Chapter 2
Chapter 2
The soft glow of the misty morning sunlight peaks through the thin gap of the trunk where I bedded down for the night. The cool night air mixes well with the warmth of the rising sun, leaving a dense fog to blind you to the horrors outside. Its strangely peaceful in a way I've never known before.
In my life before, I was never allowed peaceful mornings. The Dursleys would wake me up before sunrise to make an enormous breakfast for the whales to gobble down. At school, there was Ron's snores or Dean and Seamus's laughter. At the Burrow there was chaos, mostly thanks to the twins, and at the leaky cauldron there were footsteps and voices echoing from down the hall. But here, in this silent car trunk just abandoned on the road with hundred more, I'm finally given a moment to just bask and drift in the peace of the moment.
Some would ask, why the trunk of a car? Why not find a house or a bus or sleep inside on the seat? The answer is as simple as it is complex.
You see, small spaces are a comfort to me. Most people wouldnt understand. After spending ten years with the cupboard as my prison, why would I ever go back to such a small space. The truth is, because its safe. The Dursleys never came into my cupboard. They never tried to take anything out of it or put stuff in. Everything from the cleaning supplies to the spiders was mine and mine alone.
Some of my best memories, perhaps the only ones, are of being locked away in the cupboard with nothing but my imagination and a desire for so much more once I get away. For a small child with nothing, it was the only comfort that I had. Small is safe because I know what is in it. Small is safe because no one will bother me there. Small is safe... because its mine.
Slipping the rope from my left wrist, I quietly untie the trunk. There is no movement visible from the gap but that doesnt mean that there's nothing out there. So with careful, quiet motions, I slip the trunk open and climb out.
The sun is high enough that even with the heavy fog, its easy to see that I'm alone here. My messenger bag is, as always, held tight at my side but now its joined by a grey backpack and a shiny metal baseball bat. The backpack is so that I dont have to constantly shrink and resize my bags. The baseball bat was something I found in one of the first cars, next to several useless toys and five large photo albums. I guess some people never had to go hungry so they never learnt what to pack in an emergency.
The city itself was difficult to navigate. The dead moved in large crowds, similar to herds. After the bombs fell, the herds of dead grew. Leaving the city was a necessity if I want to stay alive. It belongs to the dead now.
The roads here seem endless. I've walked along this road for days, or so it feels, and there is no end in sight. There are no more survivors. Or if there are, they are hiding away from the roads. I suppose it would seem dangerous to some but with so many hiding places and so much supplies left abandoned, I find it the perfect place, at least for now.
It would be nice to have a home, some friends, someone to talk to, but honestly I'm probably safer alone. The world was dangerous before the end and I doubt people as a whole have suddenly changed for the better.
Thats not to say that I havent met people since the world ended. Its been a month now, since the bombs fell just days after people were told to rush to safe zones which it turns out were not very safe at all. I've heard the survivors stories in the early days. I know how easily they were over run.
Its not their fault. The muggle governments did what they could. They just didnt have time to get a plan in place before it was too much. If the Wizarding World hadnt tried so hard to hide it, to obliviate the witnesses and refuse to investigate, then perhaps things would not have ended up this way. If the ministry had listened, they may have been able to stop this before it spread. But such thoughts are of little help now.
Still, I help those I run into. Most were in a rush to get home or get to a loved one. Its not that they dont want me to come along but I can tell that I would only be in the way. Its also not unusual to run into dead ones, either alone or in crowds. So it doesnt surprise me when I spot movement ahead, inside a black car half stuck among the rest of the abandoned vehicles.
I hurry over, careful to watch for dead ones and there are a few clustering on the other side of the car. The one in the front seat is thrashing against the seatbelt holding it, trying desperately to reach something or someone in the back. This isnt the first time I've rushed in to help someone and I doubt it will be the last.
Three rushed 'bombarda' take care of the dead ones outside of the car. The one inside is still distracted, attempting to wiggle its way into the back, so I open the door. It turns, now eager to come at me. A cutting curse releases the seatbelt so it can stagger out of the car.
She was a lovely woman. Her brown hair is braided neatly with only a few fly-away strands. Her brown eyes are fogged white but there is still color in her cheeks. The blood on her shirt and drenching her sleeve is still bright red and shiny.
She's a recent dead, a fast turn. A quiet 'bombarda' shatters her head, leaving so much red muck behind. Her body drops like a marionette with its stings cut. I do wish that I knew a cleaner spell but lets be honest, I'm lucky to know the few that I do know. Hogwarts really was the worst school, I think.
Now, to see who is hiding in the car...