Marjorie was in the barn when the first blast woke her. Boards, nails, and tack clunked to the ground, covering the trap door. She huddled there with her sisters and nephew.
“Who is it?” Little Jolie asked. She held a copy of His manifesto in her shaking hands.
“I can not tell.” To her ears, all of the guns sounded the same, though she knew that the GM had better technology. Bigger guns, she reasoned. More dead.
Boom! They could hear screaming above the debris crashing down. Then voices shouting in a mixture of German and French.
“Why are they bombing us? Aren’t we their allies?” Edie asked.
She stared at her little sisters and wished they had the childhood she was allowed instead of it being taken from them. They had their lives still, but they lived them in constant fear of their own countrymen. What kind of life was that? Was not death better?
“I don’t think He has any allies, only people who are useful,” said Marjorie. She looked at their gaunt faces, and she reached out to little Tavis. No, she must think of the future.
“Get some sleep, we will be down here for some time.”