To Be A Warrior

Chapter 11: Burned

Singer likes to think she's doing well here.

It's been about six months since she arrived at Mullins. She's gotten better-much better at sign language and Morse Code. It's like a second nature to her, almost. She no longer has days where she opens her mouth to speak only to remember with crushing disappointment that she cannot and never will speak again, so this is a win in her book.

She doesn't have many wins, unfortunately.

Anna is still kind to her, and Josh seems to care in his own way. Other than that, she has yet to make any friends. She doesn't want to. She really sees no need to.

While she is pushing through here, her thoughts are constantly on America. It's so different here-well, sort of. The rules are just as strict as they were at the A.M.T.B., but the weather is colder than she is used to, even by D.C. standards. But what she misses most about home is her family, her friends, loved ones.

She thinks of Wesley. Just a few more months and he'll have been dead a year, and the rest of her group will have been dead for two.

Has the apocalypse really been going on for that long? Has this really been going on for a year and a half?

It has. Singer was twelve and a half when the apocalypse started, and she just turned fourteen.

She grimaces, wondering how much longer it will be before a cure is found, or if a cure will be found at all. There must be someone who knows something about this virus, right? Someone smart enough to find a way to stop it?

There's always a hero that comes in to save the world in the books, in the movies.

Where is that hero now? Why aren't they here? Why aren't they doing something?

Singer shakes her head. This isn't a movie. This isn't a book. No one is coming to save her. No one saved her in America, and no one is going to save her here in England. That's not how this works.

If she wants to survive, then she has to save herself, just like she's been doing.

She jumps when a hand rests on her shoulder.

"Everything okay, half-pint?" Anna asks, offering the girl a smile. Her face is soft, despite the intimidating look her makeup gives off, with razor sharp eyeliner and black lipstick.

Singer frowns at the nickname. Since she only has her ID number, and she is too afraid to give her real name, Anna has taken it upon herself to give Singer nicknames. She says she  doesn't enjoy calling her by her runner designation. Singer doesn't understand why, since everyone else does. To her her number is just as much of a nickname as the ones others come up with.

But Anna can be just as stubborn as her, so arguing would be pointless.

'Fine,' She replies, blinking owlishly. 'Just thinking.'

"About?"

'Home.'

It's a simple enough answer, something Anna already knows she won't go into detail about. Even though she likes Anna, because she does, truly, she won't risk her life for this punk-rock radio operator that she's only known for a few months.

Plus, it could put her life in danger too. The higher-ups who know about Singer's identity are already watching Anna a little too closer, curious as to why she's taken interest in the younger girl. Singer knows telling her would buy them both permanent tickets to heaven.