Chapter One
It’s on nights such as this, as I lie on my back watching my breath mist up in the chill air above me, that I wonder.
How is it that the stars haven’t changed?
With everything that’s going on – the war, the decimation, the end of life as we know it – how can they still be up there, twinkling merrily away as if nothing’s wrong? As if it’s all still okay?
I just don’t get it.
I’m jolted from my reverie by Lopez grunting beside me and rolling over. As he settles he flings an arm across my stomach, resting his chin on my shoulder. I roll my eyes at the star-filled sky, momentarily forgetting that I’m mad at it. Lopez does this a lot. He claims he can’t help it, that he has no control over his body when he’s asleep. Liar. The first few times he did it I jolted him “awake” with a swift jab of my elbow to his ribs, but I’ve given up. It’s harmless, mostly, and it’s definitely warmer.
I always sleep here, in between Lopez and Corporal Smith. Kyle, that is. I’m only allowed to call him that when it’s just him and me. The rest of the time it’s Corporal Smith. Or Smithy. Captain Brunton’s funny about things like that. He’s the one who picked out my spot – squashed in here between the two soldiers – and my little sister Millie’s spot, further up the line under the protective aura of Lt. Graham. You don’t argue with the Captain so, Lopez’s fondling or not, this is where I sleep. Except times like right now, when Kyle is on watch and the slither of space beside me is cold and empty.
That’s when I stare at the stars.
Two years, three months and eight days ago, the world changed. I guess the whys about it aren’t really important. Politicians fought, words became threat, threats became ultimatums... and, after that, where else is there to go? Lt. Graham told me that our politicians, our president, never thought they’d do it; thought they were bluffing. They weren’t. There was no mass invasion, no troops, no tanks or roadblocks. Just a finger and a button. But that was enough.
It was sheer luck that Millie and I survived that day. That day, and every one that followed after. But our luck was running out. We were all but starving when Capt. Brunton and his men found us. The coyotes were literally circling in the yard. If he hadn’t been coaxed into mercy by the sight of my sister’s big blue eyes gazing beseechingly out of her gaunt, hollow-cheeked face, we’d be among the other 98% by now. Dead. Unburied. Picked clean by other “survivors” – on four legs or two.
That thought sends a shudder of revulsion through me and Lopez, thinking I’m cold, tightens his grip. I frown up at the stars, wondering if I should oust him, when suddenly their glittering brightness is extinguished by a black shadow.
“You’re awake,” the shadow comments quietly and I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
“Yeah,” I whisper, conscious of the sleeping bodies sprawled around us. “Your watch over?”
Kyle grunts, which I take as a yes.
“God sake, Lopez,” I catch him mutter in a voice I don’t think I’m meant to hear. There’s a muffled thud which I assume is the sound of Kyle’s boot connecting with some part of Lopez because the Hispanic soldier jerks beside me.
“What?” Lopez complains sleepily. Then he catches sight of the hulking figure standing above him. “’m I up?”
“No.”
“What did you wake me for, then?” he gripes.
“You know why.” Kyle’s voice is a growl.
Mumbling what I’m sure are obscenities in rapid Spanish, Lopez turns his back on both of us. Kyle waits for a heartbeat then settles down beside me. I hear a long sigh and then quiet shuffling as he tries to get comfortable on the thinly padded groundsheet. It’s an impossible task and after a few seconds he gives up.
“So, kiddo,” he finally says after a minute or so of silence. “What’s keeping you up?”
His head turns towards me but it’s too dark to make out his expression. That’s good, because it means he can’t see mine. I hate it when he calls me kiddo. It started off as an affectionate nickname and when I was 15 and terrified of the eight khaki-clad warriors, I was grateful for the familiarity. Now I’m staring eighteen in the face and I’ve outgrown it. Only Kyle doesn’t seem to have noticed.
“Nothing,” I say softly. I’m certainly not going to confess the real reason – that I can’t sleep unless he’s there, sleeping beside me. It’s not that I don’t feel safe. Lopez is lethal with the eight-inch blade of curved steel permanently welded into his belt – and equally proficient with his automatic rifle that I know he never has further than an arm length away. And even if someone got one-up on Lopez – which is doubtful – there are six other death-machines at my back. Still, without Kyle... I can’t relax.
But I know he wouldn’t want to hear that so nothing is about the only answer it’s safe to give. He always knows when I’m lying. He probably knows that I’m giving him less than the truth now, but it’s late, and we’re surrounded by soldiers, so he decides to let it go.
“Try and sleep,” he tells me gently. “We’ve a long way to go tomorrow and it’s not going to be easy terrain.”
“Great,” I mutter under my breath. I hear Kyle’s low answering chuckle.
“There might be an actual bed at the end of it for you, concentrate on that,” he tells me.
“A bed?” My interest is immediately piqued. “Where are we going?”
“Sleep, Bree.” Which is Kyle-speak for ‘I’m not telling you so don’t ask again’. I wrinkle my brow in annoyance. I’m used to being kept in the dark – I’m not a soldier and I don’t need to know is Capt. Brunton’s usual response – but it never ceases to irritate me. Knowing he can’t see my scowl I huff loudly, wanting to make my point. He only laughs again, an almost silent sound that I feel rather than hear. Then he sweeps his blanket over so it’s covering more of me than him and kisses my temple in a very big-brotherly gesture. “Sleep,” he repeats before flopping back down. A very short time later I hear the deep breaths that tells me he’s already following his own advice.
But I don’t sleep. Not even with Kyle lying beside me, the combined warmth of his and Lopez’s bodies seeping into my bones and held there by my extra blanket. Thoughts of tomorrow’s mystery destination swirl in my head and I can’t help but wonder what we’ll find there.
Shelter? If Kyle’s hinted promise of a real bed comes to fruition it’ll be the first time in weeks. Dare I even hope for the chance to pick up some different clothes, or maybe just clean the ones I’m wearing that are so dirt- and sweat-stained that it’s hard to remember their original colour? That would be nice. As would some good, old-fashioned American food. Canned peaches maybe, or – heaven forbid – chocolate. It’s funny the things you miss. With eight soldiers all pretty damned good with a gun, we eat often if not well, but I think I might be willing to sell a kidney, possibly even a hand, for a taste of Cheese-wiz.
What I’m really hoping for, though, are people. Survivors. Because they offer a chance to gather news, share experiences. Just... talk. Talk that doesn’t revolve around security or night-watches or missions or provisions. That’s what I’ve been starved of most of all. For that, I’d give my right hand and a foot.
So I lie awake, wondering and hoping, lulled to calmness if not sleepiness, by the rhythmic breathing around me, and slowly, degree by degree, the sky lightens. Just before sunrise, in the last few minutes before the men surrounding me rouse themselves with military precision, I see it. Barely a shade different from the milky white sky, so light, so faint, I can almost convince myself it isn’t there. My secret, the one thing I’ve hidden from the troop that’s become my family; hidden even from Kyle.
The fading trace of an aeroplane trail evaporating in the dawn.
