As the words bounced down the street, a wave of fear plunged over Mitchel, replacing the air in his lungs with sharp-biting seawater. For a moment, his thoughts were drowned out and no words would leave his lips.

French was the most natural language for Mitchel. It reminded him of his childhood, when he came home from school and his mother would ask him how his day was. Then it was English, the language he spoke to his friends and peers in class. Spanish was awkward for him, as his father had never given him proper lessons, even though it was the only language his abuela and tito spoke. He had picked up phrases in other languages too, although he did not consider himself fluent.

As Mitchel’s mind crackled with half composed sentences, he felt Christine tense once more beside him. Mitchel’s stomach settled for a moment. With his family there who stood by his side and trusted his voice, he could not afford to be silent.

“We got medicine. For my family,” Mitchel bit out in brusque Rwequekian.

Rwequekian was the only language that would make his throat tingle when he spoke it. French and English gave him freedom to speak his mind, and although he would sometimes embarrass himself in Spanish, he never found it limiting. Rwequekian made his fingers curl and his tongue go dry and his stomach gurgle because each of the words he chose held so much weight. Each word had a ripple effect that had the potential to keep his family afloat, or pull them into deep water like a riptide.

Mitchel was lost in a four-year-old memory when the green lights crashed down from the night sky and into the earth like fireworks. When he was separated from his mother’s French, his father’s Spanish, his sister’s blend of the two and cast into a reality where creatures from beyond their Earth had invaded.

But he could no longer linger in the depths of his memories with the creature now close enough that a look of shock could be seen across its face. Mitchel inched forward as a protective barrier for his current family behind him and raised his chin high in an attempt to meet the height of what he now knew as a male guard.

In the wash of orange light, the guard was dressed in blue armored clothing that trailed all the way up from his buckled boots to the base of his chin. The dark color contrasted the creature’s pale complexion and almost luminescent blue eyes. Most of its features were human-like in nature, but at this close distance, Mitchel could see blue and pink organs pulse underneath its semi-translucent skin. Though his smooth facial features made the guard look young, he sported a shock of short white hair and eyebrows that furrowed in hesitance. His right hand rested on a black tube that Mitchel recognized as a weapon and held out his left hand as he stopped.

“Let me see it,” the guard said.

Mitchel’s thumping heart froze and felt as if it free fell into his stomach. But the guard’s hand was still on his weapon and Mitchel’s family was too close for comfort.

Reluctantly, he pulled the pill bottle out of his pants’ pocket and showed it from afar. The guard closed the distance and snatched the bottle into his possession, ignoring the noise of protest from Mitchel.

“You know the penalty for breaking curfew, yes?” the guard asked as he examined the bottle’s exterior.

Mitchel nodded once, his fist at his side opening and closing. The list of repercussions was already scrolling through his mind.

Increased units at work.

Limited rations.

Heightened surveillance—

“Then you know it was a bad idea to come out this late?”

“Curfew just hit,” Mitchel snapped back.

The guard looked up from the pill bottle, his eyebrows raised in surprise for a second time. Seeing the abnormal color of the guard’s neon blue eyes satiated Mitchel’s short tempter and he continued softer this time.

“We’re only twenty houses away.”

Mitchel gestured forward into the dark of the street.

The Rwequek straightened himself, his eyes switching from left to right behind Mitchel, before settling.

“I get it. You have family. I’ve got family too,” the Rwequek said and pulled on a blue braided necklace Mitchel had not noticed before. “But you’re smart enough to speak and understand Rwequekian this well.”

Mitchel’s face flushed from being patronized and the realization that he had lost his debt-riddled medicine, but the guard extended his hand, the pills rattling softly.

Watching the guard for any signs of deceit, Mitchel accepted the bottle. Confusion made his stomach squirm.

“Next time, bring you family member to the Human Medical Facility instead of staying out this late,” the guard said in finality.

The Rwequek sighed and finally removed his hand from the black cylinder. As he clipped it back to his belt, he scrubbed his face as if he were exhausted from the interaction.

“Don’t be out any longer. Go home,” he ordered and walked forward, as though Mitchel and his family did not exist.

Mitchel wasted no time shoving the pills into his pocket, grabbing both Gabriella and Christine’s hand, and steering them away from the guard and towards their house. The three were deathly silent for a moment as the guard shrunk in their eyesight. Questions thundered through Mitchel’s brain. He was sure that the guard would have resorted to using his weapon; he knew that his words had been sharp enough to provoke a physical ramification. But the guard did not strike him. Even so, Mitchel would not question it and only spoke after Gabriella squeezed his hand tightly.

“Are you alright?” he whispered to her and checked her eyes for clarity.

She nodded numbly, not bothering to readjust her glasses. She had not let go of his hand.

“You didn’t give him our ID,” Gabriella said with furrowed eyebrows.

She had been listening for it, Mitchel thought.

He knew that not understanding Rwequekian was unsettling for his family members, as the language barrier only estranged and disadvantaged them. They all knew certain key words, orders, and their identification number that was easy to remember only because it was imprinted on their shoulders in dark black ink.

“He didn’t ask,” Mitchel murmured and absentmindedly rubbed his covered shoulder. His mind was still lost in their conversation.

“We’re lucky, then,” Christine said quietly.

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The threesome let out a collective sigh of relief. They were home.

Gabriella was the first to approach the small square house. The roof had been hand constructed so that it had a slight slant to prevent stagnant water, and to the left, a small garden softly rustled in the night breeze. From the lone window facing the street, light seeped out of makeshift blinds and voices bubbled through the cracks.

Since they had fashioned the door themselves, the bottom plank stooped too low and caught the rough dirt ground. Because each of them entered and exited their little home everyday, it was like clockwork when Gabriella propped the door up before pushing it open.

Light and noise shattered the compressive night behind the three as they stepped through the threshold.

“Mitchie’s home!” cried a little girl with blonde hair who bounced around her family members and jumped into Mitchel’s arms, fully trusting him to catch her.

He caught her, though she knocked his breath away, and could not help but laugh. Her snug embrace completely pushed the worries of the outside world out of Mitchel.

“Hey Laura-bear.”

He squeezed her tight and she squealed, evoking an annoyed sigh out of Gabriella.

“We’re home too,” she grumbled and headed to the kitchen table.

Their house was a fantastic array of planned chaos. The entire space was about the size a normal living room in a square shape, but was divided into two visible parts: for eating and for sleeping. And although they had not built the structure itself, they had deeply personalized the space to fit their needs. To the left, the kitchen was composed of a running water system attached to a small drainage pipe, but everything else had been hand built. Cabinets were made from stolen crates, the table had been constructed from lost pieces of wood, there was the “stove” that ventilated out the front window, and chairs circled the table that ranged from overturned buckets to abandoned metal containers. Overhead, a singular light bulb had been threaded through the rickety ceiling over the table, and swung anxiously as Christine slammed the front door shut behind her.

To the right of the door, there was one large hole in the wall that was not meant to be there. For the first time in years, the original structure of the house could be seen behind their layers of self-constructed material. Annie, self proclaimed handywoman, had her flurry of messy brown hair tied up away from her face as she continued to stuff insulation into the opening.

“We were just here an hour ago,” Mitchel asked with a grin. “What happened?”

“Lucas kicked a hole in the wall,” she grunted.

“I-I didn’t mean to!” cried Lucas, who stomped over to Annie’s side. Lucas looked like a miniature version of Mitchel— light brown skin, a tussle of black hair, and dark brown eyes.

Lucas came up to him with his dark brown eyes wide with innocence.

“I swear, Mitch, I was just trying to show Laura some soccer moves—”

“Mhm.”

“And I just, you know…”

“Missed?” Christine interjected and covered her mouth with her hand to hold in a laugh. Like many of her words, these were softly spoken but had a twinge of competitiveness that Mitchel loved.

Gabriella did not hide her laugh as she filed through some food in their cabinet made of stacked crates.

Lucas’s face went bright red and he sent a glare her way.

“Well, maybe…”

“Torpe,” Mitchel grinned. Just as Lucas opened his mouth to defend himself, Mitchel added, “Igual que yo.”

Pouting, Lucas followed Christine into the kitchen where they plopped down onto their self-designated chairs. He mumbled to her, and Mitchel could only guess he was attempting to explain himself to the best soccer player in their home. Christine only nodded in observation.

“You need any help?” Mitchel asked Annie as he readjusted Laura in his arms. The little girl entertained herself by playing with Mitchel’s wild hair.

Annie would not spare him a glance, instead grunting an “I’ve got it” and continuing filling up the hole.

She stopped suddenly and squinted up at him.

“Actually, you could empty the shower.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“You just don’t want to do it,” he countered.

She only shrugged in response, not denying anything.

“Tomorrow,” Mitchel urged.

“Whatever you say.”

Mitchel sighed, knowing he would never win this conversation, and moved onwards to the sleeping area in the back of the house. A short cupboard that ran along the back wall separated and concealed their possessions, the only sign of privacy among the house. On the floor below, a crude bundle of blankets and pillows served as a bed for all seven of them.

“Mitch.”

“Hey Winnie.”

The last and eldest member of their household had been resting in the pile of covers and propped up by a pillow. Winston smiled softly as Mitchel sat down next to him. Awkwardly, Mitchel tried giving him a side hug while juggling Laura in his other hand. Winston’s blonde hair was tightly curled and cut close to his scalp, which tickled Mitchel’s neck as it brushed by. His soft hazel eyes watched Mitchel closely as they parted, and Mitchel had to look away to hide his full grin.

“Winnie taught us a lot today!” Laura piped.

“Did he?” Mitchel said, feigning shock. “Like what?”

“Space. He said your head explodes if you were to go up there.”

Mitchel snorted. Winston, not amused, clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Laura, that’s what I said doesn’t happen,” Winston protested. “Why was that the one thing you chose to remember?”

“I thought it was funny,” Laura replied simply. “Lucas thought it was funny.”

“What about the stars? The big ones that turn into black holes?” Mitchel prompted.

“Those don’t make any sense to me,” Laura said. “But Winnie said you would die in those too.”

Once more, Mitchel snorted while watching Winston’s reaction.

“You both are unnecessarily morbid,” Winston shook his head.

“I’m gonna go play with Lucas and Christine,” Laura announced and clambered to her feet.

“She’s a little spitfire,” Mitchel grinned.

“Just like you.”

“You flatter me.”

Winston elbowed him and raised his eyebrow.

“You remembered my lesson about black holes, did you?” he mused.

Mitchel blushed and folded his arms as if unperturbed.

“I always remember your lessons Winnie.”

Winston huffed. Out of the corner of his eye, Mitchel could see him blush in return. Mitchel grinned at the reaction.

Above the covers, Winston’s left knee was wrapped up with white bandages and elevated with another pillow.

Mitchel’s smile faltered.

“How’s your leg doing?” he asked.

“It’s manageable,” Winston said quickly and rubbed his quad. “I think I can go back to work tomorrow.”

Mitchel immediately scoffed.

“Sure you will,” he muttered and sucked in a breath, holding it in tightly. “I got something for you.”

“What?” Winston said and tensed as Mitchel pulled the pill bottle out of his pocket. “I told you not to make a big deal out of this.”

“You’ve been bedridden for two days,” Mitchel tried not to snap. “Your health is more important than anything, and you know it.”

“I’ll be fine, Mitch.”

Mitchel’s face reddened and his mouth screwed up in an attempt to quiet a flurry of colorful words.

“You won’t even let me or Annie see your leg,” Mitchel protested. “At least take this.”

Winston let out a long sigh and glanced up at their family. Gabriella was faced away from them, cooking something over the fire while Laura crowded her space. Focused on her task, Annie was finishing patching up the damaged wall, while Christine and Lucas were bantering back and forth as they collected plates and utensils.

Before they could see the bottle, Winston took it quickly from Mitchel as if it were some type of contraband and shook out two loose pills. He threw them back, swallowing them dry, and turned around to hide the bottle into his designated cupboard.

Settling back against his pillow, Winston sighed in resignation and he seemed to sink into the little nest of blankets that were tucked around him.

Mitchel softly punched his shoulder as a wordless thank you.

From the kitchen, Gabriella announced, “Dinner’s ready.”

Winston groaned slightly beside him. The prospect of getting out of his protective den was daunting, Mitchel decided.

“Could we have dinner over here?” Mitchel asked.

He made eye contact with Annie, who frowned until she laid eyes on Winston. With her expression simmering, she got off her knees and stretched in a disinterested manner.

“Why not,” she shrugged and cracked her neck.

“What?” Gabriella sounded appalled.

Annie passed her and grabbed herself a plate and a cup full of water. Gabriella frowned as she passed.

“Dinner in bed?” Laura echoed with a smile developing on her face. “Could we? We’re never allowed to!”