Page 14 of Ensnared

Restingmy head againstLucky’sback,Ilet the easy rhythm of his steps lull me, ignoring the way the position jostles my glasses.He’swonderfully warm, andInestle in closer, hoping he won’t notice.

Whenhe begins to whistle,Imoan. “Please, no more, anything but that.”

“AndhereIwas, composing a masterpiece just for you.”Hisvoice is scandalized.

“I’msure you’ll survive.”

Luckytuts. “Fine, then we’re going to play a game.”

“Like...Ispy?”Trees, trees, and more trees!

“Morelike twenty questions.Here’show we play:Iask you twenty questions and you answer them.”

He’scaught up to the others quickly nowI’mnot dragging us back.Atthe last comment,Domgrimaces, pushing forward so he’s out of earshot.Beaudrops back to stroll beside us.It’snot fair that they don’t even look tired.Thefact that, between them, they just killed upwards of ten men doesn’t seem to faze them either.

Isigh. “Howabout five questions?”

Hedoesn’t hesitate. “Whydid you choose to become a librarian?”

“Ilike things to be organized,”Ianswer after a moment. “Ilike things neat and logical.Ilove to learn and helping others to learn.Knowledgeis how our world grows, how people do, as well.Youcan never experience as much in your lifetime, or see through so many eyes, as you will by reading what others have to say.Bookswill glue our world back together, if anything can.”

“Hmm.”It’sa thoughtful sound.Thenhe adds, “See,Iwas never so good with books.Tome, they just take so long to get to the point.It’sall information this, information that.Musicfills your soul.Moviesmake you laugh.Booksjust seem so...Idon’t know.Drab.”

“What!”Icry in disbelief.Ishift so fast he has to readjust to stop me from slipping off his back.

I’mnot sureI’veever heard anything so offensive in my life, so much thatIcan’t articulate a response.AftertheFinalWar, at first my days, like everyone’s, were about survival.Theinitial strikes came out of nowhere.Intercontinentalballistic missiles obliterated a dozen key strategic locations across theUS, from major cities to military bases to thePentagon.

DayDeath, they called it.

Itwas shocking how fast it happened.Howquickly everything went dead.Internationaltensions had been growing worse each year, relationships between the major nations disintegrating into masses of sanctions and warnings and weapons manufacturing... but no one truly thought anyone would take itthisfar.

Everyonewas desperate for details, for confirmation of who and why and what was being done.Itnever came.Peoplecertainly weren’t turning up for their day jobs to produce the seven-o’clock news, and only a bare handful of emergency radio broadcasts ever reached the public.

Weheard a toneless recitation of the cities and military bases that now lay in ruins.Anassurance that a national response scenario would soon be implemented.Adeclaration that martial law was now in place.Aninstruction to follow local authorities’ guidance.

Iknow people were desperate for more information.Isaw them freeze in place, waiting for it.Butfrom the start,Ididn’t care who started it or why they wanted to end it this way.Knowingwouldn’t change the facts.

Andknowing wouldn’t keep me safe.

Inthe wake of all the carnage that was left, it wasn’t enemies across the sea that were the true risk.Itwas the people around me.Assoon asIheard about the initial strikes,Igot myself out of town and secluded deep in the woods.Itwas the only placeIcould think of that wouldn’t be subject to rioters, or people out of their minds from fear.Theonly place that might be secluded enough for me to remain undetected.

Andso, by the timeDayDeathdrew to a close,Iwas tucked away.Iwas safe as hospitals were torn apart for supplies and supermarkets were gutted.Whenpeople were attacked for the weapons they had or the food they hid.

AndIwas secreted away when, just days after the first attack, the second wave hit.Devastatingdrones prowled our country—as best asIcould tell, they were programmed to target masses of heat signatures.Ourremaining major cities and military bases were eviscerated.Telecommunicationsinfrastructure went down.Thepower went out.Smallercities began falling like dominos.

Aftersix days, there were no more emergency broadcasts.

Therewasn’t much of anything, anymore.

Ihad no idea when the next strike would happen, or which places, if anywhere, were safe.Ididn’t know whether aid was coming, or if a land war was imminent.Therewas no presidential announcement to confirm what had happened in the world beyond.

Therewas no president left to make an announcement.

Inthe end, it didn’t matter.Ourreckoning was over, and it wasn’t pestilence, or death, or famine that killed us.

Itwas war.

Afterthe first year,Istopped seeing drones scouting the skies.Someof the panic eased.Isurvived, and my daily challenge, insidious in its own way, became boredom.Boredomand loneliness.Bookswere my one true pleasure.Theone thingthat kept me sane.

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