Now that Kwant has been shot and Gran has collapsed, the soldiers slowly struggle back to their feet. Some wipe their eyes. Although they look upset and embarrassed, I know it will take only one signal to snap them back into attack mode.
The wolf is nowhere to be seen. In its place stands a naked man with short grey hair and a whistle dangling around his neck. His tall, well-trained body is sharply silhouetted against the morning sky, and his bright eyes are locked onto mine with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away.
Strangely, I don’t feel threatened—at least not as much as I should be. There’s something about those eyes. They’re not just fierce and ruthless; they’re also honest and compassionate. It’s not what I’d expect from a wolf. Although... when I think about it, my favorite movie as a kid was The Jungle Book.
I’m so captivated by those eyes that I don’t even notice him blowing his whistle until the soldiers start moving in again. This time, they’re not storming or rushing but advancing cautiously—step by step, in a tight, deliberate formation. I find myself at the center of an ever-shrinking circle. Is this some kind of advanced battle strategy? Something Roman? Did I read about this somewhere? In a comic book?
Shit. Focus, you idiot!
They move so slowly that, if I didn’t know better, I’d think they were afraid. Afraid of what? Of me? Ha. I don’t even know how to defend myself. I can’t bring myself to pick up a stick or a stone because the thought of breaking an arm or cracking a skull makes me sick to my stomach. I’m not a warrior, and I don’t want to be one. I’m just a student whose only ambition was to finish school as uneventfully and anonymously as possible, leave home after graduation, and get on with my life. That was my plan—a brilliant plan that failed spectacularly. I’m done. I will not fight.
I sink to my knees, wrapping my arms tightly around my legs in a feeble attempt to shield myself. The first soldiers are less than a meter away. They could easily touch me—yet they don’t. The tension is unbearable. Then, at last, a whistle cuts through the silence. Finally, something is happening. It will all be over soon.
From four directions, four arms reach out to me. I press my head against my knees and squeeze my eyes shut. This is it.
But then, surprisingly cautiously, I feel the four hands touch me. And then the screaming starts—a polyphonic, blood-chilling scream cuts straight to the bone. A collective gasp escapes the army around me.
My head jerks up and what I see is horrific. Four faces, twisted in agony, stare at their hands—or what remains of them. Their skin is covered in large, red blisters, many already burst open, revealing raw, white flesh underneath. One soldier’s fingers have completely melted away.
But how? I look around, desperate for an explanation. Only then I notice black tiles beneath me, glowing red. They must be blisteringly hot—lava-hot, stone-melting hot. How did I not notice this before?
The soldiers closest to me hop and shift, like cats on a hot tin roof.
I’m horrified. I never wanted this. This is worse than hitting someone with a stick or a rock. I fight the urge to shout excuses. I raise my arms in an apologetic gesture. The response is immediate—a symphony of hard metal clicks as all the soldiers cock their guns simultaneously. Reflexively, I lower myself again , making myself as small as possible. It’s completely useless, of course. These professionals don’t miss. The only thing they’re waiting for is the next whistle.
One second. Two seconds. What is he fucking waiting for? Why postpone the inevitable? Let him blow that whistle. Let it end. Now. But the whistle doesn’t blow. Instead, rain begins to fall from the completely cloudless morning sky—thick, heavy drops that quickly intensify into a downpour. Strangely, I don’t feel a drop myself. Even as the monsoon engulfs everything, a two-meter circle around me remains bone dry. What now then?
The red-hot tiles beneath me hiss venomously with each falling drop, and as the rain swells into a deluge, dense clouds of steam rise, gradually shrouding my surroundings, hiding the soldiers completely from view. The deafening noise of falling water swallows every sound.
Slowly, I rise and look around. She must be here. It’s the only explanation.
“Mama? Mama, is it you?”