Dark Washington Part Two

Chapter 2
NOTHING! YOU MUST WAIT! DON’T LIKE IT? TOO BAD! MWAHAHAHSLAUGHHAHAHAHAHAHHA!

ACTUALLY, I LIED! THERE IS MORE!

Paul then takes a knife and stabs the narratorrrrr… Uhh…

Hello! I’m the new narrator! I’ll be telling this story!
Anyway, Paul woke up in the morning to the sound of gunfire and crackling flames. Getting out of bed and dressing quickly, he opened the window to see the town on fire, smoke billowing in the air. He leaped down the staircase and rushed into the balcony, and was met by bandits. Staring across the room, he saw the body of the innkeeper lying on the floor, a bullet hole through his chest. Bandits pointed guns at him.
“Search him,” said one.
A bandit came up and searched his clothes and bag.
“Nothing,” the bandit said, and the reply came, “Shoot him. We don’t want any survivors to tell what happened.”
“Mason?” Paul said, realizing it was his old friend from pre-war times, “That’s you, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Paul, it’s you,” the bandit sighed, “I didn’t know you were still alive. I could not have seen you. Just get out of here, and be careful. I may lead these people, but the rest will kill you if they get the chance. The sooner you leave the better.”
“You just killed that innocent man!” cried Paul, pointing at the innkeeper, “Why do you do this? Stealing instead of working hard!”
“This isn’t the United States. It is dead. We need the money and he has it. That is that. Don’t pretend a few shopkeepers and people living in a town using money to buy things means that society is alive. Society is dead, and these people in towns are just making themselves a good target. They are the stupid ones, don’t blame us. Leave now, and I hope you realize that trying to rebuild society is a useless effort. This land lives under only one rule: the survival of the fittest.
The bandit nearest Paul shoved him outside the inn, onto the street. Paul stood up and stared at what had once been one of the most innovative, civilized towns in the region. Damn those thieves, thought Paul, even if they were once my friend I would not hesitate to kill them! Seeing the river Paul made his way towards it. Several times he needed to duck inside a building to avoid a group of rouges prowling the streets, looking for any buildings not yet plundered. He saw more innocent people killed and tortured than he had ever seen before in his life. Even the bandits sometimes shot each other, their greed overcoming their will to join together.
The river lay just up ahead. If he could cross it he would be in the farmland surrounding the town, where the bandits would not find anything worth going after. Sometimes Paul could understand their situation. They were in areas where the war left them with nothing. This was their only method of survival. Some of them even showed kindness. The bandits in Snohomish, though, were something else. They seemed completely driven by an insatiable greed, incapable of kindness. He wondered if they had been able to attack the town by some kind of union of bandits.
The river was just ahead. A few bandits where by the river, though. Paul, knowing that if he stayed in one place too long would be found, jumped into the river when they were not looking. He couldn’t see beyond a few feet. It seemed like if he got above surface they would see him. He stayed underwater until he found himself under a bridge. It seemed the guards had notice him and there were more around. He would have to stay under the bridge for the time being. He was nearly starving, as it took him nearly an hour to make it through town with the bandits. It looked like it would be a long time before he could get up. Exhausted from swimming and avoiding bandits and from lack of food, he fell into a sleep-like state, satisfied they would not find him.