Fragmented Morality

Ch. 2

It's hard to explain what happened on the night everything went down. It was as if someone hit the fast-forward button. There was no warning or sign, nothing -not even a rumour to indicate the chaos that would ensue. It just happened, leaving no time to think or plan the best course of actions. With no time to properly compose myself, I was forced to forgo my previous set goal in favour of doing what was necessary to survive.

It started as a warm evening like any other with a pandemic terrorising the world. Cops and scientists claimed that a synthetic drug was the cause for individuals lashing out against each other, but at this point, it really was a pandemic.

It was all over the news that afternoon, every channel was broadcasting information of a refugee centre set up in Atlanta city. We were informed that the situation was under control, but as a safety precaution, we were all to evacuate to the centre as soon as possible.

The whole thing didn't sit well with me, maybe it was because it interfered with my plans, but I couldn't help thinking if everything was being handled, then why were they advising us to clear out? Never-the-less, my thoughts didn't stop my mum and I from spending the entire evening trekking back and forth between Ed's car and the house, transferring every last packed bag into the boot of the vehicle.

My stepdad was a doomsday nut, keeping survival gear and rations ready for this very scenario while my mum listened to the radio incessantly. The two combined meant we weren't completely unprepared for the evacuation, but that didn't make it any less sudden to me, personally.

What made things frustrating was how Ed wasn't home when we were ready to leave. In all honesty, I was ready to beg my mum to drive us to Atlanta and leave the scumbag behind, but I knew she would never agree. Especially with the chance of him coming after us and lashing out again. So we were left to wait... and wait, until finally, he was dropped off by one of his 'mates', drunk out of his mind.

I was sitting in the lounge-room with Sophia and my mum, waiting for the moment he stepped foot through the front door at five-thirty, an hour after we were ready to go.

"Why isn't dinner ready?" He demanded, looking directly at mum. His stern tone incited a shuddered breath to pass through her lips as she got off the lounge and cautiously walked a few steps towards her husband. She was getting ready to speak in that submissive tone she had long since perfected over the years, me following to stand right behind her as her strength. I did this way too often, it was my way of supporting my mother whilst also just being around in case Ed lost his temper.

"Ed, everyone is evacuating to Atlanta. The military has set up a safe camp there," She explained meekly, unable to look him directly in the eye in fear of incurring his wrath. Instead, she opted for staring at the ground, only glancing up through her lashes once to gauge the response she should expect from his expression.

One might think the way she handled the situation was perfect, that there was no possible cause for him to lash out, however, they would be wrong. No matter how perfect things were done, an abuser didn't need a reason to do what they did. So Ed did what Ed did best, he found fault.

This time he found fault in the fact that she didn't answer his initial question like he originally asked. The anger that etched itself into the man's face following mum's supposed mistake was disgusting. It was as though we had broken one of his most prized and irreplaceable possessions. It was not an expression one would expect from having an insignificant question concerning dinner being overlooked.

"Did I ask what everyone else was doing?" He seethed, raising his arm in the air with all intentions to strike my mother over the matter.

Immediately, I grabbed her and shifted her out of the way. I had long since learnt that dodging or countering one of his attacks would only lead to a more severe beating, so I stood my ground and prepared for the inevitable, taking the slap in her stead. The moment his hand connected with my cheekbone, my head flew to the side from the shear force applied. I could feel my skin burn from where his hand made contact, the pain promising a sizable bruise to come in the following hours. For a corpulent man such as himself, who barely did anything other than sit on his arse all day, he always displayed a surprising amount of power behind each hit. As if he wanted to make sure we'd feel every. Single. One.