THE EPOCH CHRONICLES | ✔

two

AMELIA SHRUGGED off her backpack once she had closed the door, dropping the stained and dirty scrap of material onto the wooden and cheaply carpeted floor, before heading for the kitchen.

Brushing back her brown fringe, she turned on the kettle, its familiar hiss of steam relaxing her somewhat as she put some Insta-Coffee into two cups, before turning up the dial of the old-fashioned, yet effective radio. When the solar flares roasted the satellites to crisps, people had to make do with what they had. Daryl, ever the tinker, had fixed up the small black radio, and, besides from the momentary static every few minutes, it worked as perfectly as a 2020 Phoenix-model Galaxy Receiver. Amelia sighed and leant against the counter, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the wall.

What else could she have done? She wondered. Was Professor Tatumm impressed by her speech and understanding, but not by the content? I should've stuck with Eohippus, she thought miserably. Surely prehistoric horses were far more interesting than old sea anemones? Amelia wasn't sure; but she did know that she had not impressed the professor. The whistling of the kettle woke her from her stupor, and she poured the water into the two cups, blending the Insta-Coffee just the way Daryl liked it before picking them up and carefully walking out of the other kitchen door, into the lounge.

"Daryl?" She called, her gaze focused on the cups as a brown droplet of coffee ran down the mug. "You here?" Amelia looked up and stifled a gasp of shock.

Two men sat in the lounge, their gazes unreadable upon her through their tinted sunglasses. She stared at them for a moment longer before dropping the coffee mugs, the hot liquid splashing over her boots and the bottom of her bare shins. She barely registered the pain as she darted back into the kitchen, her breath frozen in her lungs as she ran, her mind unconsciously flashing to all the reports of rape and kidnapping around the Michigan area after the drought. The rise in crime and the murders --

Amelia screamed as someone grabbed her from behind, and a coarse hand was pressed over her mouth to stifle her shrieks. Her arms were pinned to her sides as she tried to kick the man behind her, but her boots made no contact with any flesh. Tears were running down her face as she tried to pull away, only for the second man to help the first drag her back into the lounge. The coffee stained her boots and the smell of sweat and fear were the only things she could register as she screamed a muffled cry again.

The one man-bigger than the other-spoke in her ear roughly. "We're not going to hurt you, alright? Just stay quiet and don't try and run away again - then we won't have any problems." Amelia was gasping for breath as though she had come up from a long dive, but she nodded, with no other alternative than to obey their wishes. "Okay... I'm going to release you now." She felt the arm around her waist slip away, and she stumbled forward, towards the seats were the men had been sitting in the first place. Amelia's arms were shaking as her eyes trailed over the room. The antique chairs and the glass coffee table, the paintings of flowers she'd never seen and would never see on her walls. They'd witness her death. And Daryl would find her in a pool of her own blood, she knew.

One of the men cleared his throat, and she twisted around, scared once more. "What do you want from me?" She whispered, wrapping her arms around herself under their robotic stares. Neither looked bedraggled from chasing her, and the smaller -perhaps younger -of the two spoke quietly. Amelia was surprised at his gentle tone. She didn't think a rapist would have such a calm, smooth voice. "Forgive us, Miss Amelia Doveare, for frightening you. But this was the only way we could talk in private, without interruptions."

Dread built up in her chest. "My cousin will be home in any minute," she played her only trump card, but neither looked particularly worried about Daryl's impending arrival from the electricity farm.