Stalker (pt. 2)
Thanks to those who read the first one!
As promised, I made this one better and more exciting.
Pt. 2
To be honest, I was half expecting to immediately get jumped on as soon as I stepped outside.
To my surprise, however, the square was completely empty and silent. No wolves awaited me behind burned bushes, no gunshots, nothing.
Just... nothing.
That was absolutely not concerning at all.
My senses started going into overdrive. I knew the feeling well; a sudden rush of adrenaline, tensing of muscles, that slight twitch on my eyelid.
I slowly took a step forward down the stairs, and then another, then one last one and I was at the bottom of the stairs.
At times like this, when the human adrenals tap in, sometimes the human in question can experience paranoia, hallucinations (caused by the paranoia, of course) and... interesting sensations, to say the least. It was the way of keeping both the body and mind on alert. It made sense, once you thought about it a little. Would you watch your back constantly if you didn't think you heard something moving behind you?
I unfortunately was experiencing all three. Paranoia set in, causing me to constantly check my back and the windows of the nearby buildings, scanning for danger. The first sound I heard I quickly turned around and aimed at the source, only to realize that it was the rattling of dry tree branches. I saw moving shadows in the dark alleyways, which, in truth, were just hallucinations.
Finally, I couldn't take it any more. Throwing caution to the wind, I made a dash for the nearest alleyway, not caring where I was going, that I may be running into an ambush, or that I was definitely being stupid. I did not care. I just wanted to be out of there so bad, I ran.
When I start to get like this, when I get jacked up adrenaline, the biggest thing that causes me problems are sounds. I'm not saying I suddenly become deaf, 'cause that's not it at all. My problem is I hear sounds that don't exist. I exited out of the alleyway and onto a main road. As I ran past a dilapidated wood chapel, I could swear I heard the faint sound of choir. Past a school I could hear the sound of children playing, just barely audible over the sound of squeaking chains on a rusted swing set. I heard singing, just in the wind, barely intelligible...
I am a pooooor wayfaring stranger...
I stopped, panting from my breathlessness. I slipped off my gas mask and took a whiff of air...
I'm traveling throoooough this world of woe...
I slumped down, with my back against a wall, just outside of what looked like a cafe. It was probably nice once, but whatever catastrophe had happened hadn't exactly added to the decor...
Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger...
I laid my head back against the wall, exhausted. I closed my eyes, listening to the surrounding noise...
To which I gooooo.
I'm going there to see my mother
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm only going all the jordan
I'm only going over home...
Shrrkk!
I stood up fast enough that Usain Bolt would have been impressed. I dove to the side, in just the nick of time.
Blam!
The cracked window of the cafe shattered as glass met bullet. Small shards rained all over me, covering me in tiny pieces of pain.
With no time to waste, I ran and did a leaping jump to a nearby scorched yellow sedan. I heard a loud Ping! as a bullet bounced off the ugly body of the car.
I sat back against the deflated tire of the car, considering my options. The shooter was across the street from me, that was obvious, and they had some sort of heavy caliber rifle that could definitely take my head off in one shot, easily. Meanwhile, they absolutely knew where I was, and I was stuck with a closed ranged shotgun that may or may not have had ammo.
You could say it wasn't looking too good.
However, I was pretty sure I had one advantage- time. They could waste their ammo all they wanted, and once they were out, well, that's when it was my turn.
I suddenly heard a smallclick as they exchanged magazines.
I didn't wait. I popped my head over the car, and took aim with the shotgun at the first thing that looked like a face. I saw something pale in a first story window of a building, and shot a rushed, badly aimed burst at that.
To my suprise, I heard a loud yell, then the sound of something heavy colliding with an object.
"Idiot..." I muttered.
I jumped up, then shot a burst at the same window, in case the shooter was still alive and able to shoot. It wasn't to hit a target, rather, it was just to make sure the target stayed down.
Keeping my head low, I ran across the street towards the window. The building the shooter had taken cover in was a brick drug store, from the looks of it. I didn't even know they were still around. They had set up shop at the base of a wide storefront window, which, while it gave them a good view of the road, gave them absolutely no cover.
No wonder I was able to hit them.
I peered inside the shattered window. An old man in a newsboy cap, a ragged flannel shirt and torn wool trousers was lying there in a pool of blood. Half of his neck and left shoulder was missing from my shotgun blast.
He had a wrinkled, lined face with an expression of utter agony molded upon it. His blue eyes were already glassy, staring out towards the ceiling...
I paid little attention to him. The thing that got my attention was the big gun he was holding.
It was a long, Kalashnikov looking rifle, or what you Americans call AK-47, but with a longer barrel stock and a smaller magazine. I recognized it instantly; it was a cut and dry standard issue SVD, with what looked like a homemade scope attached above the iron sight. It was either homemade or badly taken care of. It also had a crappy laser pointer attached to it with blue insulation tape, one you could probably buy easily on the shelf of a convenience store.
I snorted in derision, and ripped off both the scope and the laser pointer off the gun. The laser was useless, due to the fact that anyone would see it, so you wouldn't get the jump on someone, and the scope was so cracked that you could barely see through it. I took the gun and searched the dead man. He had a spare magazine in his breast pocket, and a few loose rounds in his pants pocket. They were long, 7.62 cartridges, as long as my hand. I had no idea why people often thought that it was ridiculous that men died in one single shot; I had never been able to get my head around the fact. Had they never seen the size of a single cartridge?
I picked them up and winced. Not to mention the weight, too. You know those games where the hero can carry 300 rounds for 15 types of guns? Completely unrealistic. An individual cartridge is heavy. One round of 7.62 weighs 7.9 grams. For clearance, there is about 453 grams in a pound. Now, that does not seem a lot, but add two guns, basic living gear, food, about 120 rounds per gun, water, and clothing, and your 'hero' is now a man who can barely walk.
I took his gun outside and sat down outside on a slab of concrete, setting my rucksack aside. I took out the magazine and started loading the cartridges into it.
For the third time that day, in the span of about 20 minutes, I would like to add, I messed up big time.
A shadow loomed over me suddenly, and I felt a large object the size of a person tackle me.
Probably because it was.
We fell over on the asphalt. My hand was crushed painfully under my chest, and the rifle went flying. I wildly threw my fist behind me, and missed completely.
They wrapped the arms on my arms, and scratched them with long, very sharp fingernails that were more like claws than nails. In return I elbowed the offender in the gut, as hard as I could, and was rewarded with a gasp of pain.
I snatched up my shotgun, which hadn't been knocked out of my hands since it was strapped to my rucksack, which hadn't been knocked over. I turned, aiming the barrel directly at their face.
And then I realized. Those nails? they were actually claws.
It was a dragon.