In The End | Novella | Beginning of the End

by Stevens, GJ

  Whilst focusing on the razor-sharp fragments still in the frame, I peered in and then pushed my hand through the missing pane, hoping for a key sitting in the lock.

  It was empty. I turned, rushing over to Tommy who was still wide-eyed and glancing between me and the missing window, seeming to question what I was doing.

  Grabbing one of the large potting boxes by his side, I bounded back over to the door. With the boom of an explosion not so far away, I stood on the upturned box to give me a little more height. Taking care to avoid the remaining glass, I edged foot first through the space.

  Dropping to the floor on the other side, I grabbed at the breakfast bar as I slid on glass with the sharp edges stinging the sole of my right foot through the thin slippers.

  Shit.

  Looking down as I gained my balance, I was ready to see the floor covered with my blood. When there was nothing but the many shapes of glass, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Holding myself steady against the counter, I took a deep breath, not ready to move my feet, not ready to pick out a spot on the tiles where I couldn’t see the shine of light from the glass.

  A few breaths later and with muffled voices heard from the front of the house, perhaps only a few doors along, I remembered why I’d taken such a risk. I had to get the car key.

  But where could it be?

  With a wetness at my right foot, I lifted my leg. Blood spread across the thin sole of the slipper, concentrating around a slit the width of my thumb.

  The deep voices seemed so close and did nothing to ease my panic. There was nothing else I could do but grit my teeth and take the steps, tentatively placing my foot to the floor and waiting for the next sharp dig. When none came, I glanced to where I’d lifted my foot, glaring at the red circular print left behind.

  I gained confidence in my steps, reminding myself to seek out the keys whilst looking anywhere but the trail I left in my wake. Relief came as I moved along the short hallway lined with plush carpet. Walking through the unfamiliar layout, I peered to the front door where, if we’d lived here, Mum would have kept the keys to her tiny car on a table at its side.

  There was no table.

  To the right under the stairs was a small door and as I opened it, I stopped midway when the hinges gave a low creak, leaving the door open enough to see there wasn’t a cupboard full of coats and shoes as I’d expected. Instead, a toilet sat on a white-tiled floor with a sink in the corner.

  I shut the door.

  To the left, I guessed the next door would take me to a living room or lounge, but as each of the houses in Cowithick were so different, I couldn’t be sure until I built up the courage to look.

  The pain from my foot grew with every step, but I pushed on, opening the door to two wide sofas arranged in front of a huge TV in the corner. There were no decorations of the season, confirming the Williams were definitely away.

  As I stepped in, another explosive boom stopped my search as I felt the sound through the floor. I spotted a set of car keys resting on a side table beside a stack of round coasters. My stomach flipped at the sight, but the excitement fell away when I saw there were no front door keys on the ring.

  Looking up to the wide window, a shadow moved beyond the net curtains. Two soldiers were taking considered steps along the pavement just past the front garden. They were coming to break open the door and throw in their grenade with no questions asked.

  I peered on as the black gas mask of the lead soldier looked my way, as if he’d seen me beyond the thin netted material.

  Ducking down as far as I could, I leapt towards the keys, trying to stay low whilst gritting my teeth as pain stung my foot.

  I swiped the key fob from the table, knocking the coasters to the floor. Rising as I reached the hallway, through the needles of pain, I rushed out into the corridor. Shaking my head, I looked left to the dark figures through the misted glass, hoping they hadn’t seen me blocking out their light.

  When they hadn’t opened fire, I retraced my bloodied prints to the back of the house.

  Bang came the big red ram at the front as their bulk blotted out the light. When at the kitchen door a sudden pain shot up from my right heel, my ankle collapsed, sending my hands out in front to stop myself from smashing my head against the door jamb.

  Rushing to get to my feet, I looked to the blood dotting the kitchen floor, grimacing at the glass strewn where I knew I had to climb again. But what choice did I have?

  With a second pounding at the front door, I grabbed a chair from the table to the right and dropped it to the floor amongst the glass. The heavy hits at the door hid my clumsy hand with the chair. Not slowing, knowing their effort behind me would soon be over, I had to be out of sight, hoping they’d not see the blood or the glass missing from the back door and the chair at the empty window.

  I jumped through the window opening, using my hands on the frame to propel myself through the gap. Clenching my jaw to stifle any sound, I landed on my feet. It felt as if the skin had come away as I pressed down on the bare flesh underneath.

  Tommy stared my way, not hiding the mixture of concern and pleasure at seeing me again.

  He rose and I shook my head, waving for him to get back down as I fell to my knees, crawling back toward the house. Leaning to the brick beside the back door, I pushed myself as close to the patio slabs as I could, just in time for the explosion shocking through the ground and spraying glass out from every window.

  11

  I waited, shivering, expecting the soldiers to follow my bloody mess and smash down the back door. I’d turn and see them, watching as they spotted Tommy standing, gawking back and not hesitating to put a bullet between his eyes before they turned on me.

  But no. I heard the shouts from behind the masks, but not the question in their voices or the sudden hush, as if they’d seen something to raise their interest. What had they already seen to make my blood on the floor pale into the background?

  With a rush of boots, their deep, incoherent voices vibrated through the house. I pictured the men focused on clearing every room until their noise was no more, their absence confirmed moment later with a swift bang at the next door along, followed by a more distant explosion.

  As the echo died, the pain in my foot came into focus and twisting as quickly as I dared, I turned, hoping Tommy would be where I’d left him waiting, safe and well.

  But he wasn’t.

  I crawled from the slabs, glancing left and right, guiding myself around the glass shards littering the grass, looking to every nook for a foot, his small hands, anything as a sign of where he waited and that he hadn’t run off into the sight of the soldiers.

  Edging closer to the shed where I’d left him, there wasn’t much more space for him to hide in. I peered forward as I crawled with my hands on the grass, when a sharp sting rose from my left hand. I pulled away, clenching my teeth and saw a shard the size of a cookie sticking out from the ground.

  I looked at my hand and a cut the diameter of a coin, surprised to see no blood pouring out.

  A little light-headed, I scanned the grass for more shards, then looked to my palm and the blood rolling slowly down to my wrist. My thoughts turned to my mum helping me to wash it under the sink, then dabbing it dry with such care. But I knew Mum would never make it all better again.

  I was on my own.

  With a tear rolling down my cheek, I felt so lost and helpless, but then I heard my name called from just ahead. There was Tommy on the edge of tears, emerging from the gap between the shed and the planter boxes.

  “Tommy,” I said, seeing him safe and well and staring at my hand with his eyes so wide I thought he’d split open his head. “I’m okay. It’s just a little cut,” I said, getting to my feet, then stumbling forward with blood dripping to the grass as I regained my balance. My foot reminded me of its damage.

  “Does it hurt?” he replied.

  “Just a little,” I said and he nodded quickly as if he knew it wasn’t true, but he wante
d to believe I was okay and everything would be fine.

  “I just need to find something to stop the bleeding,” I said, pulling air as I tried flexing my hand, the blood quickening. I looked away, peering to the door I’d only just come out of. Being careful where I placed my feet, I headed back to the house.

  A boom of pressure radiated from down the road, but quieter than the one from next door. The soldiers were making progress. Two gunshots cracked through the air and I ducked, even though I guessed they were two doors away. A flurry of incoherent voices shouted out; this was different and I couldn’t help but wonder what could have caught their interest.

  I couldn’t let the noise slow me. I was at the back door, surprised it was still on its hinges. Peering in, I half expected to see a great crater in the centre of the hallway. But there was none. Instead, scorch marks centred around jagged metal buried in the plaster and across the wooden floor, with splinters everywhere. Smoke rose from the red embers in amongst the debris, the air heavy with chemicals.

  The walls had taken the worst hit, great holes in the plaster with dust still settling. The walls on either side were ruined, but other than potted with dark marks, they were mostly intact. The toilet door seemed to have survived with only scorch marks.

  I looked around to the breakfast bar and saw the tea-towel resting on the side next to the knife block. I hoped I could just about reach it, despite only able to use one hand pain free.

  Leaning in through the missing pane, I pushed my arm out, wincing as I opened my hand and grabbed the towel.

  Pulling the cloth through the opening, I stepped back and Tommy helped as best as he could, wrapping the towel around my palm.

  To the continued soundtrack of explosions, I took a moment to regain my thoughts. A moment to remember the plan and think how I would make it around the houses and out to the front to start the car so we could make our escape through the fence. Then I remembered the key I’d held in my hand.

  I searched at my feet, looking to the paving slabs spotted with my blood and then to the grass, but I couldn’t see the rectangle of black plastic anywhere, the grass too short for it to be hiding there.

  “No,” I said, as I realised I must have dropped it inside and it would have been destroyed in the explosion. I sank to the cold of the slabs and pushed my uninjured hand to my eyes.

  How could I have been so careless to drop the key inside the house?

  But now wasn’t the time to relent with the soldiers only a few houses away and Mr Jackson probably catching up with us at any moment. If I took too long to act, one way or another we’d die.

  Tommy wrapped his arms around my head. At first I protested, but he felt so warm, his small body such a comfort. As his grip tightened, I relaxed.

  A rapid burst of gunfire rattled us both and he held on as if his grip would save us. I imagined a crowd of my neighbours facing the soldiers, the guns firing before they knew what was going on.

  Screams told of their pain until the echo fell away, leaving nothing behind.

  I had to do something. If not for me, for Tommy. I had to do something before I could no longer keep him safe.

  Unpicking myself from his grip, I took slow steps to the door. Tommy picked up the planter box from where the explosion forced it towards the pond and set it back as a stool at the foot of the door.

  Looking through the missing glass, I saw its battered and disjointed panels scuffed with red paint, but at least it meant we could walk right through the house and out to the car.

  Turning away, I spotted the key lying amongst the debris, but covered in dust I couldn’t tell if it was still intact. There was only one way to find out. All I had to do to get us to safety was to get through the back door again, being more careful with the glass.

  I stepped up on the planter box, gripping tight to the door frame as I held my feet firm, my foot staying in place despite the blood. Perhaps it was a good sign, the wound clotting. I raised a brow as an illustration of a wound from my biology textbook flashed before my eyes.

  Shaking away the image and holding my injured hand to my chest, I straddled the frame again. With surprise, I found the chair still on the other side, albeit distorted and covered in plaster fragments.

  Stepping to its fabric surface, I scanned the floor for glass, but the spread of debris made it almost impossible to see.

  With a light touch at first, I pressed my uninjured foot to the floor. Sweeping it to the side to clear a space, I stepped down the rest of the way.

  The chemical smell was so much heavier inside, along with the same smell from my brother this morning.

  Tommy screwed up his face as he vaulted through the missing window with ease, glass crunching under his feet as he moved to my side and stared through the doorway to the car just beyond.

  “Be careful,” I whispered, but it would have been too late to make a difference.

  I took a step forward, expecting any moment for the light coming through the front door to disappear as soldiers stepped out, pointing their guns and taking the two shots to finish our chances. But as we stood for what seemed like a long moment, nothing happened.

  I looked to Tommy, his face seeming to shine with hope. I took a step forward, sweeping the debris aside.

  With a few more steps, we were nearing the key and halfway to the front door.

  Tommy sped forward, kneeling down, plucking it from the rubble, beaming back with the fob raised in his hand and a proud smile.

  Five or six steps and we’d be outside. So much closer to safety.

  Walking forward, my heart sank, turning to the right to the sound of the toilet flushing under the stairs.

  12

  I had no chance to decide what to do. I had no choice to turn and run and grab Tommy by the arm to rush back into the kitchen and dive out through the window and back to the cold ground. I had no chance to do any of those things before a red-faced man in camouflage clothes and helmet gawked back with his mouth hanging wide as both his hands fastened a thick green belt.

  Seeing the rifle resting against the sink, with one step it would be in reach. I could grab it and shoot him before he could do what I knew he would to both of us. But no, there was no chance and he let go of his belt, his hands reaching to the pistol holstered at his thigh.

  I wanted to turn to Tommy. I wanted to reassure him everything would be okay. The end would be quick. But Tommy was already in view, surging forward with a fierce, scrunched up expression as he charged the soldier. I followed his lead without thought and pushed out my hands, aiming for his chest, ignoring the false weight of the wound. It was that or lie down and die.

  Tommy made contact first, forcing the soldier’s hands away before he reached the pistol.

  My hands connected, pain blooming from my palm.

  The soldier stumbled back, his foot catching on the toilet, and he fell between the bowl and the wall. Wedging in the space, with one hand he tried to push Tommy away whilst fumbling for his pistol with the other.

  Tommy bit down on the soldier’s fingers as they lurched out. As Tommy released, the soldier pulled both his hands back, his right coming away from the clip holding the pistol tight in the holster.

  Taking the chance, I had the gun in my hands, the soldier cursing, spit coming from his mouth as he shouted for the weapon back.

  Grabbing Tommy by the shoulder, I pulled him backwards, my hands shaking as I pointed the pistol to the soldier’s face. I watched the colour drain from his skin. His eyes were wide as I guessed he tried to figure out if I had the balls to pull the trigger.

  Colour came back to his face, his anger growing as his expression hardened. He jolted forward, reaching out for the gun.

  I pulled the trigger. The bang was so loud as the soldier flew back to the wall with a hole in his shoulder. I couldn’t stop staring as he slipped down the wall with his mouth hanging wide in disbelief. His hand went to the wound as Tommy stepped from view.

  Bright red blood seeped through the soldier's fin
gers as the colour once again drained from his face.

  “Shit,” I said under my breath, looking at Tommy who just nodded as if he’d agreed with what I’d just done, not caring that I’d shot a man.

  “We have to go,” his small voice said. And he was right. We had to go because of the sound I’d just made. We had to go because if they found us, we would die. I had to leave this man here alone for his friends to find him so they could bandage him up and stop him from dying. They’d soon expect him back and come in search.

  We had to go. We had to go straight away.

  I turned, looking to the car, and took a step down the hallway, edging forward, pain reminding me of the slice through the sole of my foot. Glancing back to the soldier gritting his teeth, for a moment I stared at the blood on his hand and the darkening patch of his clothes. My injuries were nothing.

  Pleased to be out of his view and down the hall, I heard his gulps of fast breath as I edged closer to the opening and the busy sounds around the village. A distant shout here, a scream there. Engines roaring. Gunfire cracked in the wind with explosions as they searched more houses.

  Holding my hand out for Tommy to stay back, I came to the doorway and poked my head out just enough to see down the empty road to the left.

  There were no soldiers. No small tanks lumbering around.

  I pulled back in, taking a deep breath, then peered around the frame to the right. The soldiers were five houses down already, hammering the door with two large swings and they were in. A loud bang came before the echo died.

  It was time.

  I pushed the top button on the remote and the lights flashed once as the locks clicked.

  “Now,” I said without looking back and rushed around to the passenger door, twisting my head left and right as I pulled at the handle. But it was locked and I realised I hadn’t checked to see if the key was damaged.

  Pressing the button a second time, the locks clicked again and the door pulled open as I grabbed at the handle.