The wet, muddy ground is scraping against my back as I get dragged away by this soldier with one arm. The other one, the one I broke before, is hanging down his side.
I can barely feel what is going on. Everything feels like I am under a heavy blanket that won't come off. I feel my nose — it hurts like hell. I feel my ribs that probably are shattered by now; they feel much worse than my nose. But my leg… I always thought that shot wounds would hurt a lot more, but somehow I can't really feel it.
I also feel a cold metal ring around each of my wrists so I can't move my arms freely. That means if I could move my body at all — I feel like I got paralyzed.So this is what getting knocked out feels like, I think to myself.
After a while of being pulled away, we suddenly stop. We left the garden a few meters ago, and now I am lying on something way harder.
The soldier who I was fighting just a moment ago pulls something out of the Humvee — a small plastic bottle. He opens it and holds it under my nose so I must breathe it in.
A salty stench comes to my nose and it burns. My whole body feels like it inhaled it. Suddenly I can feel everything more clearly — the cold wind, the hard street, and the fierce look in the soldier's eyes that are right now staring at me.
"That was just smelling salt. I didn't want to splash you with water in this cold. I mean, I am not a monster," he says while putting the bottle away again.
"Why… why didn't you kill me?" I say, barely conscious, with my voice feeling as rough as sandpaper.
"Why? Because you qualified to be a savior, that's why. I mean, I didn't get beat up like this in a long time," the soldier says while sitting down in the car with his feet dangling out the side of it.
He presses the honk of the car two times in two short bursts that ring through the neighborhood. He then takes a small pill followed by a sip of water.
"So, want to tell me where those two ran off to?" he asks with a voice that seems oddly friendly.
"Why are you doing all this? Why do you go around killing people who can't even protect themselves? I am sure you have a good reason that is not just because it is fun," I say while looking at him seriously.
"So you won't tell me where they went. That's fine. If we don't find them, they are probably going to die because they ran into a beast. But you're right, there is a reason. But you, kid, wouldn't get it — you're too young," he says while inspecting his arm, and it looks gross. It's bent in an unnatural way and has gotten all purple.
Another soldier comes down the street right at the Humvee. He is alone. He carries nothing besides a handgun and a knife.
As he stands before the soldier sitting in the car, his posture changes completely. His legs stiffen up, his arms cross behind his back, and his gaze is fixed straight forward. He then begins to speak.
"Sergeant King, what happened to you and who is this person? Did you find one?" His voice is tight, as if he is scared to slip up.
"So your name is Sergeant King, huh? Funny, you don't look like a king," I say jokingly.
The other soldier seems shocked by the way I speak with Sergeant King.
A small chuckle comes from the sergeant. He somehow finds what I say amusing.
"Yeah, you're right. I think I would need a throne and maybe a crown to look like a real king," he says with his hand scratching his chin."But Private Marsh, I found three at first, but here lies the reason I could only get one. He used himself as a decoy, and to my embarrassment, this kid knows how to fight."
Private Marsh is in shock. He can't believe that Sergeant King got hurt this badly by one single kid while the kid is still alive afterwards.
"So you're saying this kid is the one you found and he engaged in a fight with you?" Private Marsh says, baffled.
"Yeah, that old geezer shot me and then we fought. If it hadn't been for my already broken ribs and the hole in my leg, I am sure I would have won," I say while pointing firstly at my ribs and then at my leg.
"Private, bandage this kid's leg. He looks a bit pale. I don't want him to faint again or, worse, die of blood loss."
Private Marsh takes out the first aid kit from the Humvee and comes closer to me to bandage my leg.
As he comes closer, I can see that his helmet hides his brown hair that pokes out just a little bit, but not nearly enough to cover his light brown eyes that are nearly matching with the freckles that cover his nose.
At a further glance at him, I can make out that he is probably not that much older than me, maybe two to three years, not like the sergeant that probably is ten to twenty years older than me.
After Private Marsh starts to bandage my leg, I take a look at the sergeant. While inside the fight with him, I couldn't really concentrate on his features.
He also has brown hair, but a lot darker than the hair of the private. In his hair, there are a few grey strands, so I think that he would probably be around thirty to forty years old. His eyes are this fiery green color that even in the dark night seem like they can see everything clearly.
Besides that, he doesn't have a lot of features that are worth noting. His face is shaven clean with precision. He has one small mole on the side of his neck.
Private Marsh is almost done with the bandage when a question comes to my mind.
"What is happening to the people you see fit to come with you, and am I one of the persons you see fit, or are you just keeping me alive so you can torture me later because I broke your arm?" I ask in curiosity.
Sergeant King lets out a little laugh."Do you really think we would use good materials like bandages on you if we wanted to kill you later? That would be kinda weird, don't you think?"
His tone got a lot more casual than before.
"But to be picked up by us, there are a few conditions that can be met, but you need at least one."
"What kind of conditions do you mean, like requirements that a person needs, like money and stuff like that?" I ask, even more curious than before.If I can find out what a person needs to be accepted to be saved from the military, I maybe can find Lune and Liam and save them, I think to myself.
"Yeah, you can say that, but not like money. I mean, we are in an apocalypse — it's worldwide. The whole financial market is dead, and the money you have is now nothing more than just paper. I mean, what stops you from going to the next best house and taking everything that's in it? The police are way too busy to do anything, so we, the military, are now the only stable force that can save people and keep them safe," Sergeant King explains to me.
He then continues.
"So we needed to have a new way to decide what people we save, because you can't save everyone without risking the well-being of the majority of people. We then came up with a way to select people. The first criteria is their profession before everything started — makes sense, right? We would rather take a doctor than an office worker. Then, if you didn't meet that requirement, we look at your stat window to know if you maybe have a hidden talent that would help us out greatly or if you have a talent that we haven't seen before."
"Okay, but why didn't you ask me my profession and why did you shoot me?" I ask, kind of irritated.
"Yeah, I didn't need to know your profession because I could make it out from your appearance. You're too young to be a worker, your frame is too small to be a handyman, and your clothes are too worn down to be anything that makes you a lot of money."
The silence that follows is deafening. This person that right now is sitting next to me figured all that out without even talking to me.
"And the reason I shot you was because I figured you would be the leader of this group. You were the only one with blood smeared on his clothes. The other guy was wearing a knife, but his clothes were too clean to be the leader — he had not one drop of blood anywhere," he continues to explain.
"And the reason I decided to save you was because you were the one that killed a beast, and from the way you spoke of it I figured that you killed it alone. And that is impressive. I haven't seen anyone with your talents and stats that killed a beast. That means you either had impressive luck or you're quite talented," the sergeant says, his voice getting excited.
Private Marsh was listening the whole time concentrated until he says,"The bandage is done. I think we should head back. You are in no condition to continue, Sergeant."
The sergeant answers,"You're right. We should head back then. Please help our guest into the car so we can get started, and you need to drive."
Private Marsh helps me stand up, pain shooting through my whole body as soon as I put any weight onto my leg.
I slowly get into the backseat of the Humvee. It's completely beige from the inside, and the interior is really simple. It has only the most important things.
Sergeant King gets into his seat before me and shuts the door. He then gives me a small pill — the same one he took beforehand.
"Here, painkillers. That should help with your pain. You can be quite proud of what you did today. I know no one that would sacrifice himself for others, and you held your ground against me with a hole in your leg and broken ribs. That's a feat not everyone can accomplish."
"Thanks," I answer quietly and take the painkiller without water.
The pain slowly starts to fade away, and my eyes get heavier until everything turns dark and I fall asleep.