Hopeless

Chapter 1: Kendrall

When the power shut off, no one thought much of it. The power goes out all the time, right? Everyone thought it was normal. We had no idea what was coming.

There were a few twinkling stars lighting up the sky that night. It was fewer than usual, and everything was near pitch black. Mother lit a cinnamon scented candle and I watched, fascinated by the dancing flame, waiting for the power to turn back on like it always did. My younger brother, Mason, was curled up against me on our new couch. It was a pretty rosy color and still had the smell of new furniture. The couch had been Mother’s birthday gift from all of us only a week before. 

It was way past Mason’s bedtime and his eyes drooped as he tried to stay awake. He still hadn’t gotten rid of his baby fat, but it was clear he’d be real handsome someday. His dark hair contrasted with his sapphire blue eyes and pale complexion. The rest of us had more chestnut-colored hair and soulful brown eyes Secretly, I sometimes wondered if we were even related.

Carol, the oldest of the four of us, was playing a light symphony. The TV had clicked off with the power, so she had run to her room to grab her violin. The music was probably the only source of comfort in the house. Carol, Hope, me, Mason, Mother, and Father. That was how it had always worked. As the night continued on, Carol started playing higher and higher notes on the violin as if trying to keep the fated disaster away. It didn’t work.

A loud tortured scream filled the air, echoing in all of our ears. My hands began to shake as I held onto the couch armrest for support, leaving indents. Carol stopped playing her symphony and set her violin down on the table. Her eyes were narrow; her lips formed a firm line. She twirled a strand of hair that had come out of her ballerina bun and had I known at the time, I would have seen that this was her way of showing fear.

“Father, what’s going on?” my seven year old brother asked. I was frightened, more like petrified, but I hadn’t dared to ask. Father didn’t seem to know either. That much was clear as he grabbed his hunting g*n from the f*******n chest beneath the TV. The grainy images had shut off minutes ago with the power. The news about the upcoming election had been on. I didn’t care much for it but the rest of the family liked it. I was far more entertained by Carol’s violin.

Could the election have anything to do with all this? I mean, everyone knows that Calaro’s going to win. Their family’s been in power for the last six elections. This year the protests have been particularly bad; even I noticed the tension. Could that be it?

Moments later, dark silhouettes appeared at our window, close enough to leave smudges from their breath and clouding up parts of the window.

I listened as a sharp rapping sound followed only seconds later. 1,2,3,4-5. The pounding grew louder and the knocking noise came at faster intervals. The men outside were speaking in a language I didn’t recognize, and it chilled me to the bone.

“Get in the basement kids,” Father told us through gritted teeth, his g*n aimed at the door. His knuckles were white from gripping the g*n, and his facial features showed grim determination. Mother rushed to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder. I watched as Father tried to shoo her away but saw she wasn’t going anywhere. He took her hand, holding the g*n now with only his left. None of us kids moved either, terrified that this would all become real if we did.

“OPEN UP!” a male voice shouted from outside with a strong accent I couldn’t quite place. It sounded awfully similar to that of my fifth grade teacher’s voice. He never liked me. I swallowed, digging my fingertips further into the armrest.

The banging on the door didn’t cease, and the shouting and screams sounded as if they would never end. I didn’t move an inch, my whole body glued to the couch. Mason had begun to get up, his expression slightly curious. He didn’t like that Father had a g*n out; he didn’t understand it. He was too young to have memories of the police chases and the terrorist messages sprayed on the walls of alleyways.

“Come on Kiki,” Hope murmured gently, grabbing my hand. My nickname was like a wake up call. I held my sister’s hand close, never planning on letting go. She smiled at me reassuringly as we ran towards the basement door which had been reinforced as the terrorist threats became more increasingly well known and dangerously close to home. 

Our running wasn’t quiet, but it didn’t have to be. It drowned out the gunshots, both imagined and real. Carol and Mason ran just ahead of us.

“Where’s Mother?” Mason asked as we reached the basement door, his voice small and frightened. There was as much tension in his features as there were in Father’s, which was terrifying to even think about. He’s just a kid.

When no one answered his question his lower lip puffed out and started to quiver. Tears welled up in his beautiful blue eyes. I saw Hope open her mouth but then close it, realizing that we all knew where Mother was. She decided to stay with Father.

The basement door, made of titanium, stood in front of us. We stood there, staring in disbelief. It had just been a safety precaution. It never should’ve been used for this. Carol opened the door, reminding us that it wasn’t just another storage room anymore. That basement was what would save our lives, while this attack would end so many more.

“Go! Get down there,” she urged and I watched helplessly as Carol shoved Mason onto the top step, the last of us. Only moments later she locked the door, sealing us in complete darkness except for a small sliver of light from beneath the doorframe. I heard the passcode being put in as Carol locked all five latches, each different from the one before, leaving herself outside.

Even through the steel door, we could hear the splintering of wood and our Mother’s terrified screams. Bang, bang. Mother went silent, and we all knew what that meant.

Mason started to sob, and only cried louder as gunshots erupted throughout our home. When they reached just outside the basement door, I could feel his little body quivering next to mine.

“I want Mommy,” he whimpered. I couldn’t see Mason, but I could hear his cries. I dropped Hope’s hand and pulled Mason into a tight embrace. He struggled for a moment but stopped when he realized it was only me. Hope reached out, pulling us into a group hug. None of us moved as we waited for the attack to be over. We waited and waited, but the worst was yet to come.

Carol shrieked from outside the basement and I would have let out a cry of my own if Hope hadn’t covered my mouth with her hand. They didn’t need another reason to check the basement. Mason whimpered as more and more gunshots rang out. One here, one there, one made a dent in the basement door. I have no idea how long the three of us sat in the dark, frozen. It felt like years; it was probably mere minutes.

Something clattered to the floor outside, making me jump. I watched in horror as a crimson stain spread out beneath the door, trickling into our protective fortress. Then one, two, three, four. The fifth of the locks came undone and the door sprung open. Hope, Mason, and I curled up, each of us waiting for the end as the last dark silhouette stepped into view. The power had come on sometime while we were down here and I sat shell shocked as I looked at the floor slick with blood. Red, red, red…

Father rushed towards us and we pulled him into our huddle, the tang of blood covering both him and his clothes. The attackers were dead and gone… but so were Mother and Carol.

Nothing would ever be the same. It was only days later when the next attack came. We hadn’t even buried Mother and Carol; none of the dead in our town had been buried yet. Gold River, California would never be the same. Not that it could’ve been after the first attack anyway. 

This next attack came like a second gunshot wound. I was at the only open grocery, Mi Rancho, with my family when we heard the bomb detonate. The sound roared in our ears, and Hope was out of the store in a split second.

“Oh my god…” she murmured. “No, no, no!”

A crowd of people had already joined Hope at the entrance when I reached her.

“Kendrall!” My father was yelling from somewhere in the back. “Get back here young lady!” I was too busy watching my sister though. There was a ring on her finger. The promise ring was a mere symbol of the man I knew she loved.

“Hope?” I said softly, placing my hand on her shoulder. The plume of smoke in the distance was clearly visible from this angle.

“That’s Derek’s neighborhood. I just know it,” she whispered. I remember staring into her eyes, filled to the brim with tears.

“You don’t know that,” I told her, leaning into her. She shoved me away though, a tear slipping down her face.

“Yes, I do.”

“It’ll be ok,” I said. “It has to be.” 

Hope had only shaken her head. “Since when did the world care about what should be?” With that, Hope pulled me closer once again and buried her head in my shoulder. Her body shook as she sobbed.

The car ride home was silent. My father didn’t reprimand me or tell Hope to quit her whining like he usually would. I don’t think he knew what to do. Mason just sat there, chewing on his thumbnail and spitting pieces out onto the floor. Unfortunately, that is still his nervous habit. Disgusting.

It was later confirmed that Derek and his family were among the dead. Three bombs had detonated in the neighborhood. It’s crazy that such small pieces of metal, plastic, and a little C4 can do so much damage.

I don’t remember if we actually bought groceries that day, or if we just went straight to the car and home to our rooms, locking our doors. I think that’s when the drinking started with Father. It became especially bad after Hope left.

 to know either. That much was clear as he grabbed his hunting g*n from the f*******n chest beneath the TV. The grainy images had shut off minutes ago with the power. The news about the upcoming election had been on. I didn’t care much for it but the rest of the family liked it. I was far more entertained by Carol’s violin.

Could the election have anything to do with all this? I mean, everyone knows it’s rigged for Calaro. Their family’s been in power for the last six elections. This year the protests have been particularly bad. Could that be it?

Moments later, dark silhouettes appeared at our window, close enough to leave smudges from their breath and clouding up parts of the window.

I listened as a sharp rapping sound followed only seconds later. 1,2,3,4-5. The pounding grew louder and the knocking noise came at faster intervals. The men outside were speaking in a language I didn’t recognize, and it chilled me to the bone.

“Get in the basement kids,” Father told us through gritted teeth, his g*n aimed at the door. His knuckles were white from gripping the g*n, and his facial features showed grim determination. Mother rushed to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder. I watched as Father tried to shoo her away but saw she wasn’t going anywhere. He took her hand, holding the g*n now with only his left. None of us kids moved either, terrified that this would all become real if we did.

“OPEN UP!” a male voice shouted from outside with a strong accent I couldn’t quite place. It sounded awfully similar to that of my fifth grade teacher’s voice. He never liked me. I swallowed, digging my fingertips further into the armrest.

The banging on the door didn’t cease, and the shouting and screams sounded as if they would never end. I didn’t move an inch, my whole body glued to the couch. Mason had begun to get up, his expression slightly curious. He didn’t like that Father had a g*n out; he didn’t understand it. He was too young to have memories of the police chases and the terrorist messages sprayed on the walls of alleyways.

“Come on Kiki,” Hope murmured gently, grabbing my hand. My nickname was like a wake up call. I held my sister’s hand close, never planning on letting go. She smiled at me reassuringly as we ran towards the basement door which had been reinforced as the terrorist threat became increasingly well known and dangerously close to home. 

Our running wasn’t quiet, but it didn’t have to be. It drowned out the gunshots, both imagined and real. Carol and Mason ran just ahead of us.

“Where’s Mother?” Mason asked as we reached the basement door, his voice small and frightened. There was as much tension in his features as there were in Father’s, which was terrifying to even think about. He’s just a kid.

When no one answered his question his lower lip puffed out and started to quiver. Tears welled up in his beautiful blue eyes. I saw Hope open her mouth but then close it, realizing that we all knew where Mother was. She decided to stay with Father.

The basement door, made of titanium, stood in front of us. We stood there, staring in disbelief. It had just been a safety precaution. It never should’ve been used for this. Carol opened the door, reminding us that it wasn’t just another storage room anymore. That basement was what would save our lives, while this attack would end so many more.

“Go! Get down there,” she urged and I watched helplessly as Carol shoved Mason onto the top step, the last of us. Only moments later she locked the door, sealing us in complete darkness except for a small sliver of light from beneath the doorframe. I heard the passcode being put in as Carol locked all five latches, each slightly different from the one before, leaving herself outside.

Even through the steel door, we could hear the splintering of wood and our Mother’s terrified screams. Bang, bang. Mother went silent, and we all knew what that meant.

Mason started to sob, and only cried louder as gunshots erupted throughout our home. When they reached just outside the basement door, I could feel his little body quivering next to mine.

“I want Mommy,” he whimpered. I couldn’t see Mason, but I could hear his cries. I dropped Hope’s hand and pulled Mason into a tight embrace. He struggled for a moment but stopped when he realized it was only me. Hope reached out, pulling us into a group hug. None of us moved as we waited for the attack to be over. We waited and waited, but the worst was yet to come.

Carol shrieked from outside the basement and I would have let out a cry of my own if Hope hadn’t covered my mouth with her hand. They didn’t need another reason to check the basement. Mason whimpered softly as more and more gunshots rang out. One here, one there, one made a dent in the basement door.

Something clattered to the floor outside, making me jump. I watched in horror as a crimson stain spread out beneath the door, trickling into our protective fortress. Then one, two, three, four. The fifth of the locks came undone and the door sprung open. Hope, Mason, and I curled up, each of us waiting for the end as the last dark silhouette stepped into view. The power had come on sometime while we were down here and I sat shell shocked as I looked at the floor slick with blood. Red, red, red…

Father rushed towards us and we pulled him into our huddle, the tang of blood covering both him and his clothes. The attackers were dead and gone… but so were Mother and Carol.

Nothing would ever be the same. It was only days later when the next attack came. We hadn’t even buried Mother and Carol; none of the dead in our town had been buried yet. Gold River, California would never be the same. Not that it could’ve been after the first attack anyway. 

This next attack came like a second gunshot wound. I was at the only open grocery, Mi Rancho, with my family when we heard the bomb detonate. The sound roared in our ears, and Hope was out of the store in a split second.

“Oh my god…” she murmured. “No, no, no!”

A crowd of people had already joined Hope at the entrance when I reached her.

“Kendrall!” My father was yelling from somewhere in the back. “Get back here young lady!” I was too busy watching my sister though. There was a ring on her finger. The promise ring was a mere symbol of the man I knew she loved.

“Hope?” I said softly, placing my hand on her shoulder. The plume of smoke in the distance was clearly visible from this angle.

“That’s Derek’s neighborhood. I just know it,” she whispered. I remember staring into her eyes, filled to the brim with tears.

“You don’t know that,” I told her, leaning into her. She shoved me away though, a tear slipping down her face.

“Yes, I do.”

“It’ll be ok,” I said. “It has to be.” 

Hope had only shaken her head. “Since when did the world care about what should be?” With that, Hope pulled me closer once again and buried her head in my shoulder. Her body shook as she sobbed.

The car ride home was silent. My father didn’t reprimand me or tell Hope to quit her whining like he usually would. I don’t think he knew what to do. Mason just sat there, chewing on his thumbnail and spitting pieces out onto the floor. Unfortunately, that is still his nervous habit. Disgusting.

I don’t remember if we actually bought groceries that day, or if we just went straight to the car and home to our rooms, locking our doors. I think that’s when the drinking started with Father. It became especially bad after Hope left.