The cold air whipped through the trees, brushing up the leaves that had scattered onto the ground. The rustling stirred the boy from his light slumber. His eyes fluttered open gently before coming fully awake, and darting around quickly, hand slapping for the AK47 hanging from his side. It dangled heavily by its shoulder strap, hooked to one of his belt loops. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he found its cold metal barrel, and lifted it into his lap, hugging it close. After a few moments of calm, the wind whispering gently around him, running through his hair, he dropped the gun once again, untying the rope that had fastened him to the thick branch. As a gust of wind picked up, disturbing his balance, he mentally thanked Susanne Collins for writing down this little idea in a book for him to remember.
He yanked his backpack off of a smaller branch higher up, stuffing the rope inside. After zipping up his bag, he attempted to swing his leg over the branch, and lost his balance. His arms and legs swung wildly as he attempted weakly to slow his rapid descent. With a grunt and a soft thud he landed on the ground, stomach first, and suddenly found himself struggling to breathe. As he gasped and spluttered, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning against the trunk of the tree.
Getting closer.
He thought it before he heard it. Then a rumbling began to rise over the forest, reaching his ears, quiet at first and becoming louder. A truck.
His heart leapt into his throat as he realized, terrified, that whoever it was, was indeed getting closer. With rushed movement, he dropped to the ground, clambering behind the tree, hoping the large, overgrown roots, would give him enough protection from sight. It felt like hours, that he laid there, waiting for the truck to come into view. He hadn’t heard another person's voice in over six months, let alone the roar of a truck’s engine, and it tore through the quiet of the forest like thunder. Finally it came into view, dirty, rusted, and terrifyingly large. Four men were perched in its bed, and another was obviously driving.
They would definitely see him from above. His hands shook, and his confidence was suddenly shattered when the truck came to a stop. He closed his eyes, praying to God that they wouldn’t find him. A God that his faith in was a bit shaky. And his prayers went unnoticed.
“HEY!” one of the men yelled, looking right at him. “You! Get up!”
With shaking legs, he did as he had been told, the strap of his backpack clenched tightly in his fist. “What’s your name, kid?”
He froze for a moment, staring at nothing as he delved into his brain, trying to recover a memory long forgotten. His name? He had been alone for so long that a name didn’t seem to matter much anymore. “Well?” They prompted him, one of them leaning on a loaded M16.
He finally pulled it from the recesses of his mind and blurted, “Malik.”
“Malik? What the hell kinda name is that.” Someone questioned, then the click of a gun
made Malik jump.

“We don’t have time for this, whatd’ya got boy?” The driver asked, leaning through the window. He had a thin beard, turning gray and his teeth seemed on the verge of escaping his mouth.

A pause, before Malik responded. “Not much,” his voice sounded weak, and hoarse. Probably from lack of use. ‘Good’ He thought to himself. ‘Keep it blunt.’

“Like what.”

Malik knew their plan. Find out what he had, invite him aboard, and shoot him before dumping his body somewhere along the road. Scavengers. Stealing from others instead of finding things themselves. Killing whoever stood in their way, no matter the age. It made Malik sick to his stomach.

“Nothing you guys would want.” He said, hoping they would leave him alone. Or kill him quickly.

His mind kicked into overdrive at the thought of termination. He’d gotten this far hadn’t he? He couldn’t let these guys kill him so easily. His grip on his backpack tightened, and his heart began to pound in his chest. “Just tell us what you got, kid, or we’ll shoot you. And then check ourselves.” the driver threatened. That sent Malik into a strange emotion he’d never ventured before. Defiance. Usually the fear of death drove him, but this was different.

“Won’t you anyway? I’m not strong, I don’t look like any help. You guys don’t think you need me, so why keep me alive at all?” He glared, hoping that his new found courage would cover the fear in his eyes. “So go ahead. Shoot me.”

Without hesitation, they moved to oblige him, and when their heads had dipped to look for their guns, Malik bolted, swinging his backpack over his back, and his gun into his hands. Bullets tore through the air around him, whistling past him, within inches of his head. A round shattered the bark of the tree next to him, sending splinters showering over him, scraping his exposed skin. He barely had time to react when the roar of a plane shattered the sky, and the forest in front of him exploded, sending him flying backwards. The heat seared his face and hands, and he through his arms in front of him, as he fell to the ground.

It seemed as though the sky split open and had begun dropping bombs and fire down on them. He flinched and covered his body with his arms, trying to protect as much of himself as he could. Planes flew much too low for comfort, firing at one another, loud and rapid. Malik did the only thing he really knew to do. He ran. For his life. For his survival. He ran because he was afraid. When the fire and gun shots were behind him, he thought the worst was behind him.

He had no idea how wrong he was. War was coming.