First World(2)

We existed in a chaotic cycle of militia, gangs and destruction. The Brutal Gangers – currently chasing me – were one of the many gangs fighting for survival and power. All striving to dominate control of food sources, drugs, human trafficking, and, of course, the ever prevalent battle for more territory.

It was during my lifetime that the rebels tried to regroup, to take society back. But the militia and gangs had a strong hold. They controlled the majority of weapons, food and the only communications system left – archaic two-wave radio. We were the rebels. We had less numbers and no choice but to barricade ourselves into compounds, only leaving when necessary.

Kicking back against the dumpster, I thought briefly of raiding it for food. There wasn’t much point. I hadn’t found anything remotely edible for months, but we were dangerously low on supplies. We barely survived, but we were good at biding our time and being smarter. Smarter – sitting in various types of gunk on the freezing ground, waiting to be beat down by some thug – yep, smarter.

It was about time I initiated a safer escape from the monotony of the compound. Next time I felt a need to jog, I’d just stay home. Strike that, I’d just stay in bed. This wasn’t my first experience with the Brutal Gangers and probably wouldn’t be my last. I hoped my luck wasn’t due to run out anytime soon.

It was pitch black in the alley now and my legs were almost asleep. I’d exhausted enough patience and spent way too long brooding. Time to make a break for it.

Easing myself free, I brushed down my jeans, dispelling the dust and the other disgusting items I’d been sitting in. It was a small comfort that the darkness hid the ground. Shuffling along the alley, I headed toward the street front, discernible in the faint spectre of light cast by one of the few working street lamps.

I paused at the end of the alley and focused. A secret to my survival was ‘trust your instincts and use common sense’.

Yeah, it wasn’t much of a secret, but common sense – whew, hard to come by. Lucy always told me she’d come running with me when I was at the survivalist level of Bear Grylls. On a scale of one to Bear Grylls, I wasn’t even close. I missed television. No new shows had been made past 2015, but I’d always enjoyed the oldies. No more, though. Our television unit now housed mice and quite a few cockroaches.

I waited patiently, absorbing the silence. It was a good sign, time to make a run for home. Easing around the side of the alley, I breathed deeply. No time to hesitate. I took the first step, pushing off hard from the ground. But, before I even landed, my right arm was jerked roughly, flinging me to the side. The pressure didn’t ease. Shi... I’d been caught. Twice in one day was a record, even for me.

A large masculine hand was wrapped tightly around my arm, long fingers overlapping on my bicep.

I had seconds to escape.

He was alone now, but that wouldn’t last long.

Going limp, I slumped against him.

He grunted at the unexpected force of a hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight, and his grip eased slightly. Using my leg muscles for leverage, I wrenched myself backwards, landing in the alley. Pain exploded through my body as I hit the ground hard, but I had some space. Brushing my long hair from my eyes, I scuttled down the alley. Distance was the key to my fighting style. I’m too light and weak to have much chance if they get their hands on me, but I am fast.

The shadowed figure had not moved from the alley entrance.

Upon reaching the end of the path, I stood carefully, the brick wall anchoring my back. My escape had been too easy; there was definitely an ambush coming. I needed to take him on while he remained unaided. That was my only chance. My much abused muscles ached in protest and I was grateful for the amazing power of adrenalin.

I took a few steps closer, leaving the safety of my wall. My arms hung loosely at my side, my stance relaxed and ready for battle. I stopped halfway, ten feet from the man, his features shadowed but discernible in the backlight.

An average man, albeit a little weathered. His dark hair was peppered through with silver highlights and it was cropped close to his scalp in a haphazard manner. Either his hairdresser really sucked or he cut it himself, with a blunt knife and no mirror. It was a small relief that he displayed no facial tattoos or clothing insignia from the local gangs. Although, truthfully I was more comfortable with the monster I knew. The motives of gang members I understood.

This man I did not.

His clothing looked tattered, an array of brown and tan fading into each other. The shabbiness didn’t disguise their unusual quality and style. He could have stepped off the pages of my history books, elaborate military-style dress with large medals on each shoulder.