Sign of the Times |H.S.|

They told me that the end is near, we gotta get away from here.

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2. |two|

Quickly lacing up my combat boots, I grabbed my backpack and gas mask that I had snuck from a guard. 

Lately, times had been hard, global warming has increased dramatically, deteriorating our atmosphere. Our population diminishing.

Only the government really had control over who lives anymore, gas masks preserving the breath of only the true supporters. 

Screw them. I need to get away.

It's difficult sneaking around, moving from city to city, but no city being safer than the last.

 I guess you could say I'm a professional by now, but pure terror is the only motivation for my actions and success. 

Surveying my surroundings through the broken warehouse window, I decided to make a run for it.

I wish I ran track at school, it sure would have been more valuable than skills in gossip and fooling around with friends. 

This is the survival of the fittest, and to be honest, I could have passed up some of the McDonald's meals.

Nevertheless, I made it.

Next to me was a larger warehouse, but by the sight of it, I knew I had come to the wrong territory.

Feds. The word alone put a sour taste in my mouth. 

They got to live in luxury, as long as they captured rebels that escaped.

I don't know how much rebels are left, possibly less than 500 in the United States alone. 

The number only gets lower and lower by rebels being persecuted, getting shot down. 

All because we don't support the way of the government. Their way of thinking has influenced other parts of the world as well, Asia, Europe, Australia, they've all turned. They think that maybe if they band together, they can save the world. 

Sorry, you've already killed it. 

Hearing footsteps, I duck behind a corner. They're not very uniform though, they sound kind of quick-paced and light. 

It has to be another rebel.

I've only ever ran into about two, all of us looking more or less the same. Hair cut short to hide easier, and usually grey eye contacts to be less noticeable. Always wearing something light but protective from the harsh gasses, and lastly, the gas masks and hoods to shield away from others. 

I couldn't hear them anymore, so I bolted to the building across the one belonging to the Feds. 

Reaching it, I stumbled over something- or someone. 

My eyes widened,  as I gasped in surprise.

This was it, I was going to die.

I honestly didn't expect it so soon.

Then I saw they were also wearing a mask and hood.

"What the he-"

"Shut up." They clamped a hand over my mouth.

By their voice, I assumed it was a man, and when they took their hood off, it was confirmed.

He had short curly hair and green eyes.

Strange. He didn't even bother hiding them, they were beautiful though.

Then that's when I heard the uniform marching, the guns clinking at heir sides, the workers of the government.

So instead of being rude, he basically just saved my life, well more like his, but it's the thought that counts.

The marching had stopped, somewhere away from here, as we didn't hear it anymore. 

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"What's your name?"

"You don't need to know it, we're probably not going to see each other again."

"I'd at least like to know the name of the man who saved me?"

"It's Harry, not that it really matters. They're on their lunch break in 5, that's the best time to run. Do you know where you're headed?"

"No, not that any place is safe anyways."

"Smart girl." he smirked a little. "I'll be on my way then, good luck."

"Shouldn't rebels stick together?"

"It's not safe to travel in two; don't get killed."

"Gee, thanks." I mutter sarcastically.

Glancing back out at the dusty landscape before me, I choose which direction to go to.

Probably best to go North, Canada is where we can roam freely, the safe land. 

Checking my compass, I see I'm going the right way.

I'm about to run behind the next house when a hand stops me.

"I wouldn't go there if I was you."

"Well, I'm not you, and I'll take my chances."

"That's not what I meant, I know where you're going. You're just approaching it wrong. That over there," Harry points at the house I was about to run behind, "is the Mayor's house. You trigger his alarm, you're dead faster than I can count to three."

Oh.

Oops.

"Then how am I to get to my destination?"

"I guess I'll have to help you. We got to run."

 

 

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