Z365

Z365 – 018 – Thoughts Over Breakfast

I dig into my pack for a protein bar for an early—or very, very late—breakfast as I try to make up my mind what to do now.

Part of me is still expecting me to wake up from this nightmare—because this cannot be true. How could my entire world have spun out of control like this?

I want to go home. I’ve never had much of an emotional attachment to my apartment but since I cannot go back, that’s exactly what I’m yearning to do. It’s irrational and stupid but then that fits perfectly into the past few hours.

I could stay up on this roof. It will get hot like the inside of a furnace within a couple of hours but baking in the heat is better than getting attacked.

I know that my only option is to get out of the city. Whatever is causing this is affecting a huge number of people, and being in one of the largest cities of the world is a fucking bad idea with anything concerning crowds. It’s also what Mason told me to do. Not that I’m that big on following anyone’s advice—let alone order—but it only makes sense, right?

As I finish munching the protein bar, I watch as two more choppers circle over the city. They come from the mountains rather than the ocean, which makes sense. They fly different paths but hover over a particular site not that far from here for a while, roughly three miles east from my rooftop hideout.

Is this coincidence? Or does my brain operate on unknown-to-me survival instincts? Because that’s directly along my chosen exit route.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this will lead me into the very center of the worst of the carnage—it does make sense that anyone coming to investigate would stop and stare at the worst.

But, just maybe, they were doing recon for an already established military presence, or some kind of rescue operation. I didn’t see anyone abseil from the choppers but that doesn’t mean that they don’t have boots on the ground.

Hey, if I can make it several blocks, I’m sure that some highly trained badasses have already made their way over from the Gulf of Mexico.

No idea why that metaphor comes to my mind, but now I want tacos.

Damn.

The first rays of the morning sun hit me straight in the face, more annoying than warming. I consider giving it another hour, but the city hasn’t exactly quieted down. I’m probably burning daylight, as they say.

Never thought I’d say that.

I take a last drink from one of my bottles before I descend down to street level once more.

As of yet unaccosted, I start in the direction where I saw the choppers hovering, all the while feeling as if a million eyes are following my progress.


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