The Shearing

Prologue

"Are we going to die?" Billy faintly whispers from the other end of the can.

It is the only thing that enables Billy to speak to his sister without provoking noise. The white string that connects Billy's can tugs slightly as he awaits for his sister's response. He keeps himself as still and compact as possible amidst the mound of clothes within his wardrobe. Barely making noise, Billy knows they're coming any moment now.

As Billy waits, his heartbeat turns erratic.

"Don't say that, we will get out of here." Billy didn't miss the falsity of Emily's tone. He knows she's just as hopeless as he is, hardly able to get a spec of hope, and Billy wishes he can be with his older sister even in their last moments.

Tears quietly streak his cheeks, cascading down to his stubbly chin. Billy peaks through the wardrobe's blinding doors, and the sight of the other wardrobe from the other end of their room makes his heart encroach down. It is where Emily hides herself, for they both know that if one of them gets killed tonight, the other has to spread their race, pass on the remaining genes of family Conrad, otherwise it shall cease to remain for eternity.

The string that connects their walkie-talkie tin cans are perfectly camouflaged along the off-white hues of their bedroom wall. It serpentines up along the ceiling supported by small metal hooks, and down to the other wardrobe.

"I don't want to die." Billy's weak voice falters this time, and he catches the slight fidgets of his sweaty hands caused by his fear of death.

"We won't," Emily responds, crestfallen.

Emily wants to race out of the wardrobe's confinement, to rush for her brother, and to hug him. It is the last thing that Emily wants to do considering that their lives are ticking fast as it approaches its end. If only their bedroom windows aren't rigged up with grills, they would make it out to safety.

But no.

They are trapped.

And they're not alone in the house.

"I wish mom was here." Emily could feel her gut twist at her brother's sob, but no matter how much she wants to come for him, she knows she can't.

She mustn't.

For all she knows it might only be the way to save Billy, and may be the only way to save the Conrad family.

"I wish she was here too, Billy." Emily couldn't hold back the tears this time. She wraps her arms around her compressed body as a failing attempt to comfort her throbbing chest. The musty wardrobe isn't anything compared to the growing coldness of her heart. "But if mommy is here? She'd tell us to be strong. Can you do that, Billy? Do it for mommy?"

"Okay."

It's a lie. Emily knows it, but Emily also knows that it's better to refuse on believing it. None of them can afford weakness. Not now that it is strength they need the most, and hope. The weak tugging from the string of Emily's can is what comforts her now; it's the only thing that's reminding Emily of that possibility of safety, and that her brother—her hope—is still breathing. So as long as the string keeps shimmying, Emily knows they will both make it.

And that is when the room door flings open.

"Emir! You fool, we haven't checked this room yet!" Barks a tall leather-clad man.

The sight of the rifle clasped upon his fist sends eerie chills along Emily's spine. There is an unmistakable fetid smell like that from blood that lingers as the two armed men encroach the bedroom. Emily could only peak in horror amidst the door blinds, which barely offer visibility.