Trackers - Battle For Novu

Chapter 3 - Haven

None of the previous lockdowns involved explosions. I remember seeing a story on the news once, about another city in raging fire but nothing of this magnitude. I then knew that this was not the work of the Kingdom; this was an extinction not terrorism.

One of the police stations disappeared in smoke, then the flats started disappearing into the flames, crashing to the ground.

The sounds of motors near-by pushed mom to her limit and she ordered that we grab our cards and leave the flats as the explosions started getting closer.

“We can’t just leave everything here!”, I yelled.
“Would you rather sit here and wait for them to get us too?”, she argued.

I paused for a moment and listened to the screams outside our apartment then grabbed my pink sling bag and rushed out after my brother Fredd. I grabbed the neck fur of the dormant Charlie who was still standing on the steps but he wouldn’t move.

I was reluctant to let go of the old Charlie, nevertheless I knew I had to save myself too. I ran down after mom and Fredd into the wrecked tar streets away from death and away from our home.

I felt as if I be betraying our apartment by leaving since I’ve lived there all these sixteen years of my life; it was all we knew; it was home.

“This way Shilo!”, shrieked mom.
“I’m coming! I’m right behind you!”

She led us, over what used to be a graveyard, where most of the residents retreated, to get away from the pandemonium leaguering us.

The crowd ran over each other, trumping and injuring with disregard like stampeding roaches running from a fire.

Mom, Fredd and I moved like a linked chain, clasping hands as we pushed through the panicking people. I tried my best to clutch my bag as I struggled to walk; even stomping over someone’s body in the retreat.

Suddenly, I tripped over neighbouring feet running next to me. I sunk my nails into mom’s teal, spaghetti strap tank but it tore and I rebound into the squashed flesh pile of animate bodies on the grave ground.

I thought it was the end for me as my buttocks crashed on the elbow of another person beneath me; sending shocks up my spine and down my thighs. The screeching voices of crying innocence rattled in my ears…the voices of fear echoing in my head...and the loud crashing of buildings falling to the ground.

“Hey! Get up.”, ordered a familiar accent.

I was grabbed by the back of my sweater, lifting me out of the messy scene and forcing me in the opposite direction.

“What are you doing? We’re going the wrong way!”, I exclaimed.

“You’d rather get stomped to death then?”, she asked, pulling me by the wrist against the tidal wave of residents.

I recognised the purple dyed hair-tips and stunning dark eyes of the apple thief. 
“It’s you again.”, I claimed.
“Hurry up, geez!”, she opened a heavy metal drainage lid, numbered 36, in the middle of a burning street.

“In here, quick!”
“But mom’s…”,I started but was interupted and forced in the sewage hole.

I grabbed the rusty ladder against the cylindrical walls of the sewer and climbed down in the dark. The mysterious girl strained her black gloves pulling the heavy lid back over our heads to seal the sewer.

“They won’t see or hear us down here. We have to get to Haven.”

“What about my family?”, I questioned. “I'm sorry kid, we're not going to find them tonight...there is something much bigger going on outside.”, she sneered.

“I don’t even know you. You could be one of the terrorists for all I know! You could be a crazy person leading me to my damn grave!”, I continued to scream.

“Look kid, you can just go look for them after the attack okay but its pure hell out there right now and you won't survive. You choose right here, right now! Live or die?”

She accessed a bright blue light on her handheld and shone it through the circular twist of ruin we sheltered in, guiding the way out of the wreck.

“I’m guessing you use this sewer a lot?”
“You get used to the smell after a while.”, she assured.

She spoke so direct and blunt, without uncertainty. I followed close behind her. The sound of her boots echoed in the sewer and her petite shadow walked on the curved wall next to her.

It seemed like ten minutes had passed as we made our way to “Haven”. She turned left and climbed to the lid numbered 18, struggling to open it. I stood with my foot on the first step of the smelly ladder and waited for her to climb out of the sewer.

“You’re so slow.”, she moaned, waiting for me on the outside.
I sped up my climb and nervously followed the brisk-walking vigilante through an old park and to a run-down red-bricked facility.

“Is…is this…Haven?”, I stuttered.

“No.”

We entered through an opening in the fencing and leaped through the window of the facility.

“This is just some old homeless shelter.”, she maintained, walking me to an elevator.

“When was this made? I thought elevators were a thing of the past.”

“We make good use of junk.”, she explained.

“We?”

The elevator doors shut then bumped and croaked as it carried us many feet under-ground. After some time, we finally stopped and upon opening, the flickering lights of at least 60 computer screens hit my eyes all at once.

“This is Haven.”