Tales of the Apocalypse, #4
One year since the apocalypse.
He had a rifle.
Not many bullets on him, but he had a rifle, and more bullets back in his hideout.
He knew there were people around.
He was tracking one of them and finally made contact.
The stranger was startled, but even after such a long time without civilization, weaponry, technology, communications, even after a year in the wild, people still knew to raise their hands when faced with a gun.
- Whoa, whoa, whoa! There’s no need for that!
The man spoke with rage:
- What is your trade?
- Please, I mean no harm…
- What. Is. Your. Trade.
- I’m just passing by, I pose no danger to you…
- Are you a dentist?
- What?
- Are. You. A DENTIST!
- What? No, I’m not
Bang!
No hesitation.
No more questions.
No more time to lose.
The man pulled the trigger and let the stranger to die in agony as he ran; again.
He had no time.
He had to track them all down before they’d spread out too much.
He ran until he found tracks of the next one.
He chased.
He really had to find a dentist.
Almost a year without toothpaste.
A tooth needing to be pulled.
And no way of pulling it since they were attached to the braces he could not remove on his own.
