Church of Refuge
Finally, Lev and Sister Yolanda entered the church. It was a majestic edifice that surprisingly remained undamaged despite the rest of the skyline in tatters. It was clear that this was a significant installation—perhaps not as large as a football field, but larger than one would expect for temporary housing for all the children who lived there.
Upon entering, instant relief washed over him. The air was warm and fresh with a hint of lavender, a welcome change in the face of so much chaos outside. This was safe. Sister Yolanda let go of his hand.
"Go get some sleep,"—her voice still half authoritarian, half motherly—" and I'll read you more Mama stories tomorrow."
Lev did not respond emotionally but indeed acknowledged her. "Good night, Sister."
Then, he explored the other children's sleeping quarters. He stood in the doorway and scanned the long, expansive room with bunk beds lining the sides. There were bunk beds on both the left and right sides, at the front and back of the room. He wandered down the right side and stopped at the fifth bunk. He crawled into the lower bunk—his sleeping arrangements—and was lucky to have a bunk beside the window. He lay back on the thin mattress and looked up immediately.
Above him was the magical starry night, sparkling in the darkness, with a crescent moon peeking out at the top. The beams of its silver light filtered through the panes and cast a motherly glow upon the small bed.
Then came an almost imperceptible whisper, but nothing out of sorts. A second later, Lev felt a small body climb into his bed, burrowing under the thin covers and inching toward him, squeezing him into a firm embrace. Still gazing upward, Lev looked down.
"Rio? Why weren't you asleep?" he said, surprised to see a girl beside him. She looked about his age, with black hair cascading past her waist to her thighs and blunt bangs cut straight across her forehead. She was pale; what made her different were her red eyes and red irises, the odd white pupils now looking up at him.
"I..." her little arms tightened around Lev as her face fell into his chest. "I th-thought y-you l-left m-me," she sobbed, the second half of her sentence cut short by a tearful breath.
Lev's palm traveled slowly, gently, and soothingly up and down her back while he focused on the window. The starlight glinted off his calm face. "Rio, I told you, I'll never leave you. Not one of you. I just went out to see if I could find anything useful."
"Y-you always are helping," she sounded forlorn and still shaky. "B-but d-don't leave." She held onto his shirt as if he were the only person in the world who could save her.
"I won't, don't worry," Lev whispered, hugging her. "Go to sleep." He sang her to sleep with Lullaby—a toddler's version.
-
The following day, the church buzzed with activity. All the sister nuns were awake and going about their morning routines. Lev was not the oldest of the Church's children, but as an active member of society, he approached life as if he had destinations to fulfill and obligations to meet, hardly four years old. Lev was the child version of a hired hand. He operated by expectation, but he also maintained his expected workload with a sense of duty that no child of that age should possess.
Sister Yolanda was scrubbing the enormous wooden tables in the great hall - her eye patch still on her face, seemingly without concern for the blackness. It appeared that she was cleaning from breakfast, with the sun shining through the stained glass windows, casting colorful images on the still dirty floors - the only color that would be visible after so much trauma had abounded outside.
It was fortunate that the Church had some structure and stability. Sister Yolanda and those who had learned to live and adjust thus far had managed to make it through. After finishing his chores, Lev sat on the table with the glasses in his hands, fidgeted with them, and fixed his eyes on them as he caressed the rim.
"She loved the glasses," Sister Yolanda said as she sat beside him, her eyes on the glasses, sadness in her eyes. Lev asked, curious as to why his mother had left them. If she loved the glasses, they were beautiful."She wanted to leave it for you. "She wanted to leave them for you," Sister Yolanda said as she touched the glasses.
He reveled in the thought, sitting in silence and allowing her words to create a picture of his mother; he had never seen her, of course—a casualty of the bombing, like Sister Yolanda, who was also a victim, and no one was left to take pictures—but he could picture her: a beautiful woman with wild, wavy blonde hair and green eyes like his, although more vibrant back in the day. She was overjoyed, thrilled about the next great adventure on the horizon. She was an adventurer—a risk-taker.
Lev inquired, "What about my father?" This conversation had never been had. Sister Yolanda made a momentary frown; a breath escaped her lips. From the recess of her habit, she produced a worn piece of paper that Lev assumed to be a photograph and pushed it across the table to him.
He stretched out his little fingers and slowly pulled the paper to him. He looked at the photo, and then his eyes widened. He gripped the photo so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and tears went down his face. It was a picture of a man, his father, with three boys. The man smiled as he wrapped his arms around the children. Two children were slightly older than Lev, and one was sleeping in his arms. The kid on the left was relaxed; however, the kid on the right had a loving yet silly face, pulling on the man's disheveled black hair.
"That's your father," Sister Yolanda said gently. She gestured to the man in the photo and the children. "You're the baby in the picture in his arms. The other two are your brothers—Lev and Toji." She paused to let everything soak in before exhaling what seemed like a sigh. "Well," she stepped back and took time to gather herself. In Lev's photo, Lev's father had grey eyes and disheveled black hair. He wore white bandages on both hands, black shaggy pants, a brown coat, and a black T-shirt. He looked down at the two children with love behind his smile.
"I haven't heard from him," Lev said. The soothing sound of Sister Yolanda came through. "I call every day, and it just goes to voicemail, but I know, Lev, I do, that he's out there looking for you," she said. She caressed the unruly tufts of his brown hair. "Even though I didn't quite approve of him with the girls," she laughed, "he's the only one who could handle all of them and not break a sweat."
-
Later that day, Lev snuck out after his session with Sister Yolanda, and Rio, following closely but more like a shadow attached to him, was in tow. He didn't mind her company; if anything, it was as if he welcomed it. "Where we going?" she questioned, her red eyes—crimson against her snow-white complexion—lingering on his profile as they walked side by side, their hands brushing here and there; not accidental brushes, rather, purposeful efforts to connect. She didn't request to accompany him out of curiosity—she had to have access. "Remember yesterday when I left before the...you know?" Lev spoke in a calm demeanor, his green eyes straight ahead. "Well, I discovered something and it was super cool. I just couldn't determine what it was because it was down in this deep hole in one of the buildings." As they walked, smoke still stung their nostrils and burned their lungs, each step crunched glass underneath them. The buildings remained deconstructed in the distance like horrific lean-tos, creaking in the wind, sounding like agonizing moans or whispers of when they might completely break down. Without saying a word, Rio reached for Lev's hand and intertwined her fingers within his; her touch was gentle and soft. Lev did not respond but continued staring at a building in the distance. It looked like someone sheared off half of it—there was a void—but the other half dilapidated to the side with such defiance that it appeared impossible that it would fall. But Lev thought if it did fall like the other one had a void, it must have been beneath where Lev had saw it—a place filled with scraps—because down there...he saw something—something barely visible yet luminescent—definitely a weapon—and while he didn't know what type of weapon it was, he knew for sure that it was alabaster against the soot. It definitely caught his eye. "Over there," Lev noted, green eyes transfixed on the small alabaster outline resting within the debris. Rio squinted as her head cocked to the side; she barely noticed. It looked like a weapon for sure—any weapon—but from deep within the shadows, it was difficult to tell. Either she was about to say something or he was because at that moment, the sputtering of engines erupted from somewhere within the rubble. Not one engine—but many—and fast! Without question, Lev tightened his grip on her hand and led her toward the half-fallen structure they've been admiring. He entered quickly without hesitation and ran upstairs as he pulled her down behind a crumbled wall just before they were to expose themselves.
Twelve. Two beat-up, dented cars emerged from the pit, scratchy covered windows made of metal plating and bars, rear windows. Two more cars behind them—motorcycles, dirt bikes, all violently jerry-rigged with God knows what—and on them rode men and women of all shapes and sizes, armed with intricate, jerry-rigged weapons—rusted pipes, handguns that hadn't fired in centuries, chains and yes, even brass knuckles. Their clothing was tattered, almost the same uniform as the people who were just here covered in blood; their modes of transportation just as bad but decorated in trinkets the world had to offer. One gigantic man stepped out of the car. He was a giant. The tallest member yet at nearly six-foot-eleven, an enormous tower of a black man with tightly wound textured hair. His white tank top was ripped at seams not appropriate for such unregulated muscle while tattoos consumed every possible blank space on his canvas. His pants. Oh God. His pants were orange—an orange jumpsuit uniform reminiscent of jail time.
He opened the door reached back down, and pulled out another person. This was a girl—about nine years old—four years older than Lev. Her eyes were blank, almost doll-like in nature. Yet Lev's attention turned to her hair—a red wine color so deep it almost appeared painted on. No lie, Lev had hair the same color as eyes—the same color as her dead gaze. It was creepy.
"Come on!" the man growled with impatience as he pulled the girl nearly over the edge of the hole, using her hair a wine color- to drag her closer to him. "Use that power you have and bring that sword to me!" This was some kind of threat, as he smacked the girl on the back of the head to inspire her to comply. However, instead of anger or frustration in her eyes—thanks to the smack—she merely flinched, as usual, and her eyes remained blank and unsuspecting.
But when the girl brought her arm over the edge of the hole, where the weapon was buried in darkness—Lev barely paid attention to her, for he was already with Rio up top on the second-story loft. Instead, he focused on the whispered, white outline etched in the edge of the hole where the weapon lay—and he feared for this was real. But powers? Did they exist?
"Hurry up, girl! Or your sister won't eat today!" jeered. He didn't care. The crowd erupted in a symphony of raucous laughter and bitter cries. "Yeah, hurry up, freak!" one of the men on the motorcycle shouted, revving the bike to get attention. "Looks like this one's a little sleepy," a woman with a face full of scars and a metal pipe strapped across her back screamed. "Or we should We should give her another wake-up call, boss?" Another man stepped closer to the girl, grinning wide and sinister. "ld have some fun with them both if she doesn't hurry up," someone whispered with an eerie tone that sent chills down Rio's spine as she squeezed Lev even tighter.