Hope you find this story arresting, it's about Kiev, the notorious and deadly Bug Jar, from the days before it's sealed off, to the present day, and Sofia is the key to it. I'll post the next chapter very soon regardless of how many reviews it does or doesn't get as this has been a long-time project.
~Tessa
Chapter 1
Chaos!
Kiev, Ukraine.
The word screamed was "Monster!" which in Ukrainian was "Монстри!" it was hardly heard though amid the tumble of buildings, stone crashing against the ground. Rain tumbled through the sky, soaking the stumbling, fleeing citizens.
Who would hear the scream of a girl through all that? All the people clinging to one or two bags, holding their babies tight and gripping the hands of children old enough to run, they certainly didn't stop to look at the girl standing in the shattered chunks of the Friendship of Nations fountain, her head craned to the skies, her mouth open wide in that endless scream.
"Nicholai! Nicholai!" a woman screamed, the whites of her eyes bright. "Where are you?" A lone bag hung from her forearm from where it'd dropped from her shoulder. "Nicholai! For god's sake!" a sob entered her scream as she searched the fleeing crowds.
"Antonia!" a man's voice thinly wormed through the crowds but she swung her head in its direction and elbowed her way through. Finally she reached her husband, he held their baby son, and Antonia frantically kissed the tiny forehead even as Nicholai grabbed her by her free elbow. He pushed her out of the way as a monster raised itself from the great crack in the ground running from the shattered fountains. It was wreathed by a vile stench from the sewers below.
"Run!" Nicholai roared, shoving their son into her arms, and pushed her away.
The EVO fixed its terrible eyes on them and launched itself at them, Nicholai swung the bag he carried into the side of its head; it roared in anger and swiped, leaving three tracks of blood down his muscled shoulder. Then someone slammed into Antonia, she spun, twisting her ankle in her effort not to hit the ground, the moment she straightened up, Nicholai was gone again! She was lost in the panicking crowd.
Antonia now held the baby, the bag still swinging from her shoulder. Holding their son tight to her chest, she shouldered her way through the stampeding crowd, her lips twisting in a prayer that Nicholai would soon follow and find her again.
Then she slammed to a halt.
There, in the midst of this madness stood the girl.
She looked maybe seven years old, she wore a yellow sundress filthy grey with dust, and dust streaked the soft red curls that fell past her shoulders. Her blue childish eyes were wide and she screamed through all the noise. She was still screaming, her face twisted in pain, no, agony! There were no words in her scream, just agony and confusion. Her skin was grey with dust and mottled with bruises.
Nicholai grabbed Antonia, addressed her harshly. "I told you to run, they are evacuating the city!"
"Not without you," Antonia said tersely but her eyes were still fixed on the girl. Like a rock in the water, people ran past her, never seeming to touch her but it was a matter of time, and the girl still stood stock still, screaming that endless scream that didn't even seem limited to her breathing.
Then a monstrous shape leapt from a falling building. It slammed people aside with its elongated, taloned arm, swiped Antonia to the ground. She instinctively rolled, her arms around her infant son to protect him. It seemed to say nothing but the girl screamed all the louder, throwing her hand up over her face as the EVO turned its strange, featureless face on her. Mine, it hissed silently.
The husband threw himself at the EVO, NoFace. "Run, Antonia," he roared at his wife, grabbed the girl from the ground, pushing her behind himself. He planted as violent a kick as he could into the EVO's chest. It worked enough for the two adults, each carrying a child, to run and to merge into the fleeing, panicking swords.
The crowds were catastrophically confusing, all sound swallowed in the rush, but for the pound of feet, the choke of breath.
The city emptied though was never quiet, the air filled with the chop of military helicopter blades, soldiers gazing down at the destroyed city, watching the EVOs rampage. Soldiers waited at the fringes, ready with machine guns to gun down all EVOs that sought to escape after the refugees. Whether they had been human or animal, they were exterminated by increasingly weary, haunted men. NoFace prowled out of sight, searching relentlessly for a crack in the defenses.
Tents grew outside the city limits, across the dusty ground and the wasted fields, guards stood with rifled. Into this city of tents injured, confused, and traumatised people gathered. They were no longer Kiev citizens. They were refugees.
Nicholai, carrying the little girl, wandered alone, hollow-eyed, among the tents. The little girl silently clung to his large hand, taking two steps to match each of his strides as he searched at each campfire for his wife Antonia's face. He couldn't even ask anyone whether they'd seen her. His mouth and throat were so dry he feared coughing up blood, but there was no water. He saw people slumped over the ground, bleeding or dehydrated, fallen by the wayside among the living.
He continued walking, his legs beyond pain, driven only by a robotic instinct to keep searching, only stopped when the girl stumbled. He looked at the tent nearest to them and pushed the girl towards it, pointed, unable to say anything. Panic flared in the girl's eyes, she grabbed his hand, stared at him intently, unable to speak herself either. Finally he started walking again, the girl clung determinedly to his hand, but when she next stumbled, her eyelids lowered with the need to sleep. Finally he picked her up and held her close, glad she was light but wishing she was lighter. He stumbled on around the campfires, drunkenly searching the faces until he finally dropped to the ground near some refugees.
Antonia, where are you? his mind beseeched, the girl slept in his arms, shadows surrounding them, twisting shadows of the flaps of tents nearby, their shabby cloth innards already spilling out with sleeping and whimpering refugees, mostly children who dreamed fitfully, trembling and sobbing in their sleep. The sounds drowned the night. The little girl slept curled up against the man and at dawn he woke her up, lifted her onto his still-weary shoulders. He still didn't know her name. He didn't think to ask.
Again they quietly searched.
Would he find her? his mind tortured him with images of her broken body, of their son wailing, starving with no one to care…
Finally a woman nursing a baby at her breast looked up as they approached. Her eyes welled up with tears, the man's eyes unashamedly spilled tears too down his dusty cheeks, and they embraced, huddling close by the low campfire.
The woman reached to stroke the little girl's pretty ginger curls. "What is your name?" she asked in Ukrainian.
"Sofia," the little girl whispered. The woman drew her close.
"She is ours," Antonia told the official at the table, who tried to draw up lists of the living. "She is mine and Nicholai's daughter, Sofia Roedburgh."
The official knew it was a lie but allowed it anyway.
Mine, NoFace's voice whispered through Sofia's mind. Trembling, she pressed her ear against the woman's hip and her other hand over her other ear.
"Shh, shh," the woman soothed, hugging her, and led her back to the campfire. "You are ours, now."