She whirled at the bout of cursing raising her gun. A short distance away a man was just picking himself up off the ground. He was covered liberally with mud. She watched as he fumbled around and found what looked like a walking stick. When he stood up she realized he was blind and lowered her gun slightly, looking back over her shoulder in the direction of the bandits. She hoped they hadn't heard the man cursing.<br/><br/>She moved toward him as he was putting on a pair of sunglasses. She wondered if his blindness had been caused by the superflu. She had watched both of her parents succumb to the dread disease. In the background someone on the TV had been yammering about how this was just a mild case of the flu and that people should not panic. Yeah, right.<br/><br/>A few nights later the looting had begun. She had heard glass breaking and shouting as people ran into the buildings along the street. They took what they wanted and God help anyone who got in their way. She had decided it wasn't safe to stay there any longer.<br/><br/>She had found a backpack sitting in the hall closet. It had been her father's. She remembered him wearing it for the hikes he had taken her on as a little girl. She had cried as that memory came to her, hitting her with unexpected power. She had sat there on the floor in the hallway and cried for her lost father and mother, then she had gotten up and filled the pack with a few necessary items.<br/><br/>The gun she had gotten from the desk in her father's study. Right now it was a reassuring weight in her hand as she approached the blind man. When she was about three feet away, she risked another quick glance over her shoulder, then she turned her attention back to the man and called out to him softly.<br/><br/>"Hey there mister! You'd better tone it down, there's bandits nearby."