Chapter 1

An awful heat bit at the exposed skin of his arms and hands. Horrible blisters marked his feet which cracked and bled into his boots. The tattered rags he wore around his head and face did their job of keeping the sand and sun out of his eyes. The one and only thing Tommy had going for him at the moment. He groaned, clutching his stomach as he took a knee, crunching the sand beneath him. His last meal was days ago and consisted of a snake that had tried its hand at attacking him. And the water in his canteen was used up as well. Tommy didn't want to admit it, but this desert stood a good chance of becoming his grave.
He slid his duffle bag onto the ground. He reached inside and pulled out a pistol adorned with small scratches and dents. The serial number on the side had been worn down to the point of being impossible to read. If memory served him right there were still four bullets yet to be used.
A flicker out of the corner of his eye grabbed his attention. Tommy turned on a dime, aiming the gun, finger on the trigger. A figure danced and swirled in the distance, fading in and out of existence. He pushed himself to stand with gun and bag in hand. Cautious, he moved towards the dancing shade that beckoned him forth.
As he approached the figure slowly grew in size. More and more dark swirls crept their way up from out of the sands the closer he got. Tommy's attention to his surroundings waned. His foot stepped through the air and he fell, tumbling down the side of a giant dune. Sand and dirt were tossed into his eyes as his battered body was battered some more, flung like a rag doll down a flight of stairs. He landed face first with a muffled thud, coming to a halt. Tommy remained motionless with the wind pushing sand onto him, taking it's time to bury him. The dessert seemed desperate to consume the broken man.
With a hard groan he pushed himself onto his back. He breathed in deep and slow, trying to catch the wind that had been knocked from him. He coughed hard, sand and dirt caught in his throat.
"Get up," Tommy told himself. He forced himself to stand on his knees. A city stood in the distance. His heart raced at the possibility. It looked real. Real enough to convince him to keep going, to push himself just a bit further. He searched through the sands around him and found his gun and duffle bag. He tossed the gun into the bag haphazardly and slung the bag over his shoulder. Tommy ran, doing his best to ignore the pain.
Sand was soon replaced with carved stone blocks that made up the city streets. People avoided him, putting as much space between themselves and the ragged stranger as possible. He hardly noticed.
He toppled over in the middle of the street, the fight in him sapped. His head spun and his vision blurred. He heard muffled voices speaking around him. Their tone sounded harsh, fearful even. The word 'outsider' rang clear among the voices. He let out a long heavy sigh. A part of him knew that it was too good to be true. He closed his eyes, letting himself slip away from the world.

Tommy opened his eyes. He stared at an unfamiliar ceiling, laying in an unfamiliar bed. A single fan spun tirelessly above, attempting to keep him cool. He sat up, taking his time. The fatigue and hunger pains were still present, albeit to a lesser degree. Tommy looked down at his feet when he noticed they felt cold and stiff. Someone had bandaged his bloody cracked feet, elevating them with a pillow. It seemed he was in good hands. He turned his attention to his surroundings. The room was small and barren; only the bed he sat on and a dresser at the foot of the bed occupied the space within. On the other side of the room was a window letting sunlight in. He only noticed that a door was next to the bed when it swung open, startling him. A girl carrying a small tray in her arms entered. She was young, seventeen at the most. She froze when she saw that he was upright.
"Oh, you're awake!" she said, surprised. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Where am I?" he asked. The girl walked forward and set the tray on top of the dresser. He could see that she was carrying two cups on the tray as she picked one up.
"You're in Liore," she said. The name wasn't familiar to him. She sat near the foot of the bed and offered him the cup.
"What is it?" Tommy asked.
"It's just water," she said. He looked up at her and took the cup from her hand. He sniffed the liquid in the cup before taking a sip. It was just water. Cold water at that. He sighed and gulped it down, water trickling down his chin and onto his shirt. Before the girl could say anything he had emptied the cup, panting hard.
"Thank you," he gasped, handing the empty cup back to her. She stared at him with a wary gaze. His clothes were filthy; his shirt was coated in dirt and torn around the neck. His trousers were just as messy. His shirt had a large noticeable stain on the chest that flowed down his side. It looked like a machine oil of some kind.
"How long have I been out?" he asked.
"It's been two days," she said.
"Two days," Tommy repeated under his breath. "Has anyone come looking for me? Anyone at all?" he asked. She could see that there was a tension and a fear in his deep blue eyes.
"No," she replied. "Not that I know of . . ."
He sighed and leaned back, resting his head on the pillow. She stared at him, the concern in her eyes spreading to the rest of her face.
"Sir, are you in trouble?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. She jumped when he sat up suddenly. With a hard grunt he got onto his feet. He winced in pain, his wounds not yet healed. "I need to leave now. Just to be safe," he said.
"Hey!" she said, jumping to her feet. "You shouldn't be standing yet, the doctor said so."
"Trust me I'm fine," he insisted. He took one step forward and wobbled, falling into the door frame, leaning against it for support. He hissed in pain.
"No you need to get back into bed and rest," she said firmly. He couldn't stay here for long, but he knew she was right. He was in no condition to travel yet. He looked at her and nodded. She helped him back into bed, tucking the pillow back under his feet.
"You need to keep off your feet for a little while. That's what the doctor said," she explained. "Now, is there anything I can get you?" she asked.
Tommy shook his head.
"Get some rest," she said before leaving him, shutting the door behind her. Moving around so suddenly had sapped him of his strength. Against his will he slowly drifted back to sleep, sinking into the bed.
Gunfire rang in his ears. The heat of conflict seared itself into his skin. A disorientating blast sprayed dirt and blood into his face. All he could do was run. The snarls of beasts cried in the distance, drowning out the screams of the ones he had come to call friends. He was shook from his slumber by the girl.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "You were making strange noises in your sleep."
"I . . . was dreaming," he said.
"A nightmare?" she asked.
"Something like that," Tommy replied. He groaned at the sudden emptiness of his stomach.
"You must be starving. I tried waking you yesterday but you just wouldn't wake up." she said. Another day has slipped free from him. And yet he was fine. "Dinner will be ready in a bit. I hope soup is okay."
"That . . . sounds good," he said. She nodded and was about to leave when he stopped her. "I didn't catch your name."
"Oh my apologies. I'm Rose," she said.
"Tommy," he said. "And . . . thank you. For saving me," he said.
"It's what God would have wanted," she said with a nod. With that she left the room, keeping the door open.
"God huh? That explains the generosity," he mumbled to himself. Tommy pulled himself out of bed and hobbled his way over to the window and opened it. A humid breeze brushed against his face and chest.
The city outside was large. Simple houses of wood and stone made up the vast majority of what he saw. In the distance he could see an opulent looking structure with a tall spire sticking up towards the sky. It looked like a church, though it was awfully big, towering over all.
Tommy turned his attention back towards the room and to the dresser at the foot of the bed. He eased himself close to it, using the wall for support. The wooden dresser was old and only about waist high. On top of it sat a small picture frame. Tommy picked it up gingerly. Inside was a picture of a boy and a girl. The girl, Rose, was smiling ear to ear. Next to her was a tall boy about the same age, also smiling.
"His name was Kane," Rose said in a mournful tone. Tommy almost dropped the picture, jumping at the sudden sound of her voice. She was standing in the door way. "He was my boyfriend."
"Seems like a nice kid," Tommy said.
"He was," Rose said. She smiled ever so slightly.
"What happened to him?" Tommy asked, setting the frame back down.
"There was an accident," she said. Her smile faded. "He didn't make it."
Tommy clenched his jaw. The void left behind when someone is ripped from your life can be a dangerous thing. It can fester and rot, poisoning anyone closest to it. That poison still stung. Like a fire in his veins.
"I uh . . . I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to pry."
"It's okay. Thank you though," Rose said. She took a deep breath and stepped towards Tommy. "Dinner's ready," she said, helping Tommy make his way out of the bedroom. The hallway that connected to his room lead to the kitchen. She sat him down at a small dinner table where two bowls of steaming soup had been laid out. She sat across from him, pulling her chair in close.
Tommy picked up his spoon as she bowed her head down, closed her eyes, and gently clasped her hands together. He watched as she spoke silent words of praise to her lord. Tommy sat there stroking his thumb against the metal spoon in his hand. After a moment she gave a nod and brought her head back up. The moment her hand reached for her spoon Tommy was already digging in. It wasn't anything spectacular, just a simple home made vegetable soup. But Tommy would have killed for a meal like this days ago.
"I take it you're not a believer?" Rose asked. Tommy paused. Fangs flashed in his mind that made him twitch.
" . . . I'm not really sure what I should believe," he replied.
"I understand. Sometimes the lord's teachings can be harsh," she said. Tommy stirred his soup, staring down at it.
"Is me being here a problem?" he asked. "Nobody seemed too keen on a dead man stumbling into town," he said.
"It's no trouble. Believe it or not, this was a nice place once. We used to be able to welcome strangers with open arms," Rose said, the melancholy heavy in her voice. "I guess I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. Before everything changed."
"What happened?" Tommy asked.
"We were lied too. Taken advantage of." There was a terrible anger in her voice. One that she fought to contain. But Tommy could hear it. He could see it in her eyes. He finished his meal in silence.
"I uh, I should get some rest," he said, standing up. "Thank you for dinner."
"Do you need any help?" Rose asked. Tommy waved the offer away.
"No I can manage, thank you," he assured her as he hobbled back down the hallway. Rose sat at the kitchen table by herself. She watched Tommy close the door to his room and finally let out a shaky sigh. Tommy was only able to catch a glimpse of the anger that resided within the people of Liore. Rose saw it all. The shouting, the fighting, the lies being fed to those weak enough to believe them. And it was going to get worse before it got better.

Tommy's eyes opened. A ray of sunlight blinded the side of his face. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, squinting out of the right. It was quiet. Not just in his room. Everything felt still. Tommy figured it was just after nine in the morning. He rubbed his eyes again and saw a bundle of clothes sitting on top of the dresser. He stood up and walked over to them. A simple white button up and black trousers accompanied by a hand written note sat on the dresser. Tommy picked the note up. It was from Rose. She said that she had to step out for a bit and that he was welcome to get cleaned up.
Tommy tossed the note onto the bed and scooped up the clothes. The bathroom was easy enough to find, Rose had conveniently left the door open for him. He set his new outfit on the bathroom sink and peeled off his old grimy clothes, tossing them to the floor in a heap. He sat along the rim of the tub and carefully peeled off the bandages on his feet. Whoever patched him up did a decent job. He would have marks on his feet for sometime, and they still stung whenever he applied pressure to them, but that was to be expected.
Her shower felt like a godsend, ironically. The cold water running over his face and down his body swept away his fatigue, shocking him back to life. The last seven days washed off him and spun down the drain, vanishing from sight. He shut the water off and dried himself. Tommy hardly recognized the man standing in front of the bathroom mirror. He brushed his blonde hair back with his hand. It ran down to his shoulders and blended in with his beard. The clothes that Rose had lent him fit nicely. He rolled up his sleeves and exited the bathroom. Still, no one was home. Tommy walked into the kitchen. A clock ticking away, counting the seconds going by, was the only thing he heard.
His duffle bag was sitting on the counter. He wondered if Rose had gone through it. He opened it, inspecting the items inside. If she had gone through it then she didn't take anything. The pistol was still there, along with two hundred dollars cash, a hunting knife, his empty canteen, and . . . that gold locket and matching harmonica. Seeing them hurt. He picked up the locket and opened it's door. The picture was still inside, as always. He snapped it shut quickly and leaned against the sink. He could feel it coming. That long overdue wave of sadness and anger. His eyes welled up with tears.
" . . . I'm sorry," he said. He slammed his fist into the counter and let out a single angry cry. Her cold dead eyes kept staring at him, asking the question.
He stood up, wiped his face, and breathed. Tommy would mourn later. He filled the canteen with tap water before tossing it back into his bag. He closed the bag tight and slung it over his shoulder. Leaving out the front door he found himself standing in a hallway with a set of stairs going up and down. It seemed she lived in an apartment complex of sorts. He marched down the stairs and into the main lobby. A chill ran down his spine. The lobby was deserted. He walked up to the front desk and rang the bell out of curiosity. Nothing happened. He shook the ill feeling in his gut, rushing out the front doors. A wave of heat enveloped him as he stepped outside.
His eyes took their time to adjust against the brightness of the scorching sun. And soon he could see the empty streets of Liore, laid out like a skeleton picked clean of it's flesh. Tommy needed to leave. Whatever was going on around here didn't concern him. He couldn't afford to cause a stir, not now. First he needed supplies, and a way out of the God forsaken city. He moved down the street at a quick pace, keeping an eye out for any sort of shop or store. As he went he saw that many of the buildings were boarded up from the inside or were just plain empty. A person would be peaking through a window for a split second only to duck away before Tommy could get a good look at them. And those that were outside gave him nasty scowls and pulled away from him nervously.
Relief washed over him when he saw a corner store that was still open. He stepped inside and out of the heat. An older wiry man with a clean shaven head stood behind the counter. His gaze was stern and cautious, watching Tommy as he stepped inside.
"Evening," he said. His voice was rough and tired sounding.
"Hey there," Tommy said, walking up to him. Tommy noticed that his hand was under the counter.
"How can I help you?" the man asked.
"I uh, I'm looking to leave the city," Tommy said. The man just stared at him. "Um . . . is there a bus, or maybe a cab I could take?"
"You trying to be funny?"
"What?" Tommy replied. The old man's eyes flashed towards the door and back to Tommy.
"How many of you punks are out there?" he asked. Tommy's eyes squinted in confusion.
"I think there's been a serious misunderstanding," Tommy said, taking a step back. The old man was swift as he pulled the shotgun out. Tommy froze in his tracks, staring down the double barrel pointed at his face. The old man was smart; shortening the barrel made it easier to pull out from behind the counter.
"I've told you boys twice already to stay away from here," the old man said. Tommy raised his hands, careful not to startle him. "This is my store. It's all I've got left!"
"Look, man, I just want to get out of town," Tommy replied in a slow, calm manner.
"Bran?!" Rose shrieked. Both he and Tommy turned their heads towards the entrance. Rose stood there, eyes wide. "Bran, what are you doing?!" she shouted.
"Rose?" the old man said. Tommy saw the slack in his arms, the way his fingers loosened, the barrel dipping down. In the blink of an eye Tommy snatched the gun from the old man's hands and had it aimed back at him. Tommy's finger rested on the trigger and his heart pounded all the way up into his ears.
"Tommy?" Rose said, her voice shaking. He exhaled slowly and backed away, lowering the gun. He popped it open to remove the shells inside. He paused. The gun was empty.
"You threatened me with an empty gun?" Tommy asked. Rose let out a sigh of relief.
"I got rid of the shells a long time ago. Hell, the things a mantle piece," Bran replied, turning his gaze down toward the counter top out of shame.
"Bran how could you? You could have gotten yourself hurt," Rose said. She didn't scold him, there was too much concern in her tone for it to be scolding.
"What am I supposed to do, Rose? I've been robbed twice now. If this keeps up I'll be out of a business," Bran said. Tommy looked back at the shelves of the store. The wares were running thin. From the looks of it the store could stay open maybe another three days before needing a resupply.
"Bran I know things are tough right now, but this isn't right. You can't just-"
"No," Tommy said, interrupting Rose. Tommy looked down at the gun in his hands. Sometimes good people had to do bad things. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made. "Here," he said. Tommy snapped the barrel back into place and tossed the gun back into the arms of the old man. "Either leave it on the mantle or get some ammo for it. Understand?"
Bran nodded.
"Good. Now, how do I get out of this city?" Tommy asked. Bran set the gun to the side.
"There's a train station to the north of here. It's about thirteen miles down a stretch of road," Bran said. That's all Tommy needed to hear. He started rummaging through the store, grabbing anything he deemed useful.
"Hang on," Rose said, following him around the store. "Are you sure you're okay to leave? Thirteen miles is a long way to walk."
"It's nothing I can't handle," Tommy replied. He brought his items up to the front of the store and Bran tallied his total. Tommy pulled the money out of his bag, tossing the crumpled bills onto the counter before he shoved his purchases into his bag and zipped it tight. He gave a nod towards the old man and brushed past Rose, leaving the store with haste. Rose followed him out the door.
"Tommy wait!" she said. Tommy stopped and turned to face her. " . . . Good luck. And may God bless you," she said with a smile. Tommy was unsure of what to say.
" . . . How do you know when he does?" he asked.
"You'll know." she said, her dark hair flowing in the warm breeze. "I know God wouldn't abandon his children."
"And what if he has abandoned you? What do you do then?" Tommy asked. Rose stood there in silence and remembered the words that were spoken to her, the words that kept her going.
"Someone once told me that I need to stand up and walk. To keep moving forward. So that's what I'll do," she said with a firm confidence. Tommy chuckled. He turned around and started walking, away from Rose, and away from Liore.
"You're a brave kid, Rose," He said without looking back. She watched him until he turned a corner and was gone. She was alone and her city in shambles. She would keep pushing forward, living her life. Rose went back inside to purchase a few things from Bran, like she always did, and returned home. She put her things away and went into the bathroom. Tommy's old clothes laid in a pile on the floor. She shook her head.
"Men," she said to herself. She picked up his shirt and inspected it closely. "I'm sure I could give these away to someone," she thought aloud. The collar was torn, but she could fix that easily. The large dark stain on the chest would be a problem. She brought the shirt into the kitchen and ran some cold water over the stain. She scrubbed at it with her fingers to see if it would come off, and it did slightly.
At first it didn't sink in, but when it did it struck hard. She gasped and dropped the shirt, looking down at her hands. She stepped away, bumping into her kitchen table. Her fingers were stained red with blood. She looked back at the shirt, and at how much blood was on it. That much couldn't have come from Tommy, there was far too much of it.
The hiss and wine of the town's speaker system coming to life pulled her out of her thoughts. It had been days since the last broadcast. She turned the running water off and listened carefully. At first it was nothing but the crackling silence of dead air. Soon, though, his aged song bird voice graced the air waves.

Tommy wandered the streets, searching for the road that lead north. Looking back at it all, Tommy would have liked to have seen this place in its prime. He could see the allure of a city like this. The idea of a desert oasis had a charm to it, a fantastical quality. At one point in time he could imagine calling Liore a beautiful place.
Rounding the next corner he could see a single stretch of road that went far past the city limits and faded well into the horizon. This was it, the home stretch to freedom. The annoying ring of a speaker yanked him from his thoughts and back into the real world. Every radio within the city sprung to life with this awful hiss, followed by dead air. Looking up Tommy could see small speakers strapped to poles. He stood there, staring at them, waiting for something to happen.
" . . . Children of God who dwell on the Earth," a soft spoken voice echoed out into the air. It sounded like an elderly man. "There is no salvation without prayer and faith."
"A religious broadcast?" Tommy muttered. The voice went on.
"My children, today is a dark day. The devil himself, the serpent of a thousand heads, walks among us. And with him he has brought forth his army," the voice said. His words were dipped in a rapturous venom that even a non believer like Tommy could feel. "It is as I feared. Now is the day when we must take up arms. Flush the devil's serpents from our streets, stomp their skulls with the heels of your boots, and save your souls from eternal damnation!" the voice cried out, rising in a crescendo of piety. At that moment the speakers went dead. It was quiet. And then, in the distance, the sounds of rapid gunfire were heard. Those that were in the street fled back to their homes and hid themselves away. Tommy just stood there. He stared at the city behind him and listened as carnage began to run rampant. He turned to the stretch of road in front of him.
"Just walk away," he told himself. "Just walk away. This isn't your fight," he repeated, trying to convince himself. He stood there, legs shaking, hands twitching, mind spinning. Freedom called out to him. It was right there. He stepped forward, the screams echoing behind him.
He gritted his teeth, launching into a painful sprint back into the city. Every step he took dove him deeper and deeper into the chaos. Men and women alike fought each other in the middle of the street as people were pulled from their homes. Tommy weaved around them, getting forceful if he had to. Some took swings at him, but he kept going, kept pushing.
A glass bottle shattered next to him and erupted into a ball of fire that forced him to dive to the side. Before Tommy could take a moment to catch his breath he was pulled to his feet by a pair of rough hands and struck in the face. He caught himself before he hit the ground again, steadying his footing. The man that stood before him was already going in for another strike. Tommy didn't know if he was an angry zealot or just scared. It didn't matter. Everyone was out for blood.
The man threw his fist, swinging wide and leaving himself open. Tommy swerved out of the way and delivered a swift strike to his throat. It was enough to send him stumbling back. Tommy turned to get away only to be struck on the side of the head. The blow knocked him senseless, his knees wobbling, and his vision spinning. He toppled over onto his back, looking up at the midday sky. A throbbing pain synced itself to the beat of his heart. He squinted as blood, his blood, trickled into his eye.
Tommy could see a man come into his view holding what looked like a broken broom handle. He gripped it tight with both hands as he raised his weapon high above, ready to bring it crashing down. Tommy tried to get up, pushing himself as hard as he could to clear his head. A crack rang through the air and his attacker dropped their weapon. A spray of warmth splashed Tommy in the face as the man dropped dead on top of him, a bullet hole running from his back all the way through to the front of his chest.
Tommy could have easily pushed the body off of him. But instead he let it sit there. He let the last few moments of the man's life drain out and onto him. He laid on the ground, motionless, letting everyone else around him fight. He would never be able to push through this sea of the faithful and the supposedly wicked. So he let the sea swallow him. He stared past the blood shed around him and focused on the sky.
He stared into the endless blue above. The sounds of chaos faded around him and into the distance. Tommy wasn't sure how long he had laid there. The dead man on top of him was still warm. Tommy pushed the corpse off of him and sat up. Dozens of dead and injured littered the streets around him. He went to wipe the blood from his eye but at that point it was already dry and tacky.
Tommy got to his feet and pressed on. He stepped around the the dead and walked past the crying with his head hung low. There was nothing he could do for these people. All he could do was find Rose. He snaked his way around buildings, avoiding stragglers in the streets as best as he could until he came upon her apartment. He dashed into the lobby and came to a skidding halt. Four people laid dead on the floor. Blood was everywhere and bullet casings littered the floor. Tommy's heart sunk into his stomach. His eyes darted from one victim to the next. None of them were Rose. He made a dash up the stairs and sped through the hallway searching for her apartment. He saw her front door kicked in. He didn't hesitate to enter.
Sunlight blasted into the room from the kitchen windows, casting heavy shadows over toppled furniture. Kitchen drawers were empty and discarded, windows had been shattered. There was no sense to it, no reason or rhyme.
"Rose?" Tommy said, looking for her. He stepped through her home slowly. His body was tense, wired to react at the first sign of movement. There was a door he hadn't noticed before. He eased it open and poked his head inside. It was a bedroom, Rose's bedroom. There was nothing to be seen, it lay in shambles like the rest of her home. He went to the spare bedroom he had spent the last three days in. The hallway from the kitchen to the spare room was dark, the only light coming from a crack in the door at the end of the hall. Tommy stepped forward cautiously.
Something moved in the darkness of the bathroom to his right. A knife shot out of the darkness, shining against what little light there was for only a split second. Tommy grabbed at the blade with both hands as it thrust towards him. He gritted his teeth in pain as the blade sliced deep into his palms. He shouted as he threw the knife away from him and threw himself into his attacker. They both crashed against the spare bedroom door, the door swinging open with a bang as they both fell to the floor. The knife clattered against the floor. Tommy didn't hesitate. He scooped the knife up and gripped it tight. Blood gushed from his palms, making the handle slick. He just squeezed tighter. His attacker moaned softly as they tried to get up. Tommy got to them first, pouncing on them like a savage. He grasped her throat tight as he raised the knife above him, ready to plunge it down into Rose's chest.
He stopped. Rose stared up at him with tears running down her face. She fought to breath with Tommy's hand still clasped around her throat. Tommy just stared at her. He could feel the beat of her heart against his palm, racing just as fast as his. He shivered. Rose could feel his hand loosen around her neck. She gasped as his hand lifted away from her. She scampered back towards the wall, pressing herself flat against it. Tommy dropped the bloody knife. The two sat there in silence, staring at each other. He broke eye contact with her. Her gaze ate at him like a starving beast gnawing on bones.
Seconds passed by like years. Another broadcast screeched its way to life but neither of them listened. Rose slowly stood up, wiping her tears away. She stepped towards Tommy and knelt down beside him. He jumped a little as she wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace.
"You came back," she mumbled.
" . . . I almost didn't," he admitted. She said nothing. Rose reached down and took his hands into hers. Tommy winced as she did so. The cuts were deep and bleeding heavily. She stood up and left the room, returning shortly with some cloth.
"It's not much, but it should do until we can get you to a doctor," Rose said, bandaging his wounds. Voices echoing out from the hallways outside her home pulled her attention away from Tommy and snapped him back into reality.
"Shut the door," he said. Rose did as she was told, closing the door gently as possible. Tommy pulled himself to his feet and slid the bed in front of the door. He pinned his back against the bed, holding the frame against the door as tight as he could. Rose knelt down and helped him, staying close to Tommy.
Footsteps from beyond the door could be heard. There were sounds of bickering, glass crunching under boots. Tommy counted four of them. The doorknob turned and when the door didn't open it began to shake with force. Then came the kicking. Tommy planted his feet against the floor boards. The bed frame dug into his back with each loud kick. They tried for hours to get into the room before giving up. Even though Tommy knew they were gone he never stopped holding himself against the bed. The blue sky had faded. Day turned to night. Every now and then gun fire would crack in the distance. Tommy wasn't sure when Rose had fallen asleep. He looked down at her, her head resting on his knee. Eventually, as the night went on, he too fell asleep.