Lego House

xviii. Riot

Michael's breath hitches in his throat when he sees the town. The town full of people who helped them. Well, it was full of people who helped them. "Mikey?" Rose's sleep-filled voice. "I heard you get up. What's -" He grabs her hand and looks back at her. Her jaw has dropped and her body has gone rigid. Her clothes are covered in dirt, as is her blonde hair. Her hand is covered in callous', rough but strong. Since the fires, so much has happened. And just because the majority of those things were horrendous, it doesn't mean they were weakened. It made them stronger.

He draws her close to him, and she trips into his arms, still staring at Flay. The ruins of Flay. "Sur-survivors?" she stammers, her arms limp by her sides. He tightens his grip around her, knowing the unlikeliness of anyone having survived that. There are still small fires dotted all around the town. She pulls away, looks him in the eyes. His arms fall from her figure. She presses a sad smile onto her lips. "We survived - other people could've, too."

"Not here, Rose. They came back. Like they did for us." He's angry, but he's also tired, and frustrated, and confused. His voice is laced with defeat.

Her voice raises in pitch and volume, "Well, then, where?" She's angry too, but has more energy to show it. Her green eyes blaze with rage, her teeth are grinding together and her eyebrows are furrowed. "We have to look!" He doesn't move. Her voice breaks as she repeats, "We have to look." She falls back into Michael's arms, this time wrapping her arms around his waist in return. He presses his lips to her hair.

"I'm sorry we can't save them, Rosie," he whispers.

"Maybe we can save some others, though. Survivors from other towns." She pulls away slightly, her hands resting lightly on his hips, and his doing the same on hers. He's staring down at her, into her compassionate and loving eyes. Anger has been replaced by hope. And, sometimes, that can be even more dangerous. She has a smile on her lips, it wavers, but it's there.

"Let's do this, then," he says, his voice soft. He may not believe that there are survivors out there - but he sure as hell believes in Roselle Daylee.

"C'mon, let's pack up camp and start. Let's fuel this rebellion." She races ahead of him, her tough boots grinding against the leaves. He can't help but smile as he follows behind her.

Irisa holds a sleeping Aleyah close to her chest, making sure she is in a position which guarantees she won't snore. They've been there for two days, and they're both starved. They had received only enough food to barely survive while they were being held captive, and now they have none. It smells horrible and there's no way Irisa can sleep.

She feels her eyes beginning to shut every few seconds but she knows that if she sleeps she'll surely slip up and snore or mutter or move around too much. She can hold Aleyah still and in a good position but Aleyah cannot do the same for her. Nor can they be sleeping at the same time. But the best way to keep Aleyah from asking for food or drink is to put her to sleep. She's far too noisy when she's awake.

There are less soldiers in the area where they are hiding now. Hopefully in a few days there'll be none - unless Irisa was previously mistaken and there are other prisoners where they were being kept. It would be possible, because all you can see in every direction is darkness. Or maybe they know they're hiding here but not their exact location - and oh how unfortunate that would be.

Aleyah shifts slightly in Irisa's arms, and this is what jolts her. Irisa was almost asleep. Her feet are just by the crack in the wall that they actually squeezed into to get into where they are now. She slides them back in cautiously when Aleyah whimpers. Irisa squints into the dark at the seven year old's features. At her squinted dark eyebrow, at her pressed tightly together, at her messy dark blonde hair sticking up in all different directions. She lets out the loudest scream as her eyes fly open.