𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄'𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 | an apocalyptic novel ©

Chapter 39

Homesick

2031

Jason

I look after her.

What just was that?

Sina's ponytail disappears around the corner.

I know I could go after her and apologize, but after seeing what her knife did to the mirror, I'm afraid its next target will be my face.

Everyone is seemingly disappointed in me. Sina with the knife.

Aidan with his fist hitting the ground inches away from my face.

He was right, one time my anger would get the better of me. I just hope today and right now isn't that time.

Speaking of who, Aidan strolls along the hallway, stopping short when he sees me. There isn't a hint of amusement in his eyes, as I'd have suspected. He rather looks at me and narrows his eyes, as if asking "What did you do?".

The blood on his nose and jaw from earlier has now turned into early-stage bruises.

I don't know what I did.

I know what I did, but certainly not breaking his nose. I'm surprised that he is actually still up and going, after my kicks I expected everything but that.

Aidan doesn't pay further mind to me, instead he walks past me with his hands in his pockets, until he reaches the side exit.

Okay then. No final breaking-my-jaw punch.

My mind still replays the hit he was about to land when he straddled me on the ground. He could have done it. But instead, his fist hit the ground right next to my head. On purpose?

I hear the General bark orders to go to sleep in the barracks across from this one, the walls are as thin as paper.

It gets the better of me and I make my way to the male barracks.

The mattress under me feels like a rock, I can feel the springs every time I toss and turn. My covers make me sweat but when I push them away I am freezing.

The recruit in the corner bunk a few feet away from me snores, it echoes through the entire dorm, tempting me to either lunge across the room to strangle him or tear off my ears.

I swing my legs off the bed and look for my jacket. I can't stay here, I feel...

Homesick.

The word shoots through my mind like an arrow fired by an archer.

I miss the feeling of stepping over the porch, to hold the slightly scratched plates for dinner, I miss the busy feeling around me. Now, I'm only being barked at with orders. Now, the only doorway I'm stepping over is the one to the barrack, to the dorms. The only plates I'm now holding are the slightly greasy metal bowls with cold reheated oatmeal.

I feel homesick, a feeling I last felt three years ago, the last time I've been in my childhood home.

Ever since then, I've been on the run, constantly on the move.

Coming from Belgium, this situation here was a new one for me to adjust to.

Our first temporary home was located in a neighborhood I drove away from when I was transported to the base here with the truck. I saw it rush past the window for a glimpse second, one last time.

A wild thought grabs my attention as I put on my jacket. I know it's highly forbidden to leave the base.

Even only three feet can result in grueling hours of detention.

But even these hours can pass, I just need to feel something. I want to feel what my home felt like. From the base, my home is less than half an hour of distance by foot away - weirdly specific.

I tiptoe to the door when a feeling of excitement runs over me. The last time I was in my neighborhood, most of the houses were intact. I can't just sit and rot here, helping refugees, and finding survivors, when it has been well over a year since I have been in my room. I know it's out there, I know I can visit it. Just... against the rules.

We break rules every day, every minute that passes, we lose morals. Only one inch away from insanity, the only sane part here is the General and Sergeant drilling it into us that we need to stay concentrated.

One rule doesn't hurt, right?