Sleep evaded Barry. Doyle and Jaxon were napping and the boy was still unconscious. Barry had noticed the boy was beginning to stir, but he had not opened his eyes. It had been hours since they arrived at the shop, but Barry couldn’t relax. They were waiting on a stranger, and Barry wasn’t convinced she would show up. He didn’t know the woman, but he was sick with guilt. He knew what that psychotic kidnapper was capable of and they left her with him. He didn’t see much of the interaction between the woman and the kidnapper, but she appeared to do better against him than the rest of them. Barry couldn’t wrap his head around it.

  Speed. It’s gotta be speed. She was quick as a whip. That guy’s strength was supernatural…but you can’t hurt what you can’t catch.

  Barry let the others sleep, telling them he was not tired and would stand watch. The truth was, he was afraid to close his eyes. Barry was anxious and worrisome before the bomb attacks. On the outside, he was calm and collected, but on the inside, he was in a constant state of knotted guts and racing thoughts. His mind was always “running the numbers”. Contingencies were always factored in. Just going to buy toilet paper meant he would have to check his bank account before he left; to make sure his balance was adequate. It also meant he would check it again on the way. Barry would probably check a third time while he waited for the cashier.

  Even now, while the entire world faced an apocalypse, Barry was thinking about the mysterious woman, the unconscious kid, that weirdo Jaxon, where they were going, how they were getting there, how many pain pills Doyle had, if there was toilet paper in this shop, and needing to find clothes better suited for walking. He wore a 5X t-shirt, and a fifty-inch waist, and knew he would have a tough job scavenging clothes. Barry’s mind was never singularly focused. His anxiety jostled with his pragmatism, and his emotions battled with his logical thinking. It was mentally exhausting having such an overactive mind.

  A dog barked, right outside, and a cat hissed. The unexpected noise startled Barry out of his contemplation. He waited a moment and decided there was no danger. He needed something to keep his brain busy. The weapons and munitions were sorted and tallied, already. Barry used that task to stop himself from thinking about the dead bus driver, Jimmy. Barry didn’t even know the guy, but he spent an hour worrying if Jimmy had a wife or kids to notify; or if they were still alive.

  One of Barry’s biggest anxieties involved the bathroom. He didn’t know why, but his entire life he was anxious about using the bathroom around other people. His stomach had been in knots, for hours. The urge would go away, for a bit, but would come back, worse than before. He felt the beginnings of another round of gut-wrenching cramps. He gave a soft whistle, but the sleeping men didn’t move. He whistled again. Still, they slept. A third whistle, louder this time, and still no movement. Barry decided now was his best chance to relieve himself.

  The shop did not have a bathroom, instead, it had a five-gallon bucket. But, this was no ordinary bucket. This bucket had a pop-on toilet lid, and it had toilet paper. Barry couldn’t have wished for a better five-gallon bucket commode. Barry stood up and moved toward the makeshift bathroom area. He waited too long and his bowels were angrily protesting. He had to stop and lean against the shelf as a particularly agonizing fit of cramps took hold of his insides. It only took a moment, and the pressure retreated. He quickened his pace and unbuckled his belt as he trotted toward the bucket. As he approached he thumbed the button on his pants loose and shoved his pants down as he lowered his ass over the bucket.

  BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

  So aggressive was the banging on the shop door, that Barry instantly crouched low and swung his recently acquired tactical shotgun from his shoulder. He watched Jaxon and Doyle pop awake and scramble to their feet. Jaxon rolled straight from his cot and scooped up the AR-15 he had propped beside it. The red dot sight danced on the locked door.

  Doyle froze, distracted by the sight of Barry squatting with his pants around his ankles and a shotgun pointed his way. He yelped when vigorous knocking rattled the door. Barry pointed at Doyle’s gun, silently queuing Doyle to unholster his pistol. Doyle pulled the pistol free but took a moment to inspect it.

  “Point and pull the trigger, Doyle,” Barry whispered as he stood and buttoned his pants. Jaxon swung wide of the door, keeping his rifle trained on the door. The shop had no other exits. There was a roll-up door, but it had been bolted shut and metal shelving blocked egress.

  “Who is it?” Barry barked.

  “I didn’t tell you my name before I directed you here. We can exchange names inside.”

  Barry looked at Doyle, and realizing Doyle had no advice to offer, turned to Jaxon. Jaxon shrugged.

  “We are going to open the door, but know that we are armed,” Barry warned her.

  “Armed with guns!” Doyle added.

  Barry motioned for Doyle to open the door, while he and Jaxon kept their weapons trained on the entrance. The moment the door popped free of its frame, the woman tumbled inside and fell to the floor. Jaxon rushed over, pulled her inside, and told Doyle to lock the door.

  Barry recognized the woman, but barely. The right side of her face looked like a ripe plum, and crusted blood traced a line from her ear to her shirt collar. She began to climb to her feet and Barry gave her his shoulder.

  “Let’s get you a seat and see what first aid we have.”

  She limped toward the table. Barry helped her into a chair at the fold-up table. As she slid into it, Barry noticed a section of her tight pants was torn away. He also noticed a small puncture in her ass cheek. As soon as she got seated, she pulled away from Barry’s support. He quickly kneeled beside her and put a hand on her hip to inspect the puncture wound. She shifted away from him and rotated in the seat.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be forward. Just looked like you could use some help.” Barry backed away, to appear unthreatening. He always worried about overstepping boundaries and he felt horrible for touching her without thinking.

  “No worries,” she assured him. “I’ve been through a lot today. I’m wound tight, right now.”

  Barry was relieved to hear her words and he moved to sit at the table. She smiled at Barry and thanked him for his concern. The other two men picked chairs and sat at the table.

  “I just spent most of my day trying to keep that crazy drol’ka away from town,” the woman explained.

  “Drove kuh?” Barry inquired.

  The woman’s smile disappeared and it was replaced with a disappointed frown. She didn’t answer him, right away.

  “Ignore the drol’ka, for now. I’m not in the mood for the explanations you guys are needing.” She took a deep breath and her posture softened. Her palms slid forward, over the table. Her head rolled slowly over one shoulder, then across her chest and over the other shoulder. She finished her stretch with a deep yawn.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I know you must be exhausted. And I want you to know how grateful we are…for what you did. You saved us.” Barry paused as if he dreaded something he was about to do. “This is all too much. We need answers, and you appear to know something. I’m positive you know more than we do, anyway.”

  She scratched at her face but forgot the massive bruise, and winced. She dramatically sighed and let her forehead lower to the cool table.

  “Can I get some food first? Fighting the Drol’ka Choth-den is hungry work.” She raised her head, just a bit, and looked at Barry. “There are some MR…”

  “We found ‘em,” Barry cut her off.

  “What menu do you prefer?” Doyle asked her.

  She feigned being taken aback. “Well, you men made yourselves right at home, didn’t ya?”

  “Lady, social constraints and common etiquette took a hike when those bombs hit,” Jaxon smarted off.

  “Did ya’ll save me any menus with a cookie, at least?”

  Doyle laughed and Barry and Jaxon laughed with him.

  “You're aware of how many cases of MREs there are, aren’t you?” Barry managed to stop laughing long enough to ask.

  All three men continued to laugh. Barry noticed the somber look on the woman’s face and he stopped. When Doyle kept laughing, Barry tapped on his shoulder and nodded toward the woman. Doyle sat straight and cleared his throat. Jaxon continued laughing for an awkward moment.

  “Does he seem off to you?” Barry carefully whispered to Doyle.

  Doyle shrugged and didn’t answer the question.

  “Really?” Barry eyed Doyle. “Really?”

  Barry pushed his chair away from the table. He walked over to the open MRE box and grabbed an armload of meals. After neatly placing them in a row on the table, labels facing the woman, Barry returned to his chair.

  “Go ahead and eat. You deserve it.” Barry closed his eyes and gave her a nod. He meant the gesture as a sign of giving thanks, but Barry wondered if she knew why he did it.

  Why did I do that? Was she confused by it? I bet she's feeling awkward now. I feel awkward now. Why couldn't I say the words? I didn't need to close my eyes and bow my head like a fucking servant. The words clearly expressed thankfulness. I've never done that before. I bet she thinks I'm...

  Barry realized he missed something the woman said. Everybody was looking at him, waiting for a response.

  “What?” Barry asked.

  “My name is Cassandra. You can call me Cass. What’s your name?”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Barry fumbled for his next words. “I’m…Ba...Bar…Barry.” He coughed and cleared his throat before he gestured at the men who sandwiched him. “This fella on my left is Doyle, and Mr. Giggles here, his name is Jaxon.”

  Cass smiled at each of them. Despite the swollen and bloody face, her smile was comforting and genuine. She told the men she was glad to meet them, and Barry believed her. She looked younger than Barry, but she seemed older. There was a calmness about her. Maybe it was her poise, or perhaps how unaffected she was. Barry looked at the battered woman. She had a bun, but half the hair was hanging loose. Her hair was matted with dried blood. She had that nasty bruise on her face and a hole in her ass. All of that, on top of the fucking world ending, and she still smiled. She still joked. Barry had no idea what she went through while dealing with the kidnappers. Judging by her current condition, things got worse after she rescued them.

  Barry hid in this anonymous shop, surrounded by food and guns, and he was too worried to rest. Cass was running around, getting the hell kicked out of her, and Barry looked at her and couldn’t see an ounce of trauma in her demeanor. After a lifetime of anxiety, Barry couldn’t envy anything more.

  What’s it like to be unbothered?

  Cass never finished her first MRE. Exhaustion took advantage of her relaxed state and drug her, uncontested, into slumber. Barry spent longer than was necessary trying to wake her before he finally picked her up and carried her to a cot Jaxon had prepared. Barry asked both men to come to witness him tending to her wounds.

  “No way, man. I’m going back to bed.” Jaxon protested, with his face buried in his pillow.

  Barry walked over and lifted the foot of the cot into the air. Jaxon slid downward until his head and shoulders crammed into the sheet metal wall.

  “Okay! Shit man. Put it down.”

  “My man!” Barry lowered the cot and patted Jaxon’s back.

  Barry leaned over Cass and prepared to clean up her head and face. It seemed like her cheek was much darker, earlier. It appeared less purple-black and more brown-yellow. He cleaned around a fresh scab above her eye. The scab brushed away, but instead of a rough gash, he found the soft pink knitting of skin.

  “What the fuck?” Barry whispered.

  “What was that?” Doyle thought Barry was speaking to him.

  “Uh, nothing. Can you fill a bowl with warm water, Jaxon?”

  Jaxon stepped off, toward the sink. He returned with the warm water and handed it to Barry.

  Barry sponged the warm water over Cass’s matted hair. Some of the blood washed away, but he had to dab with the sponge to loosen the crusty stuff. He finally managed to get her hair clean enough to part the hairs and inspect her wounds.

  Barry found three patches of pink skin. The wounds had already healed closed and Barry knew there was no way the blood came from them. These wounds looked closer to a couple of weeks old than a few hours.

  Barry started to ask Jaxon to help him turn Cass over but decided he didn’t feel like listening to any complaining.

  “Doyle, would you help me turn her over?”

  “What for?” Doyle asked

  “I noticed she had a stab wound on her ass. I need to tend to it.”

  Doyle asked no further questions. He stood over Cass and helped Barry roll her onto her right side. Barry used a pair of scissors, from a first aid kit they found, and cut the torn fabric away from her wound.

  “It doesn’t make any sense.” Barry wiped away the dried blood. “Guys, I saw a hole in her ass cheek. I swear, it was big enough to shove a finger in. But now, there is just a soft scab there.”

  “What does that mean?” Jaxon leaned against the wall, near Cass’s head.

  “You all saw her face. It was swollen, remember? And the bruise was deep and dark purple.” Barry motioned Jaxon closer. “Look at her face.”

  Both of the other men leaned in and inspected Cass’s face.

  “It’s barely bruised, anymore. It’s already got yellow edges around it.” Doyle observed.

  “It has healed, a lot,” Jaxon added.

  “Her head, too. Look.” Barry delicately pulled her hair away from one of the head wounds. “All that blood we saw on her head. It came from these wounds, but they don’t even have scabs anymore.”

  “I’ll be damned. He’s right, Jaxon. The cuts on her scalp look days old, and I know they were fresher than that when she was sitting at the table.”

  “So she heals quickly. Probably has some top-secret soldier cocktail that boosts the healing process.” Jaxon spoke the words, but his tone didn’t sound like he believed what he said.

  “I don’t know what it is, but those bombs hit. Then we have a run-in with that super-strong kidnapper. And now, this tiny woman that had no problem going toe-to-toe with him stumbles in here, looking like death. A few hours later, her wounds have completed days of healing.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t seem normal,” Doyle agreed.

  Barry sat silently. His mind was in overdrive. He needed to put the pieces together, but he needed some answers. He picked up the first aid supplies and placed a blanket over Cass.

  “Get some rest, fellas,” Barry advised. “When we wake up, we will get some answers.”

  Barry sat at the table and waited for Jaxon and Doyle to fall asleep. He heard Jaxon dozing, but he wasn’t sure if Doyle had gone under, yet. He tried to wait and make sure, but his stomach cramps were back. He grabbed his shotgun and trotted off toward the bucket.