Feeling her son's heartbeat through her sweaty palm, the Mother walked. Her sore feet padded along the gravel county road, making little to no noise along the ground. Looking down, she saw the face of a child, no more than 6, yet still with more wisdom than any of the others of their village from which they were running.
She had almost expected him to cry. Or stop and fall to the ground, asleep. Or run away. But he stayed still, determination in the eyes that had seen recently the horrors of humanity. Pride swelled in her chest, almost standing above the turmoil of paranoia and terror. Peering over her shoulder, she checked yet again for any sign of the rest of the village following her.
Again, to her joy and dismay, she was alone. Good.
The duo had been running from their homes for two weeks, fleeing the tall men. Watchers, they had called them, had come and observed the tiny sliver of civilization for a bit. When spoken to, they talked as if they were one person, each word they had said sounded rehearsed, animatronic. The mayor had welcomed them, offering food and a place to stay. They had accepted reluctantly, offering nothing in return other than silence. They sat on street corners, observing the children at play in their mindless games of tag and hopscotch. They saw the Mother, working on cleaning a carcass she had shot earlier in the day, and when she looked back, she finally saw them for who they were. There was little warning before suddenly the village was ablaze and their neighbors were being ushered onto the floating platforms that the watchers had called in. A watcher ran to the children, grasping them up with their eight arms and pulling them into the ships. The Mother had little time, and she sensed this. She did what she had to, grasping her rifle, firing two shots into the skull of one of the watchers, the blue fluids spraying from his skull. She ran to her child, pulling him from the body's limbs, untangling him.
Now, they turned into the shadows, their eyes heavy and muscles sore. She still held his hand, watching the road before them as they sat in the shade. Her eyes were attentive, her ears filtering every detail, but her mind was elsewhere. She imagined the feeling of wiping the blood from her face, her feet pounding against the ground, holding her son. Smashing a fence to get past, they ran to the woods. She looked back one last time, staring at the remains of their haven. She watched as the platforms moved from the village.
If this is what you try to take from me, then I will return the favor.
She watched as he rested. In his sleep, there was a bit of fire.
