𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | E. Williams

.Prologue.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

| PROLOGUE |

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

THE SUN GLARED DOWN AT HER HEATEDLY, the bandana covering her nose and mouth managed to keep her from inhaling any dirt that rose from the ground as the Fedra trucks passed by the workers. She rolled her neck on her shoulders, everything ached from top to bottom. But since the most physically consuming jobs were the most well-paid, she just had to suck it up.

Seeing dead bodies had become a normal thing by now. Women, men, children. . .death had no age, especially in an apocalypse. Getting accustomed to seeing the mauled and bitten bodies of people had not been the easiest thing in the world, especially when she'd have to carry them and throw them into the fire and leave them to burn.

The smell was the worst. It was sickening. She had experienced the urge to throw up right where she stood more than once, however, being surrounded by adults meant that she didn't want to appear like a weak little girl who couldn't handle the smell of burning and rotting flesh. So she'd swallow down her vomit and remind herself why she took the job in the first place.

Being an orphan and having a little brother to take care of was tough. It would have been much easier if she had just continued attending the "school" that the QZ provided. More like military training, as she liked to describe it. Very early on she showed signs of rebellion; breaking rules, evading authority, and basically going against everything that was ordered to her. She wasn't the least bit surprised when she got expelled, and even though she thought her actions would only affect her, it turns out the school wouldn't accept her brother in fear of him being the same and having to deal with another "difficult child".

So all in all, she guessed it was her fault that she ended up where she was, though she'd never admit it out loud.

She puffed out a breath as she wiped the sweat dripping from her forehead with the back of her hand, going over to collect another body from the back of the truck, only to freeze when she saw a young boy. His face was wrapped with some type of fabric, but Maeve could tell even then that he was around her brother's age.

Swallowing down her discomfort, she grabbed the boy's arms, tossing him over her shoulders. Her limbs screamed from the added weight, her body begging to just collapse on the ground and take a break, but she forced herself over to the roaring flames, tossing the child's body into the pile of corpses, watching as it quickly caught fire.

"Ain't you a little young to be working on somethin' like this?" said a voice to her right as another body was dropped.

She slightly turned her head, seeing a man. He appeared  to be in his fifties at least, he looked worn out, with his beard grown out and the grey that contrasted his otherwise dark hair. His voice was gruff, almost like he had forced himself to speak with her against his wishes.

"Young people still have to eat." she kept her answer short, as she made her way back to the truck.

Never trust anyone was practically an unsaid rule all around. Maybe before it had all happened — before the outbreak — people could go up to others and trust each other enough to start up a conversation, but that wasn't the case in the world they currently lived in.

If someone went up to you now, they would always have second intentions; whether it was to kill you, rob you, or worse, you couldn't know, but it was never going to be good. She had learned that the hard way, and she'd never make the same mistake twice.