Armed with confidence, I tucked my knives into the belt, boots and pockets. Then I marched out of the front yard only to trip on a crack in the pavement and collapse when my knees gave way. There went my heroic bearing. Not that I had one in the first place when I was wearing a holey nightgown.
I sighed and looked at the sky for a moment while I slowly picked myself back up and shoved the weird swirly feelings in my head and the throbbing headache aside. Stumbling against the gate, I stopped a moment to lean against the gate post.
A few breaths later, I was on my way again.
Enemy soldiers trying to break into a house caught my attention. They were returning bullet fire at a little boy who was shooting marbles at them with a slingshot. It was only a matter of time before the little boy was shot.
Carefully steadying my legs by propping and bracing myself against a tree, I threw one knife after another. One knife made its mark in a soldier's neck. The other caught the soldier in the cheek.
He pulled the knife out and blood gushed out of his now perforated cheek and mouth. It looked like I had got his tongue as well, when he charged at me with a gurgling cry. The little boy's marbles didn't distract the charging soldier. In my state, I had very little agility either. I could only use the tree as a shield of protection and when that failed, I got hold of another knife while I fell. The soldier knocked me down and I retaliated by holding two knives in a cross to ward off his blow, and then cutting half his head off.
The blood sprayed and body convulsed. When I looked up at where the little boy was hiding on the brick balcony, he was vomiting. I didn't know why nobody came out to bring him back inside. Maybe everyone inside was already dead. Or they had run away and left the little boy by himself.
I collected the marbles I could find and half climbed up to the balcony, leaving the pile of marbles in a pot plant for him.
When I looked up again, the little boy had launched himself off the balcony at me, knocking me to the ground. He cried and rubbed all his snot and vomit all over me. Not that I could really complain.
"Don't cry," I told the boy, looking around at all the opening nearby with worry. "The soldiers will come again and I might not be able to save you."
The little boy hiccuped and went quiet with effort.
"I can't carry you," I told him. "I'm hurt. Can you get off me and walk yourself?"
Without a word, but with tears still streaming down his face while he bit his lips in an effort not to make noise, the little boy crawled off me. I winced when he accidentally got me in many injured places. I hadn't realised I had those injuries until now.
The boy bit his lip and cried silently, hugging his slingshot to his chest while he watched me and waited. Slowly, I rolled over and took a few deep breaths. Everything hurt.
I had bashed my head against the ground catching the little bean when he had jumped on me earlier, making my vision slightly blurry. My headache intensified. It took me a few moments before I could find the strength to stand up.
"Hold onto the edge of my jacket, kid," I told the little boy, swaying as I stood. "I'll take you somewhere safe."
Unsteadily and using all the fences, trees and walls I could find to prop myself up, I somehow made my way back to that house where those teenaged girls had taken refuge.
I had to stop at the gate and sit on the ground there. The little boy squatted down beside me, nervously chewing on his lip, looking at me and holding my arm.
"It's that house," I pointed. "I can't walk. I need a break. Do you think you can go in yourself? They'll look after you inside."
The little boy shook his head vigorously, showing that he didn't want to leave me.
"You can't stay with me," I said gently. "The bad guys are hunting for me. If you stay with me, I won't be able to protect you and you can't protect me with your slingshot. You forgot to bring any of your marbles with you."
The little boy's eyes widened and his tears began to fall thicker and faster. A muffled wail escaped him.
"Shh," I cautioned. "Come on. I'll take you in."
Using the gate to help me climb back upright, I staggered down the path to knock on the front door.
"Hi, can you please…"
The door opened and the little boy was yanked inside with me.
The little boy opened his mouth to wail but an older lady slapped her hand over his mouth. He froze.
"No crying. No noise," the older lady said. "We don't want the soldiers to come, do we?"
The boy shook his head.
I sank to the floor and put my head between my knees.
"You're welcome to stay here too," the older woman told me in a sharp voice. "You're injured and you don't look good."
"I can't stay. I'm one of the people the enemy are searching for," I said apologetically.
At that, I found myself thrust outside the front door with a bottle of water and a bun of bread in my hand.
It made me laugh.
"Go away. Go far away!"
I laughed again and tucked the bottle and bread into my jacket pockets. Slowly, I stumbled away, taking a bite of bread and a sip of water every time I paused to rest. Who knew when I would next get to eat or drink anything?