Survival

Chapter 3 Eyes in the sky

The front window shattered, the assault victim of a battered leather suitcase that Edward had picked up in the nearby rubble. He weaseled his chubby arm around the piercing panes to the lock. If he failed, the pain would be truckloads worse than the uncomfortable pull of his arm stuck in vending machines for hours. The glass came close, but no cigar.

Stepping inside, he eyed the unbroken bottles lining the shop walls. The deceased liquor store owner had collapsed in a pool of his own vomit on the counter. The infections had struck again. Thank god, Edward had been such a hermit the past few weeks. He squeezed past the owner's frail body. The man would likely have been packing heat. This used to be America after all.

Edward equipped himself with a shotgun and a bottle of bourbon. A smile crossed his face as he left the shop. This was badass! He walked through the charred bones of sedans and pick-ups. Whether they had been destroyed by storm-triggered explosions or post-tornado arson, it was hard for him to tell. The storm had washed away any evidence of the fire's sources.The pyromaniacs' numbers grew daily. Their need for warmth had transitioned into an obsession. Edward had run fast -- fine, speed-walked -- from the fire-bugs' antics while they slept. 

His search began for a desolate place where he could live off the land like people had done hundreds of years ago, before any of this madness sent the world spiraling out of control. With each step, the burnt vehicles, raided store fronts and destruction thinned out until there was nothing but flat, lightly vegetated land.

Hours later, he lay on the ground of uninhabited desert and gazed up at the starry sky. Living off the land turned out to be a drag so far. Growl. Hunger grumbled again. He loaded a few rounds in his sleek shotgun and stared down the scope. His finger itched to press the trigger and feel the power of an actual gun. Call of Duty could only do so much for him. His stomach roared again What he would give for a seasoned steak with all the fixings. It was time to nut up or shut up.

The coyote stalked in the moonlight through the lens of the scope. A perfect target, fresh meat. Coyote steak! Edward tried to balance the butt of the gun on his shoulder as saliva pooled in his dry mouth. He clicked off the safety and kept tracking the animal, feet firmly planted. The coyote paused, frozen in spot for a brief moment.

Gotcha, you little bastard.

Edward squeezed the trigger like the stress ball he used to keep at work. Before the satisfaction of firing a gun could set in, the nerves in his eye socket burned with the violent impact of the weapon. He cursed and nearly dropped the thing while he cupped his tender eye. Kick back was a bitch.

The sun rose, swatting away cold's clawed hand. He almost missed the pyromaniacs. Edward slowly opened his tender eye. The coyote had long since escaped, and he didn't dare try to shoot another despite his whimpering stomach. The desert spirits had spoken. He was no hunter.

Instead, he opened up the bottle of bourbon, a drink he figured classy people drank. It didn't go down with the same satisfaction as a cold can of Bud, but, the disaster called for a change. Beggars really couldn't be choosers.

A powerful roar carried across the desolate space but the sun in his eyes prevented a proper view of its origin. He dug a pair of sunglasses out of his bag. A breeze rolled through the desert, kicking up sand in over-sized spheres. As it grew stronger, small particles flew into his face, scarcely guarded by his sunglasses and sleeves. He threw himself against the ground, taking care not to spill his drink. The winds intensified. Darkness entombed him. He turned his head, a belly of gray metal and sharp skids dropped closer to his body.

Air raid! Tuck and roll!

He sat up and looked around for his gun, ready to fight who or whatever was going to step out of this aircraft. Aliens, soldiers or maybe even the president himself. It hovered above him a little longer, mocking his slow speed.

You jerks! Rome wasn't built in a day.

The temptation to set off a couple rounds in the helicopter's direction burned in his gut. However, his eye stung at the thought. Maybe he could gamble on a friendly encounter. Online poker odds had always been a friend to him.

The rocks crackled as the aircraft slowly made contact with the ground. The strong airwaves knocked over his bottle of bourbon, and he watched his dreams of becoming a classy respectable man run into the sand.

The black door swung open and a pair of brown lace-up boots stomped towards him with sufficient force. His eyes traveled upwards to see a woman with spectacular breasts and black hair loosely tied back, loose strands flying about. Edward froze. She was a spitting image of Chloe Frazer, a character from Uncharted, a video game with which he spent more time than his own sweet mother throughout his adolescence. He began to wonder if he was hallucinating from his earlier spit of bourbon or from lack of water. If this was a mirage, his day was about to get much better.

"Him?" she asked, uncertainty lacing her firm voice. Edward tried to discern her conversation partner. The black ear piece protruding from her ear answered his queries. "You're sure?"

His heart sank. Unless she was coming over to take off her top, this was most certainly reality, one with which he was more than acquainted. He got up slowly, brushing the red, desert sand off his shorts and t-shirt. The t-shirt required a quick tug down to cover his belly and he took off the shades so they wouldn't blow off. Just in case she happened to be a sexy super villain, he also held the gun in his left hand, far from his swollen eye.

"Did you have an accident?" The woman asked him with a vacant expression on her face. She still waited on an answer from the headset based on the way her eyes darted upwards.

"Got in a fight," Edward replied, trying to keep his voice at a low register. "You should have seen the other guy."

"Don't you mean a fight with your gun? They're a bit tricky at times, if you'd allow me I could-"

"Slow down, lady, I'm not handing you my gun." At this point, he decided to point the weapon at her. He wished this would have been his initial instinct. An alien could pop out of her chest at any point, for all he knew. Next time, he mused.

"You know you're using a gun designed for a right handed person, right? Bet that safety's a bit of a challenge."

"I'm ambidextrous. What'cha going to do about it?"

"If you were ambidextrous, wouldn't you use the gun in its intended manner instead of intentionally making this difficult for yourself?"

"Listen, lady-" Edward hissed from behind clenched teeth.

"Oh," she said and pressed her finger to her ear. "We're ready for you now, Mr. Drest, if you'd follow me."

He narrowed his eyes at her slender figure as she strutted towards the helicopter, swaying her hips slightly. It troubled him that she knew him by name, yet she was a complete stranger. Maybe she was an alien after all. She stood with one foot inside and the other on the ground, waiting for him to make a move.

"You're welcome to bring the gun as long as it's not loaded."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere more appealing than a desolate desert. Unless you'd prefer the company of your spilled bourbon and charming self," she said with a smile.

That smile wasn't the kind you flashed your grandma for lemonade. No sir, it made you think of one thing, and one thing only, raw animal magnetism. Edward narrowed his eyes. Clearly a woman like her wouldn't follow through with a guy like him. Tease. She could be nothing but human.

"We don't have all night, make your choice," she called out again. She reached out for the gun, clearly not intimidated

He sighed, handed it over and walked over to the aircraft, trying not to admit defeat. This was clearly the better option of the two. It just hurt his newfound pride to admit that he wasn't up to facing the new world on his own.