Rogue

6

~Alyssa~

My feet begin to sigh with relief when I hit the woods. I think I might have gotten injured; I feel liquid pouring from the right one. But I'm alive. I am still alive.

   I honestly thought that the enemy man and the enemy boy were going to kill me.

   Though the word "enemy" sounds like a weird match for them. It doesn't settle quite right on my tongue. For some reason, my brain says that they're not enemies at all, that the soldiers are the ones I have to watch out for. But by their actions, and by the way that they stared at me while I ran, I know that they were probably considering raising their guns and shooting me to death right then and there.

   I think that the reasoning for me not wanting to call them the enemy is the fact that they didn't shoot me. They didn't even raise their weapons like the others did. I don't think I even saw them touch them.

   I see a soldier run out in front of me, the same soldier who ran out here and abandoned me. I begin running up to him and turn him around by grabbing his shoulder. He whips around with his gun in his hand and begins to aim for me, but I stab him in the eye with my knife before he can. I make sure that I shove the knife as deeply as I can before I twist it, sending him falling to his knees and hitting the ground.

   I think I just killed him with my flimsy knife.

   Backing away, I begin running even further. That's the second soldier that I've injured in the last few minutes. But I don't need to dwell on it anymore if I want to get out of this place.

   All of a sudden, I hear a deafening roar as everything east of me is devoured by fire. It's growing closer, and I can feel the heat licking at my side. I want to go ahead and run, but then I hear the yells of a young boy coming from somewhere near me, presumably the boy that I just passed.

   The fire is climbing into the trees now, the grass and pine needles scorched. It's almost a huge wall, climbing higher and higher, stretching further and further each second. But I think that if I run fast enough, I can beat it and get through to the other side. Yes, it might cause me an enormous amount of pain, and might even cost me my life, but it'll be worth it.

   I turn and begin running as fast as my feet can carry me, back to where I just came from.

   The burning in my lungs does nothing to help my pain as I run towards it, but it is nothing compared to what I feel as I run through the burning trees, flames momentarily licking at my arms and legs. There is an excruciating, constant pain in my feet as they fly across the burnt ground. When I look down, they're black and red, from ashes and burning.

   I make it back up the hill just in time to see the young boy I spotted earlier dragging the young man across the ground. The young man is unconscious or dead, burns covering his entire body. His face is red in some places from where the fire just barely touched it, the other parts black with soot. The other parts of his body are worse. I can tell that he's going to have burn scars on his arms, legs, and chest for the rest of his life if he wakes up. His clothing is also burnt, huge holes in the shirt, his pants turned into shorts from where the fire ate at them.

   The young boy is still struggling, trying to pull him up the hill and away from the chaos. His face is also streaked with soot, but not as much. There's a clear line running from under both of his eyes from crying, black teardrops falling onto the front of his shirt and staining it. His breathing is shaky as he tries to pull harder. He ends up falling right onto his back.

   I rush over to him quickly, pulling him up and grabbing the young man's arms gently, in case he wakes up. Then I look at the boy. "I'll take his arms, you grab his legs. I think we can move him out of here together." The boy nods quickly and obeys. I'm right, we can easily move him. It takes a few minutes of walking, and my muscles are burning. This man is a bit heavier than I expected, but I'm still able to make it to where the boy wants him to be.

   We wind up walking to a small white tent, one filled with torn mattresses on metal bedframes. The scent of old blood intermingled with disinfectant enters my nose, a quite unpleasant smell. The boy and I walk over to the cleanest bed we see, laying the man down gently onto the mattress. The automated screen next to the bed immediately clicks on, green lettering flying across the screen.

   PATIENT: WILLIAM E. MONTGOMERY

   AGE: 17 YEARS, 6 MONTHS, 13 DAYS

   STATUS: HUMAN

   VITALS: MEDIOCRE

   PHYSICAL INJURIES: FIRST-DEGREE FACIAL BURNS, SECOND-DEGREE ARM AND LEG BURNS, THIRD-DEGREE CHEST BURNS

   STATE: UNCONSCIOUS

   EXPECTED TO LIVE: PROBABLE

   I begin to turn away and slowly walk out of the tent to leave the boy with William. I hope that both of them will be okay in the end. They didn't try to shoot me like the others did, so I am returning the favor by hoping they don't die anytime soon.

   Right as I am about to exit the tent, the boy's voice stops me in my tracks. "Wait," he says, and I turn around slowly. I know that this is the part where he tricks me into turning so he can shoot me. I know that he has turned the situation into a trap. I know because I've seen it too many times in the last few years. But he doesn't reach for a hidden gun. Instead, he looks at me with a solemn expression. "Thank you for helping me save Will."

   "It was no problem at all," I say quietly, and then I begin to walk away again, the boy not stopping me this time.

   Since the woods are still up in flames, I decide to keep walking in the direction I was going in, just staying on the same path. Most of our soldiers are dead or have fled, and most of the enemy soldiers are helping their wounded and carrying them to surrounding tents, so I'm clear to go now.

   I walk down slowly, my feet having grown numb to the burning sensation in them. I'm torn between walking slowly and risking being caught by someone or running for my life and possibly running right towards the enemy, who will then end me right where I stand. Neither sounds particularly appealing, but I decide on the latter.

   I run for a few moments, focusing on everything rushing by. I'm nervous about the fact that I could be caught by a soldier and taken back, but I shake my head. I can't think about this now. If I do, then I'll slow down. And slowing down could really mean that I go back.

   I can't go back now. I can't go back ever.

   So I shut down my mind and think of nothing except for the pounding of my heart and the pain in my lungs.

   That is, until I hear feet behind me. I stop running out of pure fear, knowing that it's a stupid move. But my brain isn't functioning, and I can't even remember anything about self-defense or fighting as the cool barrel of a gun presses into my back, a cool hand coming up to cover my mouth.

   "You have killed two of our own men," says the raspy voice of a soldier, one that I recognize. He was the one that was in the room with us most of the time, and one of the most cruel of them all. "And now you will pay."

   Then I'm yanked back by my shirt as he pulls me back. Back to that place of pain, of torture, of misery. Knowing him, I'll probably be the next to have my skull smashed in.

   But even death is better than that place.