Page 4 of Taken By the Soldier
Five years ago, my older sister, Sophia, had moved to the Zasforr Islands in the Atlantic to start a new life after a nasty divorce. I’d always meant to visit but never got around to it. Now it’s too late and Sophia is dead. All because of a stupid war caused by stupid, power-hungry men.
Zasforr had been a chain of twelve man-made islands whose inhabitants had mostly consisted of wealthy Americans and their descendants, but many nationalities from around the world had also called the islands home.
When the United States began seizing Zasforran citizens who visited friends and family in the States, accusing them of espionage, tensions between the two nations rose. Threats were made, dozens of American trading ships were sunk, and war was soon declared. After the Americans dropped a nuclear bomb on each of the twelve islands, the invading Zasforran forces became stranded in the states—and they are winning, no doubt fueled by hatred and despair over the destruction of their homeland.
Blaster fire pierces through my reverie, and I hurry to look out the front window again. Two figures scurry through the maze of abandoned cars. Over a dozen men follow in their wake, weapons in hand. None of them are wearing uniforms. Just regular citizens fighting over resources. Sinking back from the imminent bloodbath in the street below, I cover my ears and pray for this nightmare to end.
My stomach growls, but I don’t dare eat. Not yet. I’ll eat something in an hour or two. The sooner I deplete my supplies, the sooner I’ll have to venture into the scary outside world in search of food and water. So, I’ve taken to starving all day until just before bedtime, when I finally allow myself a small meal, because falling asleep on a semi-full stomach is easier than falling asleep hungry.
I already scavenged what food and supplies I could from the empty apartments in the building, but I didn’t find as much as I’d hoped, and my gut twists with the knowledge that I will eventually be forced to leave my lonely sanctuary. I haven’t left the building in three weeks, and I hope to stretch my supplies for another month. Perhaps by then the war will be over. Perhaps it will be safe to come out.
An eerie silence permeates the once-noisy apartment building, evidence that I’m the only one foolish enough to remain, or smart enough. Time will tell. During the early hours of the evacuation, someone stole my car before I had a chance to decide whether I would stay. Many city residents without their own transportation were bused out, but the television images of swarming crowds and rioting eventually deterred me from attempting to leave.
Some days I wish I’d joined the mass exodus. Other days I become convinced the people who left died somewhere along the road, of starvation or an enemy attack.
It doesn’t matter. I’m here and I’m alone.
I move through the dark rooms back to my bedroom, grab a battery powered lantern and a tattered copy of my favorite romance novel, and curl up in bed. The unread books sitting on my nightstand will have to wait their turn. Right now, I need the comfort of something familiar, a story I know from start to middle to end, no surprises.
Hours later, a dull thundering sound catches my attention, and I set the book aside. I hold my breath as the strange noise grows louder.
What the hell is that?
A boom splits the air. I gasp and jump to my feet. The building quakes and the scent of smoke hits me. Scrambling toward my doorway, I fall against the wall as another explosion rocks the floor beneath my feet. My heart lurches with panic.
On an adrenaline rush like no other, I push the heavy furniture away from the door.
Blasts ring out all around me and I can scarcely breathe through the thick fog of smoke. I say a silent prayer and rush into the fourteenth-floor hallway.
Crawling on my hands and knees, I finally reach the stairwell.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Would I make it out alive?
I stumble desperately down the steps, falling and scraping my palms bloody when a new explosion upsets the building. Or maybe they aren’t explosions. Maybe the building is just collapsing, floor by floor. Whatever it is, it’s fucking loud, and it sounds like death and destruction.
It sounds like my impending demise.
My heart races as I continue down the stairwell.
Floor twelve... floor nine... floor five.
I lose count as the burning in my lungs deepens and I feel increasingly lightheaded, until I finally slip away into nothingness.
Chapter3
LUKA
Boom!An explosion pierces the air, and the truck shakes from the force of the bang.
I glance at my scanner. “Three men. One rocket launcher. They missed us and hit a building.” I pause for a second as I come to a decision. “Let’s chase them away. Too many standing buildings in this city. They could destroy one and end up trapping their own civilians underneath the rubble.” I lift a transceiver to my mouth and order the driver to pull over.
The truck screeches to a stop beside a heavily looted convenience store. I instruct the women to remain locked inside the safety of the armored truck while my soldiers investigate.
Blaster fire rings out across the street.
I duck behind a car, checking my blaster charge and readying my weapon.
