Relinquish(52)

My hood whips about my face, offering little protection. We’re not dressed for a storm such as this. If we don’t find shelter soon, we’ll be in serious danger.

We should have stayed at Sariana’s. Even as this thought crosses my mind, I know that wasn’t an option. Neither one of us wants to deal with the secrets we discovered within her home.

“I think I know where we can go.” I stumble beside Bastien as he grasps my hand, trusting him to lead us to safety. The sky is a solid sheet of white, unleashing pellets of ice that sting as they strike against my cheeks.

My hand is slick in his, my fingers aching from the cold. I struggle to keep up with his fast pace as we weave through the forest, leaping out of harm’s way seconds before a tree looms up before us. He raises an arm to shield his face as he plunges deeper into the storm. “There!”

I try to see where it is he is pointing, but only large, shapeless shadows rise before us in the wash of white. He doesn’t wait for me to speak before he is yanking on my arm and I find myself tumbling after him, barely managing to stay upright.

At the first sight of a building, I tug back on Bastien’s arm. “Are you insane? You can’t just go into a town and assume it’s safe.”

“I’m not. Besides, who else is crazy enough to be out in a storm like this?” He urges me forward. I can tell he’s trying to be patient, but the blanket of ice settling over us is making that difficult.

I lurch forward through a cloud of breath and run on nearly frozen toes. Where did this freak storm come from? I had hoped moving south, we would avoid the early arrival of winter. Perhaps we didn’t move fast enough.

We speed past several homes on the outskirts of the town. Many of them are missing their roofs, torn away by storms or laser fire. Entire walls and foundations have crumbled, leaving hollowed-out shells that we have to pick our way over. I slip as I try to crawl over a pile of bricks. Bastien helps me to my feet, wrapping his arm around my back as I slide down the other side.

Brushing the line of ice off the curve of my hood, swiping sleet from my face, I try to peer into the homes as we pass beside them. Sometimes I can make out an overturned table or pair of chair legs sticking up like a porcupine's quills.

I spy empty cupboards and rotting curtains dangling haphazardly from rusted curtain rods. Lifeless TVs with their screen smashed out and shredded couches seem to be a regular occurrence. Each home we pass saddens me, to be reminded yet again of how much was lost when the Caldonians arrived. Snow blankets everything, but at least within the narrow streets of the town, the wind has lessened and we can see farther ahead of us.

“Where are we going?”

“Just up there.” I lift my gaze to look over his shoulder and realize where he is taking me.

“A church?”

He doesn’t respond as our boots thump against the brick steps and he releases my hand. He quickly slips out of my pack and hands it to me. Turning sideways, he launches himself at the wooden door. It rattles and groans but doesn’t give way.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

His lips purse with determination as he hits it again. On the third go, the door gives way and spills him into darkness. “Bastien!”

“I’m fine.” He grunts and appears in the doorway, his dark hair lightened by a thick layer of dust. “It’s filthy but dry. Come on.”

I step over the threshold, feeling a bit out of sorts as I do. I’ve never been in a church before. My mother used to tell me about them. I’ve even seen a few remnants of churches within Thalar’s city limits but have never entered one.

A part of me is still angry with God, if he even exists. Surely he played some role in creating the misery in my life. And if he did… what good is he anyways?

The sound of wind beating against the roof is loud as we close the door. In the far corner, I can hear sporadic splatter as clumps of snow drop through, a telltale sign of roof damage.

The light within is dim so Bastien charges up his laser. It splutters at first, no doubt affected by the barrage of ice that froze over its casing. Finally, it intensifies to a full glow and I’m able to look around.

This church feels old, dating far before the invasion. Its walls are peeling, revealing the wooden frame beneath. I can see deep grooves carved into the plank wood floor where the pews were shifted to be nearer to the remains of a fire in the center of the one-room building.

The floor around the fire has been permanently charred. A small hole above has been punctured through the roof to allow the smoke to escape.

There are signs of life in this room but nothing recent. Only used-up food cans, bedding that has been converted into a rat motel, and a small pair of black dress shoes for a little girl have been left behind. I stare at the shoes, praying this child made it out alive.