We all laughed as Rash sulked and swore over his meager dinner.
The Survivors’ faces were masked in firelight, smudging shadows under their eyes, which shone orange, like they were monsters. Kind-hearted monsters. They joked and jostled until the conversation turned to the mission. The laughs burned off their faces and the ready soldiers returned.
I let their talk transform into stories and fairytales. I knew my part. I would let my imagination shelter me tonight.
As evening changed to nighttime we all shifted and yawned, separating into the various rooms to sleep.
Rash whispered to me as we parted at a doorway, “Can I trade partners with you? That Gus guy and me have a personality clash. You know, we just don’t… gel.” He rubbed his palms together. He didn’t really mean it. And maybe we weren’t supposed to joke about this stuff but this was his way of saying ‘I’m sorry it has to be you.’
I shook my head, “And you and Joseph, you think you gel?”
He tipped his head and slapped my back, “Point taken Soar,” and sidled off towards another room.
We rolled out our sleeping bags, and once inside Joseph flipped onto his back and fell asleep immediately. I lay on my side with my arms close to my chest, thinking about Orry, wondering what part of the sky he was watching, what he was doing, and worrying. Apella pierced my thoughts in small snatches. She would always be a mystery to me. Images appeared of when we’d first met underground, her hair always a curtain hiding her from the rest of the world. She kept so much inside for so long, and now she was buried with her secrets. I sighed and rolled onto my back. Staring at the sky, I listened to the men and Olga snoring around me.
I blinked, and a shadow crossed my vision briefly, like a cloud that was there one minute and gone the next. Then something hit my face. My fingers grazed something hard and grassy. A coil of rope.
A black figure landed beside me with the lightest thump, covering my mouth with a leather-clad glove. His face was shadow, his voice light, melodic and almost cheery. “Shh! You don’t want to die, do you?” An accent I’d never heard before. I shook my head vigorously, my face stinging from his tight grip, my eyes trained on the sliver of silver I could see at Joseph’s throat. Black shadows tumbled from the sky, accosting every Survivor and clamping down on their faces before they had a chance to scream.
*****
The muffled surprise of Survivors bounced off the insides of their assailants’ hands. Some managed to get upright. Sneakers scuffled across the moldy carpet, making zooming noises. The Survivors strained and shoved against a solid, skilled foe. We were fighting shadows. The enemy darted, disappeared, and popped up behind you, always avoiding the punches. Some Survivors jumped out of their sleeping bags and fell forward, tangled by their own feet. Fists swung out and connected with black mist. It was a bundle of black cloth and flesh. There were too many. They were too fast as one by one, our men’s throats were grabbed tightly and arms wrapped around necks in an unbreakable hold. We pulled our feet back as we were dragged into the street, still struggling and flapping about futilely like fish in a net.
As we passed the door and were forcefully led down the path, I watched Matthew’s head forced to bow forward at the pressure of the hold. His teeth gritted, he slammed his head back in a flurry of golden brown and head-butted the person strangling him. The shadow let go, cursing, and holding their now bleeding nose, but we were so outnumbered that by the time Matthew had managed to stumble forward a few feet, someone else had a hold of him.
All the while, I was silent, my captors damp hand still tight over my mouth, my eyes bugging out as I watched my friends break free only to be caught again like flies in a web. It was a mess of scrabbling bodies and shadow. But the shadows were winning. They were in complete control.
One of them stopped and turned to us, all still fighting against our bindings and getting nowhere. “Hey!” He held a Survivor by their dark brown hair, jerking his head back violently, exposing his throat.
Joseph yelled, “No!”
Gus screamed, “Wait!”
But the silver edge nipped swiftly at the young man’s skin, a red line appeared, and then blood poured from the wound. He dropped to his knees and slumped forward, landing awkwardly on the ground with one cheek pressed to the pavement in a soundless prayer.
“Who’s next?” the shadow yelled in an accented tone.
Our eyes darted from side to side, trying to connect and tell each Survivor not to move, not to fight. I caught Rash’s expression, and it reflected my own terror.
Everyone stopped struggling. Our own wills slumped as the poor Survivor had. Joseph strained against the vice-like grip to get to him, two men attempting to hold him back. They let him go suddenly, and he stumbled forward into a puddle. I gagged when I realized it was blood. He lifted the man’s head, which lolled at an unnatural angle, and swore. Then he was hitched up by his underarms and dragged away from the man. A Survivor I hadn’t even learned the name of yet, dumped in the street, lifeless like so many other inanimate objects that had been left behind. He was part of the prams and shopping trolleys now. I strained my neck, watching him as we were dragged further away, hoping he might move. But as the distance gained, he became a pile of immovable clothing, nothing more.
Joseph walked slowly, trying to stay in line with me, his eyes angry, his muscles begging for a fight. I shook my head and gestured towards the motionless man in the street. Not now.
As we were pushed further down the road, my eyes moved frantically from Olga, who was struggling to keep up, to Pelo, who strode proudly down the street, not letting them see his fear, to Rash, who looked bewildered and frightened. We were prisoners.
I couldn’t believe we’d assumed we were alone in this world. This big world. It was so drummed in we didn’t question it. We were stupid.
Our sneakers dragging and limping across the broken-up road were the only noises save the breath of the men guiding us. They were intent and silent, walking quickly through the center of the town and out the other side, where buildings five-stories high gleamed with unbroken windows turning towards a browning patch of overgrown lawn in a semi-circle. They were glum-looking buildings, despite being intact. I glanced up, noticing a white clotheshorse dangling over one the balconies, only to have my head pushed back to my feet. At the base of two of these grey buildings, we turned sharply and squeezed into the narrow gap between them. We bumped and scraped as our arms grazed the dimply, rough render and then popped out the other side into an old basketball court. I grinned stupidly, envisioning them challenging us to a game—my mind was hysterical. The men stopped dead.
Fabric rustled, and then what little I could see was blacked out as sacks were thrown over our heads. We were prodded in the back and forced to walk forward.
*****
I counted our steps to five hundred, and then gave up. When we finally stopped, earthy and unfamiliar smells filled my nose. Metal scraped against metal, and the people spoke in a language I didn’t understand. A lot of shushing and swaying filled the words, making it sound fast yet comforting, despite the situation. Female voices dominated the conversation. I heard a child cry, and it spiked my heart. Where were we?
My captor pushed me roughly to the ground, one hand still pressing deeply into my shoulder blade. They grabbed my arms and yanked them back, tying my hands tightly around a small tree. Someone’s fingers grazed my lower back reassuringly.
“Rosa, is that you?” Joseph whispered through the cloth.
“Yes,” I sighed.
The sack was ripped from my head, and a pour of warm, golden light hit my eyes. Leathery tents formed a circle around three fires. Dark-haired women with plaits snaking down their backs squatted over large, metal pans, scraping and shaking. Their clothes were layered and dark. The men wore black. The smell wafted towards me, and I licked my lips without meaning to.