A figure appears in an empty window frame halfway up the ruined wall. Dark glasses on a face wrapped with rags and shaded beneath a hood stare down at her.
The long barrel of a gun points in her direction.
Caught completely out in the open, she has no time to do anything except dive to the ground. She tries to merge with the rubble, disappear into it, though she knows she can’t; she is completely exposed. She holds her breath, waiting for the kill shot. She had thought there were no bullets left anymore, but she doesn’t want to take any chances.
When the kill shot doesn’t come, she dares to lift her head. The window frame is empty.
She scrambles to her feet and turns to flee.
Before going ten feet, she comes face-to-face with the hooded figure holding his rifle.
“Halt!” the figure rasps. The voice is muffled by the layers of rags wrapped around its head beneath the hood. But there is no mistaking the rough, deep sound.
It is a raggedman’s voice.
She falls to her knees and raises trembling hands.
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