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I had woken up a little over an hour ago but I can't get back to sleep with the sand storm outside shaking the windows. Plus, some sand is getting through the cracks and is pelting my face through the thin torn sheets. I give up and jump out of bed. The sand storm had caught me by surprise last night and was lucky enough to have found an abandoned shack. But for an abandoned shack, it seems to have many belongings. Whoever lived here must have been in quite the hurry, even food and water rations were left behind. But I'm sure it has been abandoned for a couple of years. Layers of dust from frequent sandstorms cover every inch of the house.

I go to the kitchen and open the cupboard where I had found the dry food rations. The lower classes of society and frequent travelers have learned to live on dry food rations alone. It may be tasteless, but is contains all of the nutrients found in an average meal and contains 600 calories per can. They are convenient because they never go bad and don't get ruined because of the sealed can. But even if we were to drop a biscuit on the ground or in the sand, travelers of the desert waste nothing. We eat every biscuit in the can and save the can to trade in for recycling money. Every ounce of water is preserved as much as possible and take as much water as possible at every opportunity. That means that I will be taking every bottle of water left in this abandoned shack with me when the storm lets up. I open a can of dry food via wire loop on the top by pulling it and the tin top rips of easily. I stuff the top into a bag that I use for collecting metal and eat the biscuits one by one. I make sure every crumb goes into my mouth then stuff the empty can into the bag. I raid the cupboards and take every can of dry food and every bottle of water and stuff them into leather bags that attach to the saddle on my roadrunner outside. I set one bottle of water to the side so that I can chug it down before I head out. I pass by a mirror as I go to gather my things that I had dropped on the couch.

My blond hair goes down to my shoulders but would go longer is by hair didn't curl. My hair is kept out of my face with a red ribbon messily tied, but I leave enough hair to cover my right eye. My face is a small diamond shape with small lips, pointed but attractive nose, and big dull green eyes. I have an average height with an hourglass frame. I take my attention away from the mirror and go back to the task at hand.

I open my large duffle bag and shuffle through it to find my clothes and armor. I find them under the rough blanket and take them out. I put on the black turtle neck sweater made of super light material to make sure I stay cool and protect me from the blistering hot sun, dull and dirtied green cargo pants, desert efficient socks, dark brown rough leather boots that zip, brown light leather gloves, carbon plates that tie around my arms as well as shoulder pads and scrap metal corset armor. The corset is held closed by mandible but very strong wire. I take out my gun with gun holder and strap it to my waste so that I draw my weapon with my right hand. I then take out an ammunition belt fully equipted with bullets long enough to wrap around my waist twice. I put it on like a belt the first time I wrap it around my waist, and then wrap it around loosely again, then buckle it. Then lastly, the red scarf that the world has come to know me by. I wrap it around my face to protect it from the sand and the sun and work my way down to my neck. There's three feet of scarf from each end hanging behind me when I'm done. Outside, the sand storm is starting to let up. It will only be a few minutes until it's safe to head out. I stuff everything that I don't need quick access to and some extra blankets I had found into the large duffle bag with room to spare. I make sure my gun is loaded and put on a make shift pack of lumber made into big stakes before putting on a heavy white, tattered cape with a hood. The stakes are to make shelter from sand storms if there is no natural shelter around and the cape is to further keep the sun off of me. The storm has now died down to just a slight breeze and it is safe to go outside. I make sure I have everything before I leave and exit the shack. My roadrunner is right where I tied him, at a picket fence that is still holding strong.

There is nothing wrong with leaving roadrunners out in sandstorms, for they are more than capable of handling it. Over the years, roadrunners have gotten much bigger, they are stronger, developed rock hard skin, a clear protective shield over their eyes so that sand does not hurt them in the slightest, and their legs are strong enough to climb vertically. He's dusty but unfazed by the storm that has passed. I tie the leather bags to the hooks on the saddle and tie the duffle bag behind the seat. I make sure it's secure by pushing it around some and do the same with the leather bags. I down half of the water bottle and motion my roadrunner to open his mouth. He does so and I poor the rest of the water in his wide open beak. He gulps it all down and I stuff the bottle into the same bag with the can. I untie the reins from the fence and put them back into their proper position. I hop on and the roadrunner squacks in response. I pull back on the reins and he backs up. We face west, a straight shot path to the town that I've been traveling to.

I've heard some rumors that people have been attacked at random with guns that have .3 second intervals between shots, almost like the guns that attacked my family. You don't find guns like that at every market stand, not even in the black market. Guns were only rediscovered 200 years ago, and there's only a 1 in a million chance that someone would even see a gun with such short intervals let alone own one. It may be false information, but it's the only lead I have to finding my families killers. I kick the roadrunners side and he runs lightning quick through the desert. I pull the hood of the cape over my head and start thinking of a strategy. Facing guns like those won't be easy, especially with just a revolver hand gun and some martial arts moves. If I'm lucky, these guys won't be able to hit even the broad side of a barn.


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