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   Chapter 28 No.28

The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 5448

Updated: 2018-06-29 12:02

But that was not happening today. There were no flowers anymore. It was autumn, and the gray clouds shrouding the morning sky heralded the fast-approaching Edonian winter. The hundreds of figures streaming past their home now weren't soldiers, nor were they even moving in the same direction as before. Mykl watched the lines of stragglers, men and women, young and old, as they slowly moved past in a steady stream – wordlessly, grimly looking ahead or solemnly at the ground. Some carried things with them – their last meager possessions, looking every bit as interesting as the black-and-white newsreel images from all the dusty and soulless documentaries about the interesting wars in Earth history he remembered seeing while at school as a much younger boy. Their faces all looked like those same people, the hollow, tragic looks of hopelessness and despair in their eyes was the same.

He averted his eyes from them, saddened by the tragedy of it all – a tragedy that should have been beyond his ken. The stream of wounded being carried from the front on battered vehicles recently – a feature which had intensified right up to this point – gave an indication that things were not going too well for the war effort. The Reds were making gains – getting closer. An occasional com-jeep would race past, loaded with injured soldiers, some of whom lay stacked atop each other and who looked dead and whose only movements seemed to be caused by unevenness in the road surface. The drivers would callously honk their horns at the refugees, and shout at them to get out of the way – there were plenty more where those came from, appa

told him they were firing at the fleeing civilians!

He turned and ran for the house – the Reds wouldn't pass up the chance to flatten whatever structures they could see still standing. Maxine was, his twin sister was his whole family at that point, the only person in the whole world that mattered to him – and she was inside the ruin, probably inside the crude shelter they'd built in what had been the living room.

"Max!" He called urgently, racing inside, turning corners and skidding to a stop in the living room doorway. It was all so surreal – she was folding washing on the ruined kitchen counter under a roofless sky of gray clouds. The pretty young brunette, her hair tied up in a pony with a pretty pink ribbon, looked up at him, wide-eyed – recognizing the fear in his voice. They were always afraid now – if it wasn't bombs or bullets, it was the scavengers or strippers stealing for the black-market, or the various outbreaks of disease and plague that had decimated the population in recent months.

"They're here!" He panted, wide-eyed. "The Reds! They're here!"

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