Blood and Rain


    The pain was sharp and surged through with each hurried step. Warm and wet blood soaked into torn clothes, fingers slick with a thick flood.


    She cut through the streets, the rain lashing at her skin with relentless force, turning the world around her into a blur. Each drop caught fleeting glimmers of moonlight before splintering on the broken pavement. An indifferent witness above, the moon itself watched, offering no comfort or clarity in the twisting maze of alleyways. But her feet knew the way, habit and instinct guiding her where her vision failed.


    Every inch of clothing clung heavily to her body, soaked through and carrying the chill that crept deeper into her bones. A few more steps. The building was close now, looming ahead in the darkness, its battered storefront a wreck of splintered wood and smashed glass — picked apart by looters from the Beginning and barely held together since. Overhead, a dead neon cross hung like a ghastly omen, its bulbs long shattered, jutting forward in silent warning.


    They would be looking for her. By now, they were probably already out there in the dark. The ones who had gave her this wound to remember them by. She forced herself through the last few steps until her hand met the door. Leaning her weight against it, a fleeting moment of relief came, and she let out a ragged breath. She could feel the heat radiating from her wound, a reminder that her time ran dangerously thin.


    The door resisted, its frame a jagged mouth of glass shards that still held around the frame like the teeth of a monster. She pushed it open with a grunt.


    The silence inside was absolute. She forced herself to breathe, praying that no one would interrupt her. Let me have just a moment. She felt along the shelves with fingers slick from her very blood, brushing over dust-coated surfaces and broken leftovers of supplies long since scavenged — a desperate search for anything that might help. Gauze, painkillers, anything. Her hand hit a box, something small and plastic beneath a mound of discarded containers — still sealed. She peeled back the wrapper, her grip trembling. Gauze.


    With a grimace, she tugged up her shirt, and the fabric tore free from the wound in a sharp, searing pain. Beneath her ribs, where her right kidney would be, the gash was deep. If the kidney had been hit… She brushed the thought aside; at least she had another one. Blood pooled thickly, hot against the skin as it dripped over her jeans. She swallowed hard, seeing the raw flesh and the terrible width of the wound. Too wide. A tremor seized her, fear clawing its way up, unfurling faster than she could tamp it down.


    Hot and silent tears slipped down as they mixed with the rain dripping from her soaked hair. Desperate, she pressed the gauze to the wound with shaking hands, the fabric darkening instantly. A cold certainty washed over her: she would die here. She’d fought so hard, for so long, scraping by in a world that had never shown mercy. Now, only the cold remained. And she wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground, to finally let the pain drag her under.


    But she couldn’t. I can’t let it end this way. She’d been forced to fight her entire life, dragged through a self-contained world that taught her nothing but cruelty. In this place, people only took. Men saw women as resources and claimed they fought for the restoration of humankind — their cruelty had always been justified in their eyes, and she’d felt the bite of it countless times. The thought of “restoring” humanity was laughable. It had never offered her anything worth preserving. From what she could recall, or what little she had learned, it hadn’t been any better before.


    She had dreamt of leaving this place so many times. To slip away unnoticed, beyond the reach of those who clung to the twisted remains of old ideals, a past she’d never asked to inherit. She had cared for a few people along the way — in some other life, she might have taken them with her.


    The thought awoke something raw and fierce, igniting with a sudden, blinding heat. Resentment. I can’t let them win. With a furious snarl, she forced herself to sit straighter, wrapping the bandage around her waist with trembling fingers, pulling it with all the strength she could muster.


    It had to hold.


    <hr>


    The growl of engines roared through the night as bright, predatory beams cut through the rain-soaked air. Though the rain might offer some cover, it would only be a matter of time before those lights locked onto her. She counted at least three Humvees, maybe four. Too many. This part of the city wasn’t big; she would have to hurry.


    Adrenaline dulled the pain, but each step sent a sharp sting through her side. Her wound felt like it might split wider with every move. She clamped down on her lip, tasting blood, focusing on the single image in her mind — her destination. A heavy green door, embedded in thick concrete, just a few blocks away. Supposing I can make it there.


    The wall that stretched around it had been built with a promise to keep the evil outside. Yet she knew how easily it had failed to protect anyone from the one inside. She could almost laugh, even with the taste of blood in her mouth — laugh at the irony of her escape from the guardians of this wretched place.


    They wouldn’t let her go, not after she’d seen behind the mask. She wished she could tell them all to go fuck themselves and everything they stand for. But they didn’t just want her gone; they wanted her silent — buried with their lies and secrets. And they’d stop at nothing to make sure of it.


    Shouts echoed through the storm — angry orders carried on the wind. They were intent on her demise. She could feel it in every barked command, but she wasn’t about to let them catch her this easily. I’m getting out of this hell. But a whisper in the back of her mind cut through her resolve: the fear of running towards another one.


    She turned a corner, her vision blurry. In the dim light, something shifted. Her heart stalled, and she clenched her muscles despite the biting pain. She ducked behind a rusted bin with trembling knees. It was one of Them. Maybe he hadn’t seen her, but he was coming her way, footsteps bouncing off the walls of broken houses. There was no way back now — any movement would be seen, and her usual M.O. was suicide. I’m too weak to fight now.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Her best bet was to remain hidden in the dark.


    She inhaled slowly, holding her composure. One… two… three… Through the hiss of the rain, his footsteps drew closer, a heavy tread that splashed through every puddle. One… two… three… He muttered under his breath, cursing the downpour close to her. The anticipation gnawed at her. One… two… three… Her muscles seized with a fresh wave of pain, and her stomach clenched against the agony as the last traces of adrenaline drained away. One… Two…


    The man’s shadow shifted as he passed the spot where she crouched. His figure loomed and faded into the mist a few meters away. She glimpsed the sheen of his parka, rain streaming from the hood — a spectre trailing her through the storm.


    She braced herself for the next move, shifting her weight slowly. One… two… THREE—


    Pain exploded through her side. Her vision swam, and a strangled cry slipped out despite her clenched teeth, tearing into the night like a wounded animal.


    “Hey!”


    She didn’t look back. She was running.


    <hr>


    The water climbed higher, swirling around her calves, each movement a battle against the current. Fragments of debris — jagged wood, stone, twisted metal — floated by, swept along in a silent, merciless race. A race she couldn’t win. She had shaken off her pursuer for now, using the maze of alleys and flooded streets to her advantage, but she stayed alert. I’m sure a wet, injured target isn’t hard to track. She’d made it this far on little more than raw defiance and luck, but she knew the real challenge lay ahead. They would be waiting for her at the door.


    Her thoughts fractured, struggling to process the madness around her. Exhaustion and blood loss took a toll on her focus. Through the sheets of rain, a figure seemed to materialise in the distance, a familiar shape.


    Then it spoke.


    “Look at you all beaten up… did you get into trouble again?” The voice asked, gently scolding. Her heart lurched. It was a voice she once trusted that had meant safety and comfort — someone she had loved. Someone long gone. Yet here they were, standing like an echo from the past.


    A raindrop struck her eye, pulling her back to reality. The door. She wasn’t far now. If she could just reach it, the hunt would end. They wouldn’t dare follow her; superstition and ingrained fear kept even the boldest away. For them, it lived as a symbol of something corrupted, a token of Evil. For her, it was a last chance. Not that she knew what lay on the other side — some spoke of wastelands crawling with monsters, others of an endless sprawl of shattered buildings. A place where hope was left to die. Maybe none of it was true. She would know soon enough.


    Her body trembled with the effort to keep moving; a leap over broken barricades sent a fresh reminder of how close she was to collapse. Another whisper drifted through the storm. “You should rest… you look exhausted, darling…” The voice was honey-smooth, coaxing. Just leave me alone. The cruel irony wasn’t lost on her. She remembered the sting of that last morning, waking to a cold, empty bed — the scent of coconut still lingered faintly in the sheets. A final argument the night before had sealed a silent deal, like a signature on a divorce paper — a last, lonely dance.


    The motors had died, leaving a heavy silence in the streets. She slowed, crouching low and keeping to the shadows. The door loomed ahead. Almost there. Her hand moved to her bag, fingers brushing over a rusted tool hidden in a side pouch. She slid it into her sleeve, preparing her last option. If not for the wound tearing at her side, she might have sprinted to the door and dodged the ambush. But now, there was only one way left.


    She raised her hands, stepping forward nonchalantly. “I know you’ve got me surrounded,” she called, awaiting their answer. “Drop the act, and let’s talk.”


    Figures shifted in the gloom, emerging with cautious steps. Even as battered and unarmed as she looked, their tension was palpable. They still fear me, she thought with grim satisfaction.


    “We thought you’d keep running…” A low, mocking voice came from her left. Briggs. Her jaw tightened. She hadn’t expected him here, the memory of their last encounter still vivid. But there he was — the face behind her fall.


    “No, I’m done running.” She gestured to her side, where blood soaked through her shredded shirt.


    A grin split his face, an expression that once charmed her but now only filled her with revulsion. “I’m sorry for the way things have turned out,” he said with false sincerity.


    He nodded to one of his men. “Restrain her.”


    A young man with striking red hair stepped forward, clutching a length of rope, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Good. Briggs should have sent someone stronger and more confident. But he had sent a kid. He pulled a rope from his belt, rolling it in his hands. She held his gaze; this was the moment she had been waiting for — the hunt.


    As he reached her, she struck. Her hand darted to his neck, the rusty blade flashing as she pressed it against his jugular. She slipped behind him in a heartbeat, wrenching his limp arm back. He gasped, fear seeping through his tense muscles, but he barely resisted. She leaned closer, her voice a dangerous whisper. “Stay with me, pretty boy. We’re going to dance a little.”


    Now, she was the one grinning. Briggs’ smug smile had vanished, his face a tight mask of frustration. His men shifted uneasily, clutching their weapons as if they were shields. She stalked around them, her eyes taking in their hesitation.


    “Let’s not get carried away,” Briggs said, his voice trying for calm. “Come with us. We can make a deal.” His eyes flicked to her injury. “In your condition… you’re not going to make it alone. Olivia asked us to bring you back. Unharmed.”


    That name. It cut through her like the coldest blade. But she wouldn’t fall for his games. Not this time.


    She backed up slowly, tightening her grip on the red-haired boy, knife close enough to keep him squirming. His eyes darted between her and the others, hope flickering as he looked for his comrades for rescue. They simply watched, paralysed with indecision.


    “Drop the rope, boy. And the knife,” she commanded, her voice sharp as steel. “Maybe I won’t slit your throat.”


    He fumbled, letting both fall to the ground without a word.


    “Now, when I shove you, you’re going to run. Straight towards your little friends. Understand?”


    He nodded, his face pale with fear.


    “Nice knowing you, Briggs”, she yelled with disdain. “I hope you dream of me coming back.”


    With a swift push, she released her hostage. He stumbled, then bolted towards the others like a good soldier whose life depended on it. Without wasting a moment, she grabbed the discarded rope and knife and then turned to the door. The handle felt icy beneath her trembling hand. And now for the final act.


    She spun with a cruel, sweeping gaze. “Ask him,” she shouted at Briggs’ minions, “ask him how they know what’s outside!”


    The door groaned as it swung open. She stepped into the darkness beyond, the voices behind her fading — swallowed by the echoing silence.


    It was dry inside, at last. But her head spun — a violent fever burned through her body, each heartbeat a pounding drum in her ears. She staggered, reaching blindly for something to hold her weight. Her fingers found a stone wall and slid down the rough surface as her legs gave out beneath her. She sank to the ground, barely registering the impact.


    I did it.


    She chuckled. Lying on the cold concrete, her mind drifted finally. A familiar warmth surfaced in the haze of exhaustion: the scent of coconut and the touch of Her hand. A wave of sadness and longing — then a dream.


    ***