Children's Games: A Story of Modern Consequence

Chapter 3

~Emilia~

Red sand stretched on endlessly against the horizon. Greenery was hard to find, and even when it was present, it looked half dead. The landscape was desolate and empty of anything living or moving, though it was hard to tell as the train was travelling so fast.

Emilia was sweating in her seat, trying not to look anxious. Everyone else on the train seemed to share the same level of anxiety as they nursed their wounds. The carriage was at least 30 metres long and 4 metres wide, fitting in a few hundred seats full of wounded civilians. Every seat was used except for the two next to Emilia, so she waited patiently for those to fill as she contemplated what she could do to avoid Sanders' plan at identifying her. The walls looked to be made from scraps of metal, all stitched together messily as if it had been made in someone's backyard. They almost seemed to be closing in on her, maintaining the humidity inside the carriage.

No one seemed to be paying her any mind, not even the military personnel standing by every exit. They wore an arm band with the red cross, ready to intervene in any medical emergency that occurred before they arrived in Fimiston. Therefore, she felt free to observe everyone on the train.

Straight away, she picked up that the civilians seemed to be younger than eighteen, or older than fifty. The bulk of the train was made of people in their fifties, but in between the masses, there were young teenagers and those clutching canes. There were hardly any children younger than five. About one out of every ten passengers was missing a limb. Everyone was wearing the same mismatched uniform that she was.

Emilia was closer in age to the guards at the doors than she was to most other passengers. Olivia didn't trust my age because of the conscription laws... she knows I should be serving with them... She felt ashamed showing her face.

Being part of the military meant that she represented hope, and maybe even deserved to be proud that she played a part in the reason why Australia, on the most part, had been left untouched by any serious battles. Instead, I deserve to be punished and blamed for the things that had gotten past our defences. It was probably someone like me who should have been watching for foreign invaders that lead to all the bombings.

How could she know that anyone in Fimiston would take her in? A family member might help her, but they would probably be disgusted in her. She decided then and there that she didn't want to remember ever. IF she could remain Jane, and perhaps travel somewhere else where she can start again... I could enlist myself again, to make up for my cowardice. She placed a hand on her shoulder and felt that thick raised scares that she knew fell from her neck and shoulders right down to her belt line.

However, for her plan to work, she couldn't stay behind with Sanders and reveal her identity. Then she would be trapped.

Sitting across from her was a little girl who looked sadder than everyone else. The adults sharing the seats in her row ignored her as they chatted amongst themselves. She was holding a backpack much like the one Emilia had under her seat with the survival gifts from Sanders. However, hers looked empty as she looked out the window with a stare that was just as empty. Her hair was messy and knotted and almost covered her tear-stained cheeks. When the child realised that she was being watched, she locked eyes with her watcher, though Emilia looked away just as quickly, eager to mind her own business.

A new soldier entered the carriage ahead of her in full uniform that was too big for his frame. He looked straight at her with a serious look in his eyes, his eyes flicking up and down her appearance, which sent Emilia into a stressful sweat. She averted her eyes but watched him head straight for her... and sit next to her in the booth.

For a moment, a hint of recognition lit up his face but she turned away, determined to ignore him.

"We'll be arriving in two minutes," he said in a hushed voice, placing a cold hand on her knee. "When we do, you'll follow me."