"You know, it's a nice change hearing a different language after so long," the sniper commented, completely discounting the humor Rae intended. "New York is supposed to be this hodgepodge of ethnicity, yet since I came here, ninety-five percent of the people I've met have only spoken English. It's kind of depressing, thinking we might be the only nation still standing..." She trailed off with a heavy sigh.
A half-smile showed both amusement and doubt. "Provided there are any survivors left to purchase our books? We may make millions. Thousands would be a more realistic estimate." It was a step up from the 'we're all doomed' mantra she had lived by a couple years ago, but it was still several steps away from Rae's seemingly easy optimism. Marga no longer considered the worldwide predicament 100% hopeless, and that was an accomplishment.
This was no place for a sniper who was practically useless at hand-to-hand combat. A few choice expletives whirled through her mind, words she wished she weren't so meek to say in the presence of the people who gave them orders. It took her back to all the times her boss would assign her tasks that weren't in her skill range. She'd lacked the confidence back then, too.
Marga's eyes had been closed when she pulled the trigger, but they opened again as soon as she felt the corpse hit the floor at her feet. She drew her sleeve across her face to wipe away the zombie goo that had splattered her, looking at Rae when she heard the other girl approach. She almost laughed when Rae asked if she was okay. Instead, Marga answered honestly with a shaky, "No?" She shrugged off the apology. "You took on more than enough for the both of us. It's me who should be sorry. I should've counted my bullets."