It took him longer to get back than it should have. Zan navigated through the dark tunnels and dimly lit pathways as fast as he could, stumbling at times and having to second guess a few jumps.

Entering his neighbourhood, he climbed down the bronze statue and looked out over the dull rooftops in the eerie gloom. Everything was so quiet. Only his movements and heavy breaths told him he could still hear.

A few indistinct people walked through the streets, but Zan ignored his neighbours. As he ran up to his house he called out for his da.

Zan burst through the door and called out again. The quiet, whispering house was his only response. Maybe his da had gone out looking for him. Zan had expected to find him helping the neighbours, handing out flashlights and generally trying to calm everyone. That's the kind of guy his da was.

"Da! You here?" he called out, reaching the kitchen. Nothing. "Da!" he cried, his voice cracking.

He took the stairs two at a time, pushing his da's bedroom door open. Nothing looked out of place, from what he could see in the cold darkness. Everything was still so, so quiet. Zan checked his own room, just to see. He paused when he looked in. A low wind whistled from the hole in his window, the curtains billowing and knocking lazily against the wall. Shattered glass glinted by the window, on his bed, over his drawers, everywhere. Zan swallowed, his throat seizing up.

He rushed back down and went through the hall to the living room at the back.

Reaching the doorway, he skidded through broken wood on the floor and froze. His heart pounded in his chest as he inched closer to the threshold. Through the dim light he first saw the overturned sofa, littered with papers, broken machine parts, and shattered glass. He stepped in and saw the debris was everywhere, like a wind tunnel had opened up in the room. A heavy chill ran through him. He wanted to call out for his da again but had no voice left.

The large window on the opposite wall was shattered. The back garden, and the town beyond, was dark and threatening. He thought he heard some muffled, concerned voices outside, maybe some he recognised, but his focus was on the room.

Then he saw him. Behind an overturned table, a pair of legs stuck out.

Zan rushed to him, crunching on glass and knocking away broken furniture. His da lay there, blood splattered over his shirt. Zan dropped beside him, frozen, shivering, not knowing what to do. Herrik's shirt was partially opened, showing a fleshy hole in his stomach, oozing blood. Two more bloodstains covered him, holes torn into his shirt. His face was turned away, eyes closed.

Da.... Da.... The words never left Zan. He was too afraid to touch him, to shake him, not believing what was happening. He raised a shivering hand, barely knowing what he was doing, and touched his da's shoulder. He was still warm. He still felt like his da.

Spurned on from the contact, Zan burst to life, grabbing his da with both hands and shaking him. "DA!" he finally cried out, adrenaline giving him strength. "DA!"

With a frustrated grunt he lifted his da up, bringing him under a knee and turning his face towards him. He looked peaceful, like he was sleeping. Zan's fingers ran over heavy stubble, tracing the lines of his weathered face. He was sleeping. But, he was gone.

He was gone.

Tears burst from Zan's clenched eyes, his face twisting with uncontrollable grief. He dropped his head, resting against his da's neck. He breathed in his warm, musky, sweaty scent. He wanted to breathe him all in. Sobbing quietly, Zan lay there.

Crunching glass brought him back to the world.

Zan paused, his head still lowered, and listened out. Movement came from beyond the room. Shifting debris, heavy footsteps slowly moving through the hallway.

He brought his head up, trying to quieten his panting and having to hold his breath. More footsteps; more than one person. Floorboards creaked like a warning as they approached. Zan gently, carefully, lowered his da. He looked around for a place to hide, but didn't want to leave his da's side. He crouched further behind the overturned table and watched the doorway.

A tall, large figure appeared from the hallway. Its powerful frame was hidden in darkness, but two red orbs blazed where its eyes should have been. It stepped into the room, bringing up a chunky rifle. A hazy line of red light emitted from the rifle, cutting through the air and roaming over the room. Zan inched lower, his heart pounding in his ears.

The giant figure stepped further in, followed by a second figure with the same red eyes. This one lowered its rifle and brought out something Zan couldn't see.

Mechanisms whirred and clicked dully, and blinding light filled the room like a powerful force. Everything became white and bright. Zan jerked away, holding a hand over his face. He blinked back the spots in his vision, narrowing his pained eyes, and saw the two rifles trained on him. The figures were men in black armour, helmets covering their faces. Where the red orbs had been, thick goggles were now glowing a low blue.

Zan froze, a hand still up. The first man took a step closer, raising the rifle to his shoulder. Dull spikes studded his large shoulder pads, and a dark red band was around his left upper arm – both things the second man did not have.

"State you name," a gravelly, mechanical voice said through speakers.

Zan used his hand to obscure his eyes as he looked around the room, keeping his head still.

The mechanical voice repeated itself more firmly.

A few feet away, Zan saw the control pad for the house. One of its functions allowed the fire extinguishers on the ceilings to turn on. Luckily for him his da had disconnected their house from the Grid, and everything was battery-operated.

The two large men stepped closer, their armour rattling.

Zan gulped and dove to the side as deafening gunfire ripped through the air, furniture exploding around him. As he rolled he scooped up the pad, his fingers flicking through the functions and jabbing buttons without looking. He slid behind a cabinet in a shower of splintered wood and dust, plumes of fire just missing him.

The control pad beeped and heavy foam burst from the ceiling pipes, spreading out over the men. They staggered back and fought to keep their bearing, but it was enough for Zan. He spared one last look at his da's lifeless body, a moment of hesitation and grief passing over him, and then he sprung up. Within a few steps he was at the window, and he dove out amidst a hail of thunderous bullets. He dropped down and rolled to his feet, running through the back garden and hopping over the fence.

Rushing boot steps followed him nearby. He turned to see a third armoured man chasing him, moving like a shadow against the bright light still coming from his house. The rifle remained by his side, unable to get a clear shot as long as Zan hurdled over fences and switched directions through the back gardens and alleyways.

Zan reached out and swung off a pole, throwing himself against a wall and then pushing off to reach up to a roof. As he landed, the light from his living room turned off. He blinked back the darkness for a second until his eyes adjusted to the dim gloom. Heavy footsteps still followed him somewhere. Who were these guys? They managed to get around almost as well as Zan.

He hugged himself as he looked over the rooftops of his neighbourhood, the adrenaline sending shivers through him. Da...

Gunfire zipped through the air by his head. Zan jerked away, almost falling off the building. He scrambled low and broke into a run. His usual exit by the bronze statue was too far away, but there were many ways in and out of his neighbourhood.

He sprinted on and jumped through the window of a narrow pipe. Bursts of gunfire bounced off the outside of the pipe, jarring Zan and echoing chaotically. Adrenaline and anger spurred him on. Death and destruction had come to his hometown, but all Zan could do was run. But then running was what he did best. Growing up in the Pipelands, running and jumping for as long as he could remember, no one knew the area as well as him. One of his neighbours used to joke that Zan was born flying out of his mother.

When he came to a hole in the pipe roof he jumped up and flipped out, running along the top. A series of short bars hung from the platform above him and Zan flew out, swinging across the bars hand over hand. He ignored the thousands of feet of empty air below him and swung up to the higher platform. A collection of heavy tubes were strung together over his head. He reached to the side and pulled a lever, uncoupling the tubes and sending them crashing to the ground, tumbling and clanking down a declining slope. Several of them fell off to the lower levels, some flipped out into other pipes, while others bounced and rolled down the way he came.

He turned and continued running, entering a long narrow pipe. Soon after he heard thudding boots echoing behind him. Zan cursed, seeing another black armoured man running into the pipe. These guys were relentless.

Zan sprinted on but was trapped directly in the line of the rifle. Ahead, the pipe split left and right, with a window at the end. He headed straight for the window. Bullets burst around him as he dove out the window, flying through the air. His heart stopped as he fell several feet, helpless in the wide open air. Ropes ran across the wide gap, directly in his path. Zan reached out and caught one, jerking to a sudden stop, and used the momentum to swing himself back to a lower level.

He caught his breath but kept going on weakened legs, fighting back the urge to vomit. His da's bloodied body flashed through his mind, chilling him. Some people watched him from a balcony, but he ignored them. He ignored it all and just ran, jumping and swinging from one section to the next. Tears streamed behind him. He ran to take it all back, as if he could run far enough to bring his da back. The world faded away, but he ran on. 

(1799 words)