Vol 1: Part 8

The brights city lights guided our way as we travelled it had taken longer than normal as we navigated the empty streets.

We soon came to a stop outside the rundown apartment I had left this morning. Home. I stepped out into the cool night the slight breeze ruffled my clothes. I went to the back door opening it to reveal Matt's still sleeping. I gently unclasped his seat belt. "Come on you big lump." I murmured under my breath as I grabbed his shoulder, and tried to lift him out the car.

It took some time to wiggle him out, and with the help of Jackson, we managed to not drop him off on the thick, cracked concrete beneath us. "He is never drinking like that again." Jackson huffed as we carried him up the steep steps. I hummed in agreement as I focused my burning arms to keep Matt up.

It a few minutes of puffing, panting, agony, and screaming arm muscles, but we finally got the drunkard in front of the door giving my arm a little respite I fished out the key. The door creaked open revealing home, sweet home.

"Still as disgusting as I remember." Jackson said turning up his nose. I felt a rise of indignation as the homes owner, but he was right I hope whoever designed this place got shot after the first resident took one look inside.

The first thing most people noticed was the awful, worn mustard yellow carpet. It had dark patches through out from mud, and neglect as we walked through. The cream wall paper would have been alright if it wasn't peeling off at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Moving passed the coffee table littered with health, and diet magazines. We dropped off our ungrateful passenger onto his bed. "Do we need to get a bowl or anything?" Jackson said propping up the pillows, then pulled the blanket up.

"Nah He always seem to bounce up from blackouts with no hangovers." I huffed enviously as I exited the room. Jackson followed me out.

"Ok, I just want to let you know the funerals will be tomorrow I don't know if you want to come or not." Jackson said as he started to move towards the front door.

I heard the door shut behind him. Holding in a sigh I stumbled into my room. Where was it? I scrummages around as I discreetly binned take out boxes. It wasn't under the bed as I pulled my hand back from the mass of cobwebs underneath. The pile of clothes didn't have it either. I put my hand to my head as I tried to remember. Where was the shirt this morning? Closet, maybe? Holding onto the small ray of hope I dived onto the floor.

I stretched my hand out praying that it was there. I felt nothing. Not giving up I reached further with the wood digging into my shoulder. There something loose brushed against my fingers. I tried to get it out. It took a few tries, but I managed to hook my middle finger around it dragging it out into the light.

There it was in its beaten leather holster. My eight round beauty, my Lady Luck. I ran a hand over the gun metal grey barrel. Going into the closet I was just under, I pushed past the few jackets, and clothes I owned, and pulled out a box. Opening it to make sure it held the correct things, which it did the cleaning utensils for the gun.

I carried the box, and gun to the dining room table. Making sure nothing happened I unloaded the gun, pulling back the slide taking out the round that was still in the chamber. It clattered on the floor, placing the mag, and now empty gun onto the table I went, and picked up the fallen round, I got a towel from the kitchen, with everything in place I began cleansing my second life.

It was relaxing to clean a gun if you do it enough times your body goes and does it by itself. It gives you time to think about other things, like what's going to happen now.

Of course war is going to happen, and war comes with a unique opportunity to cut loose. It will be fun to not have to worry about the amount of damage for once. I reassembled the gun before I started putting everything back.