Lost
Boom!
Ashley stared, her face soaked with tears. The Shifties had found them. And it was her fault.
She watched her parents dance with death while she was safely hidden within the walls. Like a coward.
"It’s my fault...and I can't help them." her breath caught in her throat.
Her mother had put her here, in the hidey hole in the wall, where they stashed the food in case coyotes broke in. Now it was her turn, her fragile frame pressed up in a crouch, her back damp against the mould, choking on the stuffy air. She almost felt sorry for the food.
The terrifying screeching had withered to a faint humming and the shotgun nothing more than a rattle. Flashes of gunpowder had blurred her vision, small coloured spots floated around her and in between the cracks of the splintered wood. Through those cracks, time seemed to move slower. The Shifties preyed on her parents, though she didn't know what they were. Blacker than the darkest night and dotted with glowing yellow specks, their hauntingly bright yellow eyes piercing the shadows as they surrounded her parents.
Her mother, beautiful, had she not been covered in dirt and blood, darted back and forth, slashing at the air wildly, one hand grasping onto her father slumped against the back wall.
Ashley froze. He was injured. Deep red slowly dripped down from his shoulder, the shotgun held limply in his right hand. His face was scrunched up in pain. He fumbled in his pocket for more shells. Ashley shuffled forward, her forehead pressed to the wood helplessly. Biting her finger in desperation she silently whispered to him, come on Dad, come on.
Two fresh shells emerged from the depths of his trench coat, and were placed shakily but surely in their place.
Arrrgghh!
A shrill shriek tore through the air and the body of her mother collapsed to the ground, blouse stained through with blood, her eyes wide in terror.
Ashley stifled a cry. Tearing into her finger, grinding her teeth deep into the skin to muffle the sound.
Her own screams filled her head as fresh tears overcame her.
Her father dropped to her mother's side, lifting her lifeless body up, grief overcoming pain. Ignoring the swarming creatures, he hugged her to him, stroking her hair and yelling in disbelief. Everything Ashley couldn't. She bit harder. Then he looked to her. She knew he couldn't see her. But he knew that she was crouched there, writhing in pain, just as he was, despite not having any physically wounds.
This was it. This was the end. He knew it. She knew it.
It can't end like this...
-*-
She woke with a start, choking on the dust and spores of mould that had settled in her mouth. Disorientated, she straightened up only to hit her head on the low ceiling. She groaned and carefully soothed her sore head with her right hand. She must have passed out. She paused. Her heart sank and her pulse began to race.
She squinted her eyes against the sharp light penetrating the wooden panels encasing her.
Oh God...
She shook her head from side to side desperately searching the four corners of her confinement.
The air had grown thicker and musty threatening to suffocate her. Her shirt clung to her skin making it tingle in the mixture of sweat and stale water.
Oh God no.
She refused to believe it, even though her surroundings told her otherwise. She repeated it over and over in her head. It wasn’t a dream. It had happened. Her parents were gone. They had taken them. She was on her own. Ashley pushed herself back against the rotted wood, forcing her arms to the sides; she screamed in pain and frustration. Pressing harder against the wood, she breathed heavily, hoping the pain would flow into the planks themselves.
It had taken them weeks to build up to an attack, but only a matter of hours to destroy her whole world.
Dazed, she slowly lent forward to peer through the cracks of splintered wood. She could only glimpse at the few inches before her but those few inches were enough to confirm the worst. She shut her eyes against the tears, waiting for them to pass before looking again. Unconsciously her hands drifted towards the front panel, fingers tracing the small seam that had blocked out nothing and everything.
Something so small and simple. Had they had the sense to look, she'd be gone along with her parents. But her parents distracted them. Instead of running, instead of hiding, they had stood their ground, to save her.
She pushed firmly in the top two corners of the splintered wood. She heard a faint squeak as the wood was teased from its frame before a hard thud rang out and escaped into the distance.
Ashley opened her eyes. Her matted hair did little to obscure the barbarity they had left behind. Peering through the thick strands, a scene of horror quickly unfolded before her.
The corkboard her Father had lain down to make the floor seem more even still remained. But layered on top of it was a swirling pool of dried blood, baked into a crisp carpet in the midday sun. Ashley crept forward, her mouth filling with a familiar raw metallic taste. The distinct smell of iron lingered in the air. On closer inspection, she could make out hand and footprints and the streaks of clear board where her Father’s coat had swept across the ground. Dispersed all over the run-down shack were empty shotgun shells, though the gun was nowhere in sight. Powder marks scorched the floor and shrapnel scattered the walls where shells had failed to hit their target. The blood seemed to drift away from the ramshackle remains, smearing into the dirt beyond, leaving long wide trails of thick liquid, like something had been dragged. She stood up hesitantly, her keen eye following the path of crimson. The trail soon thinned out, blending with the brown and grey earth before coming to rest at a large body masked with grime.
“DAD!” she screamed.
She ran as fast as she could towards the heap, ignoring the blistering heat pulsating around her.
Skidding on the barren ground, dust flying up in clouds, she grasped the mound with force. She cried out as burning sand buffeted her, spraying up from the brunt of her grasp. She wiped her eyes desperately, blinking away the scratching pain behind them.
With black spots blotting her vision she pushed the coat aside only to have it crumple under its own weight. He wasn’t there. He never had been. A single sob escaped her dry throat. Painful and guttural. She pulled the trench coat towards her, clutching it underneath her chin as tears trailed down her cheeks.
Her lip quivered as she stared into the cracked ground. She was completely alone.
She stood with some effort, her legs quivering under the weight of her realisation. She fed her arms through the sleeves and dragged it over her shoulders. The sweltering heat was instant. It had been baking in the strong rays for hours but she didn’t care - it brought her a strange feeling of comfort, like her father was hugging her, his warmth relaxing every muscle in her body. The dull scent of burnt ash filled the air around her, emanating from its fibres. Ashley drew the coat further around her, encasing herself with her father’s aroma. As she concentrated, she could smell fresh earth, the smell of the forest just as fresh rain had begun to fall. She could almost hear the rain cascading across the hard soil. If she couldn’t have her father, then she could at least have his memory. And that was more than enough. For now.
Bewildered, Ashley trudged back towards the shack, her feet scraping heavily along the cracked earth. As she skirted the border, she turned back to the wasteland stretching out before her.
It was hard to believe that it was once a great city inhabited by millions. Now desolate, lifeless, inhabiting only the rubble of lives left behind. This is where they had camped for the week. The shell of an old shack that used to house the fuse box connected to all the houses in that street. The East wall was largely intact; the window crooked and boarded up with rusted road signs. Her Father had insisted on collecting the shattered glass that littered the floor. He believed that everything had a purpose; they just didn’t know it yet. The floor was a mixture of dirt and concrete cracked by withering weeds. The corner nearest the south wall had collapsed into its foundations. This was where they had kept the fire. Set into the ground with just enough of the wall surviving to keep it hidden from prying eyes. On the opposite side lay the crumpled remains of the water tank. The tank had sat directly in front of the food cupboard. Now the pipe was contorted and twisted, broken away with some force. And the harsh light revealed three tears embedded deep in the metal, the alloy curling away from the impact as if it were alive.
They had been that close. She breathed heavily, her heart racing yet again. The past few months had affected her in way she couldn't have anticipated. But this was something different. She'd been within inches of them. Hearing about the Shifties through vague rumors was nothing compared to the real thing. Over the past weeks she'd become desensitized to the stories, thinking them more speculation than truth. But they were very, very real indeed.
She couldn’t stay. They knew she had been there. She had led them here after all. They would come back for her.
Ashley glanced from the tears to the blood. She'd definitely seen her mother die. The vacant expression and lifeless body her father had helplessly comforted was in-grained in to her brain. But her father; he was still very much alive, hurt but alive. She had to find him. She couldn't leave him on his own. He may have hid it well but she knew he was just as scared as she was. If there was any chance that he was still alive, she had to do something about it. She looked out again to the horizon, dirt and rubble stretching out in all directions.
"If I was a Shiftie...where would I hide my Dad?" Ashley muttered to herself. She sighed heavily, her mind arguing with her. She knew it was pointless. She couldn't do it on her own. She would need help and a lot of it. Heading back on her own was suicidal, if they had killed her father, she would quickly join him, and her mother, making their deaths in vain. On the other hand, she could be trapped like a rat with her father with no hope of rescue. No, she had to go forward to go back. If she reached the Outlands like her father had planned, she would have plenty of shelter and square miles to easily cover her tracks; giving her time to come up with an effective plan to get him back.
A thought nagged at the back of her mind. Help was hard to come by. She hadn't seen another person in weeks. The Shifties methodically rounding up the stragglers left behind in the aftermath of the Burnout. And even then, the help she did find, she couldn't be sure was human. She had had enough experiences with Trancers and Warpers to teach her that.
She started towards the cluster of cork board at center of the shack, crashing to her knees before feeding her cracked fingers under each sheet, dried blood gathering underneath her fingernails as she tore them apart. The thin nails piecing them together squeaking from the pressure. Her brow was dripping with exertion, adding to her already tousled mess of hair. Flinging it back the best she could, Ashley quickly chucked the boards away from herself to reveal a cluster of torn paper. There was newspaper, brown paper, wrapping paper, even sand paper, anything that you could make a mark on - but the most important piece was the old world map, precision rolled in the center of the pile.
Ashley held it delicately, and unfurled it section by section. Tucking one corner beneath the edge of her coat and holding the opposite she could just make out her father’s etchings. A large black cross was plastered across the UK. That was where they had lived. They had left not so long after the Blackout, traipsing along the English countryside until they reached the Channel Tunnel, barely escaping the huge beams that struck every habitable spot on the planet.
Small arrows lead in several directions, question marks and warning signs blotting most of the land left. Ashley traced her finger over her options - every city, no matter how small or major, had been desolated. Scribbled over the mass of markings in capital letters was ‘BURNOUT’. That’s what they had called it, a name for the endless desert and rubble. Names of cities were pointless when everywhere looked the same. The further east she traced, the more the markings dissipated and soon she spotted three large areas circled with red marker. Scribbled amidst the dark green expanse was the words ‘OUTLANDS’. The outskirts of civilization, scarcely inhabited - one of the few remaining areas that hadn’t been turned to dust. Filled with forests, mountains and rivers where if the animals didn’t kill you, the plants surely would. She didn’t like the sound of it, especially on her own, but what choice did she have? She was out in the open, a target.
If she stayed, she died for certain. If she heading for the Outlands, she stood a chance, and even if she did die, it would be through her own choice. Not theirs. If she lay low the animals should be content with eating each other and not her.
Carefully, she curled the map back into its sturdy tube and rummaged through the scraps of paper for anything else worth salvaging, further maps or survival gear; she knew her father kept a stash somewhere. As soon as she thought it, her hand bumped into a small wooden box. It had been buried slightly in the ground, almost invisible amongst the mix of brown paper and board pressed against it. Ashley pried it out of the pit and placed it on her thighs, flipping the small bronze clasp at its fore. As the lid fell back, she breathed a sigh of relief. Bunched inside was everything her parents had managed to collect thus far.
Hidden beneath a thin layer of frayed paper was the shattered glass crammed into a dyed pouch, flint and steel for making fires, more nails, markers and pencils with small blades for sharpening. A small vial of a clear liquid which she could only guess was alcohol was placed alongside a ball of bandages. Her eyes glistened at the sight of plasters, proper sticky back plasters that even had colourful patterns printed across the front. A small smile spread from her lips as she thumbed through the different designs. At the base of the box was the one book her father had saved. The book was in bad shape, the title obscured and the spine frayed at both ends, barely holding the pages together but it held the details of the most important moments in human history. All the wars, all the natural disasters, all the world greats. He thought it was important, so so would she.
It was time to leave. The sun had already sunk further into the sky and her time was limited to begin with. Firmly placing the lid back into place, Ashley strode around the outer perimeter of the shack and peeled away a stone slab leaning against the sunken foundations. There, as expected, was a shabby excuse of a backpack, which held nothing more than a few thin shirts, all as grubby and sweat ridden as the one she was wearing. Grabbing the straps, taking no time to be gentle, she rushed about the remains of the shack looking for any food or water she could muster. Of course, they had thrown out the food to make room for her. It was strewn about the floor, trampled on or cracked open, useless; but she managed to find a bottle of water and some broken biscuit bars.
She crouched down into the stuffy food cupboard yet again and was welcomed by the sight of two shiny metal tins, and wedged between them was her favourite - gummy bears. She grasped them and chucked them in the bag before dashing back to the pit to add the box and map.
With a final grunt, she pulled hard on the cord, trapping the items inside, and swung it heavily onto her back.
Then she was stumbling into the unknown. Heading in the direction the map had showed her, treading forcefully, trying to put as much distance between her and the Shifties as possible. Ashley definitely didn't want another encounter like last night any time soon.
Something crunched underneath her foot and she came to halt. Embedded in the grey dust was a brilliantly bright knife. She plucked it from the fine dirt, dusting it off slightly, running a finger along its intricate surface. It was her mother’s. Celtic patterns were engraved along the handle, knotting endlessly into each other, bleeding into the blade itself. She gingerly ran her finger over the cold metal, watching the light glitter off the yellow blood which now stained it. Yellow just like their eyes, just like the glowing specks of their skin.
She had wielded it well; slashing them with clean arcs of power though it hadn’t been enough. It would stand as a fair reminder to have hope. They could bleed, therefore they could be killed. Pocketing the blade in her inside pocket she couldn’t help but glance back at the small skeleton of wood and concrete in the distance.
She hated moving on. She should be used to it by now, having been dragged across most of Eastern Europe and changing places more than she changed clothes. But this place was the final hurdle, the last place before finding some kind of refuge. She had hated it for its craggy floor, making her body ache each morning as she woke; the constant damp in the night, pasting the walls and corkboard in a slimy coating. She had thought they were finally in the clear, safe and secure. All of it uprooted overnight as easily as uprooting a weed. And this time, it had taken her parents with it.
Her vision blurred with emotion once more, sobs escaping unconsciously from within.
“I don’t want to go…” she whimpered. She bit her lip tightly, using the dull pain to distract her from the true pain erupting inside.
She was haunted by the very feeling of this place. Though it held memories she would cherish forever, it would also hold the most terrifying and unimaginable night of her entire life. And there was nothing she could do to change that. She forced herself to turn away, pulling the coat closer to her. The unbearable warmth igniting the resentment building within.
"I will find you." she whispered to the wind, and strode into the wilderness beyond.
hmmmm ok here we go.
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