The drug dealers have been kind enough to give me shelter in one of the containers that serve as their stash, on the condition that I do not touch anything, other than the dirty mattress which they have given me. Inside the container, my phone does not have coverage. Outside, I am a wanted man. I need to wait a few more hours until it’s dark enough so that these people can take me to Rico who is working on my new ID as we speak.
Him and I both know that to vanish completely from the tracking system that once was supported by Miracle Klein for safety reasons, I need to go long – and by that, I mean getting out of the Dome. I cannot go through with those procedures with my name plastered all over my ID. Plus, I need to alter my face somehow. With a knife, a hot rod, something. And wait for the wound to heal enough not to look fresh.
I am pretty sure that Rico is out there, worried out of his mind.
I hope he is.
I could not afford him running away with all that cash, without giving me a decent amount first. I am the dude that went right into a burning house, after all.
I throw myself onto the mattress and curl up, with my back against the wall behind me, tucking my legs close as I remain seated. It is getting cold and the container is a dark place. It reeks of burnt rubber. Outside, I can hear trucks coming and going, some other containers being opened. Like they have instructed me, I am as silent as a church mouse. One of these dudes could be a secret cop. One of these dudes could actually arrest me.
I sigh and keep listening. I hope that the night falls soon…
Image Credit: Steve Burg