Chapter 6
632 Words
Chapter Six: Echoes in the Trees
The forest wasn’t exactly quiet.
Even in the dead of night, the trees creaked and groaned like they remembered something terrible. Insects buzzed. A distant owl called out once, then fell silent again.
But it was quiet enough.
Flora sat beneath a low tree with a thick trunk, her back pressed against the rough bark. Her hair was tangled with leaves, her knees scraped, and her socks damp from the marshy ground. Around her, the children lay curled against one another like a pile of puppies—shivering, exhausted, too drained to cry anymore.
She counted heads again. She’d been doing that every few minutes, like her brain couldn’t stop checking.
Ten kids.
All still here.
She let out a breath, trying to steady her thoughts. But her mind refused to rest. Every broken twig or crunch of leaves made her tense. Her ears were tuned to every sound. She felt raw—wired like electricity.
"Flora?"
It was Kemi again. Her voice was soft and careful. She stepped around one of the sleeping kids and knelt beside her.
"You haven’t said anything in a while," Kemi said. She held out a biscuit in her dirt-streaked hand. "It’s dry, but it’s something."
Flora took it, breaking off a small piece.
"I’m trying to think," she said.
"About what?"
"Where we are. How far we’ve gone. If Bruno’s men are still looking."
Kemi sat beside her and pulled her hoodie tighter around herself. “You think they’ll come?”
Flora looked up through the trees. The sky was barely visible—just slivers of navy blue between leaves. Somewhere beyond it, satellites orbited, eyes always watching. Somewhere farther, in a high-rise room lit with screens and buzzing with orders, someone knew she was alive now.
“I hope someone else gets to us first,” she murmured. “Before they do.”
Kemi nodded. She didn’t ask who they were. She already knew.
Flora let her eyes close for a moment. Not to sleep—she didn’t trust that—but just to rest her brain. In the darkness behind her lids, memories flickered.
Her father’s face—sharp jaw, serious eyes, always looking past her instead of at her. The last time she saw him, he had barely touched her shoulder and told her to “be ready for anything.”
She was seven.
What did that even mean? Be ready for what?
She knew now.
And part of her hated him for it.
She opened her eyes again.
“You think they’ll all be okay?” Kemi asked.
“I don’t know,” Flora replied. “But I’ll make sure they stay alive. That’s something.”
Kemi was quiet for a long time before speaking again.
“You’re different,” she said finally. “Not just because you’re smart or brave or whatever. You… you don’t act like a kid.”
Flora looked at her, surprised.
“I am a kid,” she said, almost defensively.
“Maybe. But not like us. The way you move, how you talk. It’s like you’ve seen things already.”
Flora turned back to the trees. “I have.”
There wasn’t much more to say after that.
Kemi curled up beside her. One by one, the others drifted off into uneasy sleep. Some snored softly. Others whimpered in their dreams.
Flora stayed awake.
She wasn’t ready to dream.
When the wind picked up again, she pulled her jacket tighter and watched the trees sway. Every time they moved, she thought about escape routes. About traps. About ambushes.
But in a quieter part of her mind—the one buried beneath the plans and training—she thought about something else. She thought about home. Whatever that means now.
- Writer
