at her mother. “The sky is scary, and those men are mean to us. I want Daddy, and I want to go home .” She stomped to emphasize the last word.
“Jazz, honey, this is home,” Layla said flatly. “Everything will be fine.”
She didn’t even look at her daughter when she spoke. The lies tumbled from Layla’s mouth and into her lap as she sorted through the meager box of rations they had been given at processing.
The soldiers had taken everything from them when they arrived. By sheer force of will (as well as the volume of her tantrum), Jazz had managed to retain possession of Chewy. She clutched the ratty, stuffed toy tightly to her chest and buried her face in his fur.
For just a moment, Lucas missed his Courage. That manky old lion had gotten him through some pretty scary times. He shook away the memory as fast as it had snuck up on him. The old Lucas had been childish, and it was time to put away childish things.
“I have an idea, Jazz,” Lucas said forcing a smile across his face. “How about you, me, and Bo go exploring, huh? It’ll be fun.”
“Curfew is in less than thirty minutes. Don’t go far,” Layla said absently, all emotion gone from her voice.
“We won’t,” Lucas said grabbing Jazz’s hand.
“Where are we going, Skywalker,” the girl whispered conspiratorially.
“Anywhere but here .” Lucas looked over his shoulder at the mannequin that had replaced his foster mother.
He had been trying his best not to judge Layla for the way she was acting, but it was becoming more and more difficult as the hours stretched on. The light had left her eyes when the soldiers had told them what happened to Chicago. It was as if something had broken inside of her. Lucas wasn’t sure if it could be fixed.
“Come on, guys,” Bo muttered scowling at Layla. “Let’s blow this crap heap.”
“Language, Bo.” Layla cocked her head to the side, staring blankly at the plain white box in her hand labeled, sanitary .
It was as if she hadn’t heard herself speak. The rhetorical scolding had been more a reflex than anything else. Her body was here, but her heart and mind were buried somewhere in the smoldering ruins of Chicago. The Layla that remained was little more than a husk.
The three of them walked together down the long row of bunk beds, ducking and weaving their way through the chaos as they went. Finally, they emerged into the corridor. Soldiers in white bio-masks marched back and forth with their guns at their shoulders. They turned up their noses at the refugees who littered the hallways. Some of the people were still sobbing over their losses while others argued quietly amongst themselves. Most simply stared off into the distance as they meandered aimlessly about.
Even the brightest of souls felt lost in this dark place.
From the moment they had all been rescued , Lucas and the other “grays” had been treated more like livestock than people. They were shoved onto trucks and packed in so tightly that they were forced to stand the entire time. The ride had been hot, bumpy, and miserable. A few people had even gotten sick along the way. There was nowhere to go to escape the smell or the vile liquid that ran up and down the bed of the truck with every turn and stop.
When the refugees arrived, they were shoved from the back of the truck and separated into two lines. The men went one direction and the women and young children another. From there, they were herded into the restrooms where they were required to urinate into a small cup. As was his nature, Bo had fought the guards on this. Ultimately, his struggle did little more than delay the inevitable.
Once their “samples” had been collected and their pride effectively crushed, the groups were then escorted to the Refugee Processing Center. Aged folding tables lined with hotel-style toiletries, slippers, and stacks of muddy gray scrubs formed a perimeter around the room, each manned by soldiers in strangely colored
“Jazz, honey, this is home,” Layla said flatly. “Everything will be fine.”
She didn’t even look at her daughter when she spoke. The lies tumbled from Layla’s mouth and into her lap as she sorted through the meager box of rations they had been given at processing.
The soldiers had taken everything from them when they arrived. By sheer force of will (as well as the volume of her tantrum), Jazz had managed to retain possession of Chewy. She clutched the ratty, stuffed toy tightly to her chest and buried her face in his fur.
For just a moment, Lucas missed his Courage. That manky old lion had gotten him through some pretty scary times. He shook away the memory as fast as it had snuck up on him. The old Lucas had been childish, and it was time to put away childish things.
“I have an idea, Jazz,” Lucas said forcing a smile across his face. “How about you, me, and Bo go exploring, huh? It’ll be fun.”
“Curfew is in less than thirty minutes. Don’t go far,” Layla said absently, all emotion gone from her voice.
“We won’t,” Lucas said grabbing Jazz’s hand.
“Where are we going, Skywalker,” the girl whispered conspiratorially.
“Anywhere but here .” Lucas looked over his shoulder at the mannequin that had replaced his foster mother.
He had been trying his best not to judge Layla for the way she was acting, but it was becoming more and more difficult as the hours stretched on. The light had left her eyes when the soldiers had told them what happened to Chicago. It was as if something had broken inside of her. Lucas wasn’t sure if it could be fixed.
“Come on, guys,” Bo muttered scowling at Layla. “Let’s blow this crap heap.”
“Language, Bo.” Layla cocked her head to the side, staring blankly at the plain white box in her hand labeled, sanitary .
It was as if she hadn’t heard herself speak. The rhetorical scolding had been more a reflex than anything else. Her body was here, but her heart and mind were buried somewhere in the smoldering ruins of Chicago. The Layla that remained was little more than a husk.
The three of them walked together down the long row of bunk beds, ducking and weaving their way through the chaos as they went. Finally, they emerged into the corridor. Soldiers in white bio-masks marched back and forth with their guns at their shoulders. They turned up their noses at the refugees who littered the hallways. Some of the people were still sobbing over their losses while others argued quietly amongst themselves. Most simply stared off into the distance as they meandered aimlessly about.
Even the brightest of souls felt lost in this dark place.
From the moment they had all been rescued , Lucas and the other “grays” had been treated more like livestock than people. They were shoved onto trucks and packed in so tightly that they were forced to stand the entire time. The ride had been hot, bumpy, and miserable. A few people had even gotten sick along the way. There was nowhere to go to escape the smell or the vile liquid that ran up and down the bed of the truck with every turn and stop.
When the refugees arrived, they were shoved from the back of the truck and separated into two lines. The men went one direction and the women and young children another. From there, they were herded into the restrooms where they were required to urinate into a small cup. As was his nature, Bo had fought the guards on this. Ultimately, his struggle did little more than delay the inevitable.
Once their “samples” had been collected and their pride effectively crushed, the groups were then escorted to the Refugee Processing Center. Aged folding tables lined with hotel-style toiletries, slippers, and stacks of muddy gray scrubs formed a perimeter around the room, each manned by soldiers in strangely colored
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