Every muscle within me trembled with need—the need to go and defend the ones I loved. I reached for my sister’s hand, clutching onto it to help tether me.
This went on for nearly an hour, and then there was no space for silence at all. The world exploded into chaos. We listened as the sounds of men and women running, desperately trying to save themselves from whatever was out there, filled our ears. Gunshots echoed and vibrated painfully against our eardrums.
I couldn’t take standing still any longer. I began to pace around the room, searching out objects that I could possibly use as weapons. Within five minutes, I had a pile ready in the center of the room. Broken shards from a mirror. A splintered broom handle. A heavy porcelain water basin.
Louisa’s cries became short, rapid shrieks each time we heard someone yell for their loved ones below. A crazy, distorted Morse code between the terror outside and the anguish within our room. And somewhere between the duet of her cries and the sounds of war, I thought of all the people outside. There were people I loved in the community. Henry. Robert. Lockwood. Sharon. Eric. My father.
My father.
Where was he? Didn’t he command an army of vigilantes? No doubt, he, Stephanie, and the rest of them would fight, but who or what were they fighting against? My father’s words whispered to me as I clutched my little sister tighter: So, you’re ready to fight? What happens when they take that gun away from you?
A gun is a weapon; it’s not any sort of safety guarantee.
That weapon up there is just as important as any gun.
If the community was up against an army of chosen ones, there didn’t seem to be any hope of winning. I had seen one or two chosen ones taken down with quick wit and guns, but a whole army of them? Even my father, a man who had dedicated his life to fighting, knew that was a battle he couldn’t win.
I let the tears fall freely then. I let them fall because I didn’t know how much longer my friends had, and I didn’t know how much longer we had, either. I let them fall because my friends deserved my tears. Their loss would be felt even if I wasn’t alive to feel it.
The world would be a lesser place without them.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against my sister’s. I cleared my throat. “Louisa? I know I haven’t been the best sister, and I am so sorry for that. I wasn’t particularly a joy to be around,” I admitted with a short, pained laugh.
“Neither was I,” she said, echoing my laugh. It was funny that now, so near the end, we were finally speaking the same language.
“I guess we were both pains in the asses,” I replied, laughing harder as the tears streamed quicker and quicker down my face. It didn’t feel odd laughing. It felt natural. It felt like the most natural thing in the whole damn world.
“But we loved the same people,” she whispered. Her words were interrupted with small, breathy sobs.
“Yes, we did. So we should have loved each other better,” I replied. It was a mistake that time had allowed me to at least start to remedy. I was thankful for that. As the end came closer, I realized I had spent way too much of my time hating and not enough time loving.
Louisa looked up at me. “I love you, Tess.”
“I love you, too,” I said. I suddenly didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
So, we sat like that in silence. Both of us jumped at the noises that continued to bounce against the walls of the building; the noises attempted to shatter our bond, but they wouldn’t succeed. I rocked my sister back and forth, humming my mother’s favorite song. Eventually, Louisa started to hum with me, and we filled the tiny infirmary with our own brand of warfare.
Minutes turned into hours.
The waiting became worse than the screaming. Somehow, Louisa and I had managed to make peace with the end. Louisa had even stopped crying. She took my hand and placed it over her swollen abdomen. Neither one of us spoke.
Then the banging started.
The war had come to our very door.
I jumped from the bed and snatched the rifle. I held it straight and steady toward whoever was attempting to break in. I knew it was likely they would overtake us, but I wasn’t going to go without a fight. There was a muffled gargle of words yelled at us from the other side of the wooden barrier, but neither of us could make out their meaning.
“We’re ready for you!” I screamed, using everything I had inside of me. I would not be drowned out. I would make sure they heard me.
The door buckled and whined as it was nearly torn from its hinges. I clicked the safety off my gun. I found my center. I remembered my stance. I aimed my gun. “Come on, you bastard,” I whispered as I narrowed my eyes.
With a deafening crack, the door split in half. Much to my astonishment, Lockwood stumbled into the room. His face was swollen nearly twice its size. Covered in a broken map of cuts and bruises, he spat blood onto the floor and fell to his knees.