too late. I hope that it’s heading somewhere that hasn’t already been hit by War.
And I hope that the bird actually gets there.
Go, I silently cheer it on.
It has a fighting chance, it really does.
But then I see a few archers on a nearby roof. I see those soldiers cock their bows and aim. And then I see them release their arrows. There must be a dozen of them arcing through the sky.
Most miss the bird, but one hits the creature square in the chest. It tumbles out of the sky, and I feel my hope plunge with that bird.
There will be no warnings to pass along, just as we weren’t warned. We’ll all just fight and die and War will move on to destroy more cities until the entire world is gone.
We’re facing a mass extinction, and we’re not going to survive it.
Chapter 13
It’s awful. The things I see.
The bodies, the blood, the needless violence. But the worst, the absolute worst, are the faces of the civilians as they lose everything all at once.
Some of them don’t even run. They see the lives they built for themselves torn down, and they stand in the streets and simply weep. All of these people survived a civil war. They’ve seen destruction and violence sweep through once already. And for a second time, they have to endure it. Some of them simply give up. If the world is this hard to live in, it’s not worth living in.
I ride through the city on my horse, my heart in my throat.
Buildings are utterly engulfed in flame. Worse yet, Ashdod happens to be a city that people flocked to after the Arrival, and the shantytowns I ride past appear to be even more flammable than the older buildings. It’s nothing but a wall of red-orange flame; even the ground seems to burn in these newer, more desperate neighborhoods, and I can hear the horrible dying screams of those trapped inside.
I stop my horse, my eyes scouring the landscape. I’ve been so set on fighting War’s army that I’ve forgotten that I can still help people live. Isn’t that the ultimate goal? To survive this apocalypse?
I catch sight of a mother and the two children she presses close to her, and I can’t not react. That could’ve been me and my family. It once was me and my family.
I guide my horse to them and hop off, keeping the steed’s reins in my fist.
The woman’s eyes are pinched shut, like that can shut out the nightmare, and she’s shushing her crying children.
“You need to get out of the city,” I tell her. When she doesn’t react, I grab her upper arm. She screams and flinches away. “Listen to me,” I snap, shaking her a little.
Her eyes open at the tone of my voice.
“Take your kids, get on this horse, and ride as far and as fast from the city as you can. I think the army is heading down the coast, so ride in any direction but that one.”
She gives me a shaky nod.
“There should be some food and water in the saddle bags. Not much, but enough to keep you going for a little while. Don’t stop, not until you’re far, far away.”
When she doesn’t move immediately, I jerk my head to the horse, who’s growing more and more agitated at the violence around us. “Hurry, before they kill us all.”
The woman seems to snap out of whatever spell she was under, bustling herself and her children towards the horse. Quickly I help her and her children up onto it, and then I hand her the reins.
“Stay safe,” I say, echoing War’s earlier words.
With that, she taps the horse’s sides and Thunder—or whoever that horse is—takes off. I stare at them for several seconds, watching them ride away. I have a terrible feeling in my gut that they are no better off than that bird that escaped the aviaries. That within a mile or two, they too will be shot down.
I hope not. I can’t bear the thought of that family getting torn apart like mine was.
The sounds of war drift in—the screaming, the shouting, the weeping, and amongst it all, the wet slap of bodies being sliced open.
I pull out my sword.
Be brave.
I turn just as a man aims a long-barreled gun at me. At the sight of it, I freeze.
My heart is in my throat.
I haven’t seen one of those in months. But I remember guns, and I know what flesh looks