| Ryan Lockten |
Ryan was jerked awake by a crack of thunder. Her body tense as she lashed out to grip her M4. Laying still she listened for a moment, the constant pitter patter of rain as it pounded on her window was the only thing that filled her ears. Groaning she released the gun and laid back down. It was raining, rain was water and she needed water. Throwing back the tattered black comforter she stood and picked her way cross the room. Ryan wasn't tidy, with empty MRE packages, loose ammunition rolling around, and even a damn beer bottle littered the floor. When was the last time she actually had alcohol?! An intense wave of desire to get shitfaced wasted washed over her like a tsunami.
She shook her head vigorously and kicked the bottle under the bed. Out of mind out of sight. She wished so. The rain beat against the roof and she dragged a hand down her face, last thing she wanted to do was get wet. But she needed the water. She stripped from her shirt and cargo pants, keeping as much clothing dry as possible. She didn't give a shit if she went outside bare ass naked. She hasn't seen anyone in a year, more or less. Was anyone even out there? The solitude didn't bother her, to just be alone. It would drive her crazy sooner or later, but now it was all fine and dandy.
She looked down at her black bra and matching boy shorts, making a mental sticky note to hunt for clothing in the near future. Her hand traveling over the puffy scar tissue from her belly button to her hip, a nasty reminder of war. Find clean clothes was actually harder than finding food. Slow decaying bodies littered the streets with clothing but the idea of even stripping a body for clothing was just wrong on so many damn levels. Plus the infection was bound to be thriving in the cloth. Ryan stepped out on the hotel balcony, the awning torn to hell and water poured onto the glazed wood like a fire hose.
Hasn't been a minuet and she was drenched. The water was neither cold nor warm to her skin and she couldn't feel the splash of the it as trickled on her body. She pulled back the tarp on a large fifty gallon drum, filled in layers of sand and charcoal. The rain water was more than likely safe to drink but she didn't want to take the chance. The water filtered through the layers and filled several small buckets that she would rotate until all six or seven were filled. She wasn't use to London's bipolar weather and in aggravated her constantly. Her little hotel room on the third floor, not too high but not two low. Taking the stairs gave her well needed exercise. Her room was barricaded to a comfortable extant. Chain linked fencing that she moved locked her and the stairs together and blocked out the other rooms, all of them scavenged and of no use. She was well set up, a Butterfly three burner stove that runs off kerosene, three hand guns and one M16A4, illegal to civilians and in her procession happily. A mini personal solar panel that charged batteries and her iPod. She had no use for the device but it allowed for music and entertainment.
As long as the necessities were fully charged and ready to go like batteries for her Maglite or for her camping light she was willing to charge the iPod to play Temple Run or Fruit Ninja. She came to London fully stocked, going camping in the small hills. She had no intentions to stay in the damn city, just stay for a few days and sight see. But that's when the infection hit, and she lost her nerve during the small window of time to leave. Afraid if she actually left the hotel and made her way across the city she would come in contact with an infected. And dieing wasn't on her to do list and wasn't something she was willing to add. She called her father, both crying over the phone but determined to see each other again. The plan never went through and she hasn't seen her beloved father in over a cruel year. She prayed he was alive, but knew it wasn't true. She lifted her head to the rain, "Turn to pure vodka!" She rolled her eyes and held her hand out to catch the clear liquid.
Pushing back her black curls that stuck to her chest and shoulders she stood with arms crossed as she watched the water fill the drum. She leaned to look over the balcony to the street below. Cars and a few bodies silently wallowing in the down pour, her vision grayed and restricted due to the hard curtain of rain. She went to rotate a bucket, her bare feet sliding out from under her. Her body hit the balcony hard, teeth slicing into her tongue. "Fuck me!" Anger bubbled like the blood that filled her mouth. No pain followed the bite but the fact that the disgusting coppery taste of blood made her curse in anger.
She scrambled to her feet, spitting blood over the railing. Whipped her chin she opened the sliding glass door, slamming it shut so it raddled behind her. Making her pissed off mood known to the rain. Ryan stomped her way to the bathroom, slipping on the wood that became slick under her wet feet. The white porcelain of the sink spattered with blood as she spit again. She looked at her tongue in the mirror, a small cut that would heal on its own if she didn't screw with it. She poured water down the sink to wash away the blood and changed. No way in hell was she going back outside.
She flopped on her stomach, the bed springs squeaking under her wait. She kicked her feet back and forth like a teenage girl as she looked at the very old issue of the NRA her father sent. The topic of her father made her frowned, not knowing if he was dead or alive tore at her heart. London was a hell hole, and she was here for fucking vacation! Home in North Carolina called her. The evergreen trees and the spicy mountain air was just barely a figment of the imagination now. A year goes by slowly if you can't stand were you live. Not being able to actually feel comfortable in your own home because you know that home was thousands miles away that cannot be grasped by your wanting hands tares at you. Family, friends, even pets, gone. Obliterated into a waste land you actually long for just because of the familiarity. The US had it hard but London was swept off it's feet and bitch slapped after being drugged down into a fresh hell.
She had nothing better to do, her guns clean and oiled, ammunition roughly estimated, wasn't hungry, tired, or even bored. She was restless and anxious. She threw the magazine aside, watching as it fluttered through the air and landed on the bedside table. Resting on her back she lifted her shirt, looking at her scar. She scowled at it, angry that it was a physical reminder of her husband. She hated herself at times, the Marines made codes, rules against romance with fellow jarheads. She didn't listen, didn't care. Corgain was just a fuck buddy at first. Just physical interaction and playful games.
His wise ass remarks and sarcastic nature drew her closer. Actually falling for a man she considered 'not her type'. Chemistry flared and the secretly married. If it was publicly known that a couple was in the same base, they would be split. Torn apart to keep drama at bay. What happened is the exact reason why they don't let this stuff happen. To watch the one person you love and care for more than anything literally blown apart isn't something you can comprehend. And she didn't, at first it was a cruel joke. Ryan didn't understand, why weren't the PJ's putting Corgain in the helicopter too? He was hurt worse then her, she just got shrapnel. She asked, begged for him.
She wasn't screaming in pain, or asking for the pain to be stopped. Five pounds of metal scarred her skin, embedded in her flesh. They noticed, noticed her disorder. She wasn't looked down upon for lying. But she was discharged. Given a Purple Heart and sent to rehabilitation before sent home. She wanted to be a Marine, it was her family, her blood. And if that meant hiding the impossible then fuck, that was what she was going to do! Ryan shook her head, forcing her to stop thinking.
But her brain doesn't shut down like that. Images of Corgain, her dad, and anyone else she loved and missed made themselves known in her head. She scowled, not wanting to think at all. She flipped over, pulling her iPod close and played Rebel Beat by The Goo Goo Dolls. Hoping the noise would banish the thoughts. She sang along softly, pulling apart the M4 to clean it. It was clean and didn't need it but it gave her something to do for a while. Making her focus on something else.
It didn't last long enough though and she put the gun back together quickly. She rubbed her forehead, clean out of anything to do. She could do all girly and braid her hair, paint her nails. Go commando and dance bare ass naked, that was shunned down quickly. She knew she could be out there looking for people or food or clothing, but she just felt lazy. Pulling her M4 close to her chest like a lover she listened to the rain until she fell asleep. She regretted thinking she could do everything by herself, she just need someone else to talk to or just awkwardly stand by.