Starving flames engulfed the entire camp. Every tent, every belonging, every single piece of what made Maggie's camp was nothing more than fuel for the fire. The two of them ran straight into the chaos, ghostly howls and piercing cries dancing circles around Maggie's head, with her uncle suddenly gripping her shirt and tossing her away from someone running desperately to get the flames off of their clothes. She gasped at the impact she made on the warm grass, fingers going to grip the crinkled blades, right until a hackling laugh caught her attention.
"My own brother, can you fuckin' imagine!" Her father exclaimed, a limp in his step and bruises littering his face unrecognizable. Maggie knew that tone in his voice though; she clambered to find her footing when she heard it grow closer. "Burn bitch, burn!" His voice yodeled once more just as Maggie caught sight of her uncle assisting his girlfriend back to her feet. "Maggie! Where's that bitch at, huh?" She whimpered, the guttural feeling of fear and dizziness keeping her from standing once more. "Ah," Her father cried out, before a cough broke through his voice, "there you are." The breath belted from her lungs when his sweating hands grabbed her from the back of her shirt, yanking her to her feet at a force strong enough to put her in a strong whiplash. "Aiden! Oh, Aiden! You gonna come out now?" He pinched Maggie's chin to single her blurry vision on his wide-eyed stare of blind rage. "Cry out for him." Her father slurred. When Maggie barely managed to open her mouth, a bruising force collided with her gut, rendering her a ragdoll over her father's body. "Cry for your fucking life!"
Suddenly, she was thrown once more against the ground, struggling to breathe. Many sounds of struggle, groans and spat profanities rang in her ears when her body turned over to face one particular fire swallowing one grouping of tents. She blankly stared at it all.
BAM
Noisy gargling sounds is the only thing to be heard over the crackling of the flames. "Come on honey, com'on sweetie." A softer voice, although slurred from exhaustion, whispered to her. Maggie remained motionless. It didn't matter much, seeing as her uncle cautiously pulled her to her feet, and she watched as the group of tents grew slowly smaller and the immense heat faded. All of it was gone. Every single part of it. The only thing to remain were the ashes and the bodies of burnt people, as well as Maggie's father, who remained on the ground drowning in his blood to watch the chaos as well. Sleep was the only thing she desired for once her uncle brought her to the safest place he could manage.
***
When Maggie had opened her eyes, the brightness of the morning burned like hell. She blinked hard quite a few times, just to get the blurriness and soreness away, but when she could finally make out the globs of green and brown, she saw that she was staring directly at a fallen tree. "Uncle Aiden?" She croaked, attempting to lean on one arm to lift herself up some. Maggie groaned softly at the aches that littered across her body; already she could begin to feel the nasty migraine that would plague her day. She seethed through her teeth as she managed to roll over to her opposite side. "Uncle Ai–"
Nobody was there. Nothing but scattered about footprints and a dead body. A recently deceased body. Maggie whimpered, and the weights inside her chest grew heavier. She looked around frantically, unprecedented tears skipping down her cheeks. Finally she was able to stand after half an hour, achieving enough strength and willpower to look over the body. Claw marks ripped across the skin like dough. Crazies. Maggie whipped her body around, nearly falling, quickly seeing that her uncle left nothing for her but a tattered blanket. Grabbing it and rolling it into a ball, she tucked it underneath her arm and rubbed away her tears. She knew she had been left behind for a reason.
Maggie looked back at the body. How am I alive? She let the question reside in her brain for a few moments, but ultimately discarded it and began to walk.
The sun smacked her tender skin raw. She felt as it was September, seeing as the final few days of summer normally hit hard. Typically she would be cleaning weapons under one of the trees that outlined the camp, or she would watch her father address any dead bodies that were found around the camp. But Maggie had never felt the sun like this; tightening the skin on her face and forearms, making her sweat through her thin leggings. Fuck. The crumbled dirt crunched beneath her shoes, the endless broken road went on for miles. Maggie didn't recognize a lick of her surroundings. However, one thing did come her way. A sign. A real one, that is.
The writing was hardly comprehensible. She knew that it was painted on a long time ago—for the paint was just barely hanging onto the metal road sign—and it read:
SA NC TUAR Y GON E
CO ME FI N D US
⟵
It could be anything, she thought, a neighborhood, gas station, a trap—cannibals. Maggie rose a hand to the sign, looked at her fingers and then saw crust bits of paint littered the skin. She wiped her fingers on her shirt and turned into the woods.
***
The walk had been shorter than she believed—around an hour and a half at least—and approached a recluse of a run down neighborhood. Maggie hadn't been in one in nine years—since before the apocalypse. The sight of the classic suburban homes oddly fascinated her for a few moments while trying to find the least dilapidated one. Graffiti danced from house to house—whether it be cries of help, damning the Government or portraits of the dead—while some simply wore its original faded bricks. Maggie could even grin at the sight of long-forgotten, broken bikes and other such silhouettes of the post-apocalyptic world. Silhouettes she had forgotten about herself.
Finally, after walking down halfway of the street, she found the one house in a decent enough condition. Cautiously, she approached the front porch of it and took a peak inside of each window. The glass was dusted and cloudy, but she saw that it was empty. From what she could see, that is. She rose a fist and banged on the door once, before pressing herself beside the door and waited, her heart pounding in her ears as the realization of being completely vulnerable struck her. Minutes ticked by slowly.
Sighing in relief, she managed to carefully budge the door open, coughing as an old, unclean smell washed over her face. Shutting the door behind her, she shut the curtains and made her way onto the couch, setting down her blanket. The living room felt lifeless—the entire house had never made her feel so out of place. She ignored the scattered picture frames of the family that used to live here, and thought about her uncle. Curling up on a corner of the couch, she rested her head and cried silently.
