Wartorn

Chapter 1

I don’t know how we came to be here, dressed in black, mourning the loss of a loved one. Once we were a happy family. War has stolen that from us. Any one of us could die at any time. Innocent lives are being lost, all because of this. World War III. You’d think that intelligent life like us would be able to sort out disagreements without killing each other. Just goes to show we are not any less barbaric than we were 25, 000 years ago. Mother’s handkerchief is sodden with tears. Brooke is trying not to cry. Logan is asking where Daddy is. The poor thing. Father’s never coming home, but how do you explain that to a seven year old? I am fiddling with father’s necklace. Mother threw it out when she was going through Father’s things the day after she found out, but I fished it out of the wastebasket. The silver metal is sculpted into an intricate rose. The rose is our family symbol. It is on Mother’s wedding ring too, which Brooke now wears, as Mother can’t bear to. It feels good to have something of Father’s with me. He may not be with me in person, but he will always be with me in spirit.

The coffin has been lowered into the grave, and men are working to shovel dirt in on top of it. I sink down to my knees beside the grave. “Goodbye, Father,” I whisper, letting the tears run down my face. I will never see him again. He is gone. The men finish shovelling and lift the gravestone onto the grave. I place a single red rose upon the cool cement, and turn, walking back towards my family. Mother holds open her arms, and we all hug as we cry, even Logan. “We’ll survive, we’ll make it through this,” Mother murmurs, but I think she is reassuring herself more than us. “Of course we’ll make it,” I say, determined to stay strong. Brooke nods as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, and we begin to walk back down the lane to our house.

For the past few weeks, it hasn’t felt real. It’s felt like the war has been some huge nightmare, and I’ll wake up to find that everything is safe. Now, I don’t have a choice but to face the fact that this is reality. Father’s gone. It could be any one of us next. It’s World War III, and I can’t do anything to stop it. Mother has been walking around like a lost spirit, gazing into empty space, lost in a daydream. She is still trying to dull the pain of Father’s passing. Brooke has been keeping Logan under control, and I have been keeping the household running. We have been eating stale bread over the past few days, as Mother has not done any shopping. As the sun begins to sink on the horizon, I walk to the pantry to begin to prepare supper. The shelves are bare, apart from a sprinkling of crumbs. “Brooke! There’s nothing to eat in the pantry!” I yell.

“Grab some money from my wallet and ride down to the corner store!” she bellows back.

I grab her wallet and run down the back of the garden to Father’s shed and drag my bike out from the back corner. It is rusty, but still usable. The country lane is empty as night begins to fall. At the corner store I grab a loaf of bread, butter, chocolate spread, jam, a bottle of milk and four chocolate bars. As I hop on my bike and begin to ride home, I hear a loud bang. Air raids. I run back into the store where the girl who runs the shop drags me under the counter. We wait there until we are sure it is over, and then we crawl out from under the desk. I quickly hop on my bike and ride for my life towards home, lest the air raids should start again. I turn into the lane and am shocked by the sight. Our cottage, the home where I have lived since I was a baby, is alight, the flames dancing across the thatched roof. Brooke and Mother are standing out the front screaming. I can make out a small figure in the upstairs window. Logan is still trapped in the building.

I run forward, and, with no regard for my own safety, run into the blazing house. I have already lost one family member to this war. I will not lose another. I charge up the stairs, scoop Logan into my arms, and carry him back outside. I collapse on the grass. The adrenaline that propelled me forward is now fading. The smoke I breathed in is taking effect. My asthma is flaring up. My vision is black around the edges. I can’t breathe. Then everything goes black.

I come to two hours later. I am lying on a bed in one of the neighbour’s houses, Mother sitting beside me. “Oh, thank god! We thought you were dead!” Mother sobs.

“Is Logan alright?” I ask groggily, sitting up.

“Yes, he survived. I was so scared, Sonya! I thought he was going to die! And then you rushed in and saved him, and came running out the door. I was thanking my lucky stars you both survived! And then you collapsed! I didn’t think my heart could take any more deaths!” Mother sobs, embracing me.

“But what are we going to do about the house?” I ask.

“We can’t rebuild. It will cost too much. Brooke and I are going to stay here with our neighbours. I am sending you and Logan to the safe house,” Mother says.

“No! I won’t be separated from you!” I sob. Mother is crying. “Why can’t Brooke come?” I sob.

“Brooke is too old. They only accept juveniles- under eighteens. You’ll be safe there. I’d rather die knowing you were safe than live with the knowledge of your death,” Mother says, tears spilling down her cheeks. I nod, fingering father’s necklace. Mother leaves, and Brooke comes in with her hands behind her back.

“Guess what I saved from the fire?” she asks, bringing a guitar out from behind her back. I gasp. She’s holding the guitar Mother and Father gave me two years ago for my thirteenth birthday. She places it in my lap. “I knew you had my wallet so anything I lost could be replaced. I knew that no amount of money could replace your guitar. So when I was running out of the house and I saw your guitar I grabbed it,” Brooke says.

“Thank you so much!” I say, hugging her. She hugs me back, and looks me straight in the eye.

“Mother can’t take much more worrying. Her heart will give out. Go to the safe house. I’ll look after her,” she says, giving me a frighteningly serious stare, before walking out of the room. She’s given me no choice. I have to go to the safe house.