Hey fellow FF readers and writers. This is just a quickie about how a group of some of the characters try and survive the siege. Each day is told from a different POV. Enjoy.
Day 1
Katia
Ah, damn rubble! I can't even believe that it's made such a big pile. Then again, the hole in the ceiling is quite big, and part of the wall had come down with it when the mortar hit the building. I kneel down and start to pull apart the pieces of the pile, each one being big and/or sharp, and very heavy. Sweat starts running down my neck and dripping onto my knees or onto my back. You can damn near work out doing this for an hour or so. Beats going to the gym.
Not that there would be any up and running now, what with the siege going on.
You probably don't even know what I'm talking about so I guess I'll be doing my job and fill you in.
My name is Katia and I'm a, or I should say I was a reporter for the main newspaper in Pogoren, the capital of Graznavia. For those of you who don't know, and that will probably include a lot of you, this is a small country bordered between Serbia to the east, Bosnia to the south west and Croatia to the north-west. There are only a few hundred thousand people living here, about half a million last time I checked about a year or so ago, and most live in or in the area immediately around the capital.
You're probably wondering now about the siege I mentioned earlier and why I am stating everything in the present tense.
Firstly, the siege I'm mentioning is in the midst of the current war in the Balkans. You see, we were once part of the huge country of Yugoslavia, one that had existed for decades following the end of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and had even survived the Second World War, despite the intense ferocity of that conflict. Of course, as you all know, last year the Soviets decided to pack it all up, and before long we were already descending into anarchy what with different ethnic groups, and fuck knows how many sub-groups of some kind as well, all springing up and wanting to establish a country for themselves. We did the same thing and held a referendum with an overwhelming majority wanting independence. I remember being there that day, reporting the jubilation, the joy, the smiles and the patriotic cheers that we were finally going to be our own people with our own rules and our own voices being heard instead of being shushed by others.
The only thing was that not everyone in one of the newest additions to the map of Europe wanted to have the kind of government the referendum set out for us.
About six months ago, a faction of rebels, formed out of the remains of the previous Yugoslavian government as well as elements of right wing extremists and some military and militia leaders, came together and declared themselves the rightful leaders of Graznavia. They and their supporters stormed the main parliament building and arrested the majority of the other party members there (there was only one significant party and about two or three minute ones). Those that weren't present or managed to escape quickly fled the city and appealed to the army and others for help. The 'loyalists' (for lack of a better term) appealed to the Serbs and, after a few months of negotiations, they sent an army and blockaded the city with the loyalists.
Sorry for all the information, but my reporter side is taking over. Heh, I guess it's become a part of me rather than just being something that pays the bills.
Anyway, enough of the history lessons. Onto the reason as to why I refer to everything in the present tense.
Even though technically the country is falling apart and nothing is running, the people are fleeing and there is no official government because it has been removed and the rebels control the only powerhouse, I still think that we can pull through. We have to. I mean we've survived the decades of communism, or something near those lines, and we made it clear to the rest of the world that we want to be independent. We had a referendum and survived the chaos engulfing much of the rest of the Balkans, well for a while at least.
A shout from downstairs draws my attention. It's Pavle, one of the others staying in the house with me. He's asking me if I need help. I shout down to him no and continue pulling a huge piece of rubble out from under another huge piece of rubble. Damn! Maybe I will need one of the guys to come in and help me. Wonder what we'll find there when we get through?
Hopefully food and water I mentally tell myself, my growling stomach emphasising the need for my body to have some sort of sustenance.
As I hear footsteps coming up the stairs two floors below (the house being three stories high from the ground) and Pavle's voice shouting up that he's coming to help, I sigh in relief. Now we can get to the room on other side. If I'm right, it's probably another bedroom or a small sitting room.
Like a treasure chest, I guess. Wow … What a metaphor. I guess the creative stance comes even when there's a war going on.
Day 2
Pavle
A new day has dawned and we're all still alive. Well, as much as we can be. But things could be worse. That's what I tell myself.
Anyway, let me give a mini intro about me. I'm Pavle, a former football player on what had been the national team of Graznavia before the war. As you can expect, I'm quite a fast runner, one of the fastest they had. Of course, that's all in the past now. I'm just one of the many multitudes now scavenging to stay alive in the city ever since the blockade started.
Where we are is not exactly safe, since there are many snipers dotting the hills and some parts of the surrounding neighbourhood. Anyone who goes out in the day time risks getting their asses shot to shit, yet some are willing to do it, mostly to trade supplies or try and find materials or food or whatever else they can get their hands on. Of course, snipers aren't the only problem. Mortars and shells are flying about in the city. Earlier, one went right overhead and landed about a hundred feet away down the street and shattered a small bungalow. God help anyone who was there, the place was literally blown to smithereens.
Night is really the only time any of us can sneak out to find stuff. There are a few places nearby, such as a church or a small cottage in the old town district. Heck, we can even go to the market, though it's about a two mile trek from the house and, as you may have guessed, it's dangerous as hell.
My stomach growls loudly and I rush up the ladder that leads down into the basements to see if there's any food in the kitchen. We have a fridge and a small stove that cooks pretty well. We lack beds though and don;t have any armchairs, only a simple wooden one.
"A lot different from what I was used to." I mutter to myself, briefly remembering the nice house I had with my family and the holidays we would have, and our car and furniture and …
No. I push these thoughts from my mind. It's not good to think about them. It only brings negativity, and right now we need to stay positive.
I hear one of the others call me from upstairs to help them break open a locked metal storage container. I'm not as strong as you would think, it's all in my legs. But I know that me and Bruno can get it open together.
Day 2 (night)
Bruno
Night's approaching and the smell of food permeates throughout the house. We managed to find some after going through every wardrobe, every storage unit and anywhere else we could think of. Only thing is that it's the only food we have to start either scavenging or trading … or stealing if necessary.
Better do the usual greetings. Name's Bruno. I used to have my own cooking channel in Pogoren and was regarded as one of the best chefs in the city. I've always loved cooking. Not exactly a Marco Pierre White, but good enough to be popular in Graznavia and even to a certain degree in several other countries across the Balkans. Guess my celebrity status won't help me now. Everybody is out there to survive for themselves, and helping somebody else is not gonna be on their priority list.
Fuck them then. Don't come crying to us for any food or water. We ain't gonna give you any.
As I stir the food in the pot, I hear Pavle working on something downstairs. Probably a bed. We found enough materials and wood in the house, especially when looking in a set of drawers placed in the tree house behind the building, and we set to work best we could on building something. Too bad there's no mechanic around here. Another mortar goes overhead and lands nearby, thankfully further away than the last one did.
I just hope our luck holds out I tell myself mentally as I quickly taste the food with the wooden spoon I've been using. Mmmm. Nice. Sour and hot and the meat and vegetables can be tasted right from the get-go. Another ten minutes or so left before it's ready.
Of course, that leaves me wondering about what we're gonna have to get tonight. And I don't mean shopping, God no. There ain't no supermarkets or even corner shops open now, probably all been blown to bits. And those that haven't have most likely been stripped bare of everything. That's gonna make things difficult for us. We need to get that damn food!
I shake those thoughts from my head and call out to the others that dinner is ready. As I hear Katia and Pavle coming to the kitchen, I tell myself that tonight we need to sit down and determine what we need and what we need it for.
The next few days are gonna be hell, and not just because of the war.
Day 4 (night)
Pavle
Creeeaaaaakkk!
Fuck!
I think to myself as I try and push the door to the cottage open as quietly as possible. I peer into the small hallway that stood before another door, this one cracked, its paint flaking. A few bullet holes dotted the walls and the window on the entrance to the building was smashed.
I'm at a cottage somewhere on the edge of the city centre, and I'm absolutely terrified. Even though it's night, the army continue to shell the city sometimes and there are even a few snipers lurking about in the hills or any nearby high-rise buildings. I have to be careful.
Tentatively, I step into the hallway and, with a gentle nudge push open the second door, revealing a room with a flight of stairs going up and another below them going down into the basement. Another door is on the wall behind them, presumably leading to a kitchen or living room (or both).
I can't spend the whole night here scrounging around for supplies, I gotta get back in the next few hours. Just need to find what we need.
"I best get started," I mutter to myself as I creep into the room, taking care not to make too much noise.
I search a chest of drawers and I find some wooden blocks. Yes! We could use these for a bed. I can only carry a certain amount in my rucksack so I need to conserve what I find. What we really need is food. Is there a fridge?
I creep into the next room, quickly glancing around to assess my surroundings. Much of it was completely trashed and a small fire was burning in the corner. A lamp and a sofa, or what remained of them, were visible. There was no hole in the ceiling so maybe this was just a way of whoever had been here before trying to keep warm. If so, then where were they now?
I move into the room, checking under another sofa standing idle. Nothing. I look up and my eyes seem to light up like sapphires. Cue the damn chorus! A fridge! And that meant food!
I run over to it like a child excited on Christmas morning and throw the door open. My hopes are dashed partly when I see most of the shelves are empty of anything, and what was there … Well, let's just say it smelt, and looked like a pile of shit. I almost threw up, and only managed to stop myself when I saw some food on the second shelf. It composed of meat, mainly sausages and chicken legs that were still within the dates, and bottled water. Perfect!
I grab the food and stuff it into my rucksack, being careful not to rip open the packets and spill the contents everywhere. If that happened, Bruno would kill me. We needed the food right now. I look back into the fridge. Oh great, water! Nice! I grab that too and stuff it into my rucksack.
Now for anything else.
I creep into the next room and find another two flight of stairs, one going up and the other leading down into the basement. Which one would I be able to take that reaps the most reward? Upstairs will probably have more wood and clothes but the basement will be where they store food and maybe wood than upstairs. Maybe even medicine'll be down there.
I head downstairs. There's a blocked off door in front of me. I look behind the stairs and see a huge storage cabinet. More food! Supplies! Yes! I run towards it, ready to throw the doors open and …
I stop. Oh no! It's locked. And I don't have a crowbar or a lock pick. Damn! I can't make one tonight too, and I doubt there'll be one here.
"I guess I'll have to try later." I mutter frustratingly to myself, going back upstairs to the ground floor and then up the next flight. It's a small landing with a broken bedroom door hanging by its hinges with wood and rubble blocking it. "Oh great, another blocked doorway." I grumble. Now how the hell am I supposed to find stuff.
I take a deep breath to calm myself. C'mon, I gotta stay positive. It's the only way to get through this and right now any negativity is not what's needed. It only serves to worsen performance. If my coach was here, he'd be happy that I took his advice on board in my personal life.
If he was still alive.
I shake those thoughts from my mind and quickly scan the landing but there's only a small burning pile of wood and part of wall in the corner behind me, it having collapsed when something, maybe a mortar, had probably exploded there. There's nothing left for tonight. I may as well leave.
As if accentuating that it was my time to leave, I hear gunshots nearby. It's probably just bandits, or rebels firing upon bandits. Either way, I ain't staying here to find out. My legs go into overdrive as I run back down the stairs, through the house and out the front door.
All in a night's work I thought to myself as I turn into an alleyway, hoping that I can make it back to the safe house without being shot.
Day 6
Katia
With a few hits of the hammer I found in a toolkit, I hit the last nail into place. I wipe some sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and stand up, admiring my 'work'. It wasn't much. A small part of a bench that was part of our attempt to expand the workshop area, which could enable us to work on fortifying the house a bit more.
"And hopefully this'll keep the bandits away." I mutter to myself as I place the hammer on the floor to quickly check on my work.
"Katia!" Pavle calls from upstairs. "Bring yourself up here. There's somebody at the door."
"Alright!" I call back. Looks like it'll have to wait.
I rush over to the nearby ladder and climb up to the ground floor, quickly glancing at the kitchen to see Bruno cleaning away at the cooker. Pavle was probably sleeping upstairs after having gone out scavenging last night. He came back with a lot of wood and materials but only a can of food. Well … at least we can guarantee that we'll last another day with relatively full stomachs.
I walk towards the door and open it to see the person we've nicknamed 'The Trader' standing here, his torn and worn jacket, jeans and unshaven face recognizable even to a senile old woman.
"Hey there," he greets in his usual gruff manner, already reaching for the backpack. "I came to do business. What do you got?"
"Not much." I reply. "Just a bottle of moonshine we found a couple of days ago. And a-" I stop myself, my teeth gritting at my stupidity. Great bargaining. I forgot: Never reveal what you have before the other person, or at least not everything. "W-what about you?" I ask him.
He grunts and opens his backpack, revealing a mixture of herbs, spices, three cans of food and ten water bottles. I was impressed, I couldn't deny it, but my eyes quickly scanned the rest of his body. He had some wood strapped to a belt around his trousers probably to be used as weapons in case he attracted unwanted attention. And in his pockets I could see the tips of what looked like weapon parts just sticking out.
Maybe he's testing me. Well, two can play at that game.
"Well?!" he barks at me, his voice noticeably irritable. "C'mon, I haven't got all day."
I put on my best bargaining face; a raised eyebrow, a half-smile and a look that says: well, wait until you see what I can do for you.
"You look a little weighed down there." I say to him. "Surely you want to drop some of that."
He just smirks. "What and just give it to you for free?! Screw you for that. I'm fine with this."
"Really?" I point to his belt and backpack. "You do realise that all of that will slow you down if you get spotted by a sniper? You're just signing your death warrant. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but they will get you soon."
He doesn't reply but glances down at his belt and then at the backpack. Then back at me, his eyes burning with annoyance, even a touch of a fiery anger. I really hit a nerve.
"Fine!" he growled, taking four pieces of wood off his belt and throwing them to the ground before me. He also took out a water bottle too and threw that onto the wood at my feet. "Now, what have you got." he said, his voice clearly stating that he wanted to see our things now.
I sigh and tell him to wait and disappear back into the house for a moment, then quickly rushed back with a bottle of moonshine in my hands, the coldness shooting up my arms, making my fingers feel a little numb. I show it to him and his eyes light up upon seeing it.
"Well, not bad." he said, clearly impressed. Now I got him. "I'll be happy to take that off your hands."
"Sure thing," I reply but hold it in my hands, my face showing that we were not done. "Although, you have some other things that I want."
As I expected, his face falls with annoyance and an annoyed sigh passes his lips. "Well what is it?" he asks, his eyes and demeanour longing for the alcohol.
"The gun parts in your pocket." I say bluntly, pointing to them. "I want them."
He actually smirks. "What the hell are you gonna do with 'em? Make a gun." he pauses and chuckles again. "Actually, a pretty face like yours with a gun over her shoulder wouldn't be so bad now. One of those American 'hot momma's' as they call 'em."
I ignore him. "Look you can either perve and get nothing or you can give me the parts and you'll get the alcohol. I might even have an electronic part or two for you if you have anything else special to trade."
He grunts and reaches into his pocket and pulls out the remnants of what used to be a 9mm pistol. In turn, I pass him the alcohol and take the weapon parts from him and scoop up the rest of the stuff into my arms.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" he says in an annoyed manner.
I knew what he was talking about. "Excuse me, I said I might have them for you. But I've just remembered that we don't. Thanks for the trade. See you soon."
And with that, I slam the door in his face and walk back inside, a triumphant look on my face. Bruno looks up at me with a stoic expression.
"What you get?" he asks.
"Wood, materials, a water bottle and some gun parts." I reply. "No food though."
He tuts and turns back to the stove, scrubbing away hard at it, muttering something that was no doubt derogatory under his breath. I ignore him and place the stuff on the table to begin sorting it out.
Well, can't please everyone.
Day 8 (night)
Bruno
Creeping into an abandoned apartment building was no fun during the day, and at night it was the same only with a greater element of danger about it. Bandits could be occupying anywhere given the fighting going on here at the moment. And that's not even counting the possibility of any soldiers or dangerous homeless people or … well, I don't know. Who knows now?! Anyone of them could be hiding here!
Ah, why did I volunteer myself to go out and do this?! My crowbar ain't gonna do shit against someone who'll probably have a gun.
But still I have to go on. We need the supplies after all, even if I have to take them from someone's cold, dead fingers.
I step through a blown out hole in the wall and find myself in a long dark corridor with rubble covering the floor. A wooden door covered in holes, no doubt from shrapnel, is at the other end, where it leads to though I have fucking clue. Against the wall to the right of me are two wardrobes, or really one wardrobe and next to that what used to be a wardrobe as it was just a pile of wooden crap now (no doubt another casualty of whatever had exploded here).
Well, the undamaged wardrobe was the best starting place. I walk over to it and, after trying the door to see if it was locked, which it was, put the crowbar against the door and began to pull. It makes a loud noise as it fails to break the lock. Damnit! Stupid cro-
Loud thuds from upstairs, moving fast in my direction. That meant-
"Oh shit!" I mutter to myself.
Which way do I go? The entrance is too far and even if I get outside, they'll have the door open and shoot me by now. The rubble? No, they'll see me from a mile away, and obviously this wardrobe is no good! They're getting closer. I can hear something wooden shaking in the next room. Oh no, I'm dead! There must be room behind the wardrobe. Yes!
Quickly, I duck into a doorway on the wall on the side of the wardrobe closest to the door. It must have been a closet, but I didn't care. It was practically pitch black in there, too dark for anyone to see my unless they really looked. I run in there and press my back against the far wall, inhaling deeply, waiting for them to come.
The door to the corridor flies open. Another man steps through, a pistol in his hand. He was quite different from the cliché huge, bulking mass of a person you would expect to come and tear you in half in this sort of situation. He had a pair of thin glasses over his eyes, a largely bald head with curly grey hair around the back and top. His clothes were, no surprise, worn, dirty and torn. The trousers were riddled with holes, the shirt and jacket were faded in colour with the latter missing a sleeve. His face turns erratically as he takes cautious steps forward, finger nervously shaking on the trigger. My heart goes mad and, instinctively, my hands grip the crowbar tighter. Oh god, please don't see me! I can't use it on someone.
I watch him move out of view as he says something, though I don't catch all of it. Cluttering and moving wood fills the air. He's moving the first wardrobe. Times slips past like hours. I count the seconds. One … Two … Three … Footsteps are approaching. He's coming back!
Oh no!
I see him step into view, finger still nervously placed on the trigger and head moving to search the place around him as if he feared being snuck up on. Then again, who could blame him. Well, at least he has a decent weapon. Or two with that wrench he has in his trouser pocket facing me. No doubt a mechanic. Huh! He won't be able to fix this problem.
A whistle fills the air from outside, quickly growing louder. For a moment, I freeze. Oh fuck!
BANG! Something explodes, the building shakes. Nothing collapses but the man still dives to the floor, covering his head as much as he can. Another whooshing sound fills the air. Silence. Then another bang, thankfully this time further away rings out.
The man gets up and, grabbing his pistol, (Damnit! I mentally rage) he runs through the doorway and the sound of wood shaking again comes back to me, though over more whooshing sounds it's easy not to hear it.
Well screw it, I'm leaving! I run out of the closet, down the corridor, jump through the hole and back out into the night, pausing to glance to my left as I leave the building. A huge hole is in the ground where grass used to be, the earth having been torn up and thrown about as if some underground monster had burst through to the surface world. I hear more echo out from the surrounding streets. The army must have pinpointed some rebel activity in this area and look set on wiping them out.
Well, not me. I'm going!
I run back down the path I came up on earlier and back onto the street, clenching my butt cheeks in the hopes they don't get shot off by a sniper.
Day 11
Pavle
"What's left, Pavle?"
"Not much. The bastards took a lot of our water, wood, and that tin of tuna I was hoping to eat tonight."
I hear Katia sigh heavily from the next room and mutter something and then say a deflated: "Okay."
It's easy to understand her frustration. If you haven't already worked it out, last night we were attacked by some bandits. Because I was out with the crowbar and spade, the others only had a knife between them. You're probably thinking "Why didn't you leave one of the things you took here?" Well, I needed it and we had to gamble on two things. That I was going to use it to clear away rubble from my path, and that we weren't going to be raided by opportunistic bandits. It's something we have to do every night. Reckless and stupid? Absolutely. Necessary? Unfortunately yes.
I sigh and climb downstairs to the bottom of the ladder to the workshop. Well, at least this is still working. We've built three beds in the basement next to it and the workshop is doing okay after we expanded it a bit more. Now we can build more lucrative furniture and, hopefully, do a bit more. We've managed to build a heater and put in between the second and third beds so that should keep us warm, or warmer when it starts to get colder. And we've managed to board up two of the breach points on the house (one at the front of the house near the door and the other near the top floor).
And yet we've still not managed to make a metal workshop. We've been lucky to find all the tools so far but they'll be gone soon.
It's imperative we do that. We have to, or we're dead! We won't last long and with the fighting spreading to the nearby areas, we need to be careful too.
In short,our situation is getting worse unless something good happens.
I hear a series of knocks from upstairs. The Trader? Can't be, he only came by yesterday. He never does this, or at least he hasn't so far. A rush of fear grips me. What if it's the rebels or some bandits?! Or worse, the army?
I climb the ladder and approach the door slowly, part of me thinking it was going to suddenly burst open and a hail of gunfire was going to come through at any moment. I peek out through the peep-hole and see a woman standing there, her head covered by a hood from the jacket she was wearing. She kept glancing over her shoulder and then would turn back to the door, a pleading look visible in her blue eyes. Please open the door! Please let there be someone there!
"Pavle?" I hear Bruno speak quietly from behind me as he stands at the bottom of the stairs; Katia standing in the kitchen doorway, a kitchen knife in her hand.
"It's okay, just a frightened person." I reassure them (I doubted it worked but oh well) and open the door.
"Oh thank god!" the woman says. "I'm really glad there's someone here! I need your help, please!"
I look back at the others, silently asking them for advice on this situation. Katia has a sympathetic look in her eyes, but Bruno looks more confused and annoyed. It was clear where they stood. Guess it's up to me.
"Okay, what's wrong?" I ask, turning back to the woman.
"I live nearby with my daughter, in the apartment block just up the road. My husband, Marko, was drafted into the rebel force when the war began. We thought we were okay in our area for a time, but now the bandits are moving in. I'm terrified we'll be attacked! Please, can you help us?! I have a weapon that you can use!"
Her pleas were frantic and desperate. I look into her eyes, seeing the terror at the prospect that I can easily say no and leave her and her daughter at the mercy of the bandits running loose in the streets. I look back at the other two. Bruno now holds a more concerned expression, though whether it was for our safety or for the woman's I don't know. Katia is sadder and gives me a pleading look: We have to do something for her. We can't just leave her.
True I mentally say to myself. But with the war on, can we trust this woman's story? She could be a bandit herself for all we know, or at least in their employment to lure us into a trap.
Wow, I really am cynical. Before I would have given her my month's pay check without a second thought. What a person war has made me into.
The moments pass slowly as I ponder, then reach my decision.
"Alright, I'll help you." I say, seeing the woman's eyes light up with joy. She probably would have jumped and cried, but would have then made herself target practice for a sniper. "I'll go with you to your apartment."
"No, I will," I hear footsteps behind me and Bruno moves me aside, giving me a look that told me not to argue. "You stay here, and keep the house and Katia safe."
"B-Bruno-" I stutter but he cuts me off.
"No, don't argue. I'm going, end of story. I'll be back later." He tells me and turns to the woman. "Alright, let's go."
A look of concern flashes across her face for a millisecond as she glances between us, but says nothing more and turns and walks back up the path to the road; Bruno right behind her. I watch them turn down the road and disappear behind the corner of another building.
As I go back inside, I look at Katia. Both of our gazes hold the same feeling: "I hope he'll be okay."
It's a gamble. I tell myself. But a dangerous one at that.
Day 14 (night)
Katia
I used to be scared of the dark so much when I was younger, right to the point where I had to have my parents with me if I went downstairs to our basement. It took years for me to conquer my fear, but it's only worked to a degree. Even now, I sometimes shit my pants if I go outside or into a very dark room.
And tonight was no exception, though my determination to get through this and bring back useful supplies helps propel me to repress the nyctophobia. Can't chicken out when we need supplies and weapons.
Silently and sticking to the shadows, I creep forward into an abandoned building I recognise immediately as the school. Or what was left of it as it too had fallen victim to the shelling and mortar fire exchanged between the military and the rebels. Bastards, the lot of them! I wonder if the kids made it out.
As I enter through the still standing entrance, I can't help but be overcome with sadness as I look at my surroundings. Kid's drawings are scattered across the floor, plastic dolls lay unclaimed amongst the rubble. But what really stands out to me is the silence. When I came here about two years ago for the Pogoren Sports Day competition between the many schools in the city, the air was filled with children clapping, shouting, laughing. The enjoyment and the ecstasy was very contagious and I could not stop myself from smiling madly. I even wished at the time that I was a kid then, and laughed hard when my cameraman was forced by the kids to take part in a tug of war with another man and fell flat on his face.
My face falls when I think of those memories, now lost and shattered, just like the joy that used to be the very air we breathed here. The dolls and the drawings and other toys … all of them were cherished and the embodiment of childhood innocence, yet were now see as just casualties of war.
Just like the kids
I push these thoughts from my mind and walk further into the building, seeing a flight of stairs ahead of me lead up to the next floor. Behind them was a closed door. I go over to it and try to open it but it would not budge. I pull harder, even putting my foot against it. Nothing!
Damn! Alright, upstairs it is.
I rush upstairs and am greeted to a desk sitting idly near the top behind the banister. I rummage through it, searching all the drawers and cabinets. Some books and a bottle of water. Well, I do like to read. A bit of Hrabal won't hurt. And if I had an axe, then we could turn this into a nice pile of wood.
I take the things and put them into my rucksack and move on down the corridor ahead of me, passing several rooms that were once classrooms. A huge section of the corridor was blown out at the end, the rubble strewn across the floor and revealing a hole that showed the outside. No doubt a big shell had landed here. There were even a few desks laying around, some completely intact, others smashed to bits. More evidence of our hopes for the future being smashed by the intolerance and prejudice of the past coming to a head in the present.
I search three classrooms, finding nothing much but wood and materials. No leftover food or anything. As I leave the last classroom largely undisturbed by the war, I notice a hole in the floor at the end of the corridor. Curious, I walk over to it and look down to see a green carpeted room and another hole with a ladder leading further down. Maybe there was more. There had to be!
I jump down into the room, landing on a thick wooden cabinet turned on its side, and climb down the ladder, my surroundings quickly changing from a wooden, light to a dark, brick covered environment akin to a sewer or an abandoned basement. I pause for a moment on the ladder, questioning myself if this was such a good idea. Anyone could be hiding down here, and they could be armed and dangerous. It was enough to make me momentarily climb a few steps back up to the top but I stop myself. No, I have to at least take a look.
Quietly, I step off the ladder and move down the dark corridor (I'm trying not to let my fear take control of me as I go), into the unknown. I listen out for anything and everything. Dripping pipes, noises in the cracks, rats scurrying etc. I wonder what I'm gonna find down here. More wood? Materials? Water? Maybe even food? Maybe even some pills?
As I reach a door, I push it open and nearly yelp in fright.
On the floor curled up in a ball is a man, his clothes worn beyond any recognition of their original colour, hair matted and old and a foul stench arising from his bodily form. He must have shat himself and not bothered to properly clean it up. Great. At first I thought he was dead, but I could see him moving. And muttering incoherently under his breath.
Homeless, yet he's found somewhere to lay his head, under the ruins of civilisation tearing itself apart up above.
I slowly creep past him, making sure not to touch him. He did not even move to look up at me. He just ignored me, or probably was so out of his mind he did not even register my presence. In front of me was another door and I pushed it open. Before me was a larger room with two beds and a small metal barrel on the floor between them, a bright flame burning within it. There were two people sitting on the beds, both talking quietly to each other. One was holding a wine bottle which he raised to his lips and drank from and let loose a belch. His companion burst into jovial laughter and the guy with the bottle joined in.
Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I tell myself and slowly back away.
The men stop and look up at me. I freeze.
A hand roughly grabs my arm from behind and yanks me back. I yelp, turn and see a pair of eyes, wide, panicked, mad with a lack of reality piercing into mine.
"Help me! I need ya!"
Terror is all I can feel. I push the man away from me, almost making him land into the wall behind him, and I run. I run and run, not looking back for fear they would be chasing me. I climb up the ladder, jump onto the chest and up through the hole back into the corridor. The adrenaline keeps me going as if I've taken a truck load of steroids and I sprint down the corridor, down the stairs and out the main entrance. I pause and look back at the building.
Nothing. Nobody is following me out. I'm alone, standing outside an empty place of ruined dreams and hopes for the futures of our little ones. It's been infested by the deranged and the homeless, the ones that society has cast aside in the hopes of forgetting. And if nobody helps them, then those people won't last long.
What is this war doing to us?
Day 16
Pavle
Another day of hunger, another day of exhaustion and another day of thirst. We've run out of food, thanks to a group of bandits attacking the place last night. One of them broke into the house and raided the fridge before I came in with the crowbar. He escaped, taking the last two tins of beans. Bruno, who had gotten back early this morning after going out for supplies literally an hour before the break-in, chased after them but we stopped him before the bandits turned and attacked him. He was cursing and shouting and furious with us for not going after him. It took us a while to calm him down and, exhausted with all the adrenaline, he fell asleep.
I can understand why he's pissed off, I am too and Katia is really angry as well. Bruno had managed to get his hands on a good amount of food a few nights before, though he wouldn't tell us how and he avoided talking about it when we tried to ask him. We ate good for a few days, feeling good over things seemingly getting better and that we were able to help our nearby neighbour until she came to us and said that she and her daughter were going to her parents in a safer area of the city. Her shotgun was out of ammo and as we still don't have that kind of workshop yet, we just dumped it in a storage closet. Not great but things were looking up. We even managed to build a radio and set it up in the dining room. Our hopes were high. Maybe we could hear about a potential ceasefire or some international intervention.
What daft hopes! First thing we hear: the temperature is dropping and winter is coming early and it's gonna be a bad one. Great! And we only have one heater in the whole house! What a way to make us feel happy, nothing but doom and gloom!
And then we ended up running low on food because of our own gluttony, so we had to move further afield to find supplies. Katia almost got shot doing this when she ran into an apartment building being held by a family and their son fired at her after she tried to break into their storage closet. She only just escaped the place but refused to go out for a few days afterwards. I volunteered to go for two weeks out and only came back with bits and pieces, most of the places we had already been to having been plundered by either us or anyone else looking for supplies. It got harder and harder for us and we became pretty snappy with each other.
Last night would have changed all that but, as I said moments ago, that's all out the window now.
I hear Katia call out from below, saying that with the amount of wood she's just put into the heater, we only just have enough to ensure that we can board up the hole at the back of the house. I'll get started on that later, even though I could do with a nap. I wish Bruno would contribute more. He cooks, yeah but also complains a lot. Damn pessimism of his.
No, c'mon! I have to be positive about this. If not for Bruno or my, then for Katia.
I only hope how long we can do this for.
Day 20 (night)
Katia
It's cold. I can feel it against my skin despite having a thick hoodie and top and trousers on. They're supposed to be winter-proof yet I'm freezing my ass off. I see the building before me and I can't help but rush towards it. I don't care if I get shot, beaten up or carted off to a concentration camp or whatever, I want out of this fucking cold.
I reach the inside, going through a hole in the wall and taking a few steps further into the room so as to get away from the cold. Too bad there's no door. That would keep out the chill. Alright, enough complaining. Time to look for supplies. We need materials, water and food. And pills. I've been feeling sick lately so I need something.
I creep further into the house and push open a door, seeing a jagged hole shaped like a crack in the wall on the right, revealing the outside world to me. Rubble littered the floor, along with destroyed furniture. A fridge was turned on its side and the door lay next to it, no doubt having been forced open by someone who was probably as eager as I am. I rush over to it like a kid on Christmas morning, hoping that I can find even just a slither of food. I can eat it now. The others won't know. Yeah. I'm hungry anyway.
Nothing. Damn! Fridge is empty and nothing scattered on the floor, unless there's a microscope around here somewhere. Maybe then I'll find something to snack on. I sigh in an annoyed manner and stand up, looking around to see if there can be food anywhere else. Nothing here. There's plenty of wood though. I'll go for that when I come back through here.
I walk past the fridge and into the next room, a large dining room that used to be quite exquisite and ... what's the word the English use … posh? Ah, something like that! The dining table still has a cloth draped over it, there's a grandfather clock against the wall, a large cabinet to the left of the way into the room is filled with fancy china dishes. Heck, there's even a mini chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Were it not for the windows that were blown out and that some of the chairs were tipped over and a small plume of smoke was drifting in from a fire outside, this would be what anyone could walk into if they were in a museum or even at their own home.
Though without a family, it makes it meaningless … pointless … just plain empty.
I push these thoughts from my mind and begin to search the room, opening the cabinet and the drawers. A few pieces of paper, the scribbles of children and the work notes of a parent. Nothing much. I close the drawers and, with one brief glance through the china, the cabinet and walk over to the table. There are some plates there but nothing remarkable. As I turn to walk over to the clock, however, my eyes fall on a piece of paper partially hidden under one of the plates. Curious, I take the paper and unfold it. A message?
Cveta
I don't know if you'll find this. Heck, I don't even know if you're still alive. I've taken the kids out of here. I hope we'll find refuge in a military camp outside the city. Shells are falling. Tomasz is crying and frightened.
I've left a small stash of things for you under the floorboards under the grandfather clock. Hopefully they'll still be edible.
I love you. Please stay safe. I promise to find you when all this is over.
PS: Whatever you do, don't go to the industrial area. They'll kill you as they did Boris.
My eyes light up. Food? Medicine? Water? YES! I rush over to the clock and, with all my strength, push it over onto its side. The glass smashes and the thud is like a small boulder being dropped. Eagerly, I dig at the floorboards. The letter was right! I pull them up and find a small wooden box there. It had two cans of food, two water bottles and a few boxes of tablets and a tiny roll of bandages. Gold!
I grab the lot and throw it into my backpack. Yes! I found it. Somebody else may come here and wonder where it is. Well fuck them! I found it. Finders keepers, losers weepers. I'm outta here!
I run back into the kitchen, quickly pausing to grab a few blocks of wood, and then out of the building back into the night. I'm so ecstatic I don't even feel the cold now. I feel great!
Things are finally looking up for us.
Day 25
Bruno
"Don't worry, Katia. You'll pull through."
I gently stroke her head as she lays in bed, one arm clutched around her stomach, her face a pale white and a few coughs passing her lips. She could barely stand and had thrown up this morning, almost collapsing into the vomit afterwards had it not been for me and Pavle to catch her.
She must have fallen ill because of the bad turn the weather has had recently. For the last few days it's been snowing and it's below zero even in the day. We don't have much wood even after we tore apart one of the chairs and the table and even one of the beds with our bare hands to make up for the lack of firewood. And as for food, the amount she brought back only lasted a day between us. We're starving again.
So much for things getting better.
Footsteps from behind make me look over my shoulder to see Pavle walking towards us, a concerned look on his face, his eyes focusing on Katia. How is she?
"Not good." I tell him. "She needs medicine. Otherwise it'll get worse. And with this weather ..." I trail off, not needing to tell him just how serious this is.
He sighs and kneels down next to Katia, placing his hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. After a moment, he pulls his hand away.
"Fever," he says, looking up at me. "Do we have any medicine in the bathroom cabinet?"
I shake my head. "No, we used the last of it last week."
He curses under his breath and looks sadly back at Katia, watching her form deeply breathing and letting out a cough every few minute or so. Her condition was deteriorating and, as we both pointed out, if we didn't get her anything to help fight it then she was not going to last very long.
After a moment of silence, Pavle stands up and announces: "I'm going out early. I'll go and find her some medicine."
"Where are you gonna go?" I ask him. "The hospital?"
"Can't," he replies. "There's heavy fighting around there at the moment. I don;t even think it'll be standing in a few days. No." He pauses for a moment, thinking it over. "There's only one place I can go." He pauses again and looks at his watch. "And I better get going now."
And with that, he leaves before I or Katia can even stop him. He's up the ladder and out of sight.
I hope he gets those meds. I mentally try to reassure myself.
Day 25 (night)
Pavle
Closing the door behind me and moving through the rubble of what used to be a brick building was hard, especially when trying to do it quietly. One wrong step and I either fall flat on my face, or I make a lot of noise that could potentially draw any nearby bandits, rebels or military personnel to and result in a bullet in the back of my head.
Or even both. Huh, why not?! Everything else deemed impossible has happened.
Ahead of me is another white door that has a few bullet holes in it, but is largely unscathed. Hopefully it'll lead to a prosperous crop inside the warehouse.
I stop, breath caught in my throat, my body going still as a statue. My ears pick up voices, harsh and bad sounding. A light chuckle, barely audible over the sound of distant gunfire and mortars landing nearby. That doesn't sound good. My hand immediately reaches for my pocket, clutching the knife hard around the handle. Tentatively, I step towards the door, kneel down and look through the bullet holes.
Two men are standing in front of another white door to a huge grey building about twenty feet away from my position. One has his back to me and the other is facing him. Both are cradling assault rifles and the one with his back to the door is holding a cigarette between his fingers and thumb. I gulp, trying not to breathe too loudly. Otherwise I'd end up being a new kind of Swiss cheese for Pogoren.
"Haha! We did good last time, eh?!" the man with his back to me chuckled.
"Sure did!" his comrade replied, pausing to take another puff from his cigarette. "We're set for a while. So we ca sit back and do fuck all!"
The first to speak let out a hearty laugh as if he had been told a joke, then suddenly burst into speech with an excited demeanour. "Hey, what about the aid convoy that'll come in tomorrow morning?" he inquired eagerly.
With a nod and taking another drag from his cigarette and then dropped it on the floor and ground it out with his heel, the first spoke: "Yeah, I'm up for hitting another one. Wonder if they'll have some more of that American candy. Damn, that stuff tastes like heaven."
The two move back towards the warehouse, the one closest to its door kicking it open. His companion says in a tone dripping with lust: "If only there was a babe to go with it." And both giggled like naughty teenage boys who had been watching the latest round of porn on a tape.
The door to the warehouse closed but I dared not move in case they heard me. One second passed. Two. Three. Four. It's my own fear of the possibility of them waiting for me for come out so they can shoot me to hell. A part of me wants to turn back now but I can't. This was a warehouse. It was the biggest treasure trove of supplies we had found in a while and it was going to have everything we would need. Plus, Katia needed those supplies. If not, then she was as good as dead.
I swallowed some liquid courage and slowly opened the door, freezing for a moment for fear that a bullet was going to fly out and hit me. Nothing. Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief and crept forward to the door. I grabbed the doorknob and slowly turned it, gritting my teeth for the coming -CLICK!
Nothing. Another sigh of relief. They hadn't heard me. Thank God. I open the door to see a small room with a table with some tiny plastic cabinets resting on top. This must be where the employees put their clock in cards. Sorry I don't have mine. Maybe now they won't shoot me.
Oh what a comedian I am.
I move forward towards another door at the end and put my ear up against it. Can't hear anything. They've obviously moved off to another part of the building. Good. If I remember correctly, there should be some things stored underground. If so, then I can start there and work my way out of here through the back. Just hope they don't hear or see me. I open the door and through.
A gunshot echoes out and I crumple to the floor. I can't breathe. All the air has been sucked out of me. It's like my lungs … are being crushed! Something warm … on my chest. It's running down my body! Blood. It has to be. It ain't fucking hot water.
I see my vision fade as someone a pair of heavy shoes approach. I manage to move my head and see that it's the guy with the cigarette. He has his assault rifle close to his chest like some prized possession and his face is wearing a proud smile as if he was a hunter and I was deer. Blackness is coming. He says something but … I can't hear it. It's too far away.
I guess I'm done now.
Day 30
Bruno
Snow is falling heavily, temperatures are now below -8C. No firewood and only frozen vegetables which we can't cook because we don;t have firewood or water to boil them in. It's horrible. Trader Guy hasn't been round for a few days, he's probably dead by now. I found a dead guy just outside yesterday, lying face down in the snow. No bullet holes or blood loss or anything, he was just frozen. Poor guy.
Poor Pavle. To be taken like that. So cruel and callously.
Worst thing now is not how it affects us but … there's no tears. Any normal situation would have people crying and howling. Maybe a funeral procession considering his celebrity status. No, nothing. People are dying every day here. There's the guy I just mentioned. And that's only here. I have no doubt the bandits have shot countless people, and the rebels and army have racked up countless more between them. And of course there's people like us. How many have common people, like me or Katia or my colleagues at my restaurant, killed?
How many?
I hear Katia coughing from downstairs. She's been steadily getting worse and it was only by the grace of God that I went out two nights ago, leaving her defenseless if anyone attacked, and I found some pills in the cabinet of an abandoned apartment. They seemed to help her perk up, though the loss of Pavle really impeded it. But it was brief. This morning her condition deteriorated and it was much worse than before. Much worse.
I guess that leaves me open to one option. She ain't gonna last, not with winter carrying on like this. The radio is saying it's only gonna get colder. In short, she's fucked.
And so am I unless …
Day 33
Katia
C-c-cold! I can't feel my fingers. No fire. I can't even move without it hurting. I've coughed up some blood and been sick twice. Where the hell is Bruno?! He said he'd get the pills! Oh great now I sound like a stereotypical grandfather. May as well get me a damn walking stick.
If only Pavle was here. He'd help me. Sweet Pavle. Shame I couldn't get to know him better, even in the interviews. We could have made a nice couple. When I get better, I'll fucking kill whoever shot him. I'll make 'em pay!
Bruno better get back soon. I need some warmth. I can barely get up. Probably end up shitting my pants soon.
Day 35
Katia
The door's been knocking on and off. I hear Trader Guy's voice call out. I'd answer but I'm ill. I have the excuse to stay in bed. A lazy day. Bruno or Pavle can deal with it.
I think I had a visitor last night. They were running around hard and took the spade and crowbar. And the last of the materials. Rude of them if you ask me. Didn't even say thank you or come to see how I was doing. I hope the boys got rid of them or told them off. I would have!
I'm just gonna close my eyes. Sleep. That's all I need.
Sleep. Dreams.
Peace.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Twelve days later, a ceasefire was reached between the rebels and the army, allowing aid supplies to reach the bewildered population. As Human Rights workers reached the house, they found the decomposing body of Katia. Estimates put her at having been deceased for nearly two weeks. Her parents were informed three weeks later.
Pavle's family were informed of his death three months after the ceasefire, his body having been dumped in a rubble filled ravine after his death. Most of the Pogoren football team either survived or were evacuated. A memorial was held to him and two others who died during the siege.
Bruno was last seen in the north of the city, trying to get through a residential area towards the city's river and port, this possibly being between five to fifteen days after fleeing the shelter. The army and rebels fired on any ships they came across, some carrying refugees. Bruno may have been among them. He is currently listed as missing.
"War does not determine who is right — only who is left." - Anonymous