The sound of a wailing siren startled Jewel into wakefulness. She had dozed off while sitting against the peeling plaster wall and felt stiffness in the back of her neck from sleeping awkwardly. Her two-year old son, Jared, was curled up in foetal position, still asleep on a tattered mattress – a make-shift bed they had formed to get them through the night.
Jewel scrambled on all fours to the nearest window and peeked out from behind the ratty curtains. The town square was in garboil as people ran helter-skelter for cover. She scanned the faces for recognisable features but found none. Fear gripped her as she saw dark shapes looming in the horizon. How could they have found them so quickly?
She scurried back to Jared and threw the remainder of their unpacked belongings into her backpack before picking up a still oblivious Jared. As she turned towards the door, it banged opened and several armed men wearing dark hoods entered the room.
The word of the day: Garboil – turmoil, confusion.