face broke into what I can only hope was happiness. "I know you can't be a day over seventeen."
She made some sort of growling, purring noise. I turned to walk, but she lunged. In an instant, I was on the ground. My wound flared with pain. I failed as she tried to pin me down. "Get- the fuck - off of me!" I screamed.
"It's been a while since I've had a young plaything..." she murmured. She grabbed at my clothing. NO! I screamed mentally. My foot drove itself into her gut. She made a choking, rasping sound. "Oh... shit," she managed.
With my now free hand, I pulled out the pistol and pointed it at her neck.
"DON'T. FUCKING. MOVE." I commanded.
She looked at the gun and only smiled... licking her lips.
As if ignoring the danger, she lunged forward... her hand reaching into my crotch area.
BANG!
She flew backward, blood spilling from the gunshot wound. She choked on the ground, turning pale. Bile spilled from her lips as she twitched. She rasped things that were strange and impossible to understand before becoming silent.
I backed away, standing up cautiously.
"Crazy bitch." I muttered.
I backed up, loading my gun. Trying to forget what just happened, I turned and walked away.
It was almost twenty minutes before I saw another human again. This time I approached carefully, keeping my hand in my back pocket, clasped around the gun just in case. This woman only looked up, waving a can labeled spare change. Her cheeks were hollowed, her brown hair thin. "Please?" She muttered. "Spare change for one in need?"
I swallowed. I cautiously pulled out a fifty and stuck it into the bin. Her face broke out into a grin. "Oh... Oh my goodness!" She stared down at the money, then back at me. "T-Thank you so much, kind g-gentleman!"
I smiled, relieved to have rekindled hope for humanity. "Any time."
I continued walking. I saw a few more along the road, still asleep—or dead. I didn't know. Eventually, I made my way out into the light.
It was blinding at first, seeing real sunlight again. The ultraviolet rays sliced across my corneas. "Damn, that's bright." I muttered.
I stepped out. People strolled down the streets. Couples chattered, children ran, and people swiped repeatedly on their phones.
It's like my incident never happened.
I turned down, trying to stay as non-suspicious as possible. My hood covered my face, my hands were in my pocket, and I strolled down the lane. Nobody so much as batted an eye. Sure, my clothing is slightly tattered. But, for all they know, it could be a new fad that all the teens are going with. Nobody gives two shits about another passing phase!
I made my way to the grocery store before stepping in. The sights hit me. Food, water, everything one could need in one place. It had only been a week since I had bought supplies—only a day since I was sipping coffee in the cafe, but it felt like years.
I swallowed and began to shop.
Due to this recent incident, I thought I would have to lay low for about two weeks. I could start by spending a few more times in the alleys before law enforcement gave up searching, then run for it. I could catch a train and head out into a more remote area.
Then I could forget this whole shitshow happened.
I grabbed meat, bread, and cheese to make simple sandwiches. I allowed myself a single bag of M&M's. I grabbed about six bottles of water and twelve granola bars. Last, I grabbed some fresh blueberries.
Satisfied with the turnout, I went up to the cashier to check out.
She was an overly nice teen and couldn't be older than me. "Hello!" She chirped. "How's your day going?"
I put on a bored expression, even though she couldn't see my face. "It's fine." I drawled. "Except for having to run all these errands."
"Ah." She said, uninterested. She finished scanning all my items. "That'll be $75.99. Have a nice day!" I paid, leaving me with about $100 left in my wallet. I grabbed the groceries and started walking.
As soon as I was outside, I sat on a bench and stuffed all of the items into the bag but the bottled water, to avoid damage to my computer. The water was put in an additional back pouch. I quickly threw away the bags and went on my way.
I had made it within sight of the alley entrance when I saw them: two women and a man, dressed in suits with sunglasses and small guns. The weapons may be small, but their labeling of 'CIA' told a different story.
"Fuck." I whispered. Those small guns could hold any number from ten to fifty shots. And there was one reason they were here.
ME.
I started to pick up my pace, but even that alerted them.
"YOU! STOP!" One of them yelled.
Goddammit, they saw me.
I ran.
POP! POP!
Their guns went off. I ignored them. My feet slammed against the pavement, each impact sending a shiver of pain through my leg.
I reached the alleyway and took off running.
POP!
"Don't shoot him, you idiotic prick!" I heard from behind me.
I gulped. They wanted me alive, and it could be for no good reason. I continued running, with no intention of stopping. I turned one way, then the next. But the footsteps continued to follow me.
No gunshots occurred now, and all I heard was the sound of my pounding, hard, and panicked breathing. My lungs began to burn. My muscles ached from the strain.
"He can't run forever!" One shouted.
They were right.
I couldn't.
And I wouldn't.
If I was going to be captured, they wouldn't take me alive. I gulped; I knew what I had to do. I was not going to let myself be captured, tortured, imprisoned, and forced to give up my secrets.
I stopped, pulled out my gun, pointed it to my throat, and turned.
I was going to kill myself.
In front of the fucking CIA.