• 𝓜𝓪𝓮 •

I remembered the sirens. I'd been sleeping at the time, curled up under sheets that scratched uncomfortably at my skin on a sofa that had housed one too many foster children. The smell of smoke clung to the dark brown cloth - and not the smell of cigarettes. More like it had somehow survived a house fire.

I sprung up, my eyes bleary as I looked around. The sirens weren't normal tornado sirens, and we were in the middle of winter anyway. It was high pitched and ear splitting, causing a shot of pain to course through my brain the longer the noise went on.

Two other foster kids came into the living room - ones that had been at the foster house longer than me. They actually had rooms and beds to sleep on. Something about waiting until the older foster kids were moved out. I didn't want to stay long enough to be allowed a room. That meant I'd been there too long.

"What is that," Noah, the oldest kid asked. He was three years older than me, making him sixteen. He was the only one I really liked, since his friend ended up getting moved out a month prior so he could stay at yet another foster home.

His bright green eyes squinted into the darkness outside, but he could only see what the outdoor lights allowed us to see. Snow. Darkness.

It wasn't a normal sound. It was like screaming. But not just one or two people. Many. A horde of people screaming at the top of their lungs.

Our foster mom ran into the room, her eyes wide and frantic. "Kids! Kids, you need to-"

You know how some people's minds black out their trauma, so they didn't have to relive it over and over again? Too keep the innocent, innocent? I don't think I have that quality.

I remembered the sound of her head exploding, even over the sound of the sirens. It was like a balloon full of rocks popping, and the rocks falling to the floor was the sound of her skull and brain matter hitting the walls and carpet.

I remembered the horror on her face before it happened. The look of complete and absolute terror I'd never seen in my life, before suddenly it wasn't there anymore. Gone like she never had a head to begin with.

I remembered being coated in blood. It was warm and sticky, and clung to me like glue.

I remembered our screams. I remember Noah grabbing me and hauling me out of the room, even though I could feel his arms trembling around me.

I slumped to the yellowing kitchen tiles and stared at them like they would give me the answers. What just happened? Why did she...?

Noah shook me, his eyes wide, his blonde hair in disarray. He was barely speckled with blood. His hands wiped at my face, my arms. His hands were suddenly so red.

My eyes moved to the other boy, who was curled in on himself, throwing up all over the kitchen, his body heaving. He was covered in blood too. Just...

I looked down at myself and immediately had to hold back bile from rising in my throat at the sight. I'd been the closest to her, so I got most of the blood and chunks of organs splattered across my body.

"Mae," Noah's voice was frantic, even though I could tell he was trying not to be. As the oldest, he felt this need to protect and take care of me and the other boy. Even through something as traumatic as watching our foster mom's head explode for no real reason.

I covered my ears, the sound of those sirens, mixed with the sound of the other foster boy vomiting, mixed with my heaving breaths was too much. There was too much noise. Too much going on and not enough explanation.

Suddenly, the sirens stopped. Just like they had come, they disappeared, leaving only the ringing in my ears from the sheer magnitude of it all.

I lowered my hands, staring up helplessly at Noah.

He had the other boy next to him, rubbing his back and shushing him. Telling him it'll be okay. No, he didn't know what happened. No, he didn't know what the noise was. Yes, we'd call the police. Everything would be okay.

"Children."

All three of us went perfectly still. No one was in the house, yet it seemed like the voice was all around us.

"Everyone over the age of seventeen has been eliminated. Children seventeen and younger, you are expected to step outside and await your guardian. I repeat, children seventeen and younger, you are expected to step outside and await your guardian."

I turned wide eyes to Noah, like he would have the answers. When he only stared blankly out the kitchen window, I knew the one who usually had the answers to everything didn't have an answer to this. Who would, besides the disembodied voice that echoed around us?

Everyone considered an adult was killed. At least, that's what the voice said. I wondered for a moment whether all of the adults were killed in the same way our foster mom had been, then stopped myself before I could voice that thought.

"Luca," Noah whispered.

Luca's eighteenth birthday had been around that time. I thought for a moment, then shook my head.

"Luca's birthday is Saturday." I placed my hand on Noah's arm, and he jumped like he forgot that I was there. He stared at me for a moment, those green eyes that were usually so bright, dulled by the realization that millions, if not billions, of lives had just been cut off.

He opened his mouth to reply, but a banging on the door had all three of us cringing.

"Out." The male's voice was calm. Smooth. Like he didn't have a care in the world. "You have fifteen seconds before we come in to retrieve you."

The other foster boy stood and ran in the opposite direction, screaming no over and over again, his eyes wide and terrified. Noah and I, however, sat on the kitchen floor, staring in the direction of the voice like maybe we'd been mistaken. Maybe we hadn't heard someone. Maybe it was our imaginations. Maybe all of this was a dream.

The front door burst off its hinges, flying across the room and slamming hard into the wall. The door splintered and fell to the floor with a clatter of broken wood and debris. Three men stood outside the door, white cloaks covering their faces from the nose up.

Noah grabbed me and pulled me to him, ever the protector.

Another man walked into the kitchen, holding the limp body of the other foster boy. The man deposited him onto the floor unceremoniously and turned to the other three who entered the house.

"You killed him?"

I stared at the boy, his eyes wide and vacant, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yes," the other man said. "Sheep shouldn't bleat."

One of the men plucked me from Noah like I was nothing more than a mere sack of potatoes.

"Mae!" Noah went to reach for me, but another man kicked him back down.

"Hush," he said. "Unless you'd like to die as well."

The man who held me lifted me until I was eye-level with him, and he lowered his hood to look at me. His color of his eyes were like obsidian - so black that they were like voids. I couldn't tell, even as close as I was, where the pupil stopped and the iris started. His skin was smooth and pale over harsh features.

"Your blood?" The man eyed the blood on me.

I shook my head slowly, unsure of whether he even wanted a response.

"Grab the boy," the man holding me said, throwing me over his shoulder. "Let's go."

"No!" Noah fought against the hold of another cloaked man. "Fuck off!"

"Noah," I whimpered. "Please..."

His eyes raised and met mine, and I looked to the other foster boy before looking back at him. I couldn't watch him die. Not him. I could watch the world burn and so, so many people die. But not him.

He immediately calmed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The man holding him hauled him to the front door, where ice cold air wafted into the house. Goosebumps immediately prickled on my bare arms, and I realized numbly that I wasn't dressed for the weather. Then again, I hadn't realized we'd be kidnapped.

My eyes strayed to our foster mom's body.

"What the fuck are you guys," Noah asked.

I raised my eyes and looked at the two following behind the man holding me. While none of them answered, one of the men grinned, flashing fangs I'd only ever read about in stories.

Vampires.