Week 4 A story in an hour or les

All four of them crouched low and looked toward the village, Layla kept her head turned sideways to hear in both directions.

“The men are all in the hills. There were only women with babies and old people in the village. There’s Eveline. She’s expecting. Why did they do that?”

“Quiet! Lemme listen.”

“Jesus, they were closing the doors with people inside.” Jack had turned away from the glow.

“Shhh. Be still.”

“Stop crying like a baby,”

Ashe was squeezing his fists into his eyes.

“He is a baby, Jack. Shuddup.”

She stopped and picked up the toddler, putting a protective hand around his head. It was slower like this, but Ashe could not keep up. Jack had black hair that curled at the neck like their father, but his eyes were a cold grey, instead of the same sad dark brown their parents both had. He was still shorter than Layla, all nerve and muscle. He bent over, hands on knees catching his breath, against a tree. They stood for a moment. He was everything Layla detested; unapologetic, calculating and self-serving. Layla saw the book snug and hiding under his belt. He would wrestle the devil, argued with the wisdom of the prophets and would wait patiently if he could get what he wanted. The book was safer with him for now and Layla needed to herd along Ashe and Lillian. Lillian’s soft brown curls hung in her eyes, her smooth cheeks were pink with effort, lips always slightly parted as if she were about to speak, but she had never expelled a word, not even to cry, since she was born.

The boy in the green uniform was young. He had wispy black hair like her father. He was as tall as Layla, shoulders drooping. He held the bayonet loosely, his eyebrows arched in question. Holding the baby, Layla looked down at Lillian to prepare her. Jack was not there. She heard leaves crunch softly just once when she looked up at the boy and knew Jack would be concealed behind one of the spindly oak trees. Why did she even worry about him? Her father’s best friend was a resistance fighter and when he was gone in the foothills to meet with the other fighters Layla’s father was always gone too. Her father never talked about where he had been, what he did nor had he taught Layla anything. The boy’s profile was directly in front of her, looking off into the trees. Layla could tell she was in his peripheral vision. He stopped casually, gave a sharp, decisive wave to the side with his head. Layla knew it was a pass.

“Go,” Layla mouthed mutely to Lillian.

Instinctively she slunk away in silence. Maybe her father had taught her something with his silence and shadowy presence. Ashe clung to her neck. Lillian’s small feet pattered rapid and silent next to Layla, Jack would catch up.

The boy in green turned toward a companion who was invisible to Layla, “No one here.”