There's nothing like a good apocalypse to make your already crappy life even crappier.
Honey Boulevard knows this well.
Admittedly, she's had a much better life than most. She grew up with money in large Manor House. She never had to work for a th...
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•a happy soul is the best shield for a cruel world•
"Mommy?" Soft whispers flood my ears. Even the smallest sound interrupts the silence surrounding us, and it startles me a little.
Bonnie hasn't moved in the past ten minutes. She stayed pressed against my chest with her arms around my neck the whole time. We'll need to move soon, as quickly as possible, but at the moment I revel in the comfort of having her close to me.
"Mommy," She says, "How will Daryl find us now?"
Daryl is the least of my concerns. Quite frankly, I am about to have so many problems that how Daryl's going to find us isn't even going to be on the radar. We've known the guy a day; barely; so I'm not about to risk life and limb to make myself available to find. No matter how lovely the adult conversation is.
I gulp, attempting to relieve the dryness at the back of my throat. I can feel the adrenaline fading, replaced by a hazy exhaustion. Running shouldn't take this much out of me. I might not run often but I'm not unfit enough that this would wear me out.
Bonnie starts to pull away, a frown upon her face as she stares at me, her hair falling around her shoulders messily.
"Mommy we have to go back." She says, "We have to go." She tugs on my arm, standing up.
I let her hold onto my arm, let her tug despite it not doing anything productive. We're not going back. Not a chance. I'm a lot of things, but suicidal is not one of them.
"Mommy."
"Bonnie." I don't mean to snap, but my patience is wearing thin. It's not necessarily her fault she's grating my nerves. Yet the pain spreading through my leg is too vast for me to control my temper.
She quietens down nonetheless, popping herself on the floor beside me with her legs crossed. Nettie's paw is grasped tightly in her hand. A frown cements itself onto her face as she watches me.
Never mind that. However reluctant I am to do so, I need to check the wound in my leg. Blood and I don't sit well together and I can just imagine how fun this is going to be.
Tilting my neck slightly, I lower my gaze to my left leg.
My previously blue jeans are stained dark red. There's a large patch of it surrounding my thigh, gradually leaking down my knee. You can clearly see where the bullet has torn through the jeans (and, obviously my flesh) from the frayed hole that has blood slowly leaking from it. My jeans seem to be absorbing a lot of the blood but the wound's still bleeding. By the looks of it I've lost too much blood as it is, and jean can only absorb so much. It doesn't hurt now. I get a spike of pain when I move my leg but overall I can't feel it. Perhaps that's the adrenaline still running through my body. Worst case scenario, it's because my leg's gone numb due to lack of blood flowing through it properly. I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that's not a healthy amount of blood loss.
