A Spark of Hope

The cabin hidden deep in the woods looked rugged and scarred, with broken windows, boarded holes in the walls, and what looked like traces of dried, crimson blood on the wooden porch. The two burly captors forced Sydney and Evan up the wooden steps to the porch and into the shaggy cabin.
The inside proved to be a gruesome sight. Dusk had arrived a while ago, making the interior extremely poorly lit. The dark wooden floor was blotched in several areas with dried blood, as were the walls. To their left was a rectangular brown table, with assorted butcher knives, empty bullet casings, and what appeared to be a human skull fashioned into an ash tray, with the top cut off. Just ahead of them was a small room, with no lighting whatsoever, in contrast to the main room, which was barely lit by three dim candles scattered across the room.
The man behind Sydney, who was a good few inches taller than her, shoved her into the small room, and pointed his lit flashlight at her pale face. She squinted at the sudden light, and covered her face with one hand. She couldn’t make out much of the man in front of her, other than that he looked to be middle aged, Caucasian, very large, bearded, and clothed in a faded blue jean jacket and camouflaged pants.
The man reacted to her with a brief cackle, then turned his head around for a brief moment to see what his companion was doing with Evan. Sid thought to attack the man while he was turned, but they had taken away her weapons, thus making a fight very dangerous, complicated by the fact that the other captor could kill Evan at any time.
The second man thrust Evan into a wall, and grabbed his face with one hand, while pushing the barrel of his revolver into the boy’s forehead. He saw nothing, but Evan could sense every detail of the man. He smelled of sweat, blood and whiskey, denoting a filthy and probably violent lifestyle. The man’s bare fingers on his cheeks also felt very strong, yet thin, suggesting that the man was average sized but powerful enough to overtake Evan easily. However, there was something peculiar about the man’s grip. He could feel the man’s hand trembling.
The man in front of Sydney, whom she saw was holding the M-4 in his other hand, walked back to the table with the knives, and placed the rifle there. He proceeded to walk back to the room with Sydney, and looked at her face again, cackling again.
“We’re gonna have fun, little girl,” he crowed, with a distinct Southern accent.
“Fuck you,” she snapped back.
“Oh,” he whispered, “we’re gonna have to work on that temper.”
She remained firm as he took a few steps towards her. The flashlight turned off, and all she could see was his black silhouette. A split second later, she felt the full force of the butt of his revolver pummeling into the side of her head, and her vision melted away. The last thing she felt was her body crashing to the floor.

The six year old Sydney was small, standing at around four feet tall. She was at an average weight for her age. Her dark hair was cut short, extending only down to her jaw. She was readily clothed in blue jeans and a smooth pink T-shirt. Her mother, looking extremely restless, was standing in front of her, with her eyes glued to the large flat screen television in front of them, displaying a frantic looking newscaster in a black suit. Her mother was dressed for the road as well, with jeans and a black leather jacket over her dark blue T-shirt.
Sid tugged at her mother’s jacket lightly, trying to get her attention.
“Mom,” she said softly, “are we bringing Chester?”
“Yeah,” her mother responded nonchalantly.
Chester, their dark brown Australian shepherd, wandered into the blue carpeted living room curiously. He whimpered, and sniffed Sydney’s right hand, prompting her to pet him. Sid’s mom was silent, still staring at the TV screen.
Suddenly, to the left of the TV, their front door swung open. The sound of pouring rain could be heard in the black night. A single, clean shaven man impatiently stepped in. The man was Sydney’s father, a Lieutenant Colonel with the United States Army. He was clad in the dark blue Army Service Uniform, with assorted decorations pinned to his chest. He wasn’t wearing his matching hat, revealing his short, appropriately cut, dark brown hair. Her parents embraced as she watched, with the dog standing still at her feet.
“Is the Army gonna do anything?” Sydney’s mother asked impatiently.
“We’re doing all we can do,” he answered in a rushed voice, “you guys can stay with me up at the base. You’ll be a lot safer there.”
“Alright, let’s go then.”
She grabbed Sid’s left arm and pulled her over, prompting her to follow her as they rushed out the door.
“Get the dog,” her mother said as they left the house. Her father shut the door, leaving their dog inside.
“We can’t bring pets, we’re gonna have to leave him here,” her father shouted over the loud downpour of rain.
They ran up to the green painted Humvee parked in the white gravel driveway, and she opened the back right side door, pushing Sid in. The six year old was crying in fear, and screaming for their dog, who was remaining in the house, alone. Her mother jumped in with her daughter as her father jumped into the front right passenger seat. There was another man in the driver’s seat, presumably a driver for the Lieutenant Colonel. As her father slammed the door, the sound of the town’s tornado siren began to wail loudly, over the roll of incoming thunder.
The Humvee backed up, but stopped short of the road. Three police cars, all with their sirens blaring, rushed by. After they passed, the Humvee pulled out of the driveway, and drove in the same direction to police cars were going.
“Shouldn’t we get to a fallout shelter?” Sydney’s mother shouted above all the noise.
“No,” the driver responded sharply, with a young voice, “the nearest shelter is too far away. The base is the safest place at the moment. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Sydney kept crying as a Huey helicopter zoomed a thousand feet over them, traveling in the opposite direction they were. Its rotor’s distinct thumping was clearly audible.
The Humvee eventually ran into a crowd of visibly angry people, as the lights from the base were just ahead. The people were blocking off the road, and violently shouting at them.
“Shit,” the driver mumbled, frustrated, “protesters.” He honked the horn a few times, to no avail. Sydney’s mother put her left hand on the back of the driver’s seat, and leaned forward, speaking up.
“Are they violent?”
A water bottle suddenly smacked into the windshield, flung by an anonymous protester.
“Just keep driving, soldier,” Sid’s father ordered.
The people began to toss rocks at the Humvee. One the size of a golf ball struck the window next to Sydney, panicking her even more. She grabbed her mother’s arm tightly, frightened. A baseball sized stone crashed into the windshield, leaving behind a jagged crack several inches long. The driver put his foot on the gas, running through the crowd. One man jumped onto the hood of the vehicle, and furiously flipped off the driver, before sliding off to the left.
Sid’s father’s cell phone suddenly rang. He pulled it out of his left pocket and quickly answered.
“This is Lake,” he said firmly.
Sid’s mother leaned back, and held her sobbing daughter in her arms as the Humvee neared the base. The rain was still pouring down.
“Christ,” her father murmured, his voice filled with shock, “are you sure? Who the hell’s in charge now?”
The black night was suddenly brightened by the presence of dozens of police light bars, flashlights, and street lights as they closed in on the base. Sydney stared out the right side window next to her, watching as they passed innumerable armed soldiers and police officers in the storm.
“Yeah, I’m with my family, we’ll be at a base in a few minutes. Alright. Hey, take care of yourself, Jackson. See ya.”
Her father put his phone back in his pocket, and sighed in aggravation. The vehicle came to a stop outside the security gate, as the armed guards approached. Sid’s mother asked another question.
“Who was that?”
Her father looked back at her.
“That was a friend of mine at the Pentagon. President Blackthorne’s just been killed.”
Her mother let out a brief gasp, still clutching her daughter as her father turned back around. Two guards approached, one at the driver’s side and one at the Lieutenant Colonel’s side. They pointed their flashlights into the open windows.
“Lieutenant Colonel James Lake, my family’s in the backseat.”
The guard standing by Sid’s father gave him a brief salute.
“Sir,” he simply said.
The guards walked off, waving their hands, giving the signal to open the gate for the Humvee to enter. The vehicle edged forward slowly, passing even more armed soldiers.
Sid’s mother put her right hand on her husband’s shoulder.
“What’s gonna happen?”
He turned his head towards her again, his face full of uncertainty.
“I don’t know.”