AN: Hello, me again! That slack writer who you would love to choke in her sleep! This is an extra chapter I had to write for English last term. Obviously because I'm a complete idiot, I lost the amazing final version. So you guys get the second-best one. Tell me what you think. If you hate it, well, you can wonder how I got an 'A' on it (the final one anyway). xx Nat
Torn Apart
There is no moon tonight and it's impossible to see through the inky blackness. Jasper and I would have been in bed by this time before the invasion, but not anymore. As has become our norm, we are perched outside the showgrounds on surveillance. Ghosting between the trees, we slowly make our way closer to where everyone is being held hostage. We reach the spot where we camp out every night, for hours on end, behind a vast clump of wiry bushes. Jasper passes me an out of shape thermos of slightly out of date noodles and chopsticks. Both of us had taken a risk staying in town, salvaging what we could from shops and houses.
This was the eighth night in a row, we watch for anything, a hiccup in routine, a sloppy guard, anything that would allow us to slip into the showgrounds unnoticed. Our belongings were covered in leaves and stashed in a ditch off the main road. After an hour or so of watching the camp my eyelids grow heavy and start to close; I wouldn't have been asleep for more than 15 minutes before my brother started to poke me in the ribs.
"Liz, Liz look!" He whispers. I follow his line of sight to where a guard, obviously untrained, has fallen asleep next to the hostage tent. The few things we have taken out I bury in the bushes. I strap my dagger to my belt. Jasper hands me the heavy .357 Magnum that he has given me a crash course in shooting. Our father has only had it for about a month, ever since we moved here. If everything was still normal I would refuse to touch the vile thing. But everything was no longer normal, and this weapon might be the difference between life and death.
The gun was heavy in the back of my waistband; weighing down my slight frame.
I get up into a crouch position and follow Jasper to the fence. He would always go first. The reason being that if something went wrong, he would get taken instead of me. His motto was that, if I got hurt, it was a fate worse than death for him.
One stretch of the fence was now in front of us. Jasper pulls out an object from his back pocket. From what I could see of its silhouette against the other bright lights of the show ground, it was a wire cutter. There weren't many places you can find those. My brother fiddles away as quietly as he could, and after an agonising 15 minutes we are given the reward of a hole that was a metre wide. On our stomach's we slither inside the compound for another two metres, even though we were clear of the hole. Floodlights prowl the area, like wolves hunting for their next meal. Jasper reaches the back corner of the tent first and cautiously lifts his head around the corner. He pulls it back just in time.
A massive dog is lying on the grass 8 metres away. Luckily we are downwind so he can't smell us. I suddenly have a reckless idea: I pick up a sizeable rock from the ground and throw it so it sails up and over the dog, to hit a metal trash bin about 15 metres away. The dog's head snaps up straight and he emits a low and dangerous growl from deep in his chest. He gallops along to where the rock has hit. Sniffing and sniffing around to pick up a scent. And then he leaves. Did someone call him? But I have no time to ponder.
I unclip my dagger and with a swish and a sound of tearing calico I slice through the back of the tent. I can't hear any voices, but I tell myself that they're probably sleeping. I creep inside, dagger in one hand, gun in the other. Jasper was still in front, with two guns cocked and ready. But inside isn't our parents or the other residents of Wirrawee. It's a tent filled with valuable items taken from residents and houses. There must be a hidden laser tripwire because the very next second a deafening alarm went off all around the showground.
And just like that stealth is thrown out the window. We sprint out and back to the safety of the hole in the fence. Jasper dives through and comes out cleanly. I try as hard as I can to mimic his actions, but my shoe gets stuck on the edge. My brother reaches over steadily and unhooks it, and I scamper into the bushes behind us. But just as he withdraws his hand, a leather-gloved one clamps onto his wrist and drags him back inside. I see it all. Jasper getting punched repeatedly. The slump of his defeated soul. His unconscious body dragged away. I can't help it, I run. And that is the last I ever see of my big brother.