Still they come nearer, behind them an empty space, in front of them more ammunition. Your body no longer registers pain, with every nerve screaming you have simply become numb. And now another sensation takes over.
Things are no longer hitting you. Instead you sense a crushing weight on top you. And it is becoming increasingly heavier, just as it is becoming increasingly darker. You are being buried under your possesions. You feel them land and each one is like a tonne weight. The life is being slowly squeezed out of you. It is at this moment you decide you are going to die. This is the end. You close you eyes for what you consider to be the final time.
Then it stops. You pause to be sure then try with all your might to dig your way out.
You succeed. All of your family have survived. The kids are white and shaking. They stare off into the distance. You try to help the others dig their way out. You soon realise that it isn't a rescue mission. Both of the old couples are dead. Their frail bodies couldn't cope and the life was battered out of them. You keep digging, eventually finding the other family. The parents both have massive head wounds. It is very obvious that they are dead. You realise you have tears running down your face to add to the blood and sweat. You don't find the cliché funny. Instead, you find the toddler. He still has his dummy in his mouth. He looks like he's taking a nap in this oddest of locations as his hands are tucked under his head, as if to form a pillow. But he isn't sleeping. He has no pulse.
Something inside of you breaks. You almost hear it, like a piece of elastic that holds your sanity and rationale together has frayed and snapped. In a rage you pick up a suitcase and throw it back. Then another one, then an old steel toe-capped boot, followed by a smashed and crooked picture frame, then finally the old iron mallet. Why him? Why the child? What had he done? He wasn't even two years old, his whole life ahead of him. He was murdered, collateral damage in a cold-blooded and disproportionate act of revenge. You yell and scream and cry and collapse, close to your family who huddle in towards you.
Behind you, the hatch opens.
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