Hatchetfield.

falling leaves.

Until the events of the last few weeks played out, I was under the impression that I would live a fairly uneventful life. What with my position in freelance journalism as my only upkeep, I had ignorantly believed that life itself would cease to be all the entertainment I had promised myself. I dare wonder whether I was entirely satisfied, but in hindsight, those aren't the questions that really mattered.

What really mattered was why I'd not bothered to try and change anything for myself.

My brother wrote no more than a week back. He had been living on the other side of Hatchetfield, and the situation there was exactly as I had imagined. The red weed, threatening and unexplainable as it was, had taken root there too. People were fleeing. He had managed to divert the routes of a number of people who's paths were otherwise headed for untimely peril, and in doing so, had managed to save some lives.

I admit, that was surprising. Not entirely because I had not seen it in him to be so heroic, but because he had actively gone out of his way to do so.

It was then that I decided I must see the other side of Hatchetfield for myself. Not only for Ted's sake, but for Stephanie.

Stephanie lived on that side of town, too. Perhaps it was not too late to see her, just one more time... I held enough hope that nothing untoward had happened, even though I knew that I was likely going to be disappointed.

For what felt like days, I fought my way along roads packed with refugees. The homeless, burdened with boxes and bundles containing their valuables. Looking at them made me realise: all that was of value to me was in Pinebrook...

I followed an eager crowd, and found out from one particularly rushed gentleman that they had organised steamers off the island and towards safety. There grew an eager sort of hope within me, and suddenly, I had something to strive towards. Getting to safety, and doing so with Stephanie.

But, by the time I reached the house I could identify as theirs, Stephanie and her father were gone.

Fire suddenly leapt from house to house. The population panicked and ran, and I was swept along with them. I managed to regain the freedom of my own footing, for I was a little more than used to being crowded, and started to think. What I needed was a direction, a route towards that steamer and away from the terror and destruction.

Finally, I headed eastward for the ocean and my only hope of survival: a boat out of Hatchetfield.

Struggling towards the harbour was what caused me to run into my brother. He was handing off a wounded soldier to a man more medically inclined than he, and it took me only a moment to figure out that he was injured too.

I approached, careful not to appear too alarmed. A lot of people had been injured, and I had been walking with them since I left my home.

Ted noticed me before I had the chance to say anything, and he parted the crowd to reach me. There he stood, masses of people shoving past him on either side, looking rather like he was standing in a river and letting the water flow around him. Before I had the chance to think, he grabbed my shoulders and seemed to run some sort of inspection. Then, satisfied, he released his grip, and I felt the residual heat for a while after.

"You got the letter, I assume?"

I noticed an unusual panic in his eye, and it took far too long to realise why he was acting as he was. We hadn't seen each other since all of this began, and he wasn't aware that I'd made my escape early.

I nodded, though my gaze wandered. If we were being followed or hunted, I needed to know. I needed to plan an escape. But, the skyline was surprisingly clear.

That didn't bring as much relief as I thought it would...

"It's the same everywhere." I managed, refocusing my attention. "Wildfires, that strange red spore..."

"Tripods?"

"Tripods."

Ted sighed, weary and anxious. "The army are abandoning the south end. There's nothing we can do anymore."

"There is talk of a boat out of Hatchetfield. If we leave now, perhaps we can make it." Despite what I chose to believe sometimes, my brother and I were not so different. I had learned a lot of his ways, if only subconsciously. And, though it was sometimes a surprise to admit, I cared for him.

He watched the crowd, all heading in the same direction. "If that was your plan," he said absently, "then we should have left some hours ago."

"Sorry?"

"Think about it, Peter. You always were the academic one among us. The chance is that they haven't organised nearly enough getaway. And for a population of this size? The two of us will be lucky to even make it to the harbour."

I had thought about that eventuality, and I think he knew it. But, there was and always had been one defining difference between us that wasn't the obvious age gap. I was an optimistic soul, and tended to see hope when all was lost. So, I allowed myself a moment to breathe. "I am going to make it to the harbour, and I am going to do so whether or not you follow suit."

He had noticed the crowd begin to dwindle, as I had. A sigh left him, and even I could note the resignation within. "I will join you, but only because the speed of this crowd leaves me no option."

And, as if it were that easy all along, we rejoined the exodus towards the harbour. Ted and I were supporting each other, and my mind had begun to humour losing him entirely. I sternly decided that wasn't going to happen, and through that determination, the crowd rushed us towards the already packed steamer. I looked up enviously at those safely on board... straight into the eyes of Stephanie.

Upon noticing my presence on the ground, she began to fight her way along the packed deck to the gangplank. At that very moment, it was raised, and I caught a last glimpse of her despairing face as the crowd swept me away from her.

For a moment longer than I care to admit, my mind buzzed with static silence. My brother was nowhere to be seen, and Stephanie was gone. I did the only thing I would allow myself to do after that, and ran.

As soon as I had broken from the masses, I made for Oakley Park. Stephanie and I had shared many a day there, in the company of none but ourselves. It currently happened to be mid autumn, and the green was blanketed in a golden cloak of fallen leaves.

When we were younger, she and I would tarnish the hems of our clothes with dirt as we raced down the way, kicking up leaves as we went. She loved this time of year. I must admit, she is the reason that I held a certain fondness for it, too.

I absently kicked at the leaves in my path. It didn't feel the same. It was as if the guise of the season itself has immediately lost all of its charm when Stephanie was lost to me.