“Why do you kill people?” she asked, trembling, her face sprinkled with blood and dust. “There are so few of us left.”
It was an innocent question from a terrified victim. Not my victim. He was dead. She was his victim, but would live.
“You don’t want to know. It’s better this way.”
I slapped a fresh clip into my pistol and holstered it. Tried not to look at her.
She started sobbing.
I tweaked the brim of my hat down so I couldn’t see her eyes. Noticed blood caked on my glove. I bent down, grabbed a handful of sand, and scrubbed it off.
“A… are you just going t-to… leave me here?!”
That was the plan. Walk off into the sunset like a good post-apocalyptic gunslinger.
“I reckon so.” I reached into my jacket and put on my John Lennon sunglasses. “You can get by on his stuff.”
“Take me with you!”
“No.” I lit a cigarette.
“I’ll marry you!”
I turned, cigarette hanging from my lip.
She was blind. I’m a heavy smoker… I sound like a teenage boy.
“I’m a woman.”
“I don’t care!”
Sigh. Not again.