The Way Back

Chapter 3

TRIS POV

Today is the day. Today I will finally leave this city in search of another.

Breaking out of my trance at the crack of dawn, I gather all of my belongings and stuff them in my backpack, which I then swing over my shoulder. I stamp out the inadequate fire that did little to keep me warm throughout the bitter night; it was worse this time around without my jacket, although the cold was not what kept me up.

My sleep last night was fitful. It was strenuous to drift off, and then when I managed to do so, I was bombarded with nightmares in which I failed to save a little girl my mind invented in place of my daughter. Then I resorted to staring with void eyes across the vast monument to the corner where I had previously resided, where I knew my blood streaked the marble floor. When I attempted to focus my attention elsewhere, it would either be on the mixed dirt and blood under my fingernails or the measly fire that reminded me of how cold I was.

D.C. already carries enough negative memories for a lifetime. It is time to go.

With gun in hand, I start my trek by walking straight down the stone steps, past the scattered pools, and along the side of the great pillar that now lies on the ground in a defeated manner. It serves as a reminder that everything mighty or powerful must fall. I connect with the sentiment because I feel like it represents how the last day has broken me, how I went from strong to frail. But it doesn't necessarily mean that I will stay down for long.

My feet carry me in the same direction for another fifteen minutes or so, and I barely pay attention to where I am heading and to the scenery of destruction around me. My mind is detached from reality and has closed itself off because of the trauma it suffered from yesterday.

So that is why I did not think rationally when setting off to find another city, and for all I know, I could be traveling in the completely wrong direction. Not my smartest idea, but it is too late to turn back.

After passing the enormous base of the white structure, which sits on a mound, I see something that stops me in my tracks.

Sure, this city is crawling with wreckage, but that is all ruined cement and cars. This crashed vehicle is something unrecognizable and strikes me as bizarre, and this is coming from someone who doesn't remember anything and has a lot to be perplexed about.

Even in its deformed state, I can tell that it used to be some kind of machine with wings. The wings don't seem like they flapped as a bird would; instead, they are stationary with no kind of hinge, although that could be debatable because it is hard to decide how it looked put together while it is in pieces. If I had to guess, I would say that this machine was meant to fly. With passengers, even, judging by the size of the interior and the fact that there are seats. It is an exciting possibility.

Climbing into the front of the vehicle, I search it for something of use and also because my curiosity wins over. There are two torn seats that face the window, a control panel with hundreds of buttons, and what resembles a steering wheel. I awkwardly slide past the chairs and duck under hanging pieces of metal and cut wires to get to the door in the back. After managing to yank it open, I stand in a backseat so large that it makes me doubtful about my idea of this thing leaving the ground. It contains two rows of seats that line the wall and a strapped crate full of...

Oh. Bombs.

Startled, I step back slowly, as if my motion will trigger an explosion. For all I know, it could, so I tip toe out the other way this time, out the gaping back of the vehicle.

But as soon as I am about to exit, brownish stains catch my attention. From blood, of course, and it seems to be fairly recent, which gives me hope that someone else is nearby. It is scattered on the metal floor and barely visible. One of the marks is a handprint that is too small to be a man's, and my inquisitive nature causes me to line my hand up with the partial stain.