The Whispers

Chapter 2

April 21, 2019 10:18 A.M.

     I sighed, dropping the worn book on my face, my eyes dry and burning. The utter plainness of the house was getting to me again.
     I cast a bored glance around the room, taking a silent inventory of what I knew had not changed in the slightest. The walls were still a faded blue, charred by the window edges; the bookshelf was still haphazardly cluttered with novels left behind by Karina; and my bed was still my bed - too small for the current 16 year old me - but perfect for the child I once was.
The world outside was cruel and menacing, the wind howling and mercilessly tossing about the waist-high weeds. The sky was a dark, angry gray.
     My feet twitched, aching to do something besides lay still, mirroring the state of the house that once used to be vibrant and lively. I cursed myself at the memory. That time was long gone, burned away in a single night, and self-pity was not going to change the aftermath - Karina was still dead.
The Flame had come and gone, robbing what future I had, and I was marked, with what ability I knew not. Hopefully I'd never know.
     I groaned, my restlessness becoming too great to ignore. Casting the frayed book aside, I strode out into living room. In the adjoining dining room, my mother sat at the table, head bowed in concentration as she worked on the sewing machine. As one of the towns best seamstresses, she worked tirelessly to keep bread on the table; her wages, along with what dad made at the construction sites - "Rebuilding America!" - were enough to keep our heads a good foot above the water. It was more than what most had and I was reminded of the fact frequently.
     Coming up from behind her, I leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at her latest project. It looked to be a plaid cloth being turned into a dress before my eyes, a small one at that. For a child no doubt. Looping my arms around her neck, I whispered, "It's cute."
     Mother, not being the type to lose focus, kept her eyes fiercely trained on the needle as she replied, "Thank you." Despite the clipped tone, she smiled as she blew a stray hair out of her face.
     I ended the brief interaction with a quick kiss to her cheek as I made my way back into the living room. On the couch, I clicked on the TV and shuddered as the news played out.                 Shots from the country's largest cities were on display - Chicago, Austin, Los Angeles, New York - all teeming with the newest presence following President Bryan's inauguration.
     The Extinguishers.
     Easily identifiable by the full black military uniforms they wore. Everything about them screamed mercenary - every aspect from their built physique, cold demeanor, and the weapons they did little to hide (a rifle strung across their back, pistols in a holster on each hip, and daggers clipped to their sides) hinted at their sinister job description.
     No one knew where they came from. Where once there were none, now they swarmed. They were nameless, only deemed the nickname 'Extinguisher' by locals. The term was partly due to their mission, as proclaimed thoroughly by the black-clad men, they were here to rid the world of Flame survivors. Every last one of them.
     The government, of course, was doing nothing. Countless were being dragged into city squares and murdered in front of an audience, as if their deaths were prime time entertainment, and no one cared. They - I - were Flame survivors after all, nothing but a deep thorn in the side of the American public. City Patrolmen at best looked the other way, and at worst joined in on the bloodshed. Glad to do so in fact.
     In short, the Extinguishers were a Flame's worst nightmare, mine included. Even worse was that they were in the city, as per dads reports. All noteworthy events from the outside came from his mouth only, since I had not been allowed to leave the premises since their ominous arrival. 13 days and counting now. The only good news father had to relay was that their presence here wasn't as profound as it was in the larger territories where they marched in pairs on every other block.
     It was as I made to change the channel that I heard my mother curse. I paused.
     "Damn it," she repeated, louder this time. She slammed her hand on the table.
     "Everything ok?" I called. When she didn't reply I turned off the TV and walked over to her work station.
Her eyes were furious as she sucked on her finger. There were little drops of blood on the table. "I need more cloth," she mumbled.
     I jumped on the opportunity to escape these walls. "I can go out to Maria's and get some."
     Her mouth opened to say yes, but then she hesitated.
     I squashed it instantly. In one breath I said, "I'll be really quick. In and out no problem."
     She sat in her chair contemplating me, finger still in mouth. I could see the debate waging inside her head. It was dangerous outside, there was no guarantee that I wouldn't run into an Extinguisher, but she needed more cloth. She had a livelihood to keep up, and for me, there was always a danger in stepping outside. I saw the instant she caved in.
     She sighed as she reluctantly said, "You promise to-"
     "Yes," I interrupted eagerly. "I'll even wear a hat over my eyes if you want me to," I added sarcastically.
     She looses a dry chuckle as she turned back to the table, wiping away the blood. "Yeah, yeah, just go before I change my mind. And make it quick!"
With a bounce in my steps, I grabbed my jacket and marched out the door.