Again: The Breach // Completed

Chapter 1: The Beginning *

We passed the line of walkers, possessions and cars that had run out of fuel. They all blurred into a wailing mob of devastation. It chilled me to the bone. Some ran, but others simply dragged themselves forwards, convincing themselves and each other that they would rest soon. Men, women, children and elderly passed in a bitter blur, wailing their various sufferings, hoping their suffering claims would land upon kind ears who would listen and lend a hand.

Dad's knuckles whitened upon the steering wheel, the bones paling the surface of his skin. His face was carved into four-day stubble, and under his eyes, dark lines sketched their fatigue into his skin.

The line of walkers thinned until the occasional bike rider or motorcyclist who pulled over to the side of the road due to a lack of fuel. That's why most of them were walking; everyone else fled in a desperate panic, not planning ahead. Dad, being a natural planner risked or necks to retrieve petrol from a service station. We had been on the coast when they first announced that the safest areas for the general population would be inland, so he'd stocked up on hidden supplies; fuel, food and camping provisions.

We were on our way to an isolated camping lodge, where my mother and younger sister are situated, cut off from communications and life. An hour ago, the waves of refugees were beginning to pierce the edges of the reserve that neighboured the tens of acres of the property where my mother was. That was all we heard before the communication towers were shut off by the strikes.

The strikes. Large amounts of energy buildup, that was concentrated and released on either side of the Net. Most of the time it would kill anyone within a kilometre radius and incinerate on impact. Usually a warning was given approximately a few seconds before the strike occurred, a high-pitched wail that awoke deep instincts of self-preservation. In the past year, I'd seen a total of five strikes, each one unique and unforgettable, scarred into human memory.

So when I heard the high-pitched wail of the impending Strike, I looked toward my father. He understood and had enough time to grab my hand as tears pricked at my eyes.

"Sp-"

His words were torn apart by the flash, a searing blast of white energy that tore us and the car apart like an eggshell.

Noise. Faces. Death. Dad.

...

I awoke with tears stinging in my eyes, blurring the canopy that had formed over me while I slept. Koala Ferns cris-crossed in a natural blanket layered with fallen eucalyptus leaves, providing a coincidental waterproof awning.

Low Acmena Forest Flames hugged the ground dotted with King Protea. Their sharp petals still hugged the soft, bulbous stigma and Protea Frosted Fires curled around the upper legs of the bed, their fiery faces scowled upwards as if remembering why they hated the clear sky.

Sitting upon a bed of moss that had grown while I slept, I realised that my book had fallen to the floor. I fetched the Australian Native Plants, Sixth Edition, an ancient book (one of the few that had survived the Breach) that had been found at a decrepit location where there was only a collection of old vegetables and a rusting house.

A figure stood before me; dark hair curled around her hips, her once coca-coloured skin faded to an old, hot chocolate colour. She wore the faded clothing that we all had the honour of wearing, and her jeans sported a new smear of dirt handprints. Her eyes (which were a cerulean blue and overlaid with silver coins) were narrowed, which resulted in a crease above her nose.

"I've been working all night," Aqua sighed, "and you're here sleeping?"

By working, she meant our work on the Earth.