War Zone [h.s] //

8 ||

We have regained control of our property again; even though it cost a few lives. No, not one of my men but the raiders. On the night of the raid, after making sure the area was clear of any hiding raiders, we all assembled in the Zone where I, half-awake, half-asleep, declared that we were officially safe. Instead of thinking out a next plan of revenge or anything, I, for the first time ever, decided to forget about it and move on. After all, life's too short to hold grudges, and that statement definitely counts in a place as destructive as Phover. Rather, I said and I quote, 'let's get some rest. Other decisions can wait till tomorrow." I was told that I yawned all the way through it and that I was rambling on through the announcement. After the announcement, all the children and women went to sleep but the front line men and I all scoured the area for any remaining attackers and well, let's just say, I had to use my gun a few times more than necessary.

Now, realizing the events of the previous day, I yawn and sigh. I groan, ruffling my hand through my hair. Glancing around the 'hut' I call my home, I take in all the features: the double-sized, comfy bed (apparently because I am the head, I deserve all the privileges that are difficult to come by), a wooden bed side drawer of which the corners are chipped, the chest of drawers that my clothes are in, the long mirror reflecting me, placed beside the chest of drawers and a little round table with a bean bag as a seat. Right now, my torn clothes that have been ruined from hunting are strewn across the floor; my empty water bottles lying around here and there. My walls were amateurishly decorated with papers that the kids had drawn for me. I spot my favourite one, made by a blonde, blue-eyed Mike, who is expected to definitely be a heart breaker when he grows up. His one was a picture of what he thought was Heaven, with lots of clouds and birds and chocolate and nature and rivers and bikes and toys and cars and there was a big son, a picture of a big man who was supposed to be God and there, next to him was a beautiful, fair angel who he said was my mother. When he gave it me, my heart shattered and it felt as though I was going through the period of mourning I spent for my darling Mother. I wipe a tear away and breathe in and out. Avoiding the picture, I look anyway but there. Ah. My little broom is neatly in the corner and yes, broom. Yes, I am a bit of a clean freak but not with actual mess like clothes strewn everywhere, otherwise I'd be contradicting myself, but in terms of physical dirt like mud, bacteria, ants etc and so I always sweep the tiled floor and then using the dustpan, just brush it into the bin. I lean up against the linen headboard (Fancy, I know!) and sigh again, knowing that once I'm out of this room, I'll be in a war zone. Or what looks like a war zone. And we'll have to tidy up.

Groaning out loud, I rush out of bed to the bathroom as a sudden urge for the bathroom rushes through me. Pushing open the door with my elbow, my eyes are still half closed and it is after I even sit on the freezing toilet, I realize. But, I'll replay it in slow motion: I swing the door open and dive for the toilet. Standing up, I unzip my trousers and well, do my business. Looking around, I hum and then suddenly my breath catches. My heart races and unaware whether I've finished or not (which I have), I dress myself into a white, tight-fitting t-shirt and into some blue denim jeans. I rub my eyes, open them again. Nope, it's still there. A body. A girl. Her eyes are open and she shocked me because she was staring straight at me, no matter which angle of the room I was in. Mona Lisa 2.0, I snigger inwardly but then I stop myself because this is not funny in any way. Ignoring my pounding heart, I timidly step closer and closer until I am crouched down, my head just above hers. Her skin is a sick shade of yellow-white; the nerves in her eyes are strained and disgustingly visible in her wide-opened eyes. Her skin is ice cold and her arms lay limp by her side. She doesn't resemble anyone from my crew and I notice purple, finger marks around her neck. She had been strangled. Which sick bastard would do this? And then, I realize the answer to that question. Some person from Sector Alpha would. Burdened with guilt, at that moment, I despise myself and what I do, leading a large group of people and killing. But most of all, I despise what the world has become. It is too overwhelming for me and I wish... I wish I had a Mum, or a Dad to comfort me, to protect me, to tell me the comforting words that 'it is okay Harry, you don't have to do this' but instead I am alone with no one beside me. But, I have to. I have to protect my people. I don't even know this girl, why am I in tears over this little issue? Because... because I don't know her. She may have been someone's daughter... someone's sister... someone's best friend... someone's love. And she's gone, forever. The pain that they will feel will never disappear, like how I miss my mother. I remember this particular moment from my childhood, I was around the age of four years old and Dad was... I don't know where he was. I don't remember Dad in my infant years; it was only when I was like 7 or 8 that I even remember him in memories.

I shiver and look up, making a silent prayer for her.

Respectfully, I raise her up in my arms and exit the bathroom into my room. Glancing around the room, I am blank at where to place her when an abrupt knock shocks me and I jump. I nearly, nearly drop the girl but catch her just in time.

The door then, without warning, opens, and there stands Brax. He is watching me; his mouth is gaped open, his jaw dropping all the way to floor. Well maybe, not exactly the floor. Hyperbole. I stifle a giggle then realize that the pun isn't exactly at the best timing.

"Brax!" I gasp.

"What the fuck? What is... is it a she?" he moved closer and observes the girl, "yeah, she. What is she doing here? In your hut..." a look of horror spread across his face. "Did... did you-"

I immediately cut him off, "no! Honest to God, I did not lay a finger on her. Well, other than picking her up right now..." I paused, "you believe me right?"

He suddenly sat down on the bed, put his head in his hands, looked up and sighed. "I do, I seriously do. But I don't know what's going on. After all this," he moved his hand in a semi-circular motion to mean that 'this' meant 'everything', "this happened... people aren't content with the way we live. Half the people are threatening to leave this camp and go to other camps. I had to calm them down but I doubt it'll last."

I sighed, and I rubbed my temples with a frown. He strode forward and took the dead girl out of my arms.

"I'll deal with this. You go rest, you need it."

"No, I'll be fine. Don't worry." I reply.

"No, I don't give a crap. How will you lead whilst looking like one of the cast from the Walking Dead?"

"Oh, thanks!" I replied sarcastically.

"Shut up and get to sleep."

-

sorry for the short chapter, there's a lack of motivation and I procrastinate a lot and I'm lazy. x