☣ONE☣
I PACK UP what little supplies we own. A few granola bars, fruit snacks, packages nuts, etc. Water and a change of clothes each. Two thin, ratty blankets.
Go to the cities, I think. I bury Mom deep into the forest, where the mutated animals roam. Then, I hoist the camo backpack onto my shoulders. Surprisingly, it barely weighs a thing. I walk for hours, miles. I stop in a clearing, hearing a distant howl. Mutated or not, wild animals are still dangerous. I pull out a long silver blade, the handle long gone. I spot eyes peeking out from a bush. The howl slowly grows louder, and I hear a growl coming from the direction of the bush. I grip the blade, the rough edge digging into my palm. The creature slowly creeps out of the bush. It’s a wolf… with two heads. I silently curse. Mutated creatures are worse than, er… non-mutated creatures. The wolf growls on both its heads. I begin to back up, ever so slowly. The wolf lets out a beastly snarl. It lunges at me. I stumble backwards, twist my ankle, and fall to the ground. Tears form in my eyes from the pain. I can feel the wolf’s slobber drip on my face as it leans over me. Its jaws are inches from my face. Both of them. I feel its claws tickle my arm. I brace the blade, and stab upward. The wolf’s four eyes contort in shock, and it goes limp on top of me. Then, get this, it starts to morph. I roll it off of me, and stagger to my feet. I watch with horror as the two-headed creature in front of me turns into a… a human!? I slowly begin to see the features of a middle-aged man. He stares at me blankly, gasping and wheezing. And then he dies. The second death I’ve seen within the last day.
“I have to find a city,” I say aloud. The howls have faded, and I assume I’m alone. I take a step forward, and wince as a jolt of pain from my foot makes me stumble. I wrap the foot in one of the blankets. I don’t cover nearly as much ground as I would’ve liked. Maybe only a mile or two within a few hours, due to my lame foot. I stop to rest beneath a tree. I can tell I’m almost out of the forest, the trees are gradually thinning. But i know I can’t make it much farther. I have a small cut on my arm from the wolf’s claws, a few scrapes on my legs from twigs and bushes, and, of course, my hurt foot. It’s not broken, I know. Maybe sprained. I curl up in the other blanket, though a cool breeze makes me shiver. The trees block most of the wind out, though. The temperature begins to gradually drop. And that’s my night for you, shivering, alone in the dark forest. I’d never slept alone. Before the Mutant Escape, I shared a room with my slightly-older brother. Then, after the Mutant Escape, I slept with my mom. Or rather, next to my mom. That sounds better. I wake to the sound of mutant-or non-mutant-birds chirping. Sounds peaceful, right? Well, it’s not if you’re aching all over, your foot is throbbing like a second heartbeat, and you’re practically covered in your own dried blood. I put on my pack and study my surroundings. Oddly green trees in the dead of winter, blooming flowers, and thin polka-dots of sun beaming in through the thick-ish canopy of trees. Mother Earth is all confused! Well, this is the ‘Mutant Forest’. Or one of them. Pretty much all forests that are inhabited by mutant creatures look like this, things never die. I stumble to my feet and stumble towards the light. Literally. I can see a pinprick of light ahead, the Open. The Open is basically where the forest is not. Simple, right? Right foot, left foot, ouch! Right foot, left foot, ouch! Over and over, the same steps. Right foot forward, left foot forward, scream in pain. Not scream, like, out loud. But, honey, I’m cussin’ and screamin’ and rollin’ on the ground in my brain. Maybe I’m just over-reacting. Finally, I reach the light.
“I see the light!” I tell myself, and nearly laugh at my own horrible joke. Road. I kneel on the pavement. Last time I was on a road… a year ago, with Mom. A thick dust covers the road, and footprints obviously lead to other survivors-or mutants. I walk on the side of the road to cover my tracks, limping as bad as ever. The faint ruins of a city soon come into view. What did mom want me to do once I got to the city?
Find Salvation.
How? I hiss angrily under my breath, but still continue to limp towards the broken city.
I stare around me at the piles of cement and glass around me. Believe it or not, it was once a famous city. New York, I believe. But, once the mutants came, all the non-mutants fled, and the city was destroyed. There aren’t many non-mutated people left, and most of them have gone crazy. I’m a lucky one. Well, mostly. The other day, when I was changing, I noticed something on my back. A feather, blooming out of a little sliver of skin. It doesn’t hurt. But it scares me. I reach up to my back and feel the feathers (yes, there are like three now, on each side) through my shirt. I’m snapped back to attention by voices. They’re getting louder, followed by nearly inaudible footsteps. I duck behind a still-intact wall (just barely), and peek over to see whoever’s coming. It’s a woman-maybe in her late twenties-with dark hair, tan skin, and she has the appearance of an older woman due to the thinness of her face. She must be extremely malnourished. I mean, no one gets much food anymore around here, since the mutants infected most water and most sources of meat. Next to the woman is a man, at least a foot taller than her. His arms and face are criss-crossed with scars, and he’s missing his left ear. His hair is cut in a flat mohawk, scraggly-brown and sticking up everywhere. Scary.
“Supplies are low,” the woman says, her voice surprisingly strong despite her weak appearance. Her voice is edgy, but not raspy.
“I know. Starve the old, or exterminate them. Best solution I can see,” the scary guy replies. His voice is gruff and loud, perfectly matching his appearance.
“In their sleep.” The woman’s voice softens. “I don’t want them to feel pain. Anybody forty or over. Don’t kill the kids. They are our future.” She glances in my direction, and I duck. I stumble on a collection of small rocks, and fall to the ground with a soft thud.
“Someone’s here. Raise the alarm!” gruff-guy shouts. I hear the woman’s fading footsteps as she races away, to their ‘camp’. Gruff-guy slowly approaches my hiding place. I shrink down as far as I can, I can’t run with my hurt foot. Gruff-guy’s face appears over the stubby half-crumbled cement wall. He has a lazy eye, caused by a scar running over the eye. He smiles, a lopsided smile, caused by yet another scar.
“Come on,” he says, to my surprise. “Knew you were here the whole time. Getcha some food, little water. Be on your way. Deal? And you won’t kill me.” Something about how he speaks is throwing me off. But, I nod and struggle to my feet. Gruff-guy grabs my elbow in a strong grip and starts to pull me in the direction the woman went in. I draw in a sharp breath at the sight before me. Rows upon rows of tents are set up. People mill around, children play tag. It’s like a… a city. I keep my lips shut as Gruff-guy pulls me along, people staring at me along the way. The guy finally pulls me into a large orange tent. The woman and a few other people are there, sitting at makeshift tables, eating and drinking. The smell of liquor fills the air, and I notice a few particularly sluggish guys at one table. The woman stands up, her eyes roaming over my beaten-up appearance.
“Get her fed and bathed. Then we will decide what becomes of her,” she says, and sits back down, returning to her food. Canned corn. The guy takes me to an empty tub. He fills it with water-cold, but better than nothing-, and leaves. I bathe and change into new clothes. Once the dirt is off my face, the blood off my wounds, I am fed canned green beans-the most substantial thing I’ve had in awhile. Then the woman comes in. Her face is impassive. She sits across from me and clears her throat. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she says, “What’s your name, hon?” Hon?
“Kara,” I answer, finally breaking my tight-lipped silence.
“I’m Kamilla. I run the show around here. Now, if you’re okay with me asking, what were you doing in the city?” the woman replies.
“Well, Kamilla, my mom had just passed from the sickness. She told me to go to the cities and find salvation. Happy?” I snap. Kamilla flinches.
“I’m sorry about your mom. You can stay here as long as you’d like,” she says. Despite how civilized this place seems, I can’t imagine myself here.
“I’m afraid I won’t be staying here much longer,” I respond, thinking of my growing mutations. People fear the mutants. With their mutations come crazy strength-for most-, and incredible eyesight, smell, etc. Not sure how feathers blooming out of your back would give you amazing hearing or super-strength, or whatever. Look, I didn’t create mutants. I just am one-well, work in progress. I stand up and turn to leave, but stop when I hear Kamilla gasp. She reaches out and grabs the feathers through my shirt. I let out a little yelp as pain courses through my back.
“Mutant!” she screeches. Gruff-guy rushes into the tent. He grabs me, throws me to the ground, and everything goes black.
I wake up in a cage. My head is on a metal bar. I have a horrible headache. I groan and sit up. I’m in an old dog crate. A little boy peers in at me. He sneers and sticks his finger through the bars. I shy away from him. Both my head and my foot throb. The boy cackles and runs out of sight. I reach up and feel the feathers. There are five on each side now. The feather-thingys-whatever they are-are slowly growing out. They can’t be concealed under my shirt anymore. I grab the bars on either side of me. I need to get out of here. I feel like the walls are getting closer. I have extreme claustrophobia, though I’m not sure why. I curl up in the tiny cage, and night soon falls. I’m awakened by shouting. Men-and women-run around, each toting a gun or a crossbow, any form of weapon. I look around frantically, searching for the cause of the disruption. A ghastly roar makes my ears pop. People fall to the ground around me. I reach my hand through the bars and try desperately to unlock it. With no luck.
“Help!” I scream. But no one stops. They don’t even glance at me. Suddenly, the cage door is thrown open. A scramble out, and feel a gun at the back of my head.
“He’s here for you, you mutant freak!” Gruff-guy growls. I hold up my hands.
“Who?” I ask.
“That danged demon!” he shouts. Very slowly, I reach for the switchblade knife in my pocket. But it’s not there. Panic surges through my veins. I kick back with the heel of my foot and connect with his shin. He stumbles backwards. I feel the butt of the gun hit my jaw, and stars appear before my eyes. I reach up and feel blood. Gruff-guy lets out a stream of profanities that I know I shouldn’t mention. He charges me. I purposely fall to the ground and stick out my leg. He trips and falls face-first in the dirt. I roll him over and check his pulse. He’s alive, just unconscious. Another roar fills the air, and a shiver runs down my spine. Yes, it’s cold. And yes, I’m terrified.
Science Fiction
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Hold on. Let me pause, catch my breath, and come back to reality real quick…
This. is. incredible. It feels like I’ve just read the first chapter of a best-selling YA novel. I’m really disappointed that it’s over, actually.
You’ve done an excellent job keeping the plot suspenseful, introducing round characters, using immense detail and believable dialogue, and wow, just wow. I like the small interjections of humor from Kara – they’re natural and don’t take away from the story by sounding cheesy. I certainly didn’t write this well at your age, and you may have found your niche.
I’m curious, how long did it take you to write this? I must say, I’m truly ecstatic for your next chapter, especially with this huge cliffhanger.
Stellar, masterful writing!
Wow. Thank you so much! I’m not sctually sure how long it took me to write this… I think maybe half an hour? Thank you so much, this means a lot to me. I was really nervous about posting this. I felt like everything was rushed, because I often rush things. I’m so glad you like it!
This was by far the highlight of the day! Thank you so much for commenting! If you have any questions or concerns about my writing in the future, never be afraid to post them!
Good job, YoungWriter. I see your books one day on store shelves.
Thank you so much! My life goal is to publish a book by the time I’m eighteen 😉