Cinder

20 - The Fifth Stage

At first, he thought he'd gone deaf; slowly but surely, however, a ringing noise persisted and eventually broke through the bubble of silence that had coated his eardrums. He wished it hadn't.

He heard a few choked screams of pain, people calling out for help- but shockingly, it was quieter now in the station than it had been a few moments ago, and that did not bode well considering the circumstances. The quiet meant that people who would otherwise also be screaming or crying for help had been silenced, their voices never to be heard again.

The hazy smoke impaired vision beyond a few meters, just as oppressive as the death and carnage around them. Grunting, he dizzily tried to force himself up onto all fours.

Where was she? He had to find her.

As he watched, movement broke through the clouds of dust and powder. It was an IMC soldier, staggering around as she tried to overcome the vertigo she was certainly feeling after the shockwave of the blast. He waved to her, hoping to grab her attention.

Noticing his small arm motion, she dropped to a knee next to him and asked, "Are you alright?" Her voice sounded distant and faint, but at least he was able to hear her. Shakily, he nodded his head once.

"Okay kid," she said, "just hang tight- I'm going to-"

He never found out what she was going to do as a burst of gunfire emanated from behind her, and tore through her chest. There was no cry of pain or guttural scream; she simply fell over as silently as most of the station had become. In terror, he looked toward her attackers to see a trio of three soldiers dressed in olive drab equipment, one of which held a rifle towards him.

They approached him as he laid there frozen, looking between him and the fallen IMC woman. The one in front continued to hold the rifle at him, time seemingly paused as he decided whether or not to shoot him.

Finally, one of the ones to the side placed their hand on the top of the barrel, forcing the leader to lower the gun. With a grunt, they moved on and continued to search out whatever target they were seeking.

Had they gotten to her too?

Forcing himself to move, he left the dead soldier behind and crawled along the ground slowly, partly due to pain and partly due to the sheer fright he felt at the risk of standing up and being shot. As he crawled, the screams of the damned accompanying him, he passed by many others lying upon the ground who had not been so fortunate. Blown off limbs, bodies with shrapnel piercing their abdomen, a man with half his head cleaved clean off by a chunk of rock.

Suddenly, his heart dropped. Just ahead of him was an immobile form, one which belonged to a familiar woman wearing her standard boots and colonial clothes. Hurriedly, he dragged himself over to her, tears already beginning to form as he refused to accept the truth right in front of him.

Reaching her, he shook her shoulder but received no response. Getting into position and reaching his arms under her, he lifted her up into a cradling position, whimpering softly as he looked at her glossy eyes and vacant expression, a thin stream of blood dripping from her nose and hinting at the carnage that must have been present within her skull.

He didn't know how long he sat like that, crying over her body before he was discovered and taken to shelter. Later, he'd learn that it was a surprise terrorist attack on the tram station that had taken his mother's life. The Militia had claimed responsibility, declaring that their target had been a high ranking IMC official who had been present in the station at the time, and any other dead were simply unfortunate collateral damage.