Chapter 1

A questionably senseless event occurs that introduces the deranged nature of the enemy. Two main supporting characters are introduced. A little bit of insight into the safezone.

I sit here, listening to the oh-so-painfully familiar sound of a ton of bratty kids whining, shouting, crying, and bragging at each other. It’s a deadly concoction that creates the worst kind of headache, plain and simple.

I keep telling myself that things will get better, just wait and see, I tell myself. Every time I do, though, I’m just to be met with my go-to phrase: this world, this place, is miserable.

Even after so many months of living in these barracks, even after the relentless and endless rehabilitation I’ve endured, I’m still reeling. The psychologist and pediatric doctors I’ve talked to always tell me the same bullshit: it’s perfectly normal to be distraught after the loss of your parents. We’ve seen this before and we know it’s possible to recover. It just requires us to work together.

Together. Forever and ever.

What really keeps me confused is the ability to wipe out a whole massive chunk of the glorious stars on our stars and stripes with a fabulous fuchsia flame. Yeah, pink fire. I’ll never really understand it.

Like always, the sound around me is a constant hammer mashing through the cap of my damned skull. They told me that people who have suffered trauma as bad as my own often find it hard to socialize. Sometimes they even grow to fear crowds. Maybe it’s something like that. Hell if I know.

They also told me I’m lucky to even be able to live a semi-normal life. Losing so much in seconds can leave you perpetually lost and in a state of shock. Some even became catomic or something.

I close my eyes tightly as a desperate attempt to drown the noises. I use something that they told me to use in times of need: counting, by doubling… 2… 4… 8… 16… …32… 64… 128… 2… something. D****t.

With the failure of my counting, the sound still roars violently, no help at all. Thanks shrinks.

Suddenly, I hear a familiar sound of a plastic toy for children, probably some stupid robot, breaking apart. Then, to my horror, a kid just a few yards away bursts out in a power screech in his snot-nosed anger.

I want to pommel that kid into the ground. I can’t take it. I can’t.

So, I do what any logical human adolescent would do when they have something deep in their mind that they can’t fathom: I run.

The world rushes around me as I quickly break into a sprint through the long barracks, everything becoming distorted blurs of beds, kids, and all out chaos.

Some would call it artistic, I call it Heaven. The wind runs through my short, black hair and I can’t see any of the kids or barely hear them. They call it the… I think they call it the Doopler Effect? Something like that. It’s noise.

As I run, I topple some kid by accident. I don’t bother to say sorry. I just keep running as fast as I can, hastily making my way towards a freedom I don’t even know where to begin to look for. I’m in way over my head I thought, why am I even running?

Then a blur of a female figure closes in like a bullet to my face.

“Graaace?!” A voice breaks my already broken train of thought as I nearly break said girl’s everything in return. I skid my shoes to stop inches from her, and my head nearly topples itself. God, is this how car accidents f**k up your neck so badly?

The girl stares at me, looking around my age: blonde hair, slim and short with enough freckles to fight the night sky in Freckles vs Stars.

An ideal high-school dream fresh(wo)man.

She smiles at me afterwards and embraces me not soon after her warm and charming smile brightens her freckled face, “I missed you so much! So don’t run off, ‘kay?” I’m not big on hugs, but I’ll take all the affection I can get. Affection’s the only thing that keeps me from running anymore, really. Hailey gives a concerning amount of it.

I self-diagnosed myself with my own mental disease: homeflu. “You know how you’d get homesick when you’re away from home for too long?” I tell anyone daring to even ask about homeflu, “Just imagine the same thing, only you know home was obliterated. So… you can’t exactly go back home ever again.”

I try to shove myself off of her, “Hailey! Now’s not the time, okay!?” She tumbles back, looking at me with a trembling expression.

“But why?” She asks in a dreadful tone, not a big fan of rejection. Then again, who is?

“I need to get away. It’s too loud here.” I try to remain competent and not blow her head off with a rant boiling within the confines of my chest.

She, reluctant as she may be, lets me go. I don’t waste the chance, I just dash. Run. Get the Hell out of there. I somehow book it all the way to the dome’s end. I sit there, staring out at what they called the “Decayed Expanse.” The ground is crackled and lifeless, just stone and sand. I wouldn’t call it a desert, but it’s not my choice. Everyone calls it a desert. I guess it is. It used to be so vast and grassy. Instead, like I said, it’s just a bunch of dirt.

Has something to do with those pretty-pink flames I mentioned before, so I don’t really get it. All I know is that whatever the bomb did, it made this place beyond Hell. A hot, dry, and nearly impossible expanse of land that spans an infinite sea from every corner of the eye. Sea being obviously ironic: there is no water. It might as well be 1932.

They used to call it the Great Plains: they used to call this part Kansas.

But that was Kansas. And this is now. And to quote some pretty famous movie: “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

But whatever. Upon walking, I see more and more dirt. With any luck, I’d find a tumbleweed. So much for luck. Just more dirt.

A black figure meets the corner of my eye, it’s solemn and very small. I startle, quickly turning towards the thing. Its fur is caked with dirt, especially its fur, and then I see it’s one of our friendly (used to be) neighborhood scavengers:

A raccoon.

Its body has retreated enough to see its ribs. Poor thing. It’s nothing but hot and dry in the decayed expanse. Food is hard to come by as is. The raccoon’s ringed tail can barely be made out anymore, the domino mask on its face complimenting the sunken and desperate eyes of the creature in a sickening and curious way. A way that makes me want to leave the dome just to see it. Just to get a closer look.

It’s likely feral, I tell myself. What kind of stupid girl pets a scavenging animal? Good way to die fast, Gracé!! I sigh at my own self-control and just continue to gaze at the what-used-to-be plump urban scavenger. It’s still a cute little thing, honestly. It’s one of those things you’d be reluctant to attack due to big cartoon O-shaped eyes with smaller white O’s making the voids look even more adorable. One of those"

Then its torso jolts violently as a small pffthmp sounds and blood hammers the lower and outermost layer of the dome.

I startle like a, well, good luck describing it. I nearly jump out of my damn skin.

I shrieked as the raccoon’s torso exploded into its own expanse of guts and blood. I feel my cheeks getting a bit hot, my eyes stinging from the salty substance building up within their sockets: y’know+, tears. The creature was so innocent, and they weaponized it like a kamikaze pilot in World War II.

I couldn’t take it so I decided to get a little brave. I scream at the dome (not that anyone out there could hear a word I say) in anger, telling them everything I can think of: “YOU F*****G B******S I’LL BEAT THE S**T OUT OF YOU!!!!”

Stuff like that.

Oh yeah, look at you big girl. Cursing at a wall of clear, protective materials. Niiice. My cheeks flush even more, my face almost glowing red. To my luck, a strong hand comes and relieves me of my messy snuff film.

“Hey!” The voice commands, “What are you doing out here, kid?! Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be away from your"” The guy shuts up, seeing the raccoon.

“H’ooh f**k.” He says, looking at the blood on the dome, and the now disemboweled scavenger of our past lives. “Little girl, you alright?”

I’d agree that things are pretty f**k, but “little girl?” Little girl? I shrug off the man’s grip, “Get off me! I’m not little, I’m 14!!” As he laughs at my toughness against him, I realize exactly who he is: he’s one of the National Guard members who were stationed here before that said fab-flames from earlier happened. Or, I think so at least. He has that soldier-y look to him. The look of a cheap wannabe soldier.

“Jeez, you think they’d save it for the big booms. What were they hoping to accomplish…” the man speaks to himself. He looks down at me, “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah.” I reply miserably.

I’m a mess: my hair is all over the place, my face is a smudge of everything crying brings, and I’m visibly shaking. I’m pale"I’m assuming"too. He cups his arm around my backside, a sort of weak embrace, “I’m Private Meer. Jason, if you really want to. Where are your parents?”

I stiffen, hugging him tightly in response. I’m so pissed and sad. I feel sick, and he asked about my parents! My parents!! I couldn’t do anything at this point. I was just sad. Sad, sick, sweaty, and miserable. Not to mention stricken with homeflu.

“Oh.” He speaks in a monotone, knowing he hit a sour note, “I’m uh"”

“Yeah yeah whatever…” I glare at Jason, not really sure how to handle him, or anything right now really. I just want to run again, but I know I can’t. If I tried, this guy is a ton faster than me, he’s a soldier. Be it Wal-Mart or not. He then makes the mistake of asking me, “Well, did your par"”

“My f*****g parents are dead because of the stupid bomb!! Leave me alone, I’m tired of you asking me about my stupid friggin’ parents!! They’re dead!!!” I finally succumb to my building grief. I hug the man’s, Jason’s, armored vest. I whimper and whine into it. The Wal-Mart brand soldier hugs me in a caring way, rubbing my back and patting it.

“It’s alright, girl. A lot of people lost a lot. I’m sure you know.” He looks away gravely. I don’t question it. Why would I? It’s not a small world. That wasn’t a small attack. Everyone who is here was either stationed or found.

He looks at the raccoon again, and I can see the grief on his face. I think he would want to examine it just as closely as I would. I think that’s cute, some super-tough solder-guy wanting to spend time with a raccoon.

* * *

I told him most of everything, and I didn’t like doing it. I hugged him tightly, crying again. I feel like a kid, and I hate it. I don’t want to be a kid. He looks at me, in shock, “You’re from a farm, and you made it all the way here. On foot, no parents, only wearing the clothes you had on… Jesus Christ, for a little girl you’re amazing.”

Little.

I try to think of a retaliatory strike… and then I realize, men have some very specific weak spots. I’m on a bed, his bed, in his quarters. He’s kneeling in front of me so he can see my face and help comfort me. That’ll come back to bite him.

I swing my leg, and I feel it make contact with something. Jason lets out a small noise, eyes wide. His skin brightens in color, falling over with a groan. I grin, standing on the bed proudly, “Don’t call me little!!” The pride doesn’t last long, I feel bad. I jump down, nervously, and look at him.

“I-I’m… o-okay.” Jason says, curled up still in agony.

I’m shaking in fear, “I’m sorry!!”

“I-it’s… ff-fine.”

“I’m sorry.” I say with a heavier emotion, whimpering.

He recovers inhumanly fast, then again he is a soldier. He stands bravely, barely looking like I even kicked him at this rate, “I get it. Not gonna call you little anymore.” He smirks, chuckling. “Jeez, girl. You’re a mean kicker.”

I snicker, grinning at that. I feel proud.

He puts his hand on my shoulder again, “I’ll let you sleep here tonight, alright? I can understand how the barracks are an awful place for a girl who’s dealing with as much loss as you. But, uh… don’t…” He looks around; looking a bit embarrassed, “don’t tell any of your friends, okay? It’s fine with letting one of you stay here, but when we get a whole crowd… well you kind of live that result yourself, huh?”

I stare at him for a few moments, before giving a cautious nod with a smile.

“Go ahead and make yourself at home. I’m going to go patrol, I got night shift.” It was only then did I realize it was anywhere near night time. It must be going on seven, maybe even eight. That’s usually when the sun’s gone: around eight.

So I decide that I will just make myself at home by kicking off my shoes and laying in the bed. It’s a brick, just like the barracks beds. But it’s a quiet brick, and that makes it a billion times better than the damn barracks, so I’m glad.

There’s finally a day I can rest in peace inside of Dawnbury.

I lay, wondering what Jason, this tough-guy wannabe, is even doing while patrolling... probably being the same tough-guy he is around me.

The wonderment soon grows to a soft stop as I grow too tired to care. I curl up, hugging the block-like pillow and doze off in a daze of happiness and sleepiness.

© 2017 Vermilion Vulpine

Author's Note

I don't think I finished revising this, so if the quality suddenly dramatically drops... that's why.

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Reviews

Embryonic

The details and internal thought are alright, and the tone of the dialogue is consistent with the context. One can really observe this girl has her emotions on overdrive.