A Story of Cinders: From the Ashes

Chapter 57: Guerilla Radio

           

Red, accompanied by Ana and Bernard, are hiding in a building near the south side of the Manor. Soldiers are swarming the area, attempting to keep it in order. The fighting on this side of town has been relatively quiet. Perhaps the abundance of soldiers—or the numerous dead guerillas—is enough of a deterrent for the guerillas. Perhaps all they need is a bit of incentive to get back in the fight. Ana is sitting under a window, cradling Lux Aeterna. "What the hell are we gonna do?" she asks the other two.

     "Well, most of the attention is turned toward the north gate," Bernard says, polishing his double-barrel shotgun. "I say we find a decent sized group of soldiers to ambush, and find out from one of them what the escape plan is" Ana peeks out the window again, and catches eyes with another group of guerillas in the opposite building. One of them motions the three to come over there. Quickly, they dart across the street into the other building. Inside, there are three young fighters. They couldn't be older than eighteen. One of them, a young man with dirty blond hair, is sitting in the corner, nursing a leg wound. "Is your friend okay?" Bernard asks.

     "I'm fine," he says, groaning through his teeth. Ana walks over to investigate. The wound is deep, the femur visible. At the very least, the femoral artery is intact. "Did anybody disinfect it yet?" she asks him, tearing off a piece of her white undershirt.

     "It wasn't that bad," he says, grunting in pain as she touches the skin around the wound.

     "You won't be saying that when your leg falls off from gangrene," she says, motioning for a bottle of rubbing alcohol. One of the teenagers hands it to her. She soaks the cloth in it, then dabs at his leg wound. He grimaces in pain, biting his lip. "Now don't be so stupid next time," she says.

     "What were you all doing here?" Red asks the one that looks the most in charge. She was a tall, black girl holding a battered Zhar-Ptitsa assault rifle. "We were doing ambush work, trying to cut off their supply lines from the south gate."

     "And who told you to do that? Whose been talking to the guerillas?"

     "Nobody has. It was my idea."

     "Smart girl. What's your name?"

     "Amanda. And not quite smart enough. There used to be five of us."

     "People die in war," Bernard says. "Best planning in the world can't prevent that. You're all pretty young to want to pick up a gun and fight so much."

     "We're old enough," the blonde kid says. "We remember what the world was like before. We're old enough to know who these assholes are. Aren't you a little old to want to fight?"

     "Ed, shut up!" Amanda shouts at him. Ed obeys, like a puppy being reprimanded for barking too loudly.

     "So you're old enough to know who they are," Ana says. "That'd mean you know who the guy in that manor is, right?"

     "Abram Karlov," says the third teenager. He was a young, spectacled kid with curly, bright red hair. "So he does speak," Ana says quietly.

     "Casey here's a bit of an introvert," Amanda says.

     "But you do know who he is," Red says. "We're here to kill him, on the Saint's orders."

     "Direct orders from the Saint?" Amanda asks incredulously. "You must be pretty high up."

     "We're part of his personal task force," Ana says, taking over for Red. "And right now, we need to cut off Karlov's escape route. Would you all mind giving us a hand with that?"