Children's Crusade

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Caroline opened her good eye and winced. It was hard to divorce the pounding in her head from the shockwaves of the explosion that still reverberated around the small room. The walls were painted white but they glowed orange as the fireball billowed up the street outside.

Even with her head swathed in bandages, her hearing muffled, and her vision clouded by the lingering anaesthetic — not to mention the fact that one of her eyes was healing underneath a thick gauze dressing — Caroline knew instantly what was occurring.

Someone was attacking the base.

The night was warm and the window was open. It rattled in its frame and a wave of hot air pushed the curtains towards the ceiling.

She was lying flat on her back with her hands on her belly and was wearing what felt like a cotton nightdress. The crisp white sheets felt luxurious on her bare calves. It had been so long since she'd felt clean sheets.

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