Chapter 2.2 || Just Another Day

He drove the tram all the way back through the opposite track, seeing all the old stops he had just passed earlier. For the first few stations looping back around there were absolutely no passengers. A flicker of boredom flashed on his features as he slumped over his chair with a heavy sigh. His fingers reached out for the radio and turned the dial clockwise, switching it on. 

“—These reports of strange lights over the Frankish border wall seem rather worrying, as stated by Frankish reporter Chloe Lumiere. The partition wall separating Francoise from Italiemagne—” 

Mark switched the radio channel without a second thought, tuning into a music station. As the music played, he hummed along to the tune, bobbing his head as the lyrics played into the chorus. 

“Every morning, every evening, ain't we got fun?” he sang along. The bustling streets he passed, the tall buildings and walkers moving parallel on the tram’s windows at a slow casual speed. “Not much money. Oh, but honey, ain't we got fun? The rent's unpaid dear, we haven't a bus.”

He pulled on the rope, honking the tram’s horn as he approached the next stop. “But smiles were made, dear. For people like us.”

He repeated the same old routine over and over again, the tram making several trips and loops as the minutes ticked by. People stepped on and stepped off, sometimes filling the tram, while other times leaving it completely empty for several stations at a time. The minutes turned into hours as the sweat dripped from his brow. A small packed sandwich from his bag, a few more songs on the radio, humming familiar tunes, listening in on conversation, and tapping the side of his seat, anything to stave off the growing boredom and weariness in his brow. 

It had been nearly twelve hours. His shift was ending soon, and the night shift driver would take his place. He was way back at the very start, about to begin his final journey back to Duskwalk Station where the next driver would take over for him. 

He began to drive the tram once again, but as it began to pick up speed, he started seeing people running ahead. Walkers and cars zipped past him, as people began to scream and panic. He looked back behind him, after seeing the commotion around him and the mass of people running in his direction as he glanced at the front mirror. He quickly pulled on the brakes, stopping the tram in the middle of the road. He stepped outside, looking up at the sky, as most people did, glancing back behind them.

At first he thought he was dreaming. That the boredom from earlier had finally hit a new low and his mind was playing tricks on him, or maybe eggs he ate last night really had gone bad already. But the longer he looked and stared at the approaching doom, the more it became apparent that no, he wasn’t dreaming at all. 

The massive shapes flying in the sky, and the heavy sight of smoke rising from buildings rocked by explosions in the distance.

He fell backwards, unable to believe what was happening. The symbols the giant flying ships wore were recognizable to anyone. They were the Crescent Moon. The strigoi. The ones within the walls. 

Mark shook his head, his heart thrumming against his ribcage as he crawled backward with his head still turned upwards at the attackers. 

He quickly turned around and took off into a sprint, nearly dragging his legs to lift them from the pavement. He grit his teeth, pumping his feet as fast as his body could let him. 

There was burning in his lungs. An ache in his chest. Water stung in his eyes making it hard for him to see through the wave of smoke suddenly engulfing everyone. He squinted, only to see people being trampled on by others all around him, some crushed by debris, and others crying out for help with outstretched arms— their bloodied legs flattened.

Mark shook his head, closing his eyes. He ran past them, trying not to listen to their pleas. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Just keep running Mark. Don’t stop running.

A woman suddenly yanked him by the arm, screaming something at him. He couldn’t make out what it was through the shroud of his own panic. She had desperation in her eyes, crying out to him for help, but he stared back at her with fear. 

He yanked his arm free and turned away to keep running. “I-I’m sorry!”

The blood rushed to his head. The sound of his own heartbeat was loud and deafening in his ears. He took a second to glance down on the uneven ground he was stepping on. Bodies. Both the dead and desperate to live. He ran over them in his panic.

“Please! Please help! Anyone!" the screams echoed all around him. 

I can’t! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! 

He kept running, turning a corner to one of the alleys and another across the street. He knew the roads. He knew how to run away, the ways through that would let him get ahead of the path of destruction wrought by the skyships. He kept looking over his shoulder as if the ships would catch up to him if he didn’t check.

Just as he swiveled his head back in front, he slammed against something hard, knocking him on his ass. His eyes drew upward to look at what he had bumped into. A large burly man stared back at him, eyes peering into his soul. He was massive, something more akin to a bear than a man, standing at a staggering seven feet or so.

“Get up, mate. Now’s not the time to be sitting on yer arse,” the man reached out a hand. Mark nodded and took the man’s hand, helping him up his feet. The man looked him up and down before giving a quick huff. “Yer lucky ye got out of their bombing path. But I’m certain that’s not all they have planned.”

“W-wait what?” Mark glanced behind him, shuddering at the thought that there might be more to this sudden attack. “W-what do you mean, s-sir?!”

“I mean, this isn’t any simple bombing, mate,” the man replied. “It’s the first part of an invasion. Bet they’d throw down some ground units soon. Come with me. We need to leave the city as soon as we can. I’m heading down to Forlornson street. I have to find someone there.”

“W-wait! We don’t even have any protection! What if the strigoi do come down from the ships! T-they’d tear into us!” Mark said. 

The man sighed and scanned around the area. He grabbed a nearby pipe attached to a brick wall and yanked it out with one tug, handing it to him. “There,” he said. “This should be enough to bash their heads in if yer lucky. Now come on. We better pick up other people on the way too. Strength in numbers.”

“But the Crescent—!”

The man grabbed him firmly by the shoulder and gave him a stern look. “Oy, are you a bloody proper man or not?! Snap out of it, people are dying around you! Take the damn pipe!”

Mark nodded, taking the rusty pipe in his hands. “O-okay! Okay. W-what’s your name, sir?”

“August,” the man replied. “You?”

“I’m Mark… I-I’m just a driver, sir.”

“Well, Mark, now you become a soldier. This is war.”

Mark swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “R-right. O-okay. So, w-what d-do we do?”

August looked him in the eye. He turned to look at the open road on the other end of the alleyway. “We survive, Mark. We find a way to make it through tonight, and if we do, we bite the leeches back.”