Blitz - Chapter 1: Luka Swann

A boy who's never stepped outside his home sets off to save his brother

1

Luka Swann

 

After sunrise—a small house, outskirts of Ember

I never realized how suffocating it felt in my own home.
         I press my fingers on the glass, peering out of the window and into a life I’ll never know. The outside world, right in front of me, just out of reach. Separated by a thin sheet of glass that squeaks beneath my fingertips.
         “I’m telling you, Luka, it’s true!” Quinn’s voice echoes in my head, rattling my thoughts.
         Delicately, I lift my mug to my lips, letting the steam fog the glass. I take a sip to compose myself, focusing my gaze back to the equations listed down. This is nothing more than routine. Quinn, my older brother, and I both work to make Mother proud, even if it breaks us.
         Every night the front door unlocks, I rush up to her and show her all the pages I finished. All the new material I learned. She would give me a pat on the head and lock herself in her room for the rest of the day. Sometimes I wouldn’t see her for days at a time.
         That’s why I vowed to make her proud. To learn enough for her to notice me. Perhaps that’s the only way to keep her in my life.
         Occasionally, I can’t help but wonder what my life would be like without the textbooks and early mornings and throbbing headaches. Would I be free to do whatever I wanted? Or would I be nothing more than a blank slate, with no purpose?
         My eyes flit back to the window. For now, all I can do is daydream with numbers engraved in the back of my head and the warmth of my teacup in my hands.
         “Luka, listen to me,” pleads my brother, Quinn.
         Sunlight filters through the curtains, filling the room with a mellow glow. It doesn’t matter how beautiful it is—it’s still empty without Mother here, even though I’ve gotten accustomed to it.
         I sit by the window, my back facing Quinn. He’s crouched behind me. Once again, rifling through the snack drawer instead of finishing algebra. I would have cracked a smile, but we both know how much trouble he’ll be in with Mother if he doesn’t finish.
         “Don’t do it again. Mother is going to find out at some point or another.”
         He pauses to lick salt off his fingers. “Mm, this is good stuff. But don't you ever get bored of the same thing? Stuck inside all day, every day?”
         “Occasionally,” I admit. “Although it’s worth it to make Mother proud.”
         He places his elbows on the table, leaning in. “Well, whatever. But the thing is, she’s not who she seems like on the outside.”
         “That’s a big claim. Where’s the proof?” I ask, jotting down numbers. Allowing a bit of conversation won’t affect my efficiency.
         He glances up from the drawer and into my eyes, another bag of mixed nuts in his hand. “Charlotte’s not our biological mother.”
         I sigh. This quiet morning was slipping away with my patience.
         “Quinn, don’t call her by her first name,” I hiss, but catch myself before my tone escalates. “And please leave her alone. We’re lucky to still have her after Father left. I know it’s been tough, but she needs some time.”
         My voice wavers at the end, but he persists. “That doesn’t have to do with anything I’m talking about.” He drops his voice to a whisper and pops a cashew into his mouth. “Yesterday, I followed her out of the house. She was talking to a group of people who I’ve never seen in my life.”
         My pupils are saucers. I look up from my textbook. “You snuck out of the house?”
         He shrugs, nudging me with his pointy elbow. “I was curious, okay?” After swallowing, he smiles thinly. “You should come with me next time. Want?” He offers a handful of salted peanuts.
         I shake my head in disapproval, the same way Mother would be proud of. We’ve only been outside a handful of times our whole lives—for vaccines, health checkups, and tests every few months. Quinn, being three years older than me, had no regard for the rules at all. I hate to admit it, but his rebellious phase was rubbing off on me.
         I cave in to my curiosity. “I would never dream of doing that. Sneak out, I mean. But . . . I would like to know what it was like.”
         “Of course you would. Everything started off normal until I heard a noise from outside. It was like a voice. I was so bored, I had to do something.”
         He glares out the frost-rimmed windows as if he could see the moment in his head. “Mother was talking to someone.” He points. “Around that corner right there. She responded with a report about our behaviour. Yours was pretty good, with nothing worth reading.” Quinn swallows. “Not mine, though. Once, I took these pills I found in one of Mother’s cabinets—”
         “But it’s locked.”
         “I unlocked it with this key I made,” he continues dismissively, “but the pills were . . .” His voice trails off, then suddenly his eyes light up. “I took one. And then, nothing. I don’t remember what happened next. Must have . . . passed out or something.”
         Shivering, I realize that Quinn’s mischievous, but he’s not one to lie. There’s a breakthrough to be made.
         My gaze drifts back over to the windowpanes. A single beam of sunlight breaks through the soft, fluffy clouds. It’s beautiful, but the heat stuffs my head with fuzz, making it impossible to think.
         “I believe you,” I whisper, taking a sip of tea. “There must be something we’re missing that can explain all of this. We need to—”
         “—break more rules?” Quinn puts in.
         “—probe deeper.” I finish, nearly choking on the tea.
         Grinning from ear to ear, I realize how much I crave something new in my life. This might be a dead end, but I’ve always had this strange feeling about Mother. Despite the fact that she raised us, she’s always distant, like she’s hiding something.
         It’s a peculiar feeling, but that only fuels me. Perhaps for the first time, I know what I want. After living every single day the same—wake up, homework, sleep—something different won’t hurt.
         I catch myself before I can fantasize further. Wanting something different? To go to school, to have friends, to have a world outside of her and Quinn? If Mother found out about this, she would have grounded me. After grooming me to be the perfect son, she wouldn’t appreciate this.
         “We should start with her desk,” Quinn muses, brushing his fingers over his curly brown hair, like he always did when he was lost in thought. “I’ve always thought about rifling through some of the files in there, but she’s always watching me like a hawk. I’ve never gotten the opportunity, but now that I think about it, we should be able to go through it all before she gets back.”
         I bite the bottom of my lip. Why does he spend his time thinking about the various ways of getting in trouble, instead of math? “But . . . Do you really want to risk it? Mom will be disappointed.”
         “So what, Luka? Some things are worth risking.” His jaw is set. “Do you really want to go through life without doing anything with it? Just standing by and letting it go, day by day?”
         Taken aback by his sharp tone, I lock my gaze on the textbook instead of him. It’s the first time he’s ever raised his voice at me.
         “Fine by me,” he says softly, “I’m going, with or without you. I’ve had my suspicions for months. But right now I don’t have time for an argument.”
         I open my mouth to say something, but he already dashed upstairs. A ring of metal keys hanging out of his pocket, the handle curled around his finger. I have no doubt he stole it from Mother when she wasn’t home.
         I gaze out of the window, with a mouthful of tea, swallowing down the bitter stuff as if it was candy. To me, it was.
         “Come on, tea, please don’t fail me now.” My voice trails off. Now, however much I drink, it still feels like I’m drowning.
         With steam rising and falling from the ceramic cup beside me, I pick up my pencil. With its familiar grip in my hand, my mind clears. Absently, I put a fist to my cheek like I always do when I think.
         I sigh, keeping myself occupied by methodically filling out the next couple of questions in my math notebook—a distraction from the noise upstairs. Fuzzy numbers flash through my mind, linking and swirling and fading away. I connect them together as words with my pencil.
         Still, the same question sits dormant in the back of my head, waiting to be answered. I can’t help but wonder if Quinn’s right about my future. I twitch ever so slightly as I brush off eraser shavings into the trash can.
         I scold myself—letting my mind wander endlessly will fail to solve anything. I have to take a second to pause and think. To analyze, to make my next move.
         What do I see in my future? Surely when I turn eighteen, Mother will let me out into the real world. It only makes sense. But the more I think about it, the tighter the knot twists. Would Mother ever let me free?
         Quinn, sixteen, is still completely isolated from the real world. I never stopped to think about how I’ll end up like him, maybe for the rest of my life. If that was my future, was I risking anything by fighting for myself?
         I take another sip. A concoction of ambition brews in the pit of my stomach, lit like a flame. How can I live life like this, when every new day that goes by is the same as the last? Years and years stacked on top of each other, but none of them hold any meaning. No, this is my future, and I’m fighting for it.
         “Quinn, I’m coming!” I call from below. No answer.
         Worry pricks my chest, quickening my pace. “Quinn! Quinn!” I’m screaming now, but only my own voice echoes back.
         When I get to Mother’s bedroom, I wrestle with the urge to knock for permission before entering. I barge right in. “Quinn?” My throat is dry.
         “Luka,” he calls, a pang of pain piercing his voice.
         In the heat of the moment, I drop my teacup, which shatters on the ground. Frozen for a moment before fully processing everything, I rush over to him. One of the shards cuts my toe, but I don’t slow down until I reach him.
         He’s half-unconscious, his head lulling against the back of an old chair. “Luka . . .” he rasps. When I look into his eyes, expecting panic, there’s nothing but fleshy white of his eyes staring back. I shudder.
          “Quinn! Talk to me!” I’m practically breathless. “Please,” I add softly.
         “I opened the drawer,” he whispers, “and I found maps and files all leading to one place. That’s where it all ends.”
         Gingerly, I support his head with my hands. “I don’t care about that!” The words come gushing out. “What happened to you?”
         “Poison,” he hisses. “It’s . . . familiar. Like everything’s flooding back at once . . .”
         My mind is pacing, I can hear the blood pulsing in my ears, and the drumming of my heart. Everything’s happening all at once—powered by raw adrenaline, I drag him out of the room and bandage him up.
         When I conclude that he’s safe, I place my hands in his. I don’t know why I did that. Physical affection has never been a part of my family. But it brings me a sliver of hope, feeling his racing but otherwise unwavering pulse.
         “Luka, you don’t understand the urgency of this,” he says, voice cracking, “I opened the drawer. The files were probably contaminated somehow to prevent tampering. I don’t think I have any permanent damage, but I don’t feel right.”
         That’s when he flips his hand to reveal a gnarly gash on his hand. It’s not bleeding, but the skin is charcoal black as if burned, but not by fire. I cringe back, but keep going.
         My mind is reeling. Thoughts flicker like broken lightbulbs and I grab onto them before they can fizzle out. I need to understand what’s happening before making any rash decisions. It’s a poison unlike any type I’ve ever seen in real life, but I recall from an old chemistry book that it’s not deadly. However, its side effects were unknown. And at room temperature, it’s a gas.
         I rinse the wound under cold water, dab some rubbing alcohol, and hope for the best. After I drag him out of the room, I crack open every window. It doesn’t seem to be getting worse. Slowly, after what seems like an eternity, I let go of a shaky breath.
         After the adrenaline rush simmers down, I start to piece together some of Quinn’s sentences.
         “Why would the files be poisoned?” I ask.
         This was Mother’s workspace, and there was nothing but old files and construction paper.
         He narrows his eyes. “There is something to hide,” he says, as if he had read my mind, “these files all point towards one place in Ivory. Here, check this out.”
         The distress in his voice is dissolving into exhaustion. He hands me a map of Ivory, a neighbouring region, with one place circled in red marker. As I sift through the documents scattered on the ground, I realize how many copies of the map there were. Piles of them, all the same location and marker, different hand writing. The pages were yellowed with age, corners curling up like tree bark. Paper crinkling between my fingers, I comb through a stack of newer papers to read over.
         “Why . . .” My voice trails off. Each map has the same location circled.
         Then it clicks.
         Quinn begins to laugh, breaking the silence, and I flinch. “Luka . . . how could I have been so stupid?” His voice begins to slur, eyes welled with tears. “That lady who raised us . . . she’s not our mother. She’s been monitoring our every move for years. Our real mother . . . died years ago, hundreds of kilometers away.”
         The first reaction is shock. Valid, but not useful.
         “What do you mean?” I place a gentle hand on his shoulder. The poison must have been stronger than I thought, messing with his head.
         Hot tears stream down his cheeks. He doesn’t pause to wipe them, just continues talking. “Take this letter, this map, and this document. It’ll all make sense later. You need to run.”
         “Quinn—”
         “—Trust me,” he continues. There’s an urgency in his voice I’ve never heard before.
         He shoves the three papers into my hand.
         “Mother’s coming,” he continues, “coming to brainwash us again. The poison’s only here to buy her time, but I bet the side effect is that it reverts my memories from the last time temporarily. But if she comes again, we won’t be able to escape this time.”
         My blood turns to ice. Last time? Brainwash?
         “Everything’s become so clear now,” he rasps. “It’s not our first time figuring it out. Mother left this morning to find a way to destroy these documents without erasing the data. If we miss this chance, we’ll never find the truth.”
         “Trust me, Luka. It’ll all make sense. Run before it’s too late. Ivory’s only a train ride away if you take the second line.”
         That one I know by heart—Quinn and I take it every other month to go to the doctor. If I run away now, I can catch the last train today. I chuckle, but it’s not a humorous thought.
         “Luka,” he whispers, trembling now, “that’s not even our real mother.”
         I would like to tell him to calm down, to ignore his mindless pleas to run. But somewhere, I know he’s right. It’s as if the truth has snapped into place, and the only thing left in the puzzle is me.
         I glance at the maps of Ivory, a bordering nation, scattered across the desk. There’s one location circled in all of them in red marker. Captions and labels I don’t recognize are tossed around my head.
         Instead of arguing further, I give him a brisk nod. The tart smell of the poison fills my lungs, and the world blurs for a few seconds.
         All of a sudden, the grief hits. A wave that rushes from my fingertips to the rest of my body. He’s in no condition to run away with me. And he knows it.
         “I can’t leave you behind!” I’m frantic, close to shouting. I grab his shoulders, shaking him, willing him awake. “I can’t survive without you! You’re all I’ve ever had!”
         He chuckles dryly. “You don’t have a choice if you want to survive the night.”
         Instead of a wild look in his eyes, there’s nothing but emptiness. Darkness, like he’d already given up on himself.
         The front door opens. It’s quiet, but the sound pricks my ear.
         “No, it’s too late!” I crane my neck to look out the window. The front of the house is surrounded by people I don’t recognize, cloaked in black. And standing in the middle of it all—Mother, leading them forward. My hand rests on the doorknob, hesitating. If I run, Mother will likely intercept me before I can leave the house.
         And, I realize bitterly, that’s not even my real mother standing there.
         Nothing makes sense like it used to. A dozen minutes ago was another standard cycle of my life. Sleep and work, around and around. I pause, halfheartedly waiting for an error message or quality control to replace this moment.
         My whole world is falling apart, piece by piece, in a flurry of homework, fear, and a packet of salted nuts. The path to the future that I’ve built for years, crumbling to the ground. I want to cry, to scream, to simply understand why. I didn’t want to leave Quinn—to leave the only home I’d ever known. I stepped outside a couple of times a year—how could I survive in that foreign world, alone?
         “No, Luka, it’s never too late,” Quinn says under his breath. “And I love you.”
         His crackling voice returns me to reality, followed by footsteps up the stairs. The hazy sky outside my window, Quinn’s brownies—all the little things that make up my life—I’ll never experience them again.
         Even with Quinn’s eyes half closed now, I can’t bring myself together to let go of him. Like if I softened my grip, he’d slip away forever. Would I ever be able to call a place home again? The panic swirling in my stomach is replaced by doubt. This isn’t a home, it’s the prison I’ve grown up in my whole life.
         I grimace. “Why did you—”
         Quinn’s hands lift me up, and I didn’t know what’s happening at the time, but it felt like I was floating. I couldn’t see through the piercing sunlight. The last thing I see before falling is Quinn collapsing back onto the ground, eyes closed. That’s when I realize that Quinn had thrown me out of the window.
         And then I felt nothing but falling. The wind whipping my hair, the papers balled up in my hand, the thud as I hit the grass. One of them blows away in the wind. When I reach up to grab it, my arm pulls back. It’s as if there’s a fire blazing underneath my skin. I wince. All I can taste is the dirt caked on my lips.
         Part of my vision is still engulfed in darkness, tingling and staticky at corners. And I feel absolutely nothing but numbness, a sort of feeling that consumes me from inside out.
         I squint to see into the window, but Quinn’s gone. No screams, no blood. Nothing at all. But he’s gone, and I couldn’t do anything to save him.
         I stagger back up and stare through into the glass once more. Through the searing pain, I can barely think, much less run. But one thought is burned into the back of my mind.
         I’ll find you, no matter what it takes.


Note: thanks for taking the time to read this chapter. pls leave me a comment!! I'd really appreciate it :)