Rise and Shine! Part 2

I'm changing an empty store in M4 to a new one. I lean out of the window, cut off another enemy with a burst of three rounds and return back. I shift to the right and kill another one through the next one. It seems to be the last one so far. The firing stopped and I leaned back against the wall wearily.

The bulletproof vest from Kat's shoulder pulls to the ground. My whole body hurts, especially my legs. Which is not surprising, after I spent two hours on my hump with a wounded Catherine to the damned site. It would seem that only a kilometer, but first try to walk this kilometer with a load on your shoulders through the zone of active hostilities. But we managed, and even both are intact. Relatively. A few new abrasions and a couple of cuts on my hands on my side and an almost completely red bandage on my partner. There is nothing to say about fatigue.

There were no accidents on the road. Two whole times we were on the verge of death.

The first dangerous moment happened somewhere in the middle of the way. A flying chariot simply and unpretentiously collapsed on our heads, as if to call it, a flying chariot. Someone knocked her out, and apparently, the asshole managing her decided to take a couple of people with him to the next world, crushing them. Got off with a slight fright. The partner noticed the approaching death earlier, and, shouting: "Get down!" knocked us to the ground. The burning ash missed our bodies by a maximum of 40 centimeters, after which it crashed into the asphalt, knocking out a stone crumb, and rolled merrily across the street until it crashed into the nearest building.

The second one was already on the way to our goal. We were caught off guard and tightly surrounded by a dozen and a half aliens, forcing us to huddle behind the only car in the nearest territory. The fire was so dense that there was no way to stick out your nose to answer. Help came from where we did not expect — a large green-skinned woman in a suit more like a closed swimsuit swooped down from somewhere on top of the enemies' heads, and in some ten seconds ground the attackers into dust. Having finished with the massacre, she cast a glance in our direction, winked in response to our faces stretched out in amazement and sped off somewhere along the street.

While watching her, I was visited by a feeling of deja vu. For some reason, it seemed that somewhere I had already seen someone very similar to this woman.

And here we are. For the third hour we have been fighting off one by one alien attacks on our shelter. Why aliens? First of all, they don't even look like humans. Secondly, how else can you call those who, like cockroaches, climb out of a hole in the sky that is visible even from here? And they also have giant metal snakes. Which fly. It was lucky that none of them paid attention to us. I saw from afar how a rocket salvo flew into the side of one of them. And nothing to her, a couple of pieces of the skin fell off, and that's all.

Catherine is currently sleeping under an IV in the back of the building. Her leg was sewn up and forcibly sent to rest. As it turned out, nothing important was touched to her, the wound turned out to be through and the blood vessels remained intact. Otherwise, she wouldn't have survived even with my help. On sluggish objections to the fact that now every fighter on the account silently took her equipment and, having ordered not to be harmful, left.

She's cool after all.

While we were sitting in between skirmishes, I took a closer look at the people around me and noticed one very strange moment. Of the more than one and a half hundred people here, the vast majority are women. Including all soldiers and policemen. There were at most a dozen and a half or two men. For some reason they didn't do anything useful. They were all sitting in one place on sofas, covered with all sorts of blankets, blankets and shaking, clinging to each other. Tearful, with traces of leaking cosmetics. Bueeeeee… And half also with manicurists (!!!). And they look at me in a bulletproof vest and with a barrel with some kind of sacred horror. At first they wanted to put me with them, but I refused.

Of course, but I won't come to this cock corner for a cannon shot.

No one, however, was particularly against it. They say, if you don't want to sit out with a weapon, then you are welcome. The commander of the local team allocated me a position, but commanded me not to be a hero. That was settled.

There were also glances: every female representative of the tribe I met considered it obligatory to look at me. And these views ranged from simple interest mixed with a small amount of surprise to something so ... predatory. Like a cat for sour cream or a tramp who hasn't eaten for three days for a bowl of soup. A little unnerving, to be honest.

Well, I didn't get in the way, I helped. And very good. As it turned out in practice, I turned out to be an excellent shooter. If the first couple of enemies could still be blamed on luck, then the next two dozen, killed mainly in the head with minimal ammunition consumption, are already made me think about my weapons handling skills, which i have from somewhere. It's becoming more and more interesting who I am, because apart from the name and a couple of other things, I didn't remember anything else. But this question can be postponed for later. Now the main thing is not to die and save Katyusha. I got attached to the girl while we were crawling through the city, and I also started calling her Katyusha on the road. I don't understand why exactly. But she doesn't mind, which means everything is fine. The main thing is not to forget to exchange contacts. However, I do not know my phone number or email address. As well as the home address.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a slight poke in the shoulder.

"Eh?" —

"Sir, I'm sorry," — in front of me was a thin girl of short stature with a square of brown hair and glasses on her eyes. — "I called you twice, but you didn't answer, I brought some water."

"I'm sorry, I was thinking a little." — I take the half-liter bottle from the outstretched hand. It's cold. Class. — "Thank you."

With pleasure I take a couple of sips and hand the water to the girl. — "What about you?"

"No, thanks." — She refused.

"Whatever you say." — I shrug my shoulders and, turning the lid, put the bottle on the floor near my feet.

The girl turns around to leave, but after a second of trampling on the spot, turns around and says: — "Aren't you scared?"

"Of course, I'm scared." — I answer her, leaning my hand on my knee and holding it up to my chin. — "Like everyone else."

"But you... look so... confident." — And you're not acting like a guy at all. The girl shifted from one foot to the other. — "Like a woman in a man's body…"

"Uh-uh-uh-uh... what?" — I don't understand right now.

"Oh..." — the girl bowed her head guiltily. — "That's not what I meant at all! I didn't mean to offend you with an inappropriate comparison or anything like that, just…"

"Wait." — I interrupt the verbal flow, raising my right hand up for persuasiveness. I decided to tactfully skip the question of my masculinity — "Relax, I'm not offended. Better tell me, what's your name?"

— "Petra Parker."

And again it seemed to me that I already knew a similar name, for some reason a picture of a man in a red and blue suit maneuvering between skyscrapers with the help of threads shot from his hands was drawn in my imagination. Shaking my head to drive away uninvited thoughts, I hold out my hand to the girl. — "Connor, nice to meet you. Sorry, I can't give you my last name. I think my memory is gone."

"And I'm... very pleased." — After looking at the limb stretched out in front of her for a couple of seconds, as if not knowing what to do with it, she still responds to the handshake.

We chatted with Petra for another twenty minutes. The girl, despite some embarrassment at first, turned out to be a good conversationalist. As it turned out, she goes to the final grade of the school with a scientific bias and understands the topic well, although I didn't understand much of what was said, but it was still interesting to listen. And the girl's facial expressions and gestures, when she got into the taste, gave me a lot of aesthetic pleasure, because the way she waves her arms, explaining something and funny wrinkles her nose looks very cute. I even forgot for a while that we actually have a bit of a war against aliens here. The sweetness of this little girl turned out to be so killer. The conversation had to be interrupted when the quiet conversations of the fighters around were replaced by surprised and enthusiastic exclamations. And the reason for this is the sight of alien aircraft raining down from the sky, covering the already battered streets of the city with fragments of the motionless bodies of ordinary soldiers.

"Is it over?" — Petra asked, standing next to him.

— "It seems so."

He did not notice how his knees began to tremble. It was as if a rod had been pulled out of me, which up to this moment had not allowed me to fall down without strength. As soon as the tired brain registered the disappearance of the threat, consciousness dashed into the saving darkness.

"? №%**?!" — I didn't hear what Petra shouted there, because even in the middle of falling to the floor, I was already passed out.

***

A day later.

New York Central Hospital.

"Dr. Fischer, how is he?" — In a small but bright room, apart from the patient, there were two people: a blonde woman doctor in years and an attractive blonde-haired girl in a white robe thrown over her clothes.

"Your brother's life is not in danger, Miss White. Apart from abrasions, bruises, a couple of cuts and a slight concussion, only a slight exhaustion. But this is expected, nevertheless, the boy had to endure severe stress and physical exertion. A week under supervision and plenty of food will correct the situation. We will also provide you with the necessary medications for a speedy recovery." — The doctor replied.

"I'm glad to hear that." — The girl sighed with relief and tiredly massaged her temples. — "I was in a hurry to get to the city as soon as it was over. I couldn't find a place for myself, how good it was that he survived…"

"In addition, we have studied your brother's case, and, in light of the circumstances that have opened up, we considered your permanent stay in his ward... appropriate." — The doctor added. — "You will be provided with everything you need for a comfortable wait. In addition, our psychologist will be ready to provide assistance on demand. Well, in the meantime, I have to leave you, many more patients require my attention."

The girl nodded gratefully and, stepping back a step, let the doctor through to the exit. Waiting until the door slammed, she slowly approached the bed with the guy and gently and gently, just not to disturb, took his palm and interlocked her fingers in the lock. It's the only way she can touch her brother while he's sleeping.

Connor... her poor little Connor. During these six years, he has not been able to recover from the death of his mother, the departure of his father and ... that incident. She can only hope that things haven't gotten worse now. Tears began to flow treacherously from his eyes, despite the tightly closed eyelids. Lips whispered a prayer to the Goddess.

Everything will be fine. She can handle it. Always coped. After all, there is no one else to take care of her brother.

Maybe the prayer has reached the addressee. Maybe the universe itself has taken pity on an unhappy woman who is forced to shoulder a burden beyond the capacity of most others. The girl will ask herself this question more than once in the future.

But now... now she doesn't know yet that Connor will wake up the next morning a completely different person and their life will change beyond recognition.