21.

21.
    Garret huddled beneath a sheltered awning and watched the sky. All around, buildings were bathed in red. Puddles streaked the asphalt, reflecting the surrounding city’s angry color. Across the heavens streaked hundreds of stars, burning up as they fell to the ground. One by one, buildings were engulfed by white bursts of light, whose shockwaves rushed through his chest and made his heart leap.
    There, in the middle of the street, stood his brother, Kirill. On the pavement his reflection shimmered, a dark stain against a sea of blood. His mouth stretched open, a dark yawning cavern in the middle of his face, and yet he heard no sound over the shriek of sirens and piercing whistle of falling stars.
    Off in the distance, a streak of gold raced towards the earth. As it hit the ground a column of light leapt into the air. A wave of fire and smoke raced through the city, consuming every building in its path.
    Kirill faced the coming tide, arms stiff at his sides and hands clenched into fists. The pressure of the wave made his eyeballs expand until they exploded, and yet the young man’s mouth remained gaping open, as if to swallow the fullness of the terror and power which came before him and ingest it whole, until he himself glowed as bright as a star.
    The wave swept past, freezing Kirill in a burst of light. Garrett watched as his brother’s body disintegrated into red dust and was swept up in a wake of destruction.
    He woke from the nightmare coughing and drenched in sweat. When he attempted to move, he found his whole body wracked with pain.
Pain. Why so much pain? The fatigue was not new. He’d been used to feeling tired all the time. Now every joint ached, and even the slightest bump caused deep purple bruises to spread across his body. How pathetic was that? He was getting to be just as fragile as a woman!
    He felt a tug at his cloak and snapped around. A girl -- Clara or Kimya, he wasn’t too sure -- knelt at his side.
    “Garrett,” she whispered. “I’m hungry.”
     Though he could hardly budge, there was no use denying a voice so saturated with innocence. “Alright,” growled Garrett.
    A chill was rattling at his bones, so he ordered the girl to add more fuel to the fire. He made a mental note to board up those damn windows before winter arrived, then hobbled over to the empty closet used as a storeroom.
    Inside, he found a few sparse cans of food and a clouded jug of water. They had enough to get through tomorrow, and that was it.
    He plucked a can from the ground and attempted to cut open the lid with his dagger, but his hand shook too badly. Cursing under his breath, he tossed the can against a wall.
    A pair of hands scooped it up. With a knife, Casper wedged open the can’s lid and handed it to the little girl. She snatched it from him and ran off to eat alone.
    “The kids be gettin’ hungry, Garrett,” Casper remarked.
    “I know!” snapped Garret. “I’ll buy something in the morning.”
    “You ain’t got any more money.”
    “Then I’ll steal some!”
    “You not be feeling well enough,” said Casper. “You not well enough to be lookin’ after them kids.”
    He didn’t like the way Casper talked -- it was like speaking to an adult. From his cloak, he drew his dagger and levelled it on Casper’s throat. “Shut up!” he hissed. “I know what I’m doing, and you’re not going to get in my way! Out! I better not see you anymore or I’ll slice you like a sucker!”
When Casper did not move, Garret snarled and shuffled back to his corner. The man could stand there with that stupid look on his face all night, if he wanted -- but if he was still there in the morning, Garrett would deal with him.
    He collapsed onto his mattress and let his eyes wander to the plastic bag tacked to the wall. In the darkness, the words of the Leviathan were an inky blur. When he dreamed of returning to a natural state of civil war as Hobbes described it, he’d imaged something a little more spectacular than sickness, hunger and thirst.