The League: The Fall of America

Prologue

He awoke suddenly and looked around his room. Everything looked normal, but what had been that noise just now? He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs and he hid behind his blanket. There were shouts and loud bangs. He heard a scream and clasped his hands over his ears.

The door to this bedroom swung open and he saw his sister. She closed and locked the door before walking over to him.

"What's going on?" his small voice asked.

"Everything is okay, Connor," she soothed. "You'll be okay."

They could hear more going on outside, and soon it all grew quiet. Connor's sister rushed him into the closet where he sat on the floor with his hand holding his knees to his chest.

"Stay here and don't come out, no matter what you hear, okay?" she commanded, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Connor nodded and watched her close the door. He was surrounded by darkness. He couldn't even see his hand in front of him.

Then he heard banging on the door, and a cry from his sister. He couldn't tell what was happening, but he heard a loud bang and he held his hands over his ears again, holding back the sobs that wanted to escape his throat.

When he removed his hands from his ears everything was silent. In the distance he heard police sirens, but he kept quiet. It felt like an eternity, sitting there in the darkness. Suddenly the closet door was pulled open and Connor looked up and saw a young woman staring down at him with a sympathetic look. She extended her hand to him and he took it, clinging to her as if she was his last hope. 

"It's okay, sweetheart, you're safe now," she whispered, holding him as he cried on her shoulder. She picked him up and began walking out of the house, but he still saw them, the bodies. First of his sister, a few feet from that of the man who killed her. Then on the stairs his brother, and in the living room his parents.

He held onto the kind policewoman all the way to the police station. She set him down in a chair next to one of the detective's desks and got him a cup of hot chocolate and some cookies. The detective returned to his desk and looked at the kid, shaking his head at the sight.

"How old is he?" the detective asked. 

"He's seven," the woman replied.

"Damn, that's terrible," he sighed.

"Yeah, it's pretty messed up."