City of the Damned (on hold)

Chapter 5 | Memories

THE sky became dark as the night greeted them. Verena clung to her seat, the vibrations of the shaking car coursing through her body. The dinner she ate earlier tried to make its way out again. One thing was sure: she hated cars.

She stared out of the window, fighting her nausea. Euronea cleared the dead bodies from the streets. Quicker compared to her father, but of course, Euronea's resources exceeded Veteralix's. A pile of something smoked, and there were still rumbles left. Someone hung a tarp over a broken glass and another in front of a hole in the wall.

The city flashed past the car window until the vehicle stopped before the police building. Guards stood before it, and further down the alley, a citizen watched them. Verena stepped out, her legs quivering a bit as she swallowed back the bile.

They walked by the small jails. The prisoners whistled at her, called her princess, and told her to free them from Euronea scum. The soldiers escorting Verena didn't let her stop to check if they were hurt. Instead, they pushed her forward.

The temperature dropped as they stepped down the stairs and into the bunker. Blood stained the floor of where her people stood a few nights ago. She bit the inside of her lips as she averted her gaze. A soldier placed empty boxes beside her.

"Is it possible for you to leave me alone to collect the fallen and lost ones?" It was an idle attempt, but the shire wasn't a place for Euronea.

"We can't do that."

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Why? Are you scared I got weapons hidden here? That I'll pick up sticks and stones and fight you all by myself while you have guns?"

Were they aware of how ridiculous they sounded? According to their reaction, one soldier thought so too. "We will wait by the stairs. Let us know if you need anything."

Her eyes lowered to the name stitched on the uniform, Erling.

Verena waited for them to take their stance in the other room before turning her vision to the long wall with drawings, paintings, and occasionally a photo. It was rare to have the means to photograph, but when the photo store burned down, it became impossible to develop them. Besides, who would spend money on it, anyway?

She would, she thought. People die all the time. Too young and too unnecessary. Memories sometimes fade over time. It was why she appreciated coming here and looking at the portrait of her mom.

A lump formed in her throat. There wasn't a recent image of her sister. Only an old drawing Annia made when she was twelve. Her dad had the means to develop photos, and every day, she wished she had taken one of her family.

A trembling breath escaped her. Her nails pushed into the soft skin of her hand, the physical pain drowning out the mental one. Verena walked to the lockers at the far wall. Her fingers left prints on the numbers of her birthday, and the lock clicked open.

Verena took out the travel bag Father packed for her. Every time her father forced her to hide, he ensured it came with her. Among her belongings were some clothes, a toothbrush with an almost empty toothpaste, a second pair of shoes, her favourite chocolate since her sixth birthday, money, and a book about a witch rebelling against her oppressors — she related to the main character wanting to burn down everything.

Her hands closed into fists around the bag. Damn, she hated them all. Who 'them' were at the moment, she didn't know, but she hated them.

Verena turned to the wall of lost and fallen ones. It never stopped to impress her. The different kinds of pictures and other trinkets would spark memories of the people who stayed behind. She watched the wall, and the faces of innocent ones stared back at her. Some were children who were ripped from their loved ones ... if they still had them. From the hundred faces, she always instantly found her mom's kind eyes.