Bullets whizzed by my face with loud whistles that were painful to the ear. I wheezed with every step, the cold air scraping at my lungs. Only a few can catch me. Find a place to camouflage yourself. The bright moon was no help with the icy light glaring over me. Turn. The log. I threw my steps to the right and launched my body into the leaves. My side stung with a bullet wound, and I tried my best to keep my breathing quiet and my body as still as possible in the icy December air. I heard the group of officers approaching; I hid as well as possible under the giant log that was propped between two giant trees.
"She's gone." A breathless man grunted.
"Dammit, Officer Johnson, this wouldn't be happening if you would just pay attention."
"Hey, hey, don't blame me for this… this… girl. It's not my fault-"
"Shut up, if you saw her out there-,"
"No, Johnson is right." A voice of what sounded like an older man then came in to play.
"We thought we'd exterminated them all, but as we can see, that it not the case. There's at least one left out here, and she won't make it far." He sounded confident. I couldn't help but smirk to myself and whisper, "good luck."
Finally the forest emptied and I was able the scoot myself from the soggy leave under the mossy tree trunk. My side shot with pain as I hiked down to the creek where an old shed, that I call a home, sat almost completely deteriorated. Yet this place has been my home for 7 straight years since the collapse.
I moved the old CAUTION WORK AHEAD sign that was rusting to pieces to the side and shimmied through the small hole and pulled the sign back over the hole where wood used to occupy the spot. I sparked a light in my oil lamp, filling the small room with a dim light. After my two mile trek, my body was drained. I sat on my pallet of quilts and dusty potato sack pillows to check my body for an exit wound of the bullet, which I reluctantly found. I found an old bottle of alcohol and poured it over the wound jerking a few muffled whimpers from my mouth. I pushed the linen against it and wrapped medical tape around my body three times before ripping it off the roll. I searched through an old leather chest for the small yellow pill bottle that carried painkillers. After retrieving two pills from the bottle and swallowing them, I laid myself carefully onto the small pallet and grabbed a journal from under the pillow and opened it:
Thursday December 18, 2065
Still no sign of other rebels. I was shot today in my right side, but I am okay. I still remember myself.
My name is Cathal, I am a 17 year old girl that's hiding from the new world. I am 6 feet tall and well built. My hair is a very dark red and falls just a few inches about my waist and is straight. My parents took the side of the Normals. I have a scar down my back to prove the city tried to turn me to one of them, but I pried it out myself after they figured out my one difference from them. I am a glitch. They tattooed my left wrist (since I am left handed) with the word REMEMBER in bold letters. It was a punishment to constantly scold me for being different. I am alive. I will leave tonight after the curfew call and go to get more supplies. I am down to a candy bar and a bottle of water. I will make it back before dawn.
The system flaw lives.