Desolation ✔️

Chapter 11: Distractions

It feels like I've only slept five minutes when Ash nudges me awake.

"Come on, we gotta go."

My eyes feel swollen and I'm twice as sore as before. I'm still curled up on the bench, my gun pressing into my side. "We just got here...though," I slur with my eyes still shut.

"No, it's morning. Sorry, but we need to get going before more pile outside."

I force my eyes open, blinking several times, before turning over. Ash crouches down and reaches beneath my bench, taking the med kit in his hands. He throws it over his shoulder and starts rummaging the vehicle for other things. Sunlight spills into the truck and lands on my feet. The warmth is so comforting and tries dragging me into sleep again, but I push myself upright.

"You mean the creatures? They're out—," Before I can finish, there's a thump! Against the side of the truck I'm on. I jump and stumble off the bench and onto the cluttered floor.

"They probably heard all the noise last night," Ash explains in a calmness that doesn't quite match the situation.

I push myself to my feet and limp towards the locked doors at the back. Through the window, I spot three or four of the creatures clawing at the doors. I take a step back. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

"Because you're pretty beaten up and looked like you could use another hour's rest."

I look back at him. He's busy adjusting the gloves on his hands. "Did you sleep at all?" I ask.

"Sort of. Not really."

Another bang on the truck snaps my head back to the window. A few more faces have entered the view. I take the time to make sure I have my own stuff ready to go—but I don't really have anything to begin with. I slept in my boots, the jeans torn at the knees, and Ash's black t-shirt. Even the holster was on my waist when I fell asleep last night (which was extremely uncomfortable, but I was too tired to remove it). It looks like Ash already packed up the water bottle and flashlight, which leaves me only my gun to carry. I open it up to check how many bullets I have left. There are two. I close it and skim the floor of the truck.

"Are there any handgun bullets in here?" I ask.

"Here." He pulls a small box of bullets from the med kit and tosses it to me. I reach out to grab it but it only bounces off one hand. The box falls and bullets scatter everywhere.

"Whoops," I say.

Ash sighs, but his tone is more curious than judgemental. "You never played sports in high school, did you?"

"Um," I pause, bending down to pick up the bullets. "I'm actually still in high school." I collect bullets in my hand. "Well, not anymore...but I did. Sorta. In gym class."

"That doesn't count."

"It does, actually. My gym teacher made us play everything. I was just never really good at any of it."

Ash walks over to help pick up the scattered bullets. He grabs my wrist to dump the collected bullets in the palm of my hand, but doesn't let go once they're out of his own. The gesture forces me to look up at him. He's not smiling, but there's a sort of childlike curiosity in his eyes. "How is it that you can aim, but can't catch from two feet away?"

I close my fingers around the icy bullets. "Someone from the flower shop taught me to shoot."

The curiosity behind his eyes morphs into amusement. "So no one taught you to catch?"