[She doesn't even think as she reaches out to grab the offered hand, having not learned yet to be wary of everyone, but she could not regret anything more. Julie doesn't feel her body hit the bottom of the boat as she loses her footing, tied up in the flashes of memory as she is, and in return--
The car screeches to a stop, and Julie's head snaps forwards. She smacks her nose against the seat in front of her and tenderly feels it to see if it's bleeding as she slumps back. Between the front seats, she can just about see out of the front window of the car.
They have just crested a hill. Across the road, directly in front of them, is a chain meant for shredding tyres, and in front of the chain is a wall of wrecked cars extending across all eight lanes of the freeway. Beyond that, across what was once farmers fields, is a war zone. The shopping district has been reduced to burned out shells; the only vehicles in the parking lots are tanks, some with their turrets blown off, some lying on their sides. And behind that, the tall, skeletal remains of concrete buildings engulfed in the white flames of Fire Church phosphorous, left as a warning... or a monument.
A small voice comes from the twelve year old. "Why?" she says, but gets no answer.
Her father leaves the car with a shotgun. Julie cranes her neck around, but she can't see anything moving down in the valley. Her mother calls out--
"John, let's just go around. We can take the back roads until I-5 clears up." 'John', her father, says nothing. He's assumed the pose of a trained soldier, in procedure mode, locked into patrolling the area until he's certain there's no threat. Her mother calls out again, then sighs and grabs her own gun. She turns to Julie. "Stay here."
Julie stays. She watches. She watches her parents argue, too focused on it to see the person creeping up towards the car. The window beside her smashes, an arm reaches through and pulls the door open and Julie just manages to grab her shotgun as two hands grab her ankles and swing her out of the truck. Her head hits the ground, her vision swims and she sees the man is not a man at all but a boy. Just a boy, barely older than her.
She shoots him in the chest.
Everything moves slowly as she drags herself back to her feet. Her parents run over, but she hears them talk as if through a long tunnel, or under water. She's watching the boy, watching as his last breaths leak out like a popped bicycle tyre. Her father bends down, picks up the gun she doesn't remember dropping, and puts it back in her hands.
Something about this infuriates her mother-- "Are you serious? Are you fucking serious, John?"
Julie is still watching the boy. His eyes seem to vibrate as the colour drains out of them.
"It's her third kill and we can't keep hiding this part from her, she needs to face it."
She's twelve years old! She doesn't need to face this yet!"
A wet-sounding breath attempts to fill the boy's chest. Julie's mother steps forwards, but Julie's finger is already squeezing the trigger of the shotgun. The boy's head explodes in a spray of blood. The girl says nothing as she secures her gun inside the truck again and buckles herself in, staring blankly forwards as her parents join her and they move off.
"Hey, Julie," her mother says. She points to a flag as they pass it, the letters fading but one standing out clearly. "R."--
She doesn't know what Pell saw. What she realises when she snaps out of it is that she suddenly hurts in places she didn't before, and her stomach feels as if it's about to crawl out of her throat.]
I think I'm going to be sick. [Julie whispers, struggling into an upright position to lean over the side of the boat and breathe in deeply, trying to wipe the image of her-- of Pell's face in the mirror out of her mind.]
no subject
The car screeches to a stop, and Julie's head snaps forwards. She smacks her nose against the seat in front of her and tenderly feels it to see if it's bleeding as she slumps back. Between the front seats, she can just about see out of the front window of the car.
They have just crested a hill. Across the road, directly in front of them, is a chain meant for shredding tyres, and in front of the chain is a wall of wrecked cars extending across all eight lanes of the freeway. Beyond that, across what was once farmers fields, is a war zone. The shopping district has been reduced to burned out shells; the only vehicles in the parking lots are tanks, some with their turrets blown off, some lying on their sides. And behind that, the tall, skeletal remains of concrete buildings engulfed in the white flames of Fire Church phosphorous, left as a warning... or a monument.
A small voice comes from the twelve year old. "Why?" she says, but gets no answer.
Her father leaves the car with a shotgun. Julie cranes her neck around, but she can't see anything moving down in the valley. Her mother calls out--
"John, let's just go around. We can take the back roads until I-5 clears up." 'John', her father, says nothing. He's assumed the pose of a trained soldier, in procedure mode, locked into patrolling the area until he's certain there's no threat. Her mother calls out again, then sighs and grabs her own gun. She turns to Julie. "Stay here."
Julie stays. She watches. She watches her parents argue, too focused on it to see the person creeping up towards the car. The window beside her smashes, an arm reaches through and pulls the door open and Julie just manages to grab her shotgun as two hands grab her ankles and swing her out of the truck. Her head hits the ground, her vision swims and she sees the man is not a man at all but a boy. Just a boy, barely older than her.
She shoots him in the chest.
Everything moves slowly as she drags herself back to her feet. Her parents run over, but she hears them talk as if through a long tunnel, or under water. She's watching the boy, watching as his last breaths leak out like a popped bicycle tyre. Her father bends down, picks up the gun she doesn't remember dropping, and puts it back in her hands.
Something about this infuriates her mother-- "Are you serious? Are you fucking serious, John?"
Julie is still watching the boy. His eyes seem to vibrate as the colour drains out of them.
"It's her third kill and we can't keep hiding this part from her, she needs to face it."
She's twelve years old! She doesn't need to face this yet!"
A wet-sounding breath attempts to fill the boy's chest. Julie's mother steps forwards, but Julie's finger is already squeezing the trigger of the shotgun. The boy's head explodes in a spray of blood. The girl says nothing as she secures her gun inside the truck again and buckles herself in, staring blankly forwards as her parents join her and they move off.
"Hey, Julie," her mother says. She points to a flag as they pass it, the letters fading but one standing out clearly. "R."--
She doesn't know what Pell saw. What she realises when she snaps out of it is that she suddenly hurts in places she didn't before, and her stomach feels as if it's about to crawl out of her throat.]
I think I'm going to be sick. [Julie whispers, struggling into an upright position to lean over the side of the boat and breathe in deeply, trying to wipe the image of her-- of Pell's face in the mirror out of her mind.]