Chapter One

Blackout

The first few days after the Blackout were the worst, when a need to survive propelled everyone into chaos.

The darkness never subsided, almost as if we lived in a permanent night, the thick grey fog leaving us unable to see let alone do anything. The earth was blistered under our feet, the scorched ground crackling with each blind step we took. Craters from the bomb blasts would often eat us up before a frantic climb out of the hole would set us on our way again.

The villages surrounding the craters were the hardest hit, the screams of the widows and orphans forever engrained on my mind. The shouts, long and pained, echoed in the emptiness that was now our world.

My brother, Luca, held my hand as we followed the silhouette of my mother. Luca's grasp was firm, determined, and so tight that it hurt my own hand. I didn't dare say anything; his grasp told me he was alive, and in turn reminded me that I was alive too. My other arm was outstretched, feeling in the darkness. Feeling for what I don't know. Hope, maybe.

"Just a little bit further," my mother's voice told us. "Not too far."

Her words were meant to reassure us, but her voice betrayed her emotions. She was worried. We all were that night.

People ran passed us in the other direction, screaming words I hardly understood, a stampede that should have warned us not go further. Instead of running from the strike zone, Mother was leading us directly into it. Slowly, lights began to flicker, the fog in front of us becoming denser somehow as it illuminated.

Luca coughed, a splutter to clear the smoke from his lungs. I could hear his breathing, a laboured wheezing that mimicked my breathing. With his free hand, Luca used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the soot from his face, the black mask of dirt disappearing from around his eyes. Usually, I would laugh at him in this state and tease him as I'd compare him to one of the miners from the Quarters. But this was no time for jokes.

Voices barked orders as heavy footsteps approached, an army of uniformed men stopping Mother at the City boundary. The soldiers stood in line in a perfect symmetry, order amongst the chaos. Each man wore black cargo trousers tucked into military issued black boots. Long sleeved shirts were pulled over their torsos, sleeveless padded jackets worn over the shirts decorated with a single white line over their hearts. Black berets with BLA emblazoned in white on them sat hunched over haunted eyes. Their faces were harsh, worn down by countless wars that came before this one, emotion beat out of them during their training. These weren't men. They were puppets.

The puppeteer appeared, three white lines against his black uniform denoting his rank as a Commander. He was tall, face blank and eyes dead to the world, his rank being the sole difference between him and those he controlled.

A firearm holster was strapped to each of his thighs, held up by his belt. A sheath for a dagger was strapped to his hip, the silver of the blade gleaming each time the light settled upon it, while a gun was slung over the Commander's left shoulder, the barrel pointing to the ground.