Young Writers Society

It was two in the afternoon when I left the house to get a better view of the red clouds which had appeared in the sky, and I’ve been told since that if I hadn’t been listening to music at the time I would’ve heard the echoing boom of a large projectile crashing into the shallows of the ocean which immediately preceded the spectacle. I wasn’t the only one to rush outside; the all over the neighbourhood, people were filtering out of their homes to crane their necks upwards, each with their own brand of denial which they were eager to share. “It’s just an early sunset, no need to get excited,” snapped a mother at a group of kids a bit younger than me, annoyed that they were scaring her children with their talk of the end of the world. I wandered up the street, up to the top of the hill and gazed upwards. An elderly couple who had ended up beside me seemed to recognise my concern.

“It’s not as bad as everybody seems to think, I’m sure. It’ll be all sorted out in no time” said the old lady.

“I hope so.” I replied. It seemed stupid to say, because of course I hoped we’d all be okay. Several firetrucks raced by, and a police car followed, blaring a message through its speakers that everything would be fine, just return to your houses. I wondered why we needed to return to our houses if everything was fine. The point when we all realised that everything wasn’t fine, and might not be for quite some time was when another plane flew over, dropping a second bomb. I didn’t know what else to do- I took the cop car’s advice and fled to my home, slamming the door behind me. There was a long moment of quiet – not silence, as the sounds of panic and sirens went on outside and my loud panting echoed through the hallway as I leaned with my back against the wall and slid to the ground, but a moment where it felt like I might be out of harm’s way if I just stayed behind my door, a moment of the peace that comes with thinking you’re in a place of sanctuary.

I never saw the bomb that destroyed my next-door neighbour’s house come down, but the crash shook my bones and left my ears ringing as parts of the building were thrown through the living room window and I experienced the red gas up close for the very first time as it tumbled through the broken windows, stinging my eyes and my throat as I stumbled out onto the front lawn. Through the watering of my eyes, I located the garden hose where it was connected to an outdoor tap and blasted the water into my face, desperately cleaning my eyes and drinking as much of the rubbery water as I could before vomiting onto the ground. At some point, the retching turned to sobbing and the watering in my eyes turned to real tears, and I sat on the curb weeping because I’d never been so afraid in my entire life, because I had no idea what my life was going to be like from now and no idea where my family was. Fuck, my mum and my brother Gus were in the city, and who knows how many bombs were dropped there. No doubt the roads would be clogged, how were they going to get out? What if I never saw them again? What if they were already dead? Who could say which of my family or friends were still alive? My brain was a mess of questions as the distant explosions ceased and the sky grew darker, breaking up the red sky with splashes of yellow and pink and bathing the scene of the disaster in red. I stood up and went back to the edge of the house, soaking my sleeve in water before venturing back into my house with it pressed over my nose and mouth. The gas seemed to be clearing inside, because I couldn’t feel it in my eyes as I filled a backpack with the first things I saw that I told myself might be useful before going back outside, locking the door behind me. Now I was back where I’d started, on the street corner with one dripping sleeve and no idea what you’re supposed to do in these situations. That’s why when the door of the house across the street opened and somebody inside shone a flashlight at me and told me that if I needed to I could come inside, I did so without a moment of apprehension.

Louisa Greggs was a mother of two small children who went to the same school I’d attended when I was their age, and until that day I’d never spoken her or her family even once. We didn’t live in that sort of neighbourhood. Louisa Greggs also had a husband who would usually be home by now who she couldn’t get a hold of. I think that maybe that was a contributing factor in her decision to take me into her home that day after seeing me alone on the side of the road. Either way, it showed an astonishing amount of kindness and trust that Louisa Greggs would bring a teenage stranger into her house with her family as the world descended into chaos that evening. I hope that wherever she is today, she’s doing okay.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” I said as I crossed the threshold.

“It’s what any good person would do. My name’s Louisa, by the way. You’ve got family missing, don’t you?” She asked as she led me into the kitchen.

“Yeah. They’re in the city. Are you missing anyone?” I responded. She explained to me how her husband drove home down a road which according to the radio had been bombed, blocking all traffic.

“The radio still works?” I asked. To be quite honest, I had no idea how radios worked and had never had any reason to use one.

“Of course it does. It’s always important to have a radio in case of emergencies. They’ve been broadcasting information – the where, the when, and the what.” Well damn, I guess I was in the market for a radio. Louisa then told me that she’d put her kids to bed as soon as the bombs had stopped falling, and that the people on the radio were saying that the red gas that was dropped was unidentified, but in areas where it was especially thick it had proven to be potentially fatal.

“Shit, really? Man, I’m lucky I only caught the edge of the explosion.” I mused.

“I don’t think any of us can really call ourselves lucky right now, all things considered.” There was a moment of silence before Louisa inquired, “How old are you?”

“Sixteen. I’m on school holidays right now.” I answered. Louisa nodded in sympathy.

“That’s rough.” She looked over at a door, where a sign hung which read: ‘Eddie and Andrew’s Room’, before quietly speaking, “God, I wonder what their lives are going to be like. I could never have seen this coming. If I did, I don’t think I would’ve had them.” She had tears in her eyes. I was in the house of a weeping stranger. I hadn’t thought I’d ever deal with this situation. I was unprepared.

“Nobody could’ve known this was going to happen,” I told her, “It’s all going to be fine in the end.” I now know the latter of those statements to be untrue, and the former to be optimistic at best. Louisa looked up at me and forced a smile.

“It’s been a hard day,” she sighed, “Before we get some rest, I’ve just realised that I’m a terrible host - I haven’t even asked your name.”

“Don’t even worry about it. My name is Patrick West.” I replied. We made up beds in the lounge room since Louisa’s bedroom was upstairs and she wanted to be close to them in case somebody broke in. She sat the radio on the coffee table between us and turned it up. I drifted off to sleep as the man in the radio spoke with reassurance: “…The best thing to do is remain calm. Our very best people are doing their best to sort this out. There is no reason to panic…”

I woke to the sound of kids’ voices and the taste of blood in my mouth, seemingly from chewing my mouth in my sleep. I sat up and saw Louisa and her children in the kitchen, sorting through the cupboards with a list, making an inventory of how long what food they had would last them. I asked Louisa where her bathroom was. I went upstairs. I started crying as soon as I was alone. In the years since, I’ve realised time and time again that the worst nightmares in the world are the ones which keep going after you wake up. This was one of those nightmares. I knelt on the bathroom floor and cried for a few minutes because I wasn’t ready to do anything else. I wasn’t ready to look out the window and see the destruction outside in the daylight, I wasn’t ready to step outside and smell broken pipes and dead bodies, and I wasn’t ready to accept that I lived in a war zone. It seemed so wrong. Wasn’t there meant to be some sort of lead up to these situations? Was that what had been happening on the news? It didn’t seem right. I stood up and cleaned my face and wet my hair in the sink. I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look like somebody whose windows had been shattered by a bomb. I looked like myself, which seemed inappropriate considering that the life I was in felt nothing at all like my life. I went back downstairs to continue living somebody else’s life just in time to hear the radio declare that the army would be setting up on the oval of my high school with medicine tents and distributing food, water and gas masks, and that there were some survivors from the city who’d arrived in the night. By the time it mentioned the survivors, I’d made up my mind to go.

“Louisa, did you hear that? I need to get to the high school, my family might be there!” I declared, continuing, “Even if they aren’t there, I can get us food and gas masks. Hang on, what’s your husband’s name?” I asked.

“Marco Greggs,” she answered, “why do you ask?” I tore a page out of the notebook on the counter and wrote ‘MARCO GREGGS’ on it in huge letters before folding it and putting it into one of my pockets.

“I’ll be back soon. Once again, thank you so much for giving me shelter.” I told her. Louisa nodded before walking over and hugging me.

“Please be careful out there. The things they’re saying on the radio – It’s awful.” She whispered.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before you know it.” I replied quietly. I could tell that she was trying to keep things normal for her kids, and guessed that the relative calm of the house was not in any way reflective of conditions outside. Despite this, I was in no way prepared for the outside.

I walked to the school along the same route I walked to school every day. I walked past fallen trees, disrupted earth, half-destroyed houses, burnt-out houses, and houses where lone survivors sat beside suffocated loved ones who had breathed in too much of the red gas on the front lawn, weeping and helpless. I saw armoured vehicles creep down the main roads, and I saw people knock on their windows begging for them to help their child. I saw car crashes. I saw cars that were burnt to a husk. I saw cars with the windows smashed in. I saw cars which had been abandoned in the middle of the road. Then I saw the crowds, and then the school. An army man stood on a jeep, directing people to the long and winding line for supplies. An army woman went down that line asking everybody if they’d considered joining the military, informing us that we’d be allowed to skip the line if we did. I watched as a girl who’d been a senior when I was in grade eight agreed to do so. I waited as the line crept sluggishly for hours. The sun grew higher and higher in the sky before being obscured by heavy grey clouds. I was just glad that the clouds weren’t red, even when fat drops of water began to fall from them. The old lady behind me opened an umbrella and offered to let me stand under it with her. I thanked her and told her that she could be in line before me if she wanted.

“Thank you, dear. It feels like forever we’ve been waiting. I’ve had to leave my grandson with my neighbour to come here, and every moment I’m away from him I’m worrying whether he’s going to be okay.” She explained, “Are you here for your family?”

“Sort of” I replied, “I’m hoping to find my family and collect supplies for my neighbours who took me in last night when my house was gassed.”

“Your house? Good lord, are you okay?” She worried. I put on my bravest face.

“I’ll be fine. I missed the worst of it. We’re very lucky.” There was that word again. How could somebody be lucky in line for a gas mask? We kept on waiting as the line inched forward. When we were almost at there, there was a commotion at the front of the line.

“What do you mean you’re closing for the day? I’ve got one kid and a wife in the medical tent already. I need three gas masks, or at least two for my kids. Our water’s not running. I can’t go home to them without ensuring they’ll be able to drink and breathe.” Begged a woman at the front of the line.

“We have to close down at five pm, that’s orders. We can’t do anything about orders, ma’am.” Replied a man in uniform from behind the trestle table.

A guy I recognised from my English class piped up, “You could give them to us at four fifty-nine, what’s so different about five?” The rest of the line began yelling in agreement. I’d been on my feet for almost six hours. It was clear that it was pointless to stay in line, but I couldn’t go back empty-handed, and I still hadn’t seen my family anywhere.

“Where can I find survivors from the city?” I asked a nearby soldier.

“I’d check the medical tent.” She replied. At that moment, the woman at the front of the line and somebody who couldn’t have been much older than me leapt over the table, seizing a box of gas masks and throwing them into the crowd before being thrown to the ground and kicked by the soldiers behind the table.

“What the fuck are you doing? They didn’t do anything wrong!” I heard somebody yell. The lady who’d let me under her umbrella grabbed my hand and said something about leaving.

“I can’t. Good luck.” I shouted in reply as she ducked away. The crowd had surged forward, grabbing more supplies and attempting to pull the soldiers away from the people on the ground. I joined in. Of course I joined in. We were desperate. I managed to get hold of a gas mask and a tin of beans before the guard who’d told me to check the medical tent opened fire on us. We dispersed like tadpoles in a pool someone had just stuck their foot into. Without realising it, I was running like I’d never run before. I’d been told many times in my life that I was doing something like my life depended on it, but as I bolted from bullets fired by the army that was meant to protect us, I realised that I’d never really done anything like my life depended on it until then. I didn’t know which way I was running. My boots were hitting the ground. The world was jumping up and down. The air rattled in my chest. No matter how fast I was moving, it didn’t feel fast enough. I could still feel the gunshots in my ears and see blood in the air. I ran until I thought the running might kill me instead of the bullets. I ran into an alley. I collapsed onto the cool cement.

It hurt to breathe. The air around me seemed to have turned solid. I rolled onto my side, and then managed to sit up with my back against the wall, hugging my knees. I stared at the other brick wall opposite me for a long time. In my mind, it seemed like if I moved then somebody would see me and I’d die. I couldn’t remember ever being this scared before in my entire life. I tried to remember a time when I had been, and the only thing I could think of was when I’d been lost in a shopping centre when I was five. When you’re five and you’re lost in a shopping centre, the people who work in the shopping centre are kind to you, and they help you find your parents. Now I was here in this fucking alleyway, and had no idea where my parents were, and there was no one around to help me, and I had never been more afraid. I sat, petrified, in the alley as the sun set, and I sat in the darkness until the sound of sirens drifted through the air, which I could guess meant there were going to be more bombs. I stood up, feeling like I’d never stood on my legs before, and left the alley. It only took a moment to recognise that I was behind a strip of shops next to the beach, which meant that I was right next to a supermarket with large and breakable glass windows just a foot off the ground. In that moment I knew that this was an opportunity I’d be stupid to pass up. When I arrived at the shop, it was obvious that somebody else had had the same idea before me, because one of the windows was already shattered. I stepped through the gaping aperture and into linoleum wonderland, putting my tin of beans and gas mask into a plastic bag and running up and down the aisles, grabbing beef jerky and cereal and all kinds of tins, and soft drink and deodorant and bandages and tampons and all the stuff I was worried I might not see for a long time.

I was about to pick up a pack of coloured pencils for Eddie and Andrew when I heard the plane go down on the beach. Of course, I didn’t know when I heard it that it was a plane. It wasn’t like any noise I was familiar with. Those early days were rife with new experiences. I ran outside with two full plastic bags, wondering what I was doing running towards a loud crash during an air raid. When I saw the mass of twisted metal which lay partially burrowed into the sand, there was a fire growing somewhere beneath it and the roof of the cockpit was opened a crack. The whole thing was a mess. I crept towards it, worried that it might blow up. I set my bags down on the sand. By the time I got up close, I could hear the sound of someone alive inside and knew that for better or for worse, I wasn’t going to walk away from this without looking in. I clambered up a misshapen wing to a point where I could get a grip and pry the top open.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

This guy was looking right into my eyes, grunting in pain. As soon as he saw me, he began talking.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t ready to be a killer. I’m so sorry.” He lamented in a distinctly American accent. My mind raced to try and keep up. I noticed that his right arm was torn near off at the shoulder, exposing flesh and bone which shifted as he verbalised. This was too much.

“You were dropping the bombs? America?” I asked. Tears were streaming down his pale face.

“Yes, we are, but I swear to god, I didn’t want to do. I just joined the army because I wanted to help people, man. I’m just so sorry.” I considered punching him, but it felt wrong considering he couldn’t move and I was pretty sure he was going to die. I stared out at the horizon, where one of the islands was on fire. It really hit me then how powerless I was in all this. Even if I interrogated this soldier, even if I threw sand in his gaping wound, it wouldn’t stop the bombs. I was curious about one thing, though.

“What about us? Is our government in on this?” I asked. I’d heard in the line that day that the leaders of the country had been out of the country when the first bombs had dropped, at some summit regarding the oncoming colonisation of Mars, and the question had been in the back of my mind ever since. The American winced as he nodded. I sat on the plane, resting my head on my knees and feeling the cool sea air blow over me. I wished my friends were here. I hadn’t spoken to them since messaging our group chat yesterday morning. I tried to remember what it was I’d said to them. I hoped it was something kind.

“What’s your name?” I asked the American, not sure why I wanted to know.

“Jason. Jason Robinson.” He winced. Jason Robinson the American pilot.

“My name’s Patrick.” I told him.

“Are you an angel, Patrick?” He asked, sounding like he’d gotten his wisdom teeth out or something. I laughed slightly.

“Nah, mate. I’m just out to get groceries.” I told him.

“Am I going to die here, Patrick?” He asked, his voice trembling. I looked down at him for the first time in a while. He looked terrified, and even paler than before, with his lips almost blue.

“Fuck, dude, probably.” I slid down the wing and onto the sand, wrapping my jacket tighter around me, “And I’m not going to be here to see it. Just so you know, I really do hate you for participating in all this, but I hope that death isn’t too hard on you.” I waved goodbye as I picked up my bags. Jason the American yelped and started crying again, but in a moment his weeping was whisked away on the wind.

I almost regretted leaving the dying American when I was faced with walking home in the dark, which was even darker than usual due to the number of streetlights which weren’t functioning and the fact that people were too afraid to turn on the lights in their houses. I took the long way home, to avoid the military camp, and soon found that though I was still afraid to be alone in the dark, laden with goods and with no defences, it was almost a comfort that I couldn’t see the destruction which lined the streets. What was not comforting was when I got back to Louisa Greggs’ house and the door was locked, forcing me to consider the possibility of a night locked out in the thirty seconds between when I knocked and when she opened the door, wrapping me in a hug as she brought me inside.

“I was so worried about you. You’re way too young to die, you know that? Where on earth have you been?” She spoke quickly in a hushed tone. I cried again as I explained the line and the shooting and the alley and the supermarket and the aeroplane, but I couldn’t help grinning with relief that I wasn’t alone anymore as the tears descended my face.

“You must be so tired, but first I’ve got a surprise for you. Come upstairs.” She turned on her torch, which she must’ve taped a piece of cellophane over during the day because it produced a soft purple beam, and led me to the upstairs bedroom, shining the lavender light on the slumbering faces of my mum and brother. In yet another personal record broken that day, I felt more relieved than I ever had in my life.

A.N.: This is the first chapter, there's a lot more but it's not complete lmao. No idea when I'm going to finish it but I do hope to.