Their Summer Never Ended

Chapter 7

I told Macy everything, and ever since it's been chaos.

"What are we going to do?" She frets, constantly looking out the window.

"I don't know." I frown, turning off the kitchen light, leaving us in darkness. 

"Maybe we should call the police." She suggests. "Its 112 in Europe, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Ezra said not too." I cross my arms, trying to think.

"What about my Dad?" 

"He said no family." I chew my lip. "No contact." 

"Why do you trust him so much?" She sighs, frustrated. 

I have no idea.

"Technically, he's a stranger." She continues. "He could be telling you the opposite, maybe he's part of it."

"Something just doesn't feel right." I finally say. "All that political tension lately, weird gangs just popping up on trains."

"Yeah." She says. "The gang Ezra is part of."

"I just, don't know." I collapse on the sofa, getting a headache. "Why can't people know we're American?" I mutter.

Why did he pretend to not like me in front of his people? Why was he angry when the explosion happened, but not surprised? 

"Turn the T.V on." I say quickly. How stupid, why didn't I check before? Macy flicks through the channels, but we get nothing, static. She looks at me, fear growing. 

"Internet?" I gulp. She checks her phone, and shakes her head.

"No signal either."  She trembles.

"We're probably over reacting." I reassure her. "What could possibly cause all this? It's probably nothing, and we're just stressing." 

"Maybe." She says quietly. 

A loud scream echoes, and I race to the window, staying behind the curtain, peeking through. 

"Macy." I whisper, terrified. She joins me, and we watch a girl, obviously coming home from a night out like we were. But she's running. No shoes, heels abandoned, so fast i'm scared she'll stumble down the hill, trying to get to the street.

But what is she running from?

"Someone help!" She screams, coming right for our building.

She's American.

She breaks out into an even faster sprint, in the middle of the road, heading for the safety of the apartment. 

But she doesn't make it.

It happens so fast, I don't even know what to think.

Gunshots ring through our ears, and before I can close my eyes to avoid the horror, she's dead. 

Lying on the pavement, blood seeping through her dress.

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I watch the blood flood the street, the faint noises of Macy throwing up all over the carpet.

"We can't stay here." I realise.

"You want to go out there?" Macy gasps, trying to get some air into her body.

"Whatever that was!" I shout, pointing down to the body. "They're coming! I don't know what's going on, but we aren't safe in a building full of Americans."

"Ok." She agrees reluctantly. 

"Pack your backpack." I rush. "Keep it light, a few clothes, water, essentials." 

We rush, keeping a constant eye out the window. 

We rush to the front door, and peek out slowly. 

We aren't the only ones.

Everyone rushes around, lugging suitcases, backpacks, children wrapped up in parents arms.

"Did you hear the gunshots?" An American man asks us desperately.

"Where are you going?" I ask him, wanting to know what everyone else is thinking. 

"The airport." He says. "We can't get hold of the police, surely the airport will have answers."

Before I can say anything, he rushes his family down the hallway, and down the stairs.

"Ezra told me not to go to the airport." I frown.

"Everyone else is going." Macy stresses out. "Shouldn't we go with-"

But she's cut off by another gunshot.

We look at each other, and rush back into our apartment, heading for the window.

And it's my turn to throw up.

"Oh my god." Macy says, leaning on the window sill for support.

"Get away from the window!" I screech, trying to get the image out of my head.

The man, his wife, and his little girl all dead, shot down in the street.

"They're picking us off one by one." I think out loud. "We can't leave."

"Ali they're coming." Macy whimpers.

"What?" I frown, looking at her, as she still clings to to the window sill.

"Look." She sobs, backing away.

I get up slowly, and I see them. A group of what must be one hundred men, all moving towards our building, guns up and ready, coming closer in small groups.

They don't look like a professional army, they look rugged, a mix of army greens, normal shirts, boots, and a mixture of different guns. 

But they sure do look professionally trained.

Missionaries.

"What do we do, this is insane." Macy cries. 

The first group reaches the front door, and we hear gunshots, glass exploding and people screaming, as they are shut down. 

"We have to hide." I say, needing to pull myself together. 

Macy isn't strong enough to lead, you need to suck it up and get us both through this.

I run into the kitchen and grab two of the sharpest knives I could find, handing one to Macy. 

"Where?" She asks, grabbing her back pack slinging it onto her back. "The bathroom?"

"No, we would be sitting ducks." I mutter, pulling the sofa and the a chest of drawers over to the door, but knowing it won't be enough. "You go in your room, lock the door, and hide under the bed. If anyone comes in, stay quiet. If anyone touches you, go crazy. Scream, stab, do anything."

She continues to cry, but runs into her room, locking the door.

I quickly check the window, and I almost fall over as I throw myself back so no one sees me. There are so many of them lined up in front of the building, some already inside. 

If any of them had looked up, they would have seen me.

I silently tip toe to the front door, and look out into the hallway. 

There's no one, it's completely silent. 

The other tourists are either hiding like us.. Or they've been caught.

We are quite high up, it would take them a little while to sweep through all the floors if they wanted to find everyone. Maybe they won't-

I freak out, as I see bullets fly into the wall across the hallway, screams too close for comfort.

They're coming.