Dunkirk • H.S

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"Everybody get up!"

My eyes feel like they're glued shut as I try to open them. My body feels worse then it was before. I must've fallen asleep.

"Line them all up and check them." I hear a shooter say. The same brutal voice I heard last night.

"Come on, up you go." I hear a different voice say, much older than the other. They're taking us off of whatever we're on.

It takes all of my energy to sit up, pain shooting down my spine and up my head, making me let out a groan.

Suddenly, the sack that was covering my face is removed and I gasp at the feeling. I pry my eyelids open enough to see that I am on a train car. A shooter is taking the sacks off of everyone's head and my gaze falls to the woman who lays motionless on the hard surface of the train floor. Her sack is taken off but the bullet hole in her head is enough to make me gag.

"Everyone stand up!" The same voice says as the first time. My eyes travel to the sound and met with a man holding a gun. In fact, they're all holding guns.

I get on my hands and knees, trying my best to stand up but I can't. It hurts too much. I feel like a crippled animal trying to move around. There's splinters in my hands, only making it more difficult for me to hold myself up on my own.

A pair of arms hook underneath my armpits, lifting me up to where I'm on my feet. My hands instinctively reach out and clutch the other hosts clothing to stable myself. I want to say thank you but I can't find it in me to open my mouth and let the words out. My feet try to shuffle along with him.

"This one's just about had it," the shooter holding me says, he stops moving and someone else grabs me bridal-style and lowers me down to the ground where they set me on my feet. I'm not wearing shoes, I gave up on trying to remember where I lost them in the process of all this chaos, but I wish I were wearing them at the time. The sun hurts my eyes from having a sack over my head for so long and I have to give them a few seconds to adjust.

"Can you stand on your own?" The shooter has his arm around me, supporting me. My eyes shift to his nametag on his uniform. Hollison. That must be his last name. His face is set into a glower but his voice is flat, showing no emotion.

I balance on my feet, my legs disagreeing as I try to stand. Although my joints are hurting like no other, it feels good to stretch my legs out. To actually stand.

I nod my head nervously and he takes his arm from around me making me stumble a little bit but I regain my posture.

"Do you have any belongings on you?" He asks and I shake my head.

"Bring her to 04," he grabs my hand, stamps it with the number 04 and ushers me to another shooter in the same uniform. As I lift up my head to look around, I notice that all the men are wearing the same exact uniform. Tan pants, tan shirts, tan jackets, a hat, and black boots

The shooter takes my arm in a tight grip making me wince and starts walking with me toward a large building with the name Facility 04 on it. What is this place?

Why is it only girls who are here? I remember my mother telling me that there were shooters in our town days before this happened, but I didn't know what they were, I told her not to worry. I was confused and concerned about it, but I didn't know that shooters were men, soldiers from an army. Now I do.

A group of shooters are huddled by the entrance of the building, laughing and smoking cigarettes. Some of them look old, maybe in their 30s but some look like they're my age.

The man holding my arm is walking way too fast for me to keep up. My feet feel like a tangled mess trying to walk.

"Stop," my voice comes out breathlessly but I guess he didn't hear since he keeps on going. "Stop." I say loudly.