All That Remains

“Keep up, for God’s sake.”

My scruffy chestnut hair scratches against the skin of my cheek as I turn to look over at Amara. She is struggling to keep up and we both know that it is slowing us down. It hurts to watch her drag her frail body over towards me and I know she is trying her best, but the glint in those pale blue eyes had long disappeared, along with that cheeky smile that stayed permanently plastered to her face when we were children. Ah, children. Technically Amara is still a child. But the past 3 years had aged us well beyond our years and there was no more time for childish antics.

“I’m coming, Kaz, just hold up a second.”

I pause in my stride as I wait for her to scurry up behind me. The road thus far has been long and I have to convince myself constantly that we’re getting closer to salvation. But, the sight ahead is desolate and chips away at the remaining fragments of confidence that still reside within me.

Where houses once stood in full glory, there were now only crumbling columns and bricks scattered across the gravelly Earth below. Weeds sprouted between the shattered remains of pavement tiles, their sickly green shade a sharp contrast against the thin coating of grey dust had settled across the city. It was all so… still. So lifeless.

“It’s getting dark and we need to rest soon so let’s speed it up.”

“I would if you’d stop reminding me.” Amara mutters. “Wait…stop!” She glares ahead, stopping abruptly in her tracks. My gaze follows Amara’s to the horizon before us.

“Oh my.” I whisper breathlessly. Shooting stars. Tens of shooting stars blazing northwards into the expanse of sky above. Instinctively, I rush forward, squinting to get a better look at the lightshow ahead.

“Kaz, stop!” Amara cries out from behind.

I squint my eyes sharply to take in the view. Then, realisation hits me. Those were not shooting stars. No, shooting stars didn’t have smoke trailing after them. Those were flares - a warning.

“Kaz we need to go, now!”

Amara grabs my hand aggressively, pulling me towards a mountainous pile of rubble by the side of the street. The sound of vehicle engines fills the air in the distance, a sound I had missed desperately until this very moment. I had assumed that all remaining fuel supplies were used up months ago. Clearly, I was wrong.

We scramble hurriedly behind the rubble, perching up on the balls of our feet to get a glimpse over the edge. A crimson diamond centred within a black circle was painted haphazardly onto the side of pickup truck, a smaller grey dirt-bike following behind. Savages. We had been lucky to avoid trouble so far but now it loomed before us, and I could not let them find me or my sister.

A rough clatter bursts out from beside me as Amara’s foot skids on the rocks, throwing her off balance and onto the floor.

“Get back, they can see your feet!” I drag Amara against the sharp stones on the ground, back behind the rubble and crouch swiftly to wrap her in my arms. The truck engine revs, a monstrous howl in the abandoned city centre, the sound getting louder and louder as the truck edges towards us. I shut my eyes tightly, squeezing Amara in my arms.

The truck rolls up towards the pile of rubble sheltering us, the dirt-bike circling the mound before stopping on the opposite side. We were closed in. My eyes flutter open as the gravity of our situation dawns upon me.

Suddenly, a tall man with wiry copper hair steps out of the truck, a cold set to his face as he walks towards us. I scurry to my feet and grab the pocketknife I have attached to my left hip, pointing it towards him. I know I cannot stand and wait around. I must attack before they do.

As I charge towards the copper-haired man, another jumps up behind Amara, yanking her back by her hair. Amara’s screams barely register above the rush of blood drumming in my ears as I descend upon the man before me. In effortless speed, the man deflects my swing at his chest and grabs my wrist, twisting it until the shooting pain trailing up my arm becomes too much to bear. The knife drops into his other palm with a soft thump. Suddenly, he grabs me by my neck, the pocketknife lightly piercing the side of my throat where he holds it.

“You didn’t think you were gonna be able to pull that off, did you?” he whispers into my ear. I shudder violently as my hand reaches up to hold the locket dangling at my chest, my fingers clenching around the heart-shaped metal. I had never considered myself a religious person, but now I suddenly have the urge to pray, to pray for escape from these brutes. Or maybe for them to bring an end to this miserable life. I cannot decide which escape I long for most.

Suddenly, the man yanks the locket out of my hand, letting go of my neck.

“Well this is very pretty, isn’t it?” he mutters, dangling the locket in front of his face for closer inspection.

“It’s not worth anything to you,” I mumble nervously “it’s just junk that I found on the ground.” He looks towards me for an instant and then returns back to the locket, opening it slowly.

“A flower?” He tips the white snowdrop flower into his hand and glares at it for a moment. Without warning, he crushes the flower in his fist, letting it drop pathetically to the ground. I stifle a gasp as tears sting the back of my eyes. He looks back at me in amusement

“Why care so much about a dried-up old flower?”

“My…” I hesitate. “My dad gave that to me on the day of the first bombings … that flower was the last thing he gave me.” I speak angrily, my fists balling up at my sides. He stares at me with intrigue.

“It’s just a little flower.”

“Well when was the last time you saw a flower in this hellhole, huh?” I shout in fury, tears now beginning to spill down my cheeks. It may have seemed insignificant to him, but that small flower was a symbol of how beautiful life once was. How beautiful life could be once again.

For a brief moment, his face softens. Quickly, as if catching himself off guard, he clears his throat and returns back to that cold, steely expression. He turns his head towards one of the others, a stubbly dark-haired man in his late twenties and shoots him a look I cannot interpret. Suddenly, he grabs my arm and pulls me towards the truck, one of the others dragging Amara along behind us. Sheer panic sweeps over me and I dig my heels into the ground, struggling to break free from the man’s grip.

“Enough!” he yells, moving in front of me until there is barely an inch between us. His face relaxes. “Stop struggling. Where we’re going, you’ll find plenty of flowers to store in that necklace of yours.” His eyes reveal no deceit. But I cannot trust him just yet.

I almost forget to breathe as they push us into the back of the pickup truck. The copper-haired man sits in the back too, fixing his gaze in our direction as if scared we would jump out. A part of me wants to, but a bigger part of me is curious about the destination ahead.

Amara grabs my hand and interlocks her fingers in mine, her sweaty palms reminding me just how terrified she must feel too. We stare in silence at the reddening sky as the truck rolls into motion, the first chills of the evening creeping up along my spine. A clatter startles me as the man tosses my locket by my feet. Swiftly, I snatch it and hold the cool metal to my cheek, the familiar feeling providing much-needed comfort. My eyes shift towards the man, whose hair blazes a vivid red in the setting sun. Slowly, his lips tilt upwards in a smile, and, for the first time in 3 years, I feel a dangerous emotion brewing within me. Hope.