The Nameless Army

.::Eli::.

If I speak of myself in this story, it's because I lived when I should have died.

I lived. So now I guess the cat's out of the bag.

Oh, the cat. Erica won't stop crying over the damn thing. She should have known it would run away. Animals know when bad things are about to happen. The damn cat ran away seven hours before Dad told us he was enlisting.

When the Militia took our mother, I expected Dad to react differently than he did. When they took our mother, Dad just let them do it. He stood on our weathered doorstep and watched the cart haul her unconscious body away.

He knew what the Militia did with women. When they were healthy and useful, they were dropped right into Monroe's bed. I only found this out recently.

Erica and I were gathering berries and harvesting corn when Mom was taken four years ago. We were thirteen. Mom had always told us it wasn't a matter of whether you were a Rebel or in the Militia, as long as you did what you thought was right.

We don't remember what it was like, Erica and I. The United States is just a term that is forbidden to our generation, nothing more. That being said, it doesn't mean we don't believe in it.

Dad came home a few nights ago with the burn mark, still a fleshy pink beneath his wrist. He showed it off like something he was proud of. I didn't think there was anything he should be proud of. In my book, he took our mother away from us.

It'll be easier for you to join now, he told me. I'll save a place for you, right beside me.

That's when I decided to cut every tie I had to that man. If I could clean my blood without killing myself, I would do it.

I didn't ask Erica to come along. Hell, I didn't even want her to. I just told her I was leaving, and she followed me like a lost puppy.

Every few minutes, she makes this irritating clicking noise and calls the damn cat's name. Like she'll actually find it. Like it's actually alive.

She wanted a weapon, so I gave her a wooden baseball bat. I'm the only one allowed to use the knives. Even if I gave her a knife, she'd probably trip and poke her eye out.

You would think as twins we would be more compatible.

Click, click, click. Stella, here girl.

"Erica, please." I begged through my teeth.

"She's out here somewhere." Erica explained in her matter-of-fact way. "She just can't hear me."

"Can't hear because she's dead." I muttered under my breath.

"Shut up, Eli." Erica's feet were crunching too slowly in the dry leaves behind me. "Stella? Come here, girl. Where are you?"

"If you can't keep up, I'll leave you behind." I warned her.

"Sure you will." She skipped ahead of me and picked a leaf off of a low-lying branch. "A storm is coming." She said.

I rolled my eyes. "If you say so."

"The wind is blowing at the backs of the leaves, see?" She ran her fingers along the branches as she walked. "When the backs are turned, it means a storm is coming."

"That's bull." I said. "I'll let you know if inclement weather is in the near future, alright?"

"You'll see." She raised her face to the sky. The sunlight was fading, it was already mid-afternoon. If Dad wanted to find us, he would have already done it.

"I'm hungry." Erica stated.

"Eat your arm."

"Can't we stop and look for berries?"

"No, it's getting late. We're losing daylight." I shifted my backpack on my shoulders. "Keep walking."

I only had peace for a very short time. I saw it up ahead and stopped dead in my tracks. Erica bumped into me from behind.

"Keep walking." She mocked me, stepping around my blockade.

I grabbed her t-shirt. "Erica, wait. There's --"

"It's getting late. We're losing daylight." She shook my hand away. Can't say I didn't try.

I can't lie, either. The next few moments in my life were not my favorite. Erica quit skipping and stared at the scene before her, absorbing the morbid details into her permanent memory.

She moaned through the initial cry and hurried over to the base of the tree. It was a hunter's trap, similar to the ones we used to catch rabbit. The cat was dead, probably strangled itself in the netting. It was caught around its neck and paws.

Erica fell to her knees and cried the hard and ugly cry. I hadn't seen her that upset since Mom was taken.

My first instinct wasn't to mourn for the cat. If there were traps, someone had to set them. People were around, and if Dad taught us anything, it was to never trust anyone before they earned it.

"Hey," I knelt beside Erica, glancing around in the trees. "We have to keep moving."

I placed my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it away.

I didn't have much patience at first. "Erica, we don't have time for this."

"You knew this would happen." She sobbed. "You knew. Why didn't you tell me?"

I sighed, swinging my backpack off my shoulders. I dug for the switchblade in the front pocket and flipped it open. I leaned toward the cat.

"No!" Erica grabbed my wrist.

"Relax." I gathered the netting and carefully broke the woven strands. She sniffled the entire time, but was otherwise quiet. Once the cat was free, I stood on my feet. "There, now let's go."

"Eli?"

"What?"

Erica trailed her hazel eyes over the forest floor. "We have to bury her."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Erica --"

"I'm going to bury her." She said firmly, crawling around and shifting her fingers through the dirt. "If you won't help, go on without me."

I watched her shovel the dirt away with her hands and groaned. "Don't dig there, you need softer soil." I found her a spot near the base of the same tree.

Once the damn cat was buried, Erica wanted to pick some flowers to lay on the damn grave. I told her she had two minutes.

I rested my head against the trunk of the tree and listened to the sounds of the forest. It was getting much later. We would probably have to stay put until morning.

I thought of what Mom used to say about doing the right thing, and I decided she was proud of me for allowing Erica to deal with her dead cat.

I heard the footsteps coming up from behind the tree, but the extra set was masked by walking in synchronization with my sister's.

"Back with time to spare?" I teased, tilting my head around the trunk.

Erica was stumbling ahead of a knife pointed between her shoulder blades. The guy poking her with the tip of his knife looked pissed. He carried the wooden baseball bat in his free hand.

It didn't surprise me that Erica started tearing up again. Only she could be captured while picking flowers for a dead cat.

I pulled out one of my larger knives, but not the biggest. "Back off, buddy."

He was young, like us. Maybe a little older. "What are you doing here?" He ordered.

"Just passing through." I said, because it was true. I didn't know exactly where we were headed.

The guy noticed the torn trap and the pile of dirt where the damn cat was buried. "What did you do with my kill?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Your kill?"

He gestured with his chin. "That's my trap. Or it was, before you sliced it up."

I watched Erica's innocent face change.

"Well?" He asked me. "Where's my kill?"

Erica spun on her heels, her crinkly brown hair whipping around with her. She pointed an accusatory finger in his face. "Your trap? Your kill?"

The guy smiled, dropping his knife to his side. "Easy."

"Do you realize what you've done? You killed my cat! Stella is dead because she was caught in your trap!"

The guy shrugged. "It isn't my fault your cat was stupid enough to fall into a rabbit trap." I silently agreed with him, though I didn't trust him. Not in the slightest.

Erica was fuming, her tears the icing on the cake. "Don't you dare insult Stella that way!"

The guy peered at her hand and grabbed her forearm. Erica gasped. I raised my knife.

He turned her arm to check for Monroe's burn mark. She was clean. He looked up at me expectantly. I rolled my sleeve to show him I was clean, too.

"The Militia patrols through here on a schedule." He said. "If you hang around, you'll get caught."

I nodded once, flexing my fingers around the knife.

"Are you with anyone else?" He asked.

I shook my head, though I regretted it. If there were others, he would have left us alone.

"We're runaways." I added stupidly.

There was an unnatural rustling in the bushes beside me. I watched an arrow produce itself within the brush and aim at me in a bow. A younger boy was on the other end.

The guy behind Erica grunted. "Michael, I told you to stay put."

"You took too long. Who are they?" Michael shifted his aim toward Erica, but gradually lowered his arms.

"Runaways." He said.

"Militia?"

He shook his head.

Michael looked at Erica again. "I think we should bring them back for the night."

"Oh do you? And what gives you the right to make my decisions?"

"They have weapons, Peter." Michael acted as if we weren't even there. "We can trade off supplies, too. Just one night."

Peter stayed silent, deep in thought. I looked at the backs of the leaves waving at me on the trees.

"Have any parents?" Michael asked me.

I looked at Erica. She had her eyebrows creased across her forehead. "No." I said.

Michael checked Peter's reaction like I had said the secret password.

Peter breathed through his nose. "A storm is coming." He said. Erica turned to look at him for the first time. He had one of those faces, the ones that make girls stare a little longer than necessary. "We can only provide shelter."

I didn't see any harm on the surface. "Alright."

Damn cat.