Love in Winter

Sirens blared through the darkness, faint and distant to my uncaring ears. The bricks were cool against my back, but I hardly noticed, just as the startlingly beautiful and terrifying woman standing in front of me seemed not to notice the half-dead teenager bleeding on the pavement behind her.

The woman wore almost exclusively black. A trench coat hung open from her shoulder to the middle of her shins. Skin-tight shorts stretched to mid-calf. Covering her torso was a simple tight t-shirt, accented by the silver Pietro Berreta M92FS hanging from a black side holster under her left arm. Extra magazines were strapped to her thighs and glistened darkly. The only splash of color was the thin, blood red strip of cloth tied around her throat.

Her skin was snow white, and contrasted sharply with her black clothing and dark hair. Her dark costume made her look vampiric as she crouched down to check the pulse of the wretched man that lay crumpled at her feet. His right wrist was crushed under her left foot, bones poking through the grime covered skin, coated in a slick of blood and gristle.

Still, the woman seemed to neglect my very existence. It was infuriating, and I was unable to speak to her, to will her gaze up to mine. I felt as a ghost might, far removed from the world. Unfortunately, I knew that this was not the case. The searing pain in my neck was all too real. My clothes were warm and soaking wet and clung all too readily to my cold, trembling skin. The blood running down into the gutter, pitter-pattering its way down into the storm drain, reminded me just how real this all was.

"Vera! Wake up! You're going to be late for school!" came a loud screech, interrupting the amazingly vivid dream. The girl shot up into a sitting position, the plain green shirt that she wore to bed hanging loosely on her, the collar wet from sweat. Her unclothed legs were covered in goosebumps, all the way up to curve of the blue panties high up on her thighs.

She threw the dark covers off of her, and stepped lithely out of her bed, her long pale legs whispering as they slid across her sheets, her feet making a quiet tapping sound as they touched the carpeted floor of her small room. She walked slowly, sleepily over to the shower, her right hand coming up to rub the sleep out of her eyes. She slid the curtain over, and turned the water on, before stripping down to nothing and stepping into the hot water.

She kept her eyes closed, washing herself through touch alone, the water just cool enough not to scald her. This was her morning ritual. Ever day when she woke up she'd cleanse herself in the hot water, making sure that every inch of her was cleaned. She just didn't have a good day whenever the cycle was broken. She reached down and the knob squeaked as she shut the water off, the hot first so that she would get a blast of cold water from the head before getting out of the shower.

She stood there for a moment with her eyes still closed, and let some of the water run off of her. Sliding the curtain back, she could see that the bathroom was filled with steam from her bathing as she reached for the white towel that hung on a rack next to the shower. As she wiped off her face, she could still remember every detail of the odd dream from the night before.

The air was chilly and the sky was still dark, but off to the east you could see that the sun was starting it's journey across the sky. There were construction lights placed every couple hundred feet amongst the open area that was full of debris and rubble, under the lights were groups of people, who were clearing out these area's. Picking up pieces of cements and passing them down lines to be thrown into carriers and dumpsters. Some were using tools to break apart giant slabs of cement so that they could be removed. Over viewing each group was always one guy, wearing a jacket that had a logo on the back of it, they were Russian's that owned this company and this country, Amerika.

"Спешите вы ленивы кучу суки!" ((Hurry up you lazy bunch of bitches!))

If she heard that phrase used one more time today Avery might just murder the bastard, she panted hard as she lifted up a large chunk of cement and handed it to a woman next to her. That piece went down a long like of hands until it was tossed into a wheelbarrow at the end of the line. She stood up straight and stretched her back out, as she leaned back her gaze met the figure that was standing about 50 feet away from the women. It was their site manager, Jurek, a very large man that was built quite well. His body was ripped, his arms were so huge that most were terrified of him, yet with all that muscle it was the ladies who did the majority of the lifting.

Avery's eyes met with his and she smirked a bit. "Why don't you call us lazy bitches in a language that we can understand?!" She spit onto the ground and glared at him. Her words and actions pissed him off, he started walking towards the girls slowly, mumbling in Russian. Avery watched him carefully, the other women started to murmur to each other, backing away from Avery slowly, they wanted nothing to do with the trouble she caused.

Avery hated the Russian's with a bloody passion, she gritted her teeth as Jurek continued to bitch her out in Russian. The fact that she was forced to learn that repulsive language was enough to set her off, but to have to work under a dirty Ruskii in her country, or rather what was left of it, was too much for her. Her bright green eyes met with his dark brown ones as he stopped in front of her, he towered over her small frame.
"Why do you make things harder for yourself? Just listen to me and do what you are told you noisy girl." Jurek shouted at her, his accent was very thick and made his words some what amusing to listen to. If it wasn't for him shouting at her, Avery would have been mocking him, but right now she was a bit nervous because he could easily crush her and kill her in a heart beat.
"There is no reason for you to be calling us bitches! We work too hard! And all you do is drink and shout out orders you dirty Soviet pig!" Avery screamed at the top of her lunges, but as soon as the words left her mouth fear struck her heart, but she refused to show the fear that she felt. Jurek grabbed her left arm and yanked her closer to him roughly, she yelped and winced as he squeezed her arm tightly.

Avery was 105 pounds and was about 5'4", a very slender girl with long wavy black hair. Jurek's grip was tight around her slender pale arm, she was very pale but now she was flushed with anxiety as their eyes met once more.
"You are nothing more than a dirty раб (slave) to us Russian's now... the great Amerika has fallen and we are now going to rule. Get used to it... You will never be above me little bitch." Jurek laughed and pushed Avery down to the ground, then walked away laughing to himself.

Avery's back hit the ground and knocked the wind out of her, she laid in the ground and stared up at the sky, feeling sore and pissed, the sun had fully risen and the work whistles were blowing... her shift has ended for the week. She got up and examined her arm that Jurek gripped onto, it was already bruising. She would have her revenge some day...

She entered the locker room and opened up her locker, inside was a container with hot oatmeal. She picked it up and looked over to an older woman and nodded to her as she lifted up the container. "Julie! You're wonderful! Thank you!" She set the container back down in her locker. Avery stripped out of her overalls and tank top, she stripped out of her sports bra and panties and tossed them into an old beaten up bag that hung in her locker.

Avery kicked her locker shut as she walked over to the showers, most of the women in there were half way naked, or as Avery was, full blown nude. She stepped in front of a shower head and turned on the hot water full blast then turned the cool water about half. The lukewarm water hit her collarbone as she waited for it to warm up, she tied back her hair and pinned it up so it didn't get wet from the water. She turned around and allowed the water to hit the back of her neck, the hot water made her skin bright red, but it never bothered her. As she showered many of the woman stared at her back but never spoke a word of what they saw. Avery's back was covered in scars that ran their length from right above her ass up to her shoulders.

Avery never told anyone about her past, she never had any reason to either. She was new to this city and came here for a reason, to start over and to locate members of the resistance. She had been here for about three months now, the government told her that she could work for her first three months without schooling since she was on her own, Today ended that three month period. She sighed and turned off the water, feeling clean and satisfied she strolled over to the area where the fresh clean towels sat. She picked one up and dried her face then wrapped the towel around her toned yet slim body, her body was truly impressive for someone in her predicament.

She dressed herself quickly, tossing on a pair of baggy cargo pants that were quite snug around her hips and ass, then slid on a black tank top which showed off her cleavage. Carefully she grabbed a thick red strip of cloth and tied it around her head as if it were a head band, then unpinned her hair and let if fall onto her shoulders gently. She smirked as she grabbed her jacket, an old American Navy Pilot jacket, an item from the old country that she loved and fought for. She wanted to impress her new classmates, piss off her new teachers, but most importantly was to find the members of the resistance. She chuckled to herself quietly as she left the building and head towards the city, today would be her day for sure.

Vera carefully hung the towel back in its place on its rack, and turned toward the mirror. Clearing some of the steam away with her long, nimble fingers, the girl carefully inspected herself. She was pale, but not overly so, and she was slim. Her eyes were blue, and her hair a dark, wavy brown. A light smattering of freckles went from cheekbone to cheekbone across the bridge of her nose, which she always found odd, because she had them nowhere else. She had thin, pretty lips, which were a delicate pink against her light skin. People often thought she was wearing makeup, despite the fact that she never did.

Satisfied with her appearance, she turned and quietly shuffled through her drawers to find a decent outfit to wear. Vera was a half-blood, daughter of an American soldier, raped by one of the Ruskii invaders. She didn't know her father, and her mother was a wreck. School, for her, was a nightmare. She learned quickly how to fight, growing up, because if she didn't, she'd have been beaten mercilessly. Soon enough the fistfights stopped, and the teasing began. Taunted and tortured, day in and day out, she started to dress outlandishly, using scraps of any old American clothing that she could find.

Fortunately, the VCs were designed to make sure that everyone in the housing complexes were well off, and so Vera was able to get most anything she wanted. Her undergarments consisted of a plain black bra, and blue boy shorts. Around her legs, she put on tight, dark blue jeans. On her calves, she wrapped scraps of old camouflage from military uniforms, some even having the names of the soldiers that they once belonged to. Her top was a tight fitting black tee, with words written over her chest, in a style that was once very popular to the Americans. "You read my shirt. That's enough social interaction for one day."

To top it all off, she wrapped a red bandanna around her throat, a twinge running through her as she remembered her dream from the night before. She shook it off, though, and slung her pack over her right shoulder. Slowly maneuvering her way down the stair case, she tiptoed past the living room, where the blinds were drawn shut, and the flickering from the old television the only light. Her mother was asleep on the couch, a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses ornamenting the table. One of them was still full. It was a wonder, Vera thought, that her mother was able to, like clockwork, wake up at the precise moment that the girl would have been late for school.

Shaking her head again, she opened the door, and stepped out into the brightly lit, neon-lined city street and began the arduous walk to school.

The whole of Zima was an epileptic's worst nightmare. Flashing LED screens dominated the city, along with glowing neon, cherry red tail lights and blinding white headlights. Honking and yelling and crying and various other noises filled the air, the cacophony of urban life grated on the ear drums at every moment that one remained out on the streets. Several news bulletins were running simultaneously in both English and Russian.

"Uroven' radiatsii umen'shayut·sya vne domennoĭ shchitgoroda. Eto horoshaya novost' , tak kak uchenye schitayut, chto cherez desyat' -pyatnadtsat' let ,bol'shaya chast' zemel' opustoshennyh v rezul'tate vzryva vSan- Onofre yadernom ob'ekte vnov' budet prigodnoĭ dlya zhizni."

Images flashed across the largest LED screen, of skeletal remains of beachfronts, of the dilapidated ruins of city centers, the hulking carcasses of burnt out cars. The remains of what was once a peaceful, bustling sea port. Then, crawling slowly through the ruins, men clad in gloriously out of place white radiation suits became the focus of the screen.

"Radiation levels are decreasing outside of the city's blast shield. This is good news, as scientists think that in another ten to fifteen years, the majority of land devastated by the explosion at the San Onofre nuclear facility will again be habitable."

All of this, however, the light and the noise and the wash of sensation that poured over every living soul in the city that once was known as Los Angeles, fell on deaf ears and blind eyes as Vera tread mindlessly down the street that would take her directly to her school. A pair of earbuds were shoved into her auditory orifices, and were blaring music so loud that she couldn't even hear her thoughts.

It wasn't a very long walk to Kasarov High School, but due to the assault on the senses, to a person that preferred peace and quiet, it was almost unbearable. The school itself was very out of place. Built in the Greek style of architecture, and made of white marble, it was a stark contrast to the sleek cool sparkling buildings that made up the rest of the city.

As she walked up the white steps to the huge building, she mentally prepared herself. She pulled her earbuds out and stuffed them in her left pocket, next to her cell phone before reaching in her right pocket and feeling to make sure that her little pocket knife was there. An unnecessary little trinket, for the most part, it made her feel better to have it there, just in case. She was, after all, a scrawny thing.

Pushing through the doors, her ears met a different kind of assault. The kind that comes from hundreds of voices going at once. She shook her head and sighed in resignation, before sidling down the hall toward her first period class. History.

Avery sprinted through Zima, rushing to desperately make it to Kasarov High School on time. Avery knew that she would be punished if late to her first day of High School. She jumped over dogs on their leashes and pushed past slower pedestrians.
"Fuck me... The school is farther than I thought. Won't be able to enjoy the showers at work as long as I'd like too." She grumbled to herself in between her hard pants and gasps for air. After an additional 15 minutes of a a full sprint she made it to the steps of the grand school building. The white marble was beautiful, the Greek architecture made her grin. Avery had studied architecture for a long time, she taught herself calculus, geometry and basics to engineering before she moved to Zima.
She sprinted down the long halls of the school, frantically looking at the class room doors, reading their numbers and letters, most in Russian. Dirty Soviet pigs she thought to herself.
Unfortunately for Avery she wasn't paying attention to the girl that was walking in front of her and careened right into her, sending both of them onto the floor. But Avery had managed to twist her way to fall first, breaking most of the fall for the girl she just rudely dropped to the ground.
Her back was killing her, her bag when sliding across the floor since she had let go of it to catch this girl by the waist. She opened up her bright green eyes and looked at the girl. She had similar hair to her own, dark brown and wavy but had bright blue eyes. She grunted in pain she listened to a Russian speaking women over the intercom of the school. She was marking that students had 5 minutes to get to their assigned classrooms. Avery scowled under her breath. "Fucking pigs, speaking Russian as if everyone had to know it fluently." She closed her eyes again then lifted the girl off of her by the waist then sat up.
"My apologies for running into you. Knew I was going to be late from work and this is my first day in a public school setting. Guess I need to be more cautious of my surroundings. I hope your not hurt." Avery spoke frankly as she untied her headband, reapplied the bright red cloth then tied it tightly. She straightened her Navy jacket after pushing herself up from the ground, then walked over to grab her bag before walking back to the girl on the floor. She watched her for a moment before reaching out the for the girls hand to help her up. "I can take you to the infirmary if needed. You seem dazed, can't tell if it's shock or if I failed to protect your head." Avery felt bad about destroying this girls morning, but if she was a Russian whore then she would probably laugh about this later, but she didn't look it. Avery was intrigued.

Vera was glad to be almost rid of her school. A place of learning should be filled with vibrancy and energy and color, and this place was certainly not. Everything was very bleak and gray. The children didn't care about their classes. They were all very eager to get back home and plug themselves back into their VR. Real life had taken a back seat to the VR, where everything was so real and potent that the world looked dull and faded in comparison. But to Vera, in between the glare of neon lights the darkness was so intense that it looked as if everything had a layer of thin grime, and the grunge of the alleys offset the flare of the telescreens in a beautiful, unsettling way.

As she walked up the stone steps, glaring white in contrast to the sleek steel and glass look that Zima had about it, she cracked each of her fingers. It was a nervous habit that she picked up, she couldn’t remember where, when she was a child. Brushing her bangs to the side and checking her reflection in the heavy glass door to make sure she was still presentable after the walk, Vera pressed hard against the portal and it swung open without so much as a rattle.

Almost immediately she was struck by something that was either very large or moving very fast, because it sent her sprawling. Her shoulder hit the ground, and she tried to roll back to her feet to face whatever threat was behind her, but her pack wedged itself between her and the tile floor, resulting in nothing more than a painful jerk to her arm, and a pitiful sliding motion. She cried out, before quickly getting to her feet to assess the situation. There was no real threat. In fact, the girl that had hit her was reaching a hand toward her as though to help her up.

“I, um, no, thank you. I’ll be fine,” she said in response to the girl’s inquiry about the infirmary. “I just fell a little hard on my arm is all. We’d better get moving. Five more minutes until 0700, and I don’t want to have detention.”

Vera shuddered as she mentioned the word. The disciplinary officer at Kasarov High was a pig. A short, fat, blonde little man, he was constantly out of breath, and always squinting. He was known for the awful way he treated the girls who were sent to him. Vera had only had detention once, and her job for the day was to sweep and mop every floor in the school. He watched. He watched and stayed incredibly close to her the entire time, so he was almost touching her, mere inches away. She could still feel his hot breath on her neck, and smell the revoltingly sweet smell of the apples he downed one after the other.

Shaking her head, she looked at the other girl, quickly apologized for having been in her way, and started off toward the classroom.