In Times of War

Smoky air filtered in from an opening in the debris above her head. Erin weakly inclined her body upwards, trying - and succeeding - in moving some of the wreckage from her path of sight. It wasn't until then that she noticed the gunshots, the screams, had ceased. It was eerily silent, much too silent for what was a large city. It both relieved and frightened her. How many people were left, if any?

Erin twisted her body to the right, laying on her stomach. She looked out at what she could see of the street, and a small gasp left her mouth before she could catch it. There were several mangled corpses spread out across the street, and piles of debris, piles of what were houses, were strewn everywhere. The air was smoke and ash ridden, and hung just above the aftermath of the raid below, threatening to swallow everything whole. Somewhere, a child began screaming. It pierced the silence that lay thick here, and echoed throughout the city. Erin listened, and within five minutes, the child was silenced. Whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, Erin didn't know. But she did want to find out.

Gran, Gramps. Mom...are they all dead, too? She wondered to herself, an ache pulsing through her chest when her mind gave her an automatic answer - yes. She pulled herself up a little, using her arms to hook herself onto some of the wreckage. She climbed out through the hole she'd created, somersaulting out of the opening and into the city. When she got to her feet, she turned and looked at her home. She saw an arm, and then refused to look anymore. She was afraid of what she'd find below. All she knew is that she no longer had a home, or a family, to go back to.

She was alone.

Erin wandered down the highway, staying clear of the center. Though there would clearly be no cars going down, she wasn't willing to risk it. She'd survived this raid, and she wasn't about to let a speeding car take her chance at survival away from her. "Hey, miss!" A voice rang out from somewhere below the overpass. Erin's heart started pounding hard in her chest, a mixture of excitement and anticipation. She began running down the length of highway, shouting a quick "I'm coming!" as she did. Trying to remember where she'd heard the voice, she took off down the sidewalk to the right of the highway, and as she approached the area she'd heard the voice in, she heard more. She heard people talking quietly amongst themselves. She slowed herself to a walk, turning a corner and walking down another block before turning once more to a crowd - a huge crowd - of people. "Another survivor, thank God. What's your name, dear?" The woman who'd said this approached Erin as she spoke, and Erin got a good look at one of the many people there. She was light in complexion, but it was clear she was some kind of mix, possibly black and white. She was an older woman, gentle wrinkles printed on her once delicate features. Crow's feet crawled across her skin, starting at the edges of her eyes and ended shortly thereafter. Her clothes were dirty, clearly from the explosion, but Erin could see she was a fairly well-cared for old woman.

"My name is Erin. I'm a photojournalist for the Seattle Daily. Well, was." Erin wasn't sure how much of herself to explain to these people, she knew for a fact she didn't know everyone and knew that a lot of people weren't trustworthy. She would keep it vague, for now, she decided. Just until she found a group of people she could trust.

"Ah, I see. Are you injured? Did you see any other people when you were walking?"

"You know, I'm more inclined to answer those when I know who I'm telling the answers to."

"Oh! Goodness, forgive me. My name is Sandra Harris."

"I didn't see anyone else, ma'am. And no, I'm not injured. A little bruised, but I suppose that's to be expected."

"Who's this, Sandy?" An older man wandered over, his gaze fixated on Erin.

"Her name is Erin. Apparently she was a photojournalist for the paper."

"Well, let's see what she can tell us, then."