“Shouldn't we go to a hospital or something? I'm not an expert, but getting shot seems like a good reason to see a doctor.”
Oliver shook his head in amusement as he passed a small box to Sophia. She stared blankly at the words 'Emergency Laceration Kit' before frowning at him. “You can't be serious! I have no idea what to do about a bullet wound!”
With a small chuckle, he tapped the box in her hands. “Just follow the direction. Use the alcohol to clean the wound, the little adhesive pad to pull the wound closed and keep it there. Then you cover and wrap it to keep it clean. Easy enough a child could do it.”
Oliver was thankful the graze wasn't deep, though it position on his right side toward his back made it difficult for him to do more than he had done in the library without being forced to contort himself awkwardly... Which likely would have pulled on the wound and made the task even more difficult. And painful.
Sophia gently cleaned the wound, ignoring Oliver's hiss of discomfort at her liberal use of the alcohol pads as she grumbled to herself. “So easy a child could do it! What kid ever has to patch up a damn gun shot wound?”
Distracted by the burning pain, Oliver spoke without thinking to distract himself. “It's more likely than you would think. Hell, I think I patched up a dozen similar to that before I turned twelve.”
Skepticism and concern were written across Sophia's face in equal measure as she searched his face for any hint as to the truth of his words. After a moment, she continued to bandage his wound with regular glances at the directions to make sure she was doing it right. “Please tell me you were an accident prone kid, because that sounds like one of those domestic violence horror stories I read about in psychology.”
Oliver restrained the urge to shrug, knowing that movement would mess up her attempt to help him. “Eh, my father was a bastard. But that's all ancient history at this point, seeing as he's been gone for more than half my life.. Aside from some lingering psychological issues, which I got counseling to help process, I think I'm doing all right.”
With the bandage securely in place, Sophia quickly got up and walked to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she spoke over the sound of running water, he could hear the disbelief in her voice. “And that's it? Your father was so abusive you had to patch up huge gashes like that and, what? You just processed it and moved on? Simple as that?”
“I wouldn't call it simple, as I was in therapy for a while, but yeah. Like the old saying, 'If you're going through Hell, just keep going'.”
Sophia dried her hands slowly, glancing around the small room uncomfortably before she bluntly tried to change the subject. “So, what's the deal with the hotel room? A room, near the campus, with a bag of clothes and a first aid kit... Did you expect something to happen tonight? What if we had to run out the opposite side of campus?”
Swapping places with her so he could finish cleaning the blood and dirt off himself, Oliver smirked over his shoulder at her. “If we had run out the opposite side of campus, I would have taken us to one of the other bolt holes I set up.”
“One of the other... How many hotel rooms did you setup?”
Oliver shrugged as he dried his face. “Five hotel rooms.”
Seeing her slack-jawed look, he laughed out loud as he hung the towel back on the rack as he continued. “Plus three storage units, though I added sleeping bags and pillows to those.”
Sophia shook her head as she plopped down on the edge of one of the beds. “Seriously? I never imagined you were so prepared. It's no wonder you were able to keep me safe if this is how you do things.”
Oliver sat on the opposite bed and glared sullenly off into space. Shaking his head in frustration, he let out a deep breath and tried to push away the feelings of self-recrimination. “I wasn't half as prepared as I could have been. I thought this was going to be an easy job, and I got cocky. But that's something I'm going to work on fixing. Starting tomorrow.”
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Oliver wasn't a fan of leaving Sophia alone in the hotel room. Even if no one should know where she was, it was a risk. Minimal risk, but still a risk. But to accomplish all his goals for the day, it was a risk he was forced to take.
And, as long as she listened to his instructions and stayed out of sight, it should work out fine.
Strolling down the aisles of the supercenter store, the pair shopping carts he pulled along were being filled quickly. The events of the previous night, as well as the preceding weeks, had forced him to re-evaluate his plans. His future as a music teacher was ruined, and problems were coming at him left and right...
Some of them because of his own actions. And inaction.
While Oliver wasn't willing to give up on his dreams, he knew he had to change how he did things if he was to have any chance of achieving them. If he wanted to survive to reach those dreams, he needed to be better prepared.
And that started with filling a few more commissions.
* Winter Winds – The winter is proving harsher than any anticipated, and the raids on my tribe have taken a horrible toll, making our migration all the more treacherous. We are in dire need of protection from the biting Northern winds. Especially the children. 50 credits per durable tent, 20 credits per blanket, 10 credits for each winter coat(or other cold weather clothing).
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
* Parched – The worst wasteland summer since the collapse has fallen upon us, and the known oases are no longer the refuge my people need. Though trying, this would all be survivable...were it not for our dwindling water stores. My people grow desperate as the oldest and weakest succumb. Please help us. 50 credits per gallon of drinkable water.
Oliver's first shopping cart filled quickly with multiple thick blankets and an assortment of winter jackets. Tossing a variety of sizes of thermal socks and winter gloves onto the pile, a small grin spread across his face as he turned down another aisle. Once he found what he was looking for, he knew he had struck upon the right idea.
Mylar emergency blankets.
Waterproof, windproof, and capable of retaining the majority of one's body heat; they were the perfect solution for the people struggling through their winter migration. The fact that they were cheap for him was certainly an added benefits.
With each packages containing ten of the emergency blankets, he was tempted to clear the shelves of the stock. After a moments consideration, he restrained himself to only half what was available. With winter coming, it was very possible that others would find a need for them, and he had no idea how quickly they would restock. Even if it was likely only a day or two.
Topping the cart off with a pair of ten person tents, he moved on to his second objective: 5 gallon jugs of water. A small chuckle escaped him at how easily his improved strength handled the large, unwieldy bottles to fill the second cart. Within minutes, he had rushed through checkout and was out the door.
What he had thought would be the trickiest part of filling the commissions turned out to be incredibly simple. After only a minute of searching, he found the perfect spot between a pair of large SUVs that blocked line of sight to the parking lot cameras. With a casual glance around, he confirmed that no one was nearby before firing off both commissions in succession.
Seconds later, and just over 5,000 credits richer, he was ready for phase two of his day.
With both shopping carts returned to the store, Oliver stood in the shade of the building and reached into the warehouse to pull out the phone he had used to communicate with Henley. With a few quick taps, and even fewer rings, the man picked up.
“It's not safe for you to be calling right now, Silk. They could be trying to track your phone.”
Oliver chuckled into the phone. “I already figured that was a possibility. I take it you haven't dug up your mole yet? Also, I notice you aren't asking about Sophia. Not worried I may have screwed up?”
Henley grunted, annoyed at Oliver's almost flippant tone. Ultimately, he restrained the urge to rebuke the younger man. “If they had gotten Miss Sophia, I doubt they would wait to issue their demands. And I doubt you would be so casual when talking to me, considering how pissed I would be.”
“As to the mole... I've narrowed it down to two suspects. I've got someone... discussing the situation with them now, but, until I find out what those assholes know, you need to lay low. And get the hell off the phone they may be tracking! I'm guessing you popped the battery out last night or something, so do it again and grab a pre-paid phone or something. And leave wherever you are right now, just to be safe. Contact me again in 24 hours, if you can safely.”
“Will do. Also, do you think having a little more information could help you dig through things faster?”
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Demetrius Jackson, the man Oliver had nicknamed 'Spider' just the night before, strolled with forced casualness down the stores aisles. His team and another were spread around the store, each with a basket or shopping cart with a handful of items in them. By all appearances, they were normal shoppers, grabbing groceries or other necessities.
A simple cover for their search, but after the unmitigated disaster last night, simple was best.
'Spider isn't a bad name, really, even if that guy was fucking nuts.' He mused to himself, the nickname somehow having stuck. As he reached the end of the aisle, he glanced at his squad leader for a second as he perused the items on the end-cap.
“I agree with Red, this is pointless. Seriously Ash, no way would that guy be dumb enough to think we weren't tracking the phone. Why did the client insist on this wild goose chase anyway?”
Ash suppressed a sigh and shrugged. “Client's desperate and being stupid. My money says Red pulls out and we leave town, probably tonight. Job is busted anyway, staying here would just be more trouble. Come on, we're almost done here anyway.”
Spider groaned to himself, but moved on quickly. He would be glad to leave this city and get far away from all this trouble. Especially the asshole from last night.
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Emiko Saito approached the storage unit cautiously, her team trailed behind her as they scanned the surroundings. Most would be surprised at the petite Asian woman leading a security team. Even more would be surprised that her call sign was Irish, though she attributed it to her mother's ancestry.
Her team would swear it was because she could out drink all of them. Combined.
Angry and frustrated at being side lined early in the attack the night before, she jumped at the first opportunity to help fix this crazy mess. And with the unquestionable loyalty her team had displayed, each having been saved from almost certain death by Henley in the past, he didn't hesitate to send them out.
Her team in position, Emiko gave the signal and one of her guys quickly rolled up the door to the storage unit. Her gazed swept across the for threats before she stopped to gawk at the sight before her. Laid out on the bare concrete floor of the cheap storage unit were eight men, supposedly some of the attackers from the night before. While some were clearly unconscious, others writhed and groaned in pain as they grasped at injuries or clawed at their faces.
She had no idea what that Silk guy had done to them, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
But one question weighed on her mind, so ridiculous she couldn't help but blurt it out even as she waved her men to see to the attackers.
“How the hell did that guy drag eight of them all the way here? I thought he was alone!”
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Oliver put away his binoculars, having been watching from a distance. He had barely enough time to drop off the attackers he caught and leave before Henley's team arrived, but thought it was worth the quick trip. Having no experience in interrogation, he figured Henley could get more information from them than he could.
Now he just needed to get back to the hotel room, check on Sophia, and move on to phase 3 of his day.
'No rest for the wicked.' He mused to himself.