1.
BEGIN AGAIN
Pistols. Revolvers. Shotguns. Bullets. The large, wonky and battered Formica table was covered with them, gathered for one purpose only – to find their target.
The air in the darkened room that bore only a faint resemblance to what used to be a typical modern kitchen long ago, was hot and dry, a thin layer of reddish dust stubbornly sticking to everything around. A woman in her mid-thirties was loading one of the leather bags on the table with bullet cartridges. Her long, dark hair was tied back with a green ribbon, only a stray strand falling over her face but not distracting her from her work. Her large green eyes were fully focused, her mind occupied with her mission.
"We will need more of these," she said without looking up.
"We will get them," a tall man in his late thirties, with sleek brown hair, standing next to her replied. "From the other side."
For the first time in a while, the woman looked up to meet his deep blue eyes. She didn't react, but her gaze spoke clearly - their chance of success was minimal. She showed no hesitation or fear, though, only acceptance and continued working for a few more minutes before they packed all the ammunition and most weapons in their bags, leaving only a couple of pistols each, attaching them to their leather belts.
Only once they were finished, their heads turned toward the doorframe to look at the slender figure of a teenage boy. He watched them silently, and his face projected everything else but their faces -confusion, doubts, refusal.
The woman, noticing the boy's inner turmoil, walked over to him and took his hand. Her look was direct and resolved.
"We need you to be strong, darling," she spoke. "We don't know how this will turn out, it might end either way. But we need to know that whatever happens, you will keep going, no matter what."
"They might kill you!" the boy exclaimed.
The mother held both of his hands now.
"Nothing is more important than defending the world we believe in and the people we love. Wars and hatred are evil, the true downfall of men, but we have to fight back to defend our home, our lives or the lives of those we care about. We must defend our freedom. There is no life without freedom and no freedom without a fight."
"I want to go with you," the boy said, with the most serious expression that a twelve-year-old could muster. "I am old enough to fight."
"You have no idea what we are going to face, Jack," his father objected and joined them, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "This is no game of shooting cans. This is a matter of life and death."
A shiver went down the boy's spine. As far as he could remember, his parents were soldiers, protecting the however small and broken remains of their town and its people against looters and aggressors from the Wasteland. Oil was getting scarcer by the day, turning more and more people into savages, scraping and killing for even a single drop of it. Jack's town kept resisting the violent attacks from the world outside by the skin of its teeth. The survival of the fittest wasn't just a phrase anymore but an everyday law. Despite all of the ugliness, Jack's parents never stopped believing in a better world, just and peaceful, blindly hoping that they could lead their people into a better world. There were quite a few who shared their ideals despite constant challenges, so they kept on fighting and filling their son's mind and heart with ideals which to most other people equalled Utopia.
The threat that was breaking up their little home now was the biggest one in their existence yet. His name was Colonel Joe Moore, and once, he used to be a decent man. However, that changed with the ever-growing unrest and fights for the commodity that had the price of gold all across the land – oil. Now, he was the leader of an enormous tribe of disturbed and violent brutes, destroying everything and everyone who stood in his way to ultimate power. Resistance was punished, wars were fought, and people were killed without mercy - humans turned into beasts. There were only two options: bending down and breaking, or standing up and fighting, praying for survival. Jack's town chose the latter.
"Mother, please!" Jack begged, the image of his parents lying somewhere in a sea of their own blood already haunting his sensitive mind.
"No," his father interjected firmly. "You will guard our home. And should it come to the worst…" he paused and regarded the boy's desperate eyes. "Protect people. Never take a life until it's necessary to save your own or that of someone else. There is nothing more precious than life."
His intense look and his words broke the wall of resistance in Jack's mind, and the boy nodded.
"We love you," the mother whispered in Jack's ear when she hugged him tightly.
A sudden sharp sound of shattering glass pierced their ears and they ducked. The enemy arrived earlier than expected.
"The cellar, go!" The man ordered his son as all three huddled under the table. The gunshots and screams continued to disturb the peace outside as they stared at each other for a moment before the mother shouted. "Now!"
At the sound of more glass shattering around them, Jack bolted towards the trap door a few steps away, pried it open, and after casting one last look at his parents, he quickly pulled the door behind him and disappeared into the cellar.
His heart rate was elevated like never before, so much so he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. For a long time, all he could hear was the sound of machine guns and shotguns and the shouting and stomping above his head, allowing the red dust to penetrate the thin gaps between the floorboards and making breathing more difficult for him. However, he didn't utter a sound, not even a cough, although he felt like choking at times.
At long last, the dust had settled and the furious raging above faded into silence. Jack waited for another half an hour before he slowly and quietly dared to push the trapdoor open. He searched the space around him, looking for any trace of his parents. He realised he was alone, so he climbed up and cautiously walked from the kitchen to what used to be their living and sleeping room. He overlooked the damage caused by the shooting and savagery of the enemy; his only aim was to find his mother and father, hopefully still alive. After searching everywhere in the remains of their small house, he walked out into the open.
The sudden silence felt oppressive, with no other sign of the deadly attack from only a while ago apart from tons of glass shards scattered everywhere and the stifling dust, still hovering in the air. Jack took a few more steps before he spotted something small and green on the reddish ground at his feet. His eyes widened in horror as he stared at the lost ribbon, lying in a pool of blood.
He saw no bodies but the evidence before him caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up, as he felt his whole body going into a shock. However, he had no time to process what he saw, for the next moment, he felt something hard hit his head and within seconds, he blacked out.
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"Don't hit so hard next time, you brute! D'you know how much blood I 'ad to clean from his head? If he turned stupid, it ain't gonna be my fault if he can't work and I'll 'ave to kill 'im!"
The shrieking man's voice woke Jack up, and as he opened his eyes, he fought the urge to jump, realising he was taken to the enemy's camp. The sudden sharp stab of pain in his head and the smell of sweat mingled with dust, urine and something he couldn't identify made him feel sick. He felt something trickling down his cheek to his mouth, and when he tasted it, he realised it was his own blood. He shuddered and decided it was better to get up than chance the possibility of getting killed in his sleep. Slowly, he lifted himself from a simple bed with a metal frame and an old, mainly filthy mattress. He was in a dark room, resembling a cave, with only a few rays of light penetrating the entrance.
"Oi!" the shrieking voice cried again. "You're up, finally!"
Jack turned his head toward the sound and saw an old man with a wrinkly, scared face, piercing black eyes and a crooked grin. He wiped the blood from his mouth but didn't say a word, his large, green eyes fixed on his captor.
"You're right, it seems," the man said, eyeing the boy from head to toe. "I 'eard your oldies were diggers. Let's see if you can become one too, for the right side this time!" He cackled and walked out of the room.
Jack took a deep breath and made the first few steps to follow him. Just before he walked out into the light, he stopped at the sight of a piece of reflector hanging on the wall among other metal objects of various kinds. His hands reached for the reflector and he finally saw his face and the reason for the blood he tasted on his mouth – a long, uneven cut wound starting on his right cheek and ending on the left corner of his bottom lip. It appeared to have been treated, although he could now see a small trickle of blood still escaping the stitches, and surprisingly, Jack felt only minimal pain, his brain still numbed by the shock.
"You fell on glass, flat on your face." The old man cackled again, appearing out of nowhere. "You better hurry if you wanna grab a feed."
The boy still didn't speak but followed the man outside. What he saw made him open his mouth – it appeared they were standing outside a tall rock tower, forming a huge compound with two other rock towers, overlooking the Wasteland miles into the distance. They were all joined by a net of metal bridges, bursting with busy human traffic. Down below, some wildly-looking men on motorbikes and strange, large vehicles he had never seen before, were approaching the compound and disappearing in what Jack presumed was an entrance. The boy swallowed hard as a shudder of fear from the unknown rattled his emotions. Jack swallowed hard as a shudder of fear from the unknown rattled his emotions. Suddenly, the image of his parents popped up in his mind.
So this is who you had to deal with…
He fought the burning in his eyes, now knowing for sure he would never see them again.
"Impressive, right?" The man said, grinning. "Welcome to the Citadel."
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