***
The beginning of nightfall presented itself with bursts of red and orange splatters in the sky. The temperatures had dropped; nothing remarkable, but enough to get the hair at the back of Amelia’s neck to stand up. She edged towards the window and closed it tightly, ensuring no air could weave its way into the room through the small cracks. She sat on her bed for the last time, her vacant eyes searching the room. It had only just dawned on her how much she would miss this place. Once more, the tears threatened to come flooding, but she tilted her head back and inhaled loudly in an attempt to stop them.
It had now been three days since her father had been taken, and with each day, she found the sadness morphing into rage, directed at everyone and everything. She had fought with her mother and brother and said words that brought a rush of blood to her cheeks as she remembered them. She was remorseful, but she knew if she apologised now, it would seem vain; instead, she spent her days and nights in her room, plotting.
She glanced at the window, where the gentle wind howled and the darkness was difficult to pierce. She grabbed her black rucksack, full of essential clothing and dried food for the journey. Adrenaline poured through her pulsating veins, and she felt the irregular thump of a headache threatening to start. She placed a firm finger on her temple and steadied her thoughts. She would find The Hawk, and when she did, he would lead her to her father.
She stood slowly, tossed the bag over her shoulder, and headed towards the wooden door. She scanned a fleeting eye across her room, sighed, and walked out. As she closed the door, her brother appeared. He stood silently.
“If you don’t come back in ten days, send a message…” His voice trailed off, as though something had caught his eye. He glanced over his shoulder. When he saw nothing there, he began to open his mouth. Amelia raised her hand. She understood. Abruptly, he threw himself at her and embraced her, his long arms engulfing her in his warmth. Daniel wasn’t usually one for hugging. A small smile crept onto her face as she hugged him back, her head resting on his left shoulder. “Please don’t make me find you,” he whispered in her ear. She felt the trickle of his salty tears on her neck and stood in his embrace for what felt like an eternity. She pulled back and brushed her clothes, although there was nothing on them. She straightened her posture and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll bring Dad back,” she assured him with a smile too broad to be genuine. Daniel nodded, his head bobbing up and down. Then she noticed her mother in the distance, her eyes transfixed in melancholy on her daughter. Guilt paralysed Amelia. She stretched a hand out and smiled at her mother, who proceeded to walk in her direction; her swollen face and the hint of pink in her nose told Amelia she had been crying.
“You’re still ill.”
“I’ll be fine, Mum.”
“I love you. You know that, don’t you?” Teresa asked, smiling weakly.
Amelia tasted salt before she realised she was crying herself. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to say those horrible words.”
Teresa let out a small laugh, startling both her children. “You’re just like my brother: a complete idiot.” The three stared at each other and burst into laughter. Amelia felt her shoulders drop, and her mother’s embrace cocooned her. After several moments of silence, Teresa awkwardly pushed herself back, straightened her clothing, and then sighed loudly.
“I don’t want you to go.” The words trickled out of Teresa’s lips before she knew what she was saying.
“I know, Mum, but I have to; I’ll be back before you know it,” Amelia said, smiling bravely. She tossed the bag over her shoulder and walked resolutely to the door. She knew not to look back; otherwise she would change her mind. Her fear would consume her. So she did what she had to do. She opened the door and briskly walked outside.
She raised her head and looked at the sky. Glowing orange and red hues painted the sky as the last rays of sunlight brushed over the canvas of white clouds. It appeared as though the day was coming to a peaceful rest, fading beautifully, and yet, without the warmth from the sun’s rays, Amelia’s skin grew cold. The damp, chilly air was consuming the warmth the sun had left behind. The rising sliver of moon, eagerly awaiting the departure of the sun, provided a dim light but no warmth. She pulled the sleeves of her black coat over her hands, more from force of habit than against the cold seeping through her clothes. As she crossed the street, the warmth of her home lingered behind her, beckoning for her return. Her mother shouted goodbye, but Amelia dared not look back; she raised her hand in the air and waved as she walked away.
As she walked, and the darkness sucked away what was left of the daylight, it dawned on her that she had no means to get to Area Seven. She had lied to her brother and mother when she said she had some money saved. She stopped abruptly, contemplating whether it was too late to turn back. She glanced behind her, her heart thumping against her chest. The front door was closed, along with the window of opportunity. She held onto the strap of her bag and quickened her pace. She wouldn’t think of the warmth she’d left behind; the emptiness, coldness, and dangers of the night were now her home.
She walked aimlessly for what seemed like a lifetime. She had a vague idea where Area Seven was, and since buses and trains were beyond her budget, walking was her only option. Her legs tingled and her breathing became heavy, her body begging for water. She stopped near a dismantled porch where a beautiful house had once stood. She hung the bag on the gate door, which barely stood on one hinge, and rummaged through the bag for a bottle of water. She sipped enough to moisten her mouth. The cold water trickled down the back of her throat and the sweetness that followed was too tempting, and so the sips turned into gulps. She pulled the bottle away from her mouth forcefully. Glancing at the now half-empty bottle, a pinch of annoyance flooded her veins. She forced the bottle back into the bag, this time placing it at the bottom so she would not be tempted again.
The darkness left the air empty. Streetlamps had stopped working many years ago, so Area Eleven was plagued by darkness when the last sunrays disappeared. Amelia felt the cold on the back of her neck send an electrical pulse; she quivered for a moment then relaxed. In that moment, she felt something, almost like a presence. She knew it was most likely imaginary, her childish thoughts playing tricks on her as they often did at night. And yet there it was. The smell of a warm-blooded being seemed to be present, lingering, watching. Her heart leapt suddenly when she stepped on something. The crunchy sound echoed in the deafening silence. She squinted and found a plastic bag scrunched together in a ball. Her heart rate quickened as she grabbed her rucksack tightly and started to run. She was being watched; she was certain of it.
The dismantled pavements became a blur as the surge of adrenaline urged her body on, bringing with it warmth and sweat. The steady thump of her footsteps echoed in her ears, and as her heart rate increased further, she felt safe, knowing her feet would carry her for a great distance. Sometimes, she was grateful for the poverty and hardship in which she had been raised. No, she was not merely grateful; she had come to understand that this would be a weapon.