The walls shook with the muffled explosions of the artillery shelling far above Edward's head. He hardly noticed it anymore. He often wondered if he would ever be able to get to sleep lately without it. He looked up from his data slate when Ms. Hernandez sighed loudly. The explosions rarely got this close. Nervous looks became apparent on many of his classmate's faces. Edward's expression was stoic. He knew the defenses would hold. The only ones without worries of attack (besides Edward) were Hope and her group of friends. Sitting on the far left of the crude room the adults called a classroom. Hope quietly whispered amongst her friends. Edward cocked his head to one side. He wondered what they were talking about. Hope looked up from her conversation. She locked eyes with Edward. Hope's friends' eyes followed her gaze across the room to Edward. Hope ducked back into the circle her and her friends formed. She whispered something to them and they laughed. Some of them looked back at Edward. He blushed under their stares and dropped his eyes to his desk. Anger and embarrassment filled him as he realized what they were snickering about. Sometimes he wished one of the shells would crash through the ceiling and explode amongst them in a giant fireball. The blast incinerating everyone in the classroom. He went back to taking notes and shoved those thoughts from his mind.
The students exited the class. Edward kept his eyes locked on the back of Hope's head. He watched her silky auburn hair spill around her shoulders. He loved and hated her at the same time. He slowed down so that he wouldn't have to walk near her and face more ridicule from her or her friends. Gradually, she faded into the sea of people who lived in the underground city.
The people ran around doing their duties. Police moved about the streets making sure everyone was working and not blowing off their work. Most people had a kind of depressed look on their faces. Most people hated their jobs, doing the same thing everyday, but they did it for the good of the community. The older people (like Edward's grandmother) told of a time when people exchanged pieces of paper for goods. There wasn't any money now. Everyone worked to do what they were best at or what the community needed. Everyone was given the necessities for survival; the armed guards made sure of that.
Edward walked slowly. He didn't want to go to work. Everyone had his or her part to do (including Edward), so he was in no rush to get back home and be told what he would be doing for the rest of the day.
The city (though it barely had the population of one) was mostly made from the metal and concrete of the old surface building or broken down vehicles from the Last War. The pieces of the ruined buildings above were transported underground and used for these "new" buildings.
Edward closed the metal door behind him. He knew his mother would be home for this short time so that she could give him his task for the day. His grandmother sat in her usual chair in the corner. He looked at her. Her eyes were dead, but she could sense his presence in the room. She looked in his direction and smiled. He wondered how long it would be before the community decided that she should take the Long Walk. She could no longer work and thus was a leach on their food supply. They would open the main gate and let her walk out into the desolate wasteland outside with nothing but the clothes on her back. It was tradition and while most didn't like it, they knew it had to be done. Many elders forced to take the Long Walk just accepted their fate and died in their sleep rather than starving. Some did go insane though. They pounded on the main gate until one of the guards was ordered to put them out of their misery. Picturing his grandmother doing the same saddened Edward.
His mother's voice drifted in from her room. "Edward?" she called.
"Yeah," he answered. She came into the room. She wore her work clothes. They were spotted with oil from working in the machine shop near the power generator. Her hair was frizzled and matted. She walked up to Edward and handed him a small piece of plastic with a data strip on it.
"Here. Your Task Card. You are in the Garden again. The lady at the government building said that you must have a green thumb. She says that the Overseer likes your crops the best, and that is why he keeps assigning you to the Garden. I'm proud of you," she told Edward.
"Oh. Thanks mom," he said. He didn't care about the Overseer or his mother's pride. He just did what he was told. It was that or the police would come knocking on their door, and they didn't need that. He took the card from her and started towards the door when his grandmother spoke up.
"Is all your homework done, Edward?" she asked him.
"Home- what?" said Edward with confusion in his voice.
"Oh, mom. They don't have that anymore," said Edward's mother, "I never even had it either."
"Oh, right," said Edward's grandmother. Edward walked out the door. He didn't really feel like being dragged into a conversation right now.
Edward made his way uphill towards the surface. There wasn't much of a crowd here (unlike the streets in the lower levels). He walked up to one of the two guards who were standing by the large metal doors that led to Garden, and handed the guard his Task Card. The guard turned and slid the card through the reader while the other guard eyed Edward suspiciously. Edward avoided his gaze. The first guard handed Edward back his Task Card and he slipped it into his pocket. The doors opened slowly and the first beam of natural light blinded Edward (like it did everyday). He shielded his eyes with his arm and walked over the threshold.
A tall chain-link fence topped with pieces of sharp scrap metal fenced in the Garden. It lay hidden in the surrounding sand dunes, while a large camouflage tent also hid it from aircraft from any of the human communities, but everyone doubted that there were any aircraft left anymore.
The Garden was great to Edward. It represented freedom and hope for him. It seemed that the Garden was the only place he could be alone. The others in the Garden rarely talked to one another. Everyone just went about with his or her duties. Edward loved the smell of the damp earth. He smirked when he thought about how some of his classmates had never even been outside before. He started working in between the rows of planter boxes. Although the artillery explosions were louder on the surface, Edward blocked them out with making sure every plant got the attention it deserved. He worked for a few hours until he dropped the small hand shovel he was working with. He crouched down and picked up his tool. Standing again, he wiped his brow clear of sweat. The tent was made to let in the sunlight for the plants and not to shade the workers from the relentless ball of fire that was the closest star. Edward looked around the tent. Everyone was gone. He wondered where they had all gone when he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. Edward turned just in time to see the enemy soldier lift his rifle in the air and swing the stock down hard against Edward's skull. Edward fell to the ground, unconscious.
Pain. Edward reached his hand up and touched his wound. He could feel the warm trickle of his own blood running down his head. He slowly got to his feet and steadied himself on the planter box next to him. His head swam and his vision blurred. He spent several minutes just trying to get his head together. He looked around the Garden at the gruesome scene around him. Many of the others that had been working in the Garden had had their throats cut open. Large pools of blood formed around their lifeless bodies. Edward vomited as he stared at the corpses. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He noticed something then; the artillery guns had stopped. He wondered if the attack was over. He looked towards the doors that led into the underground city. The doors had a gaping hole in the middle it looked to Edward like the enemy had used satchel charges to blow open the doors. He felt panic and fear consume him as he thought about the well being of his family. He ran through the opening in the doors into whatever terrible horror he wished didn't await him.
Edward stopped in his tracks. He stood stunned in front of the rubble that was once his house. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. He dashed into the pile of crumbled rock and metal. He used strength he never knew he had to throw the concrete blocks aside. Everything that he cared for was here; smashed under all this debris. He turned over one block to find himself staring at his grandmother's lifeless form sprawled out before him. He was in shock. He felt nothing.
"Ed-Edward..." called out a weak voice. Edward spun around. The voice had startled him. Hope lay on a bed of rocks, one of her hands reaching out to him. He ran to her and knelt down beside her. Her face was a mixture of pain, relief, and terror. Edward lifted her up a little in his arms, but relaxed a bit when he felt her wince in pain. He looked down at her lower left torso. She held a gunshot wound with her hands. Her blood stained her shirt and ran from the cracks in her fingers. Edward did his best to stop the bleeding. He looked back at her face. She opened her eyes.
"Am I going to die?" she asked him. Her once glittering eyes were now only filled with pure fear. The ultimate human fear had gripped her in its cold grasp. Death.
"I...I don't know," he responded. He could feel tears coming to his eyes and running down his face.
Hope's face softened, and she asked him: "Are those tears for me?" She forced her face into a smile, but only winced again at the pain of her wound.
Edward didn't say anything. His tears blurred his vision and he wiped them away.
"That is sweet...” she said softly. Hope then closed her eyes and went limp. She had died in his arms. One of his tears landed on her cheek and he watched it slide off her face. He embraced her body close to his and wished for her to open her eyes, but he knew she wouldn't. He wept then. Not just for Hope, but he wept for his family, himself, and the hundreds of people in the city. He slowly laid her back down. He stared at her as a part of him died with her. The only things left inside him were hatred, pain, sadness, and the cold calculating demeanor of a military officer. He saw a glint of light and he turned his head till he was looking at a combat shotgun that the city guards carried. Rage flared inside him and he picked it up. The ones who caused him this pain would suffer.
Edward held his shotgun threateningly in front of him. At this point, he was thankful for the combat training he had been required to learn for possibly training as a guard. He moved throughout the city, keeping an eye out for any enemies. The entire city lay in ruin. Dust, debris, bodies, and bullet casings flooded the streets. Edward picked up more ammunition for his shotgun from the hole-ridden corpses of the city guard. He knew what the enemy had been after, the city's food and water supply. In these desperate times, survival is all that matters. And if someone else had to die so that you could live, it was well worth it. Edward made his way toward the supply depot, ducking in and out of cover. He emerged from behind a building and sprinted across the narrow street. Bullets tore up the ground around him. Edward dove behind an overturned wheelbarrow. Bullets ricocheted off the metal underside with loud metallic tings.
"Looks like we missed one," said a voice in the direction from which the bullets had come. This comment was answered by several chuckles from what Edward could only assume was the enemy.
"Jesus, Larry! That was a kid," said another weaker voice.
"Hey, it's us or them! You know that. That's why we are doing this. You do want to feed your family don't you?" replied the harsh voice.
"I know, Larry. I know," said the other voice meekly. He then raised his voice again, "all I'm saying is that since we have suffered some losses cracking this place, we are gonna need more men for the next one."
"You're going soft Alex," said a different voice.
"Ha! Alex has always been soft!" said Larry before Alex could answer. There was a silence for a few seconds.
"Well, think of it this way, we could kill him and waste a couple bullets or we could leave him alive to starve in the desert," said Alex, his voice more confident now, "or we could save both ammunition and get a new man on our side."
Larry only grunted at this prospect. There was more silence before Alex called out: "Hey! Kid! You want some food and water?"
Edward didn't answer for awhile. "You serious?" he called back.
"Look kid, you got a chance to save your life. Either you join us or we leave you to rot outside. Come out and we can talk."
"You're going to shoot me."
"You have my word." Edward recoiled at this. The man wanted him to trust a killer!? He reflected on this and slowly rose from behind the wheelbarrow. He closed his eyes expecting a bullet to pass between them.
"What are you doing kid? Get over here," called Larry. Edward opened his eyes. They just stood there at the intersection of the street waiting for him. He moved slowly towards them; his head down. He had left his shotgun behind the wheelbarrow. He walked up to them and looked up. Four men stared at him, their weapons held at their sides.
"You're bleeding, kid," said a short brown-haired man who Edward identified as Alex from his voice. Alex was studying the gash in Edward's head.
"Come on, let's get this kid back to the commander, Alex," said the rough voice of Larry. He was a tall blonde who had cold piercing eyes.
"Let me put a bandage on him first," said Alex. He leaned his rifle on a food cart (which Edward noticed had been looted, probably by these men). Larry sighed and walked a couple yards away joking with the two other men.
"Sit," said Alex, giving Edward a slight smile. Edward sat on the ground as Alex went through his pack. "You're lucky I could convince that big brute over there to spare you. They might have shot you outright. Ah, here's a bandage."
Alex looked back up at Edward just in time to catch sight of Edward's elbow right before it connected with his face in a sickening crunch of broken bone. Edward was on his feet before the man had time to call out. He surged toward the other men who were joking about Alex's mother. Edward held the shard of glass he had picked up from behind the wheelbarrow tightly in his hand. The shattered glass cut into his palm and fingers, but he couldn't feel the pain. As Alex let out a loud curse, Larry turned around. Edward was already on him. Before Larry knew what was going on, Edward had thrust the glass shard into his neck. Edward was sprayed with warm blood from the punctured jugular vein. Blood gurgled from Larry's mouth as he tried to speak. Edward grabbed the rifle out of his hand and flicked it to full auto. Using Larry's now limp corpse as a shield, he unloaded the clip into the two dazed men. He pushed the weight of Larry's body off of him and snatched up the pistol tucked into Larry's belt. He walked swiftly back to Alex, wiping the blood of the dead man out of his eyes. Alex was still reeling from the blow he had been generously handed by Edward. He reached for his gun and Edward put a bullet into his leg. He cried out in agony. Edward kicked him right under his chin to silence him, sending the man back a foot or so. Driving his foot down hard on his chest, Edward felt one of Alex's ribs break underfoot. Edward pulled back the slide of the gun and found a bullet in the chamber. He immediately stuck the gun in Alex's open mouth as the man found the wind knocked out of him.
"Food and water you slaughtered my family for! How dare you offer me the word of a murderer! Well look who's on the wrong side of a gun now, you cold blooded bastard!" screamed Edward. Tears ran down Alex's face and Edward distinctly smelled urine as the man wet himself in fear. "Where is your leader!? Tell me damn you, before I put a bullet through your head!"
Alex only whimpered in pain and fear. Edward saw the man's tongue lying on the ground next to him. Looked like that kick had silenced the man for good. Edward pulled the trigger and Alex jerked. Edward was once again sprayed with blood. No use to him now that he could not talk.
"Here. Keep it," said Edward, as he removed his hand from the pistol grip, leaving the gun in what was left of Alex's head. He walked back to the wheelbarrow, retrieved his combat shotgun, and moved on without another word.
He finally came to the corner of a building that sat next to the supply depot. He looked out from behind the building. The supply depot was designed like a small fortress. The only way to get to the front gate was over open ground, and if the enemy had captured any of the heavy weapons mounted on the walls, that open ground would become a killing field that he couldn't cross even if he had a thousand men with him. Luckily for Edward, the collapsed buildings had thrown debris onto the open ground. He could use it for cover. The gate had been blasted open, and Edward saw why. The enemy must have breached the main gate up on the surface because the doors that led into the Garden weren't big enough to accommodate the tank that the enemy had with them. The tank sat idle beside the front gate protecting the entrance to the supply depot. One soldier had his head sticking out of the top hatch. Edward knew the shotgun he carried was too inaccurate at this range. He would have to get closer. He made his way across the field, moving behind the rubble and diving into craters. Edward was just about to sprint the last few yards to the tank when two enemy soldiers came around the other side of a large piece of metal that he had been hiding behind. They were just as surprised as he was and even before thinking, Edward raised his shotgun and blew the first man's chest into a bloody mess. The soldier dropped to the ground and desperately tried to push his organs back inside his body. The second soldier raised his rifle and fired a few shots at Edward before another blast from Edward's shotgun blew the man's head clear off his shoulders. Edward stopped. His breathing was ragged and heavy. He had heard the bullets whiz inches past his head.
The man in the tank popped his head out of the hatch again. He saw his fellow soldiers' dead bodies and Edward. He turned the .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the tank and pointed it at Edward. Edward had to think quickly. He grabbed a grenade off one of the fallen soldier's belt, pulled the pin and hurled it at the man in the tank. The grenade hit him right in the face and shattered his nose. The grenade fell down into the tank and detonated, killing all the crewmembers inside. Edward ran up to the tank and climbed up its side. He dropped into the hatch and kicked what was left of the dead commander out of his chair. Edward was thankful that this tank had been designed for simplicity. He grabbed the control stick and rotated the turret so it was pointed in the direction of a truck which the enemy soldiers were now loading with food and supplies. Edward grinned. He wished they would starve to death in the deserts above. He pulled the trigger and fired the main battle cannon. The tank shook violently and there was a loud roar. The high explosive shell tore through one man and several crates of supplies before piercing the cabin and exploding in a large blast, sending razor sharp pieces of the truck spinning outward. The shrapnel tearing through their bodies, severing limbs and body parts in showers of blood. Everyone around the truck was killed.
Edward stood outside the main gate. He stared at the graves he had dug for his family and Hope. He was wrapped in a ragged cloak and he covered his mouth and nose with a piece of cloth to protect his face from the fierce sandstorms. He wore his shotgun at his side. He named it Hope and he had carved the name into it. He carried as much food, water, and ammunition as he could. Edward just stood staring at his dead home and the graves of his loved ones. He felt nothing but pain, sadness, and anger. His stoic expression remained fixed on his face. Only the blood of the ones who had killed his home would ever satiate the flame inside him. He pulled his goggles over his eyes, and turned around. He walked in the direction of the murderers' tracks. He walked about five miles before a horribly loud explosion sounded. The ground shook and he turned to see the giant white-hot fireball of the city's plasma reactor overloading. The tank ammunition he had set to detonate the reactor had done the trick. Now the only record of his existence would be the footsteps and dead bodies he left in his wake. He was now a ghost; a dead shell of a human being. He would never cross over to the world of the dead until he had made his loved ones' murderers repent for their heinous crimes.