The World After

Buildings crumbled around Lyra as she flitted between them, scrounging for scraps of metal and junk she could bring back to the scrap yard. Her rucksack was nearly full, and it was almost curfew. It had been three years since the fall of the empire, when people all over the world succumbed to a disease that had spread like wildfire, ravaging all in its path. It hadn’t been so much the initial illness that killed, but the lasting effects of it. A build-up of gunk in the lungs that its prey would inevitably fall victim to.

She’d lost everything when the disease crept through her home. Her hand slipped to the delicate chain that hung around her neck. It shone dimly against her grime covered skin. The only clean thing on her. She clasped the locket between her fingers, her thumb rubbing against the well-worn metal. Once, it’d had engravings on it, but the designs had long since been weathered smooth. A reminder of a life forgotten, her most prized possession. Her brother had given it to her for her tenth birthday, using all of his earnings to buy it for her, and she hadn’t taken it off since.

A fight broke out nearby, two scavengers squabbling over something most likely. Lyra saw a flash of blue before she slipped away, giving them a large berth. People didn’t often die from the spats that broke out over trinkets, but every now and then there were whispers of bodies turning up covered in scratches. Lyra wasn’t sure she believed them – rumours were so exaggerated these days – but she was fairly certain she didn’t want to find out either way. She glanced towards the clocktower; it was the only working clock in the city. They were a rarity these days, most having been dismantled to make more important things. It was three minutes to six. She picked up the pace. Getting caught outside after curfew was practically signing a death warrant. Monsters came out after dark. The people so twisted from the hell world they lived in, they were hardly distinguishable from the nightmares in bedtime stories.

A bell chimed in the clock, and Lyra broke into a run. She was nearly there, but if they closed the doors of the scrap yard early…well it was better safe than sorry. Once those doors closed they wouldn’t open again until 6 o’clock the next morning. Burns was very particular, and what the king of the yard says, goes. Despite being only seventeen, Burns acted like a grumpy old man and he practically raised half the scrappers. She made it through the doors two minutes before curfew, jogging between the steel doors that protected her every night. Tonight, as she entered the yard, something was off. Burns waited for her just inside the doors, a panicked look on his face. Lyra frowned. Burns had two moods; grumpy or irritable, and they didn’t much differ from each other, but today his face was a mask of fear and worry.

Lyra glanced around. None of the other scrappers loitered around. Normally there were scrappers hanging around the entrance to the yard. When Burns saw her, he motioned with his hand and the doors immediately began closing. A minute before curfew. He grasped her arm firmly and pulled her towards the house that the young scrappers called home.

“What’s going on Burns?” She muttered, annoyed at his manhandling. He shot a look her way and she closed her mouth, waiting to get to the house to voice the questions burning in her head. They wove between scrap piles until the house was in sight, seemingly materialising out of nowhere. It was like that in the scrap yard. Things just appeared.

It was too quiet in the yard. Normally it was full of sounds – metal clanging, bottles smashing, kids shrieking – but all that met her now was silence as Burns pulled her into the house.

“What’s-”

“We’re going to be attacked. Raiders. They’ve managed to find a way to break the doors. They’ll be here at midnight.” The words came out of Burns’ mouth in a stream, and that fear and worry flashed across his face again. Lyra shook her head, her mouth opened. Nothing came out. She paled. Nobody had ever breached the yard doors, not even in the world before with working machines. People had tried climbing the walls, but they were covered in shards of glass and metal and Burns had somehow rigged traps all over them too. She knew because Burns had pulled her out of one the first time she’d met him. Fortunately, he’d decided to take her in, rather than throw her to the wolves that prowled in the dark. Surprisingly, no one ever seemed to think about going through the walls instead of the doors. The walls were thick, at least ten metres thick, but they weren’t made of steel - they were made of stone. It would be hard, but not impossible.

Two hours later, a loud, hollow clang resounded through the darkness. It reverberated through her whole body and made her freeze in the middle of sharpening shards of metal for knives. Everyone else froze too, their heads whipping towards the sound. It came again, then again, like the beat of a huge drum. The call of death. They were early. By the time the fourth thud echoed through their world, they were moving. All around her, Lyra watched children prepare to fight. Her gaze swept the room and landed on Burns, his face dark as he watched the same thing, realised the same thing. Too many wouldn’t make it in a fight against the raiders. Burns climbed up onto the nearest table.

“Stop.” His voice was soft, but everyone in the room heard it. Again, everyone paused.

“We will not win against them. So, we will run. And we won’t look back. We’ll start over somewhere else. Everyone take one weapon, small enough to carry, and go wait by the wall farthest from the doors.” Those who had been arming themselves to the teeth began pulling off the heavier weapons, letting them drop, unneeded, to the floor. Others ran towards nearby rooms to get the few possessions worth bringing with them. All of the scrappers had been orphans for at least the three years since the fall, so they knew to pack light. Lyra took one last look around the house. She had everything she needed. She looked at the junk lying around, what would have been used as weapons against the raiders. So much preparation in the short time they’d had and yet it would go to waste. Better that than losing lives.

Burns did a headcount as they reached the wall furthest from the doors. They could still hear the clang of whatever the raiders were using to destroy the doors. When he was satisfied that they had everyone, Burns motioned for one of the older scrappers to come forward. He was a sixteen-year-old boy everyone called Trap and, from what Lyra had heard, the only person to have ever made it over the wall, past all of Burns’ traps. The scrappers completely idolised him. With at least thirty metres of rope wrapped around his body, he nodded to Burns then began to climb.

It was twenty minutes before Trap reached the top of the wall and threw down the rope, having secured it around one of the blunter shards of metal sticking out of the top. Burns turned to everyone.

“Remember, when you get over the wall, you scatter into the streets. We rendezvous at the clock in three days’ time. Until then, you’re on your own. If anyone wants out, say so now. You can surrender to the raiders. No one will think less of you.” He was met with silence. Nobody left. Burns nodded, then turned to Jay, the second oldest in the group, younger than Burns by a month. She carried a second rope on her. She would go next and secure the rope to the other side so that everyone could get up and over the wall without too much trouble.

When Jay was halfway up the wall, a horrible metal screeching filled the air, so piercing that most of the scrappers covered their ears. Lyra glanced at Burns, who was looking towards the opposite side of the yard. Although you couldn’t see the other side of the yard, everyone knew. The raiders had breached the doors. They were about to run out of time. Jay looked towards the doors, and whatever she saw made sheer terror cross her face. She began pulling herself up the rope like someone had lit it on fire. Burns looked around, found the smallest scrapper, who was about six and told her to start climbing. They couldn’t afford to just send one at a time anymore. They would have to send a few at a time and hope the rope held.

Trap waited at the top of the wall, pulling each child up when they got within his reach. Then they would disappear out of sight. Lyra was the fourth oldest, meaning she would have to wait until the other children had climbed up before climbing up herself. Finally, when it was just her and Burns at the bottom of the rope, he pushed her towards it. Voices sounded nearby. Then two older kids appeared between two scrap piles. Raiders. Their faces turned menacing, and they began to stalk towards them. Slow. Taunting. She looked at Burns, then at the rope. If they started to climb now, they would expose their backs. They wouldn’t make it high enough before the raiders reached them. The same realisation burned in his eyes. His head snapped up.

“Cut the rope,” he yelled. There was a moment of hesitation and Burns opened his mouth again, but then the rope was swaying wildly as someone frantically sawed through the rope. Lyra grabbed her locket, sending a prayer up to whatever gods were listening, pulled out the knife she kept in her boot, and ran forwards as Burns did. They sprinted to the left, avoiding the two raiders. They would draw the raiders away from the wall. Give the others a chance to escape. Lyra wasn’t particularly optimistic about their own chances. Shouts followed them as they ran and scrap piles became blurs of muted colour as she ran sprinted - faster than she had in her entire life. Footsteps sounded behind them, and she pushed even harder, narrowly missing a jagged bit of scrap metal that appeared in front of her. Her necklace wasn’t so lucky. It caught on it and ripped clean off her neck. She went to turn around, but Burns was there, grabbing her arm and yanking her with him. She glanced back once more at the small gold locket, hanging from the dull, rusted scrap, then let Burns pull her away from the last piece of home she possessed.

By the time they reached the doors, her tears were falling unchecked. Doors that had been turned into scrap metal by the raiders. Darkness waited for them through those doors. More voices sounded behind them. They were so close. So close to freedom. Beside her, Burns gave her a hopeful glance. Then a man stepped into their path. Right in the middle of the doors. Burns glanced at her again, a mournful look replacing his hope.

“Run Lyra.” Then he sped up, and collided with the man head on. Straight onto one of the blades the man held in his hands. Lyra was too winded to scream, so she did the only thing she could. She ran. Straight out into the dark night, the world a lot colder now Burns was gone.