I shot upright in my bed, breathing heavily, sensing that something wasn’t right. Landing my feet on the cold wooden floor I dashed to the window, the flickering light of flames shining through my curtains. Pulling the drapes aside slightly my breath faltered.
The base was under attack.
Ever since I’d been recruited into the Liberation Army, twelve years ago, I’d been led to believe the base was not one the enemy could possibly conquer. I guess they had been mistaken.
My initial shock dissipating I threw open my door, took five steps and stumbled into my parent’s bedroom. I froze, even in the semi-darkness I could tell that their bed was empty, the covers in a disorderly heap at the foot.
Panic rose into my throat as I backed into the hallway. I tried the room across from me, pleading that I’d find Deamon’s parents there.
Another vacant double bed, equally as messy.
‘Shit!’ I yelled, spinning around, then kicked open Daemon’s door and ran in.
‘Wake up! Deamon! Wake up!’ I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook violently, anxiety searing through me.
‘Huh? Cal? What?’ he opened his eyes, groggy as his mind accepted the rude awakening. Rubbing his eyes he took a swift glance at my expression, then kicked his blankets out of the way and jumped up, assuming the worst.
‘Is it-?’ he started. I didn’t grant him the time to finish his sentence, rushing through what I had to tell him ‘Yes! They’ve already broken down the North Gate! I saw it through my window! They could get here any moment now! ’ I spun around, nearly tripping, and stormed out of the room, a wide-awake Deamon on my heels.
‘Go-get-dressed!’ I hissed, my voice breaking in terror, then smashed open the door to my younger brothers’ room. I bent over him, waking him up as kindly as our limited time span allowed.
‘Toren, it’s time to wake up’ I whispered, caressing his hair, praying he’d not make a sound.
Ever since he was a baby everyone learned that if he were to be startled into consciousness he’d be uncontrollably crying for minutes to come, which in this case would most likely mean our deaths.
Our enemies didn’t have mercy for anyone. As far as they were concerned even the Liberation Armies youngest recruits were a threat.
The four-year-old stirred, and then regarded me with an air of confusion as I lifted him out of his bed, rushing out of the room. In the hallway I nearly collided with Deamon, who was now dressed in black jeans and a shirt, an aluminum crossbow held tightly in his right hand, ready to fight his way out of our hometown.
‘Where the hell are our parents?’ he breathed, his expression a mask of worry and bewilderment. We both knew they’d never intentionally leave us in danger.
‘No clue’ I answered shortly ‘Get food, I’ll get the weapons’
I was always the one to take charge in the life-and-death situations we found ourselves in, for my analytical mindset never failed me. Deamon was in charge of the battle plan. I held Toren tight, comforted only slightly by his warm arms around my neck, hearing the explosions and gunfire through the metal walls of the barrack we called home.
Deamon gave me a short, tight nod and rushed in the direction of the kitchen.
Venturing out of our house without protection would be a suicidal act, lingering inside the house equally as perilous.
The combat outside our house was proceeding at a rapid speed, and I swiftly slipped on my black jeans, then reached for my ammo belt and fastened it around my waist. Not bothering to change out of the black t-shirt I used as a pajama top I stuck my double-sided blade into the sheath on my right side and glanced at Toren.
He sat passively, sensing the danger, eyeing me with a mildly frightened appearance that told me he relied on my good judgment. My protective armor was next, and was strapped on in a matter of seconds. My black combat boots were equally as effectively applied.
‘Calleigh?’ Toren said, and I turned to face him, finding that he’d gathered his clothes and Kevlar vest.
God…
I kneeled beside him, and for once he didn’t struggle or make dressing him a lengthy and annoying task, but pulled his shirt over his head as I buttoned his pants. He shouldn’t have been here to see this today, he should’ve been granted at least his first childhood years in a normal home in a normal city, like I had been.
I was five years old when they recruited me, which, in my opinion, was still too early.
‘Here’ I held up the Kevlar, and he stuck his small arms through the child-version of the bullet proof vest, then waited patiently as I fastened the vest around him.
Straitening up I effortlessly clicked my shoulder holster, meant for the collapsible crossbow that was my weapon of choice, and the container of stainless steel arrows onto the designated places on my armor, now almost completely dressed for battle.
‘Deamon? Deamon!’ my heart skipped a beat as I strained my ears, hearing nothing. I felt all the blood drain out of my face.
He couldn’t have…
‘I’m here!’ he charged into the room, and I exhaled in relief, holstering my handgun. Adrenaline was pumping around my body wildly, taking my heartbeat to over twice its normal rate, by the feeling of it. We were cutting it close.
‘Arm protector’ I tossed the piece of armor to him and the two of us simultaneously secured them around our left wrists. We were both right-handed archers.
‘Go. Now’ he, too, sheathed his blade, strapped on his body armor, and then lifted up the black bag that stood at his feet.
I raised Toren onto my hip, grabbed my bow and headed for the back door without another word. Deamon followed, carrying the bag with supplies. I glanced out the tiny window, panting.
‘See them?’ he hissed, flattening his back against the wall, making sure to stay out of the enemy’s line of sight.
‘They’re everywhere!’ l spoke through clenched teeth, shifting Torens’ relatively supportable weight to my other hip as I glanced at Deamon ‘Run and hope for the best?’
I nervously shuffled my feet, fear clutching at my throat as he licked his lips ‘We have no other option. At three’
Deamon took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the supplies, glared down, hooked the bag to his the metal clip on his belt and readied his crossbow for shooting. He gave a slight nod in my direction; a promise to cover me and Toren as we fled.
‘One…’
We locked our gazes together, seeking comfort in each other’s presence. Without Deamon I would not have had the strength to go on, and he knew it.
‘Two…’
I noticed his eyes widen a little, panic taking over his senses.
‘Three!’
We smashed through the door and broke into a run, ducking low and moving as fast as years of instructions and exercise had taught us. I was directly beside him, Toren pressed against my torso in the protection of my arms.
Arrows and bullets whistled past us as we sprinted to the West Gate, our boots steady on the wet soil.
All around us chaos prevailed, screams of pain erupting through the air regularly. A man with a uniform identical to ours went down clutching at his bleeding shoulder.
Shrapnel blasted around as yet another building exploded, and Deamon fired his arrow into the neck of a National Army man who came running at us.
Though trained for battle since childhood, we had never experienced the true horror it was now proving to be, and I hoped Toren wasn’t able to see any of it.
The sounds, though, were enough to haunt any mans’ dreams.
My feet pounded the grass as the high wall and gate came closer, Deamon’s arrow whizzing ahead of us, clearing a path through the chaos.
Out of the blue I understood a saying we’d been force fed ever since I could remember: “Times of warfare are the times during which friendship and trust equal survival. Keep your base partners close to your heart and you’ll see, one day you’ll thank your life to it.”
If all went from bad to worse, I knew in my heart that Deamon would still be right beside me, covering my back, because more importantly than partners, we were friends.
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