In The End | Novella | Beginning of the End

when people went to work. The crime rate was non-existent. At least, it had been.
Shivering, I knew I had no choice but to take the risk. I couldn’t wait crouched behind the fence to freeze to death or be spotted and shot. I had to crawl close to the ground and hope the soldier’s work distracted them.
Easing through my aching joints, I lay flat to the grass whilst trying to imagine myself as a snake I’d seen so many times on nature programmes. Mum would make me watch them in a vain wish it would add context to my studies. I hoped I was close enough to the ground that they would have to look directly into the garden to notice me.
My breath steadied when I’d made it halfway with no call to bring weapons to bear and take me out.
Whilst keeping low to the grass, I angled my head up and looked along the brickwork to make sure I headed on the right course. At the sight of a camouflaged figure moving back from one of the top windows, I froze.
It wasn’t the time for indecision. If there was a soldier in the house, I would open the door to my death. If there wasn’t, then my neighbours would scream the house down, but at least I’d have a few moments to run through the front door and out of sight from the soldiers who would chase after me.
Or I’d seen nothing, perhaps just a reflection from the soldiers working at the edge of the field, or a figment of my racing imagination.
I pressed ahead. There was no right way. I knew I had to get anywhere other than lying flat to the grass in my pyjamas and a coat.
The grass became concrete as I edged forward, scratching at my already grazed palms and knees. Grimacing through the pain, I headed along the path towards the back door and the dark-brown wood splitting the misted glass into quarters.
I’d made my decision, the risk too much to jump another fence to try another door. If there was someone in the window and they’d seen me, then I was done for anyway, but the soldiers would be sure to see me if I stood and jumped into another garden.
As I reached the door, I slowly raised myself to a crouch, listening out for any change in the soldier’s tone.
I raised my hand up whilst trying to keep as low as I could. My fingertips touched at the cold, curling around the metal just as the soldier’s voice turned high-pitched.
A muffled shout called out, followed by a barrage of gunfire and the clattering of falling metal as I pulled down at the handle.
It didn’t move. I was toast.

6
Without conscious thought, instinct took over. My hand dropped to my side, my eyes screwing closed as I wrapped my hands to grip my ankles, clenching in some primal urge to make myself as small as possible.
The shots kept coming, my body shaking with each round and I couldn’t help thinking it wouldn’t be much longer before they would hit.
What would the impact be like? Would I feel pain straight away or would it take my body a few seconds to realise it was being ripped wide? Or perhaps I’d never know. Would I be grateful if a bullet hit me right in the brain and I went out like a light? At least it would be an end to the nightmare.
When a touch came at my upper arm, I nearly didn’t react. I was so prepared for it all to end, I couldn’t help the surprise that my first thought had been right. The bullet felt as if someone had touched my arm. Not a searing pain but a sudden pressure. A pull towards the door.
But that couldn’t be right.
As I fell forward, past where the door should have been, I opened my eyes with my arms still wrapping me up. I looked up and saw a kid; a boy of maybe half my age, dressed in green and black pyjamas with a plastic dark helmet and the words MP in white across the front.
Blinking to make sure I was seeing right, I turned back to the garden as I rose and took a step, half pulled by the kid. Each of the soldiers in the distance had their weapons raised, puffs of smoke coming with each loud noise, but they pointed to where I’d wanted to be and not in my direction.
I fell to the kitchen floor as the kid let go and he rushed past me to push the door closed. He stood with his back to the glass, staring at me as I sprawled to the floor.
“Jordan?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.
“Tommy,” I said, nodding as I realised I must have been in number fifty-four; ten houses down from mine.
He smiled with a wide grin.
“Where are your parents?” I said, but before he could answer, I stood, grabbing his hand so I could draw him to the floor. “Keep down.”
He looked back, the grin gone and for the first time I saw the uncertainty in his face as his body juddered every time another shot came. I put my hand to his cheek and looked him in the eyes whilst trying not to blink with each new burst of noise.
“It’s just like fireworks,” I said.
His lips raised a little again and I imagined him thinking of a black night, his face glowing from the huge bonfire and the multi-colours mirrored in his eyes as the rockets shot to the sky.
The gunfire stopped.
“Where are your parents?” I said again.
He shook his head and I pulled my hand away when his high voice cracked as he spoke. “Dad’s at work and Mum went out to the