Red Zone

I glanced at the tall, metal gates that surrounded the small acre of land that was left of my family wealth. Who would have thought back then that the whole stature, the prestige, and the family name would be all summed up in this? This parched, withered, broken mimic of a garden?

Yes, I’ve heard the stories. I believed them. How my great grand-parents ruled all countries and gloated in money and jewels and power. My heart leapt in anger at the thought of them. My heart. Always sensitive to everything, always too weak or too strong, too slow or too fast. I knew I had a problem. And I ignored it. And I knew one day it would manifest itself to me in a way that would be definitive. But what can I do? In a world like this.

So, yes. My heart felt anger at the thought of my ancestors. Not envy or jealousy of a lifestyle that resembled nothing to my current Era. I felt anger at them for causing this. For dismissing all preventive measures. They knew what was coming. And they did nothing.

My family generations have had to live with the shame. If I had to choose one word to describe how our Era feels about the past, the word is HATE. We resent them all for everything they have done to us. They have caused the atrocity in which we find ourselves today.

A clash awakened me from my thoughts of the distant past. I turned to see two teenage boys standing limply at the gates, their clothes teared apart and burned around the edges. They stood there, with their hands outstretched, reaching though the gate for food, supplies, hope. The beggar’s signature.

It was not unusual to see few Fire Survivors around here. We were located in the Sun-Targeted Red Zone, where The Fire had extinguished the majority of the land. The leftovers of small towns, the dried-up lake in the south, and this garden was what remained standing. Oh, and of course, the Fire Survivors.

That was what we called them. There were only a handful of them but they were very well-known. They survived the Great Century Fire in which half of the world was consumed by flames. Legend said that these people survived when the only way out of the blazes was the sea. They threw themselves at sea. No one knew how they made it, especially when the Ocean Uprising hit a year after and eradicated all great cities. Our ocean swallowed up the countries with one easy, swift gulp. And with half of the world consumed in flames and the other half drowned in water, all that was left was few barren areas of death, desolation, and disease.

And I. Well, I never considered myself a survivor. I hid in my family’s bunker for several years while I knew my parents were out there, giving their lives for the chance of saving the others. And the only time I dared leave my safety was to see them get absorbed into the flames and turned to ashes.

The memory still burned inside me, as scorching as the fire that took my family away. Immediately, I clutched at the metal pendant dangling from my neck. The coolness of it simmered down my pain as it comforted my skin. The only reminder I had of my mother. The pendant was a melted, gray lump of what was left of my mother’s locket. The locket was originally a heart, where she carried a picture of my father when he was an adolescent. She took it on the day they met, so many years ago. My mother loved telling me that story. She had escaped our bunker to meet up with The Rebels to organize one of those events she loved attending, and there he was. Their event was intercepted, and they barely got out of it alive. And right then and there, she told me she knew he was the love of her life. And she was his. They loved each other from the day they met all the way until their last second together, right before they vanished into dust. I never felt love like that. A love that strengthened their courage and will to live for the hope of it all. Their love blinded them, made them think that there was a solution, a way out of the total chaos and destruction in our Era. Their love was so pure, it did not belong in a world like ours. Eventually, it was their love that killed them.

Still, I wish I was more like my mother. She was always so positive, so hopeful, so willing to help others. She was full of love. But I, well, I admit it. I’m full of hate.

Suddenly, a strange yet familiar sensation crept all over me. An anxiety that always shadowed me but only now dared to show its face. In that moment, I knew exactly what was happening, but I realized two seconds too late.

From the shadows behind the bushes that surrounded the gates emerged three men, all dressed in the Captain’s Uniform, and before I could let out one cry, one scream, one form of warning, another sound broke through the air so thunderous, so deafening, it brought me down to the ground. I looked up to see the two Fire Survivors on the ground as well, their rigged clothes wet now, covered in blood. They laid there, motionless, shot, dead.

I was next.

I got up and ran.

I ran fast. As fast as I’ve never ran in my life. I felt them behind me. Today was the day. I knew I was getting to that age. No one older than me has survived this Zone.

I turned the corner of the town square, past the broken glass from the empty shops. I heard the radios, the gunshots aimed at me. They kept missing their target but it was only a matter of time. My heart was beating as fast as my legs were running.

My lungs. They were the ones giving up on me. They wanted me to stop, to end it all. To give up, to give in. They were tired, like me.

The heart-shaped locket hit me hard in the chest. It took my breath away but gave me life with every step I took. This twisted locket mimicked my own broken heart. My mother’s heart. The locket was the only hope I carried with me. It had accompanied my mother all the way to her death. And so, I realized then, that even though I wanted to quit, my heart would not let me. It wasn’t in me to stop. I would not die this way. I would not die running. I would die like my parents.

I turned around and faced my two attackers. I put my hands up so they could see that I surrendered. This motion shocked them because they stopped shooting. They wanted to kill me but they wanted to know what I had to say. I knew their orders were different with me. Yes, I was going to die either way, but not before they made sure I knew nothing. But I knew everything. My family collected too much valuable information throughout the generations. I never cared much about it but now it was my only shield, my only weapon. I had to fight back if I wanted to survive a little longer.

I smiled.

A few moments ago, I thought I saw the end.

But, This.

This was just the beginning.