Resistance is Futile

A fire crackled, orange hues splashed across the wall and dirt covered ground under their feet. Four teenagers with their heads low, watching as the fire licked the remains of their last log. Silence hung heavy between them, weighted down by the muggy summer air and the static coming from the small radio between one boy’s feet.

Reaching down, he turned the dial until it clicked, leaving nothing but the croak of birds in it’s wake.

“What are we going to do now?” a girl with a dark hood over her head asked in a whisper, her eyes never leaving the bright red embers.

The three teens exchanged a quick glance before looking away. The boy picked up the radio and popped the batteries from the back, dropping them into his pocket before tossing the small machine behind him, onto the top of a pile of dirty rags, busted radios and televisions with shattered screens.

“They’ll be able to track us here, so we need to move soon.” A boy in ripped and mud covered jeans said as he stood, rustling in his pocket before pulling out a crumbled cigarette pack.

“What about our parents?” the hooded girl asked, her fearful eyes looked up to the taller boy, searching for the last shred of hope in his eyes.

“We have to assume they’ve been taken already.” the boy said, adverting his eyes as he flicked a match against the crate he had been sitting on.

With a cough, the pale faced boy beside the hooded girl dropped the can he had been eating from beside the fire and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That tasted terrible.” he choked out.

“It was food.” the boy with the radio said lamely before tossing his can beside the first.

“I can’t guarantee anything from this point, so appreciate what we do have.” The tall boy said as he turned his back to the three, drawing a long drag before blowing out the smoke as he watched the field beyond the door.

The barn they took shelter in to listen for the broadcast didn’t provide much shelter or coverage. Large dirty windows lined each side, with oversize double doors handing open on each end, which they watched with furtive glances.

“We took a huge risk coming here, and they weren’t able to pull it off. We need to move before they know we’re here. Get back to safety outside the limits.” Hooded girl said before standing and kicking dirt on the fire.

The tall boy handed the half cigarette to her and she took a drag before passing it around. The blue-grey smoke floated to the rafters above their heads as they packed up their meager belongings and stomped the fire out.

“This is not the end.” The tall boy told his companions before tossing his hood over his face and pulling on a loaded hiking bag. “The resistance is not dead.”

A.E. Szelag

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