Before Another War

Years Ago

The banging had stopped now. Still terrified, Sarah stayed hidden under her bed. She was frozen, her body refusing to move. But voices were coming from downstairs—her mother's and another she didn't recognise. Sarah knew she couldn't stay there any longer. But she also knew she would be walking headfirst into danger. Yet, somehow, doing nothing was worse.

Finding the strength to move, she pulled herself out from under the bed and stood on shaky feet. Sarah crept into the hallway, listening out for any sign that she'd been heard. But they kept talking. The words were muffled, but her mother sounded scared, desperate.

She reached the stairs. Sarah tiptoed down them, one at a time. They'd always been creaky, and, unfortunately, no one had ever thought to fix that. Her dad had said it always let him know when someone was coming. But he'd never considered the other way around.

Sarah winced as she placed her foot on the second step and it groaned loudly. She stopped, and listened with bated breath. But there was no difference in the talking. Both of them were too preoccupied with whatever was going on in the kitchen.

Taking her time, she took each step cautiously, avoiding weak spots. Every other step, she'd pause and check for any noise, making absolutely sure they hadn't heard. It took some time, but Sarah made it to the bottom. Then, slower than a snail, she crept to the kitchen. The door was ajar, and she placed her ear against it.

'Now listen, Sandra, all you have to do is get us the money. Simple, right?' said a voice. It was a man, deep and menacing. Her mother was crying, her terrified wails echoing out into the hallway. But where was her father? He'd been there just a few minutes earlier...

Summoning up her courage, Sarah peered in. Instantly, she wished she hadn't. A man, dressed in all black, was holding a pistol and pointing it straight at Sandra. Meanwhile, she was aiming a kitchen knife right back at him.

Sarah knew she had to do something. She had to help. The man was stood just in front of the counter, with his back to the door. The knife rack. It wasn't far. If she could get there quick enough, she could stop him.

Silently, Sarah nudged the door open. Her mother saw her, and her eyes widened. A signal to get back. She ignored it. I have to help. Unfortunately, the man noticed the change in Sandra's expression, and went to turn around. Sarah waited to be exposed, halfway between the door and the counter.

'Wait!' Sandra cried, taking him off guard. Sarah took the opportunity to dash forward. Towards the knife rack.

'I-I can get you the money, but it's going to take time.'

Sandra held her ground, keeping the knife pointed at him. She knew she had to play for time.However, just as Sarah reached to knife rack, she noticed something under that table. It stuck out onto the floor between her mother and the man. From where she was, Sarah could only see part of the full picture. It was a pair of feet, wearing dark suede shoes. Her dad's shoes. And then, it dawned on her, and Sarah knew what she had to do.

'How long?' The man drawled, clearly drunk. It wasn't a good mix—alcohol and guns.

'I don't know,' Sandra said, thinking. We could never save up that much, not now. Not now...

'I'll give you a month.'

'A month? I... I can't, it's not enough.'

The knife felt heavy in Sandra's hands. Her fingers were shaking and the floor swayed under her feet.

'Well then,' the man said with a grin. 'There's only one thing left to-'

Sarah crashed into him, the biggest knife she could find held in her hand. At full speed, she had rammed it into his back. The man fell to the floor. His lungs had been punctured and he took quick laboured breaths as the blood spread onto his jacket.

But that hadn't stopped the gun going off. His finger had slipped on the trigger, and a bullet had fired. For a terrifying moment, Sarah couldn't see where it had gone. Then, her mother cried out in pain, holding her calf. Luckily, it hadn't been higher.

Sandra moved quickly, ignoring her injuries and forcing the gun from the man's hand. She sat on top of him and waited for him to die. Her leg was already throbbing and dripping with blood, but she would survive. It was then that she realised that Sarah wasn't watching the man. Instead, she was staring at her father's feet, still lying under the table.