Izabel
Olsztyn, Poland
Friday, April 8th, 2135
4:45 AM
Fear chases me.
The April rain pounds against the van windows. To my left, Lech sleeps soundly. I don't know how he does it. Aunt Mela drives far above the speed limit, wipers on furiously. My backpack rests to my right, painful memories in every sewn on patch, frayed end, and zipper. The van is deadly silent, the only sound from the rain in the dark, moonless night. The radio doesn't work, so it's safe to assume they bombed the radio tower too.
"Ciotka Mela? Aunt Mela?" I ask, my voice tiny in the large, empty world. "Jeżeli mamy zamiar iść? Where are we going to go?"
Aunt Mela doesn't look up from the road. "Finland. It is safe there." A static comes through on the radio, and I reach over the passenger seat to turn it up. The voice of American radio host Preston Weekly comes through. What a weird name. His Polish still isn't great, but it's Polish all the same.
"At 4:00 this morning, the Clavis Powers dropped bombs in Bialystok, Olsztyn, and Lomza. The soldiers are on ground, and going on a murderous rampage. Flee! Get to safety!" Then the radio cuts to pure, deafening static, waking Lech.
"What's going on?" My younger brother sits up with a jolt, shifting his backpack from where it sits on the floor. His gray shirt is stained with blood, probably Mother's, and his jeans are wrinkled but clean. He wipes sleep from his pure blue eyes, yawns, and messes up his dirty blond hair. In the dark, it looks almost brown.
"Inne miejsca były bombardowane też. Jedziemy do Finlandii z ciotką Mela. Other places were bombed too. We're going to Finland with Aunt Mela." I whisper, pulling him close. My own hair, a deeper brown, brushes over his shoulder. "Będziemy bezpieczne, Lech. We're going to be safe."
Lech yawns, looking around. "Where's Mother?" He doesn't know. Or maybe he just doesn't remember. The memory of earlier this morning is too much to handle. It feels like a lucid dream. Like it never really happened. But it did. It just doesn't feel real yet.
My poor brother. I can't meet his eyes.
I'm about to answer Lech, tell him Mother's gone too, when I see that Aunt Mela has started to skid around the dark street. The van swerves, Aunt Mela desperately trying to stop it. Her painted nails grip the wheel, but the van still sways from side to side. We must hit a puddle or something, because Aunt Mela loses control of the wheel, and we spin out to the side of the road. Tree branches scrape the roof of the car, and I hear the front bumper slam into the trunk.
"Uważaj! Watch out!"
It seems my life has just done a 180 turn, and now it's going for a 360.
YOU ARE READING
Iza
AdventureTold from the POV's of four young teenagers trying to survive World War Three. Chance intertwines their stories and others, all haunted by pasts they cannot escape, and people who want them dead. Izabel and Lech are siblings who just want their pare...
