Cure For Corruptness

Chapter 1

Two years. It's been two years since I lost everything. My name is Asher Livingston. I'm 18 now and my little brother, George is almost six. We've been living in an abandoned barn for almost a week, and living off of a single loaf of bread for a few days. Let's rewind the clock a bit, shall we?

Two years ago, we were perfectly fine. My mom and dad were still alive. I had just started working at the general store my father ran, and George was still happy. But then he showed up. We were once ruled by a kind and gracious king and queen. But then the queen got extremely sick and passed away. The king's son, our prince, was so devastated by his mother's death that he blamed his father, killed him, and claimed the throne. Ever since his mother's death, King Damien has been cold and bitter towards his subjects. Three weeks after his coronation, he started kidnapping people from random villages and infecting them with the virus that killed the queen, so that "they will feel the pain that she felt" as he watches them slowly die. My parents were among his victims.

I still remember the day I lost them. My dad had just closed up the shop, and mom was tucking George into bed. I was finishing up sweeping the floor when I heard screaming outside. We've heard that scream too many times, so we knew what to do. My father turned to me, his face pale, and stoic. "Asher, grab your brother and mother and hide," he said, scrambling to lock the doors and windows. I did as I was told and ran to the room we all slept in, but I was too late. The entire back wall was gone and debris floated around the room like ominous butterflies. My mother was stuffed in a cage with some of our neighbors. My brother, kicking and screaming, was being dragged by his hair to join our mom. I stood there frozen in fear as I watched my family being carted away to their demise. I was shaken out of my trance when my father burst into the room, shotgun in hand and aimed for the soldier holding George. I backed out. Next thing I know, my dad is shoving my brother in my arms, shouting at me to run. Run? Run where? I'm home, you're alive dad. Mom's sleeping, and George is laughing. No, he's not laughing, he's crying. And mom isn't sleeping, she's dead. Dad isn't alive, he's coughing up blood. Why is this happening? Mom, dad, George. What did I do wrong?

I listened to my father. I ran, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, George in tow. I don't remember how long or where I ran, but my legs and my head were throbbing when we stopped. George had stopped crying. It seemed like he had stopped feeling altogether. His eyes were still red and puffy, his face was still wet with tears, but I could see he left his emotions, his soul, everything behind in our house. In the room our parents died in. We had lost everything. I had lost everything, but I still had to be there for George. I know that's what my parents would have wanted. So I did. I took care of him as best as I could. Food was scarce and when we were able to snag a meal, I had to force feed him in our first three months away from home. He can feed himself now, but he's still mute for the most part.

The barn we are staying in now is cold, damp, and we occasionally get a visit from wild animals. They aren't hard to deal with, I either shoo them off or give them a small portion of whatever food we have at the time. I left the barn at dawn, making sure that George was safe and his nightmares weren't bothering him. I trudged over to the nearby woods, hoping the traps I had set last night had caught something, anything. I checked the first one, no dice. The second one appeared to have caught a rabbit, but it must have broken free, leaving some of its fur behind. Only two left, I thought to myself, starting to lose hope. My spirits immediately lifted when I turned to check the third trap and saw a pretty well fed squirrel. Looks like my dad's hunting lessons paid off. I wrestled the squirrel out of the trap and quickly ran to check the last one. Nothing, but some jerky from this squirrel and whatever else we can scavenge should last us a while. I made my way back to the barn and gently shook George to wake him up. He lazily lifted his head and gave me a small "good morning" smile. I held up the squirrel, his eyes lit up, and as if on cue, his stomach let out a loud growl. "I'm as hungry as you are, bud. But we have to conserve our resources. Remember what dad taught us?" I don't catch myself in time and as soon as I mention dad, his face falls. "Oh George, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" I'm cut off by the sound of wood snapping. ''That can't be good,'' I thought to myself. I timidly look up and see one of the rotting wooden beams holding the roof above our heads starting to break in two. I immediately start haphazardly stuffing things into my sleeping bag. "George! Get out now, this things not going to stay up for much longer!" I yell at him, but it's too late. The barn collapses and the last thing I see is George reaching out for me before he's buried in rubble.

"Hey! Hey, wake up!" I'm woken up by someone shaking my shoulder. I open my eyes and am thankful the sun has already set, so instead of being blinded by sunlight, I'm greeted with stars sprinkling a navy blue blanket, and a very handsome face in dim torch light. I try to sit up and instantly get knocked back down with a wave of nausea punching me in the gut. "Don't try to sit up now, lovely. Just take deep breaths." I look up sheepishly at the gorgeous man before me. "What's your name, dear?" he asks gently.

"Asher," I responded, my voice hoarse and quiet.

"Well, Asher, it's a pleasure to meet you, however grim the circumstances are. I'm Maverick." He extends his hand, and I gingerly take it. He shakes my hand before trying to help me up. My whole body protests, but I manage to steady myself on a nearby tree. Maverick rubs my shoulder sympathetically, sending shivers down my spine. I'm knocked out of my thoughts when I remember what happened. 'The barn, George, where is George?!'

"George! Where is he?!" I suddenly blurted out, panic setting in.

"Who's George?" Maverick questions, one eyebrow quirked up in confusion.

"My little brother, George. He was in the barn with me when it came down. Where is he, do you know?" I frantically start sifting through the ruins of the barn next to us, when I hear a small whimper underneath a pile of rotting planks. I dive for it, quickly shoving them aside, getting a few splinters in the process. Under all the wood is a small, shivering lump of cloth coated in dirt and rubble. "George!" I cry as I lift his sleeping bag off of his head. He lunges for me and buries his head in my chest, crying softly. I pet his dirty, matted hair, afraid to say anything that might upset him more, I quietly whisper to him, "I'm glad you're safe."