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“I’m not armed. I?—”

She snickers. “Well, that’s not too smart of you, is it?”

“I’m just trying to visit a friend. I haven’t heard from him, and I’m worried he?—”

“Dead.”

My stomach churns. “What?”

“If you haven’t heard from him, then most likely he’s dead. Maybe you don’t know, but there’s a plague.” She coughs, the sound full of smoke and phlegm.

It’s not like I haven’t thought of that, but it’s not an outcome I want to call into being by speaking it out loud. The highwaywoman has no such compunction.

“Come on.” She taps the board again. “What’ve you got on you?”

I spin my backpack around to my front.

“Easy now.” A man’s voice comes from above. When I look up, someone is perched on the bridge’s metal framework far overhead, his rifle aimed at me. “Drop that spray gun, and put your hands up.”

Shit!

“Now, girly. I’d hate to waste a bullet on you.” He taps his finger on the trigger guard.

“Okay, okay.” My voice shakes right along with my hands as I drop my pepper spray and raise them.

“Now, back to business. What can you pay with?”

“I have, um, gauze, alcohol?—”

“What kind?” the man calls.

“Rubbing alcohol.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t hide his disappointment.

The door in front of me slides all the way open and the woman appears, a bandanna covering her face and a protective plastic shield over it. “Hand it over.” She keeps her gun in one hand and grabs the backpack with the other.

“Got you covered,” the man in the rafters says. “No sudden movements, girly.”

The woman holsters her pistol and unzips my pack.

“Nothing of real v-value,” I stammer. “Antibiotic ointment, gloves, half a sandwich, stethoscope, vials and needles in case I need to take a blood sample, thermometer?—”

“You take blood samples?” the woman asks as she digs through my stuff.

“Not usually. Well, I mean, I do when I’m working my triage shift, but I’m more of a researcher than a?—”

“You’re a nurse?”

“A doctor. Look—” I reach for my bag “—I can show you—Ow!” I fall backward against the panel behind me. My left eye throbs, and I blink away tears as I gawk at the woman. “You hit me! What the hell?” I have the sudden, irrational desire to hit her back.

“No sudden movements.” The man above me chuckles.

I put my hand over my smarting eye and watch as the woman continues going through my things as if she didn’t just clock me in the face. The very real danger I’m in drenches me like a bucket of ice water as I struggle to regain my balance. These people won’t hesitate to use violence. I realize far too late that I’m not prepared for this.

She pulls out my knife. “I thought you said you weren’t armed?” She raises her brows.

“Not like the wayyou’rearmed.” I gesture toward the gun at her hip. “Besides, it’s dangerous out here… clearly,” I add.