Having a human shout English at him did not sit well with Mizar, as his smug smirk hardened into a one of disgust.

“Move!” he yelled, one of the few well known Rwequekian phrases to most humans. Immediately, as if he could not stand the sight of her, he looked back at Mitchel.

“You are quite done here,” he spat.

Mitchel tried and failed to ignore another push to his back from the baton.

Though Mizar had leaned into her space to yell, Annie did not shrink back. If anything, the spark in her eyes had caught. Mitchel’s mouth fell slightly open in realization. He knew exactly what she was going to do. Even as she pulled her arm back, he tried to convince himself that this was not happening and began to cry out her name.

“Annie—!”

His words only emphasized the impact of her fist on Mizar’s arm. It flew out, effectively causing him to stumble away. Three things happened all at once. The guard behind Mitchel flicked his baton to life. Electricity jumped through the air, making Mitchel’s hair stand on end. Mizar’s mouth was open wide, looking at his arm and cradling it with an incredulous look which told Mitchel he was in more disbelief than pain. And Annie, with no hesitation and a flourish of her hair, backed away from Mizar, and grabbed Mitchel shoulder. With a mighty push, she sent him forward before the baton behind him could reach his skin.

Dazed, Mitchel allowed himself to be moved out of the way, his grip slipping on the ration pack.

“You can’t do this. Give us the right amount!” she ordered in useless English. No words could quite capture the story she was telling through her movements.

“Shut up and move along!” yelled the guard. He was still situated in his chair as if he had dealt with similar situations countless times before. However, the icy color of his eyes could not hide the alien’s transition from annoyance to anger.

Mizar dropped from the platform, his hand going to his weapon and lashed out. Mitchel’s breath got trapped in his throat. The weapon, not charged, hit Annie’s shoulder and caused her to slump forward. Her arm flew out in pain. However, Annie was quick to turn on her heels and thrust her elbow into the guard’s stomach— her eyes deadly focused. The hard and precise hit made Mizar grunt in surprise, his blue eyes blazing.

Loathing, the man pushed a button and the weapon crackled to life with electricity. The Rwequek manning the computer screen finally shot from his seat, cursing.

“Calm down you damn brute!” he yelled at Mizar. And then at Mitchel, “Get out of line! Now. Or you will be punished.”

“Annie!” Mitchel yelled, his eyes wide and reflecting the glaze of white light.

In one rapid decision, he grabbed her forearm, yanking her out of the way, and watching the weapon sizzle through the air where she used to be. It could have been the spiking hysteria, but Mitchel swore he smelt something burning.

“We’ll leave!” he spluttered, his chest heaving from the close call. “We’ll take our rations and leave. No more trouble.”

Mizar spat, translucent saliva hitting the floor by Mitchel’s feet. Strings of white hair littered his vision that had fallen out of place and caged those blue eyes. The sparks of electricity still jumped from his weapon and reflected in his iris with the urge to pounce.

Mitchel did not wait for Mizar to respond and tugged Annie away. Her eyes were wide and wild, itching to throw the last punch. To Mitchel’s left, the humans still in line jumped away from them while the two stormed forwards, as if the Rwequek’s fury would be transfer to them.

Picking up their pace, they were silent. Annie’s arm that had been hit hung loose by her side, but she was silent throughout their run home. As soon as they exited the square and the line of kids disappeared behind rows of slanted houses, Mitchel stopped to breathe and let go of her.

That seemed to trigger her emotions to come up in full force.

“Fuck them!” she swore and gripped her sore arm tightly, “Are you ok? That fucking bastard grabbed your hair.”

“You’ve got to calm down,” Mitchel interjected, his voice taunt with stress and lasting anxiety. His eyes darted around from house to house as if they were somehow going to rat them out to the Rwequeks. “We can’t give them another reason to come follow us!”

“I’m not apologizing for their attitudes,” she spat.

“I’m not asking you to, I’m asking you to use your head—!”

“You talked to them and that didn’t work,” she interrupted, her voice attempting to remain level. “When words didn’t work, you allowed yourself to be thrown around.”

Shame flushed Mitchel’s face, tinted with annoyance.

“That’s not—”

Annie held his gaze firmly, green on dark brown, that demanded his attention.

“I won’t let my family be pushed around like that. Someone needs to step up for you too,” she said. Her sonorous voice cut through the silence of the evening dusk. By the look in her eye, she was daring him to disagree.

As Mitchel did not know how to handle the admission, he forced it down with his unruly anger and shook his head.

“Do you really think this is what we need?” Mitchel shot back. “Violence is just an invitation for Rwequeks to hurt our family. They know who I am, Annie, if they went to our family, I—”

“Our family is strong. They will be fine,” Annie argued.

“They are kids,” he bit back. “They can’t handle all this. You are far too blunt with them. The other day, you were about to bring up death in front of them—”

“They have fucking survived an invasion. Ripped from their homes. By aliens,” Annie spat. “Don’t baby them.”

Mitchel screwed his mouth shut, his eyes wide with aggravation.

“If you want to endanger our family, I won’t have any part in it. We both were hurt in just a few days without Winston. How in the hell are we supposed to take care of these kids if we keep doing this?”

Mitchel gestured to where Annie was holding her injured arm as if that explained the situation in its entirety.

Annie’s eyes were blazing almost as brightly as the guards they had faced. Her frown continued to deepen, pressing her lips into a tight line, as she fell farther into thought. Finally, she turned and walked in the opposite direction of their house, her hand still grasping her arm firmly.

Mitchel felt his hands shake around the ration bundle. The frustration that had built up during the ration line was quickly rising to the surface, desperately wanting an outlet.

“Fine! Walk away!” he called after her, spite filling his voice.

He stood there, huffing in the empty street, and watched her disappear around the bend of houses. His built-up frustration slowly trickled out, leaving him feeling cold and weak. The evening chill found ways to enter his sweater and he shivered.

Winston, what the fuck are we doing? He thought to himself.

The last few days had been okay. Tolerable. Not quite unreasonable.

Mitchel deflated even more and gripped the ration box tighter.

The kids had been antsy and wanting answers that Mitchel could not give them. Tonight, he would have to go home and tell them again that no Winston was not coming home tonight, and yes the Rwequeks had promised to make him better, and no Mitchel would not take over Winston’s teaching role because he was shit at explaining. He was a man of conversation, not of learning.

More accurately, he was a seventeen-year-old. A teenager whose scalp still prickled from Mizar’s rough grip and his sore arms strained from working overtime in a desperate attempt to pay off their debts.

Not someone to look up to, to ask for guidance, to solve the world’s problems.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, he thought, frowning. What would Winston do?

Mitchel forced himself to even out his breathing and continue forward. He needed to get home, despite its lack of appeal. All the children were still trying to understand their emotions with the loss of Winston in the house. It was natural for them to be so needy and temperamental.

How can I tell them that on top of everything, we don’t have enough food for the next week?

Mitchel bit his lip. His stomach seemed to read his thoughts as it sent out a low rumble.

I don’t need to eat every meal, he reasoned. Maybe I should just keep this between Annie and I.

That was another issue.

Winnie was always there for her. He knew how to break down her social walls and talk to her. I can’t replace him.

How long are we going to tip-toe around each other?

Until he comes back?

As their house came into view, his shoulders sagged at job he had to undergo. When these awful things happened, he had always been the support— Winston’s right-hand man to make sure the kids were safe and happy. Winston was the one who had actually tackled the issue and found a solution.

Now that there was no filter between the two roles, their weight felt absolutely crushing.

Then do what you always do and cheer the kids up, he decided, Stop moping and deal with it.

Taking in a deep breath in front of their home, he shoved the door up and in, and was consumed by the light of the room. Familiar voices already projected at him in rapid succession.

“Mitchie!” Laura cried.

“Is Winston back yet? Have you seen him?” Gabriella asked, her high-pitched voice cutting through the air.

“Ça va ?” Christine breathed. Her chocolate eyes looked him up and down as she took in his frazzled form. Her hands anxiously played with her patchwork dress. “Rien de cassé?”

Inwardly, Mitchel's chest tightened at the ambush of worried voices, and lack of. Lucas was uncharacteristically quiet, stationed in the kitchen and watching a pot of water boil. Dressed in an assortment of a faded orange sweatshirt and jeans, Lucas stayed where he was with his eyebrows pinched tight and his body slumped.

As he closed the door behind him, Mitchel allowed the warmth of the small house to overcome his chilled bones and settle his water-logged thoughts. Laura grabbed hold of his middle in a tight hug and buried her face into his sweatshirt. Her golden hair was pulled back into a single ponytail and exposed her pale neck that was peppered in dust, no doubt from a soccer match. Mitchel thought the kids must have been playing in the yard, as supply days were their only days off of work.

Gabriella stood by the kitchen table as tense as a wire with her arms flat at her sides. The last few days, Gabriella had been the most demanding of the bunch and asked Mitchel impossible questions he could not answer. She had wanted to hear everything that had happened between Mitchel and the guards on the way to the HMF. She wanted to know Winton’s condition, past and present.

Now, her hands were in tight fists as she waited for Mitchel to answer her question.

Breathe buddy. Be strong.

Listening to himself, he put on the best smile he could manage.

“Everything’s alright, don’t you worry. Annie and I just got some food from the ration line. She’s out doing a few errands,” he lied reassuringly. “Did you guys eat already?”

Gabriella immediately scoffed, drawing everyone’s attention. The light of the fire danced in the reflection of her rounded glasses.

“The younger kids seemed to have finished off the rest of the food for lunch,” Gabriella remarked, glaring at Lucas and Laura. “So no. Dinner was conveniently overlooked.”

Mitchel’s eyebrow tweaked in mild hysteria.

Perfect! He thought, suddenly very aware of how light the ration bundle was, Just what I needed to hear!

Mitchel entered the kitchen and placed the crate down, trying to concentrate on the items instead of the buzzing of the tightly pressed household.

Lucas shot Gabriella a glare while Laura protested by stomping her foot into the wooden floorboards.

“That’s not fair!” Laura cried, little tears rising in her eyes. “No one was home all day!”

Finally, Lucas tore his eyes off the pot of water and spoke.

“Yeah, where were you, Gabbi?” Lucas jabbed. “You have been out this whole time!”

Gabriella puffed up like an angry bird, her pale face flushing pink underneath her glasses as she was cast into the limelight.

“Guys…” Christine tried to pipe up, but her soft voice not strong enough against the other two.

“That’s— That’s none of your business!” Gabriella spluttered, her shoulders hitching. “Ayo had been hurt in the mines— I was just checking up on him!”

Lucas tipped back his head and groaned.

“Your boyfriend?” he cried in disbelief. “I was with Ayo after he was hurt, and he was fine after just a few hours! Winnie has been in the medical facility for days now and you’re worried about your boyfriend?”

Gabriella’s face scrunched up so tightly her glasses slipped off her thin nose.

“You—!”

“The— The water!” Christine interrupted.

  Mitchel followed her pointing finger towards the stove. The heat and tension that had bubbled up through their home had distracted them all from the fire. It seemed Lucas had kept his eyes off the pot for a second too long as it boiled over and scorched his skin.

“Ouch!” he hissed, retracting his hand and cradling it.

Not knowing the best way to step in, Mitchel reacted upon his instinct and moved towards the mess they had made. He bent so that the stove was eye level and blew out the small flame, watching as the boiling water took a few more seconds to die down and rest halfway full in the pot.

He stood staring at the water. Behind him, he knew the kids’ eyes were trained on his back.

The water problem was fixed. But what now?

Annie would yell at them for hurting each other.

Winston would assure them that no one was in the wrong, and they just needed to talk it out.

But you were always in the middle for those fights, he thought, You almost never took a side.

Mitchel bit his lip and rose to his full height.

You can’t do that anymore. 

“Since there’s already a pot of water here, let’s make some of my famous tea and relax on the floor,” he announced and turned to face his family with a strict smile.

Gabriella scrunched her eyebrows, the redness of her face dying down.

“But—” she began.

“Laura?” he interrupted, “Will you grab us some cups?”

“Okay!”

The task seemed to give the little girl a nice distraction from the tenseness of the house. She grabbed the upside-down cups that had been left out to dry next to the sink and hustled them to Mitchel.

Mitchel looked behind him at Gabriella and Lucas, who were still sending incriminating glares at each other.

“Christine, could you get Lucas a bowl of cold water?” he directed. “For his burnt finger?”

Wordlessly, Christine nodded and entered the kitchen.

Lucas’s cheeks flushed red to match Gabriella.

“It doesn’t hurt that much…” he mumbled and let go of his hand. Despite his reluctance, he followed Christine as she walked to the back of the room with the full bowl. She smiled at him as if to say, “sure it doesn’t”, to which he huffed at.

“Gabriella—” Mitchel said, “—I would appreciate it if you helped me pour these.”

Her eyes snapped to his and twinkled with annoyance of how the argument ended.

“I only ask you because we all know Lucas would find another way to get burnt,” Mitchel added.