Page 8 of Rising

I lost that battle and allowed my mind to pick up where it wanted, where it felt safe.

I locked up the apartment, banging and screeching coming from inside, grabbed Harley, and ran. Sprinting towards my best friend’s apartment down the street, I practically yanked her out the front door, and drove her car over to the grocery store. Tears ran down her terrified face. Her chestnut hair tangled as if she’d pulled against her roots amid a panic attack.

My dad had trained me for this, waters and essentials first, canned goods, nuts, jerky, anything worth any kind of protein gets grabbed. Grab what you can for first aid, but our go bags had always stayed stocked and ready. We grabbed every battery we could find and headed to the gas station. Took what we could and left what we couldn’t, then hid at her place for a week.

Silently, I cursed Xavier, then cursed myself for cursing him so soon after what had just transpired. He wasn’t comfortable with me having a weapon in the house, and I obliged him, opting to leave my Glock 43, Glock 19, and beautiful Ruger Precision at a storage facility.

I didn’t grow up in a gun happy family by any means. In fact, both my parents advocated for better laws and regulations surrounding guns. My family was willing to give them up if it meant true change. But we were also a military family, and that meant we spent family days learning to protect ourselves and others until that change could be made.Better to be over prepared and alive than under prepared and dead Amaia.My dad’s words of advice rang in my head loudly, as if he was there next to me.

So instead of getting rid of them, I stored them. Halfway across the city like a dumbass. I’d worry about that another time.

A week later, Sammy and I were reading in our respective corners, nearly sick of being locked up with no answers from any government officials and not seeing any sign of the military. And then, the universe played some sick joke. The cell towers popped back on for just a moment.

Text messages from her family came through, showing proof of life. The last texts I had were from my mom, telling me she loved me and my father had turned. It was from that very first day. None of the messages I tried to return went through. I frantically dialed her number over and over, and nothing happened. Not a ring, not even voicemail.

They’d recently sold everything and headed abroad, ready to live out their retirement dreams. Before it all happened, they’d been spamming my phone with pictures from Spain, Italy, and were supposed to be heading to Berlin. I shuffled through them briefly, while Sammy enthusiastically spoke to her mom on the phone. Planning. There was no happy ending for my family and I. I could only hope and pray we’d find one with hers.

I could tell Sammy was eager to hit the road and take her chances to reunite with her family. They were just over the border in Vancouver and if we kept our heads down; we had assumed we’d be fine.

She never made it out of the building.

We packed all that we could and exited her apartment, looking around one last time at the place that had handled many drunken nights out and hangovers the day after. Survived crappy boyfriends and provided a haven for tears and girls’ nights in. It cost us.

Harley, who was still a puppy, let off a bark as ferocious as possible. By the time I turned around, Sammy was being dragged halfway down the hallway by two Pansies. The elderly couple who had lived across the hall. Her eyes were wide as she said nothing, her vocal cords caught by surprise.

When Prescott came across me, the only thing keeping me alive was the tequila in my stomach and the need to make sure the last living thing I was responsible for would survive.

Harley.

I’d sliced through those Pansies with glee after they tried to grab her tail and pull her back into their slimy, rotting mouths when we stopped for lunch. After the last one was down, I simply told Harley I loved her, gave her a pat and tossed her a canned anchovy, singing a song from my favorite historical Broadway production like a maniac. Prescott grabbed me from an alley as I skipped by, telling me to hush up before I blew his cover.

He was on the run from a group of psychopaths he’d run into right off an interstate. He’d joined them for the convenience and the fact that it was safer to travel in groups. Not to mention easier to acquire food when you could be sure someone had your six as you rummaged through abandoned houses and stores.

He figured he could suck up their antics for a few weeks, planning to tag along down to LA until they came across another group telling them it was up in flames overrun by Pansies. So he split, hoping he’d come across another group that had better intentions, possibly settle somewhere safe. Well, the psychos were exactly that, and didn’t appreciate his haste departure.

We spent a few months on the road together before finding Jax in the Redwoods. Prescott telling me bedtime stories on everything the history books left out from his memory alone. He respected my passion for it and, as an ex-marine turned politician, he reveled in finding the truths in-between the lies of history himself.

I stumbled over a gap in the stone path and looked up. Should’ve known this is where my thoughts would lead me once I’d hit the center of town. I raised my arm and tapped three times on our leader’s door.

It opened as if he was waiting on the other side. “Come here.”

“Prescott, I can’t do this anymore,” I said, dropping my head and stepped inside.

Amaia

Prescott pulled me close and wrapped me in his solid arms. The comfort caused my tears to unleash over his tan tattooed skin. His essence smelled of cigars and homemade shaving cream. Saying nothing, he let me break for a few minutes before pulling me back by my shoulders and bringing me down to reality.

“You have an obligation to your people to continue, my sweet girl.”

I blinked away my tears, heat rising in my face. Anger took over. “I don’t want to. I don’t want this responsibility. I don’t want to have obligations. I didn’t sign up for this, to send people out to their certain deaths. To be responsible for the lives of others. Making sure every time I send someone beyond these walls, I don’t have to knock on their family’s door and tell them their worst fears have come true. I didn’t sign up to lose another life partner. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

My chest shook, and I opted to take a seat on the leather loveseat in the sitting area near the door.

“None of us asked for this, Amaia. The best leaders in history rarely ask for the responsibility that falls upon their shoulders, but that’s what makes them great. You inspire people, you show them that there is a way to be powerful and have boundaries with regard to others. Your compassion and will to survive is the reason many of these people are even here.”

He pulled my chin up as he hovered over me, searching my eyes for the right words to say. Prescott had no kids in The Before. I was the closest thing he’d ever had to a daughter, and probably ever would. Similar to any parent, it took him a few mistakes on gauging how to best comfort me and guide me through troubled times. He didn’t always get it quite right, but I appreciated the effort.

“There are over thirty-thousand people here, and I am willing to bet you know the name of more than half of them. You walk through The Compound and speak to each like they’re your closest friend, yet you demand respect and authority when the situation calls for it. There aren’t many people in this world left with that kind of skill-set.” He paused, thinking over his next words, striding over to the fireplace. “You’re General because there isn’t a person here who wouldn’t trust you to make the right call in keeping them safe. I trust you with my life, as do many others. You may have fooled them all out there tonight, even yourself. But I know you let Caleb walk out these gates to give him another shot at life. You see good in everyone, even in the worst, and that my sweet girl, is why you have the responsibility that you do.”

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