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There was gunfire outside.
Senna rolled out of bed. Gunfire, here, on the farm. Senna looked around the room - the smallest in the farmhouse, but her own, by virtue of being the oldest child. She was glad of it, that night; she woke tense and glowing, her body thrumming with energy. Trying to keep her biotics hidden from the colony officials was one thing, and easy enough. Trying to not scare her siblings with them was something else entirely. But Senna could hear gunfire, and she woke ready to defend herself before she realized how far-off the sounds were. She slipped on her boots and crept across the hall. The door to her brothers’ room opened silently. Her youngest brother, Watson, was still sound asleep in his bed. He was six, and waking him for anything less than a full breakfast was damn near impossible. Her other brother, Laurence, was a year younger than her. He was sitting straight up in the bed, his brown eyes black in the shadows. She took his baseball bat and pressed it into his hands. “Get Watson up,” she whispered. “Watch him.”
“Senna?”
If it had been any other time, the fifteen-year-old would have been mortified that his voice cracked. Now, Laurence just took the bat from her with trembling hands. Senna was sixteen, and the oldest, and their mother always joked that Senna was half a mother herself. Senna reached out and swept Laurence’s bangs from his clammy forehead. He was sweaty. Scared. Senna held his bangs back to press a kiss to his skin, like she would have any other night. Usually he pulled away and protested something about his masculinity; tonight, he closed his eyes briefly and leaned into her hand. Senna couldn’t fail them. “I’m going to go get Ianthe and Calla. Watch Watson ‘til we get back.” Laurence nodded. His dark skin looked pale, though if it were fright or just the moonlight leeching away color, she didn’t know.
Senna stepped back so that Laurence could get out of the bed. His whispers to Watson followed her out in the hall. The door to her sisters’ room was next, and she slipped into the room. Both Ianthe and Calla were on Calla’s bed. Calla was seven, and she was shivering violently in response to the sounds outside. Gunfire, closer and closer, and now yelling in garbled alien tongue. Senna wasn’t sure what language it was. It sounded guttural enough to be batarian. Senna looked at her shivering sister, and at Ianthe holding her. Ianthe was twelve, and such a serious child - mother often teased that the only child more serious than Senna was Ianthe, and Ianthe idolised the family’s eldest. “Senna,” Ianthe whispered. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Senna moved forward and took Calla from her sister, holding the little girl in her arms easily. “A raid, probably.” Calla started to cry, but she cried silently. The whole house felt as silent as death. “Come with me to the boys’ room, and then I’m going to get Mother and Father.”
“Right.” Ianthe got out of bed and pulled her own shoes on, then grabbed Calla’s. Good thinking. If they had to go outside, they’d need shoes.
Their mother was in the hall when they came out. “Girls.” Susan Shepard stepped forward and quickly embraced them. “You room was empty, Senna. I feared the worst…”
“You said if there was an emergency to gather everyone up and get somewhere safe.” Senna shifted Calla in her arms, a little, and the night air was cold against her tear-soaked sleepshirt.
Their mother nodded. “That I did. Your brothers are awake?” At Senna’s nod, she sighed in relief. She was holding something oddly-shaped and metallic that glinted in the moonlight. Senna couldn’t tell what it was, too occupied trying to calm Calla and listen to her mother. “Alright, then, to their room. I need to tell you all something important.”
When they moved into the room Senna set Calla down. The little girl ignored her boots and ran straight to Laurence. Watson was still sitting in his bed, though his booted feet dangled off the edge. “Mama, what's going on?” Watson didn’t seem to realize that something was wrong. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and blinked up at their mother. “Who’s yelling? What’s that noise?”
Their mother hushed him softly. “All of you, listen to me. Something’s happening. Your father and I want you to get to safety.” It was a mark of just how serious the situation was that not even Calla argued. “Whoever’s here will expect you to hide in the cellar or the barn. You’re going to have to run for the woods.”
“Mama?”
Susan ignored him. “You need to stick together. Stay with Senna. If you get separated from her, stay with Laurence. Do you hear me?” The younger kids nodded silently. “Senna. You’re the oldest. Protect your brothers and sisters. And Senna,” she dropped her voice, “don’t let them see you use your biotics. If they see it, they won’t stop trying to grab you.” She pressed the strange object into Senna’s hands and the cool, unfamiliar metal sent a shiver down her spine. It was a pistol.
Laurence managed to ask “Where are you going?”
“Your father’s already gone out to delay whoever it is invading.” At the word invading, the kids’ eyes widened. Senna swallowed. “He’s got another gun for me out there. We’ll stop them if we can, slow them down if we can’t.”
Ianthe sniffled. “Mother…”
Senna could see the liquid shine on her mother’s cheeks. Susan Shepard was crying. She stood tall and true, her back straight and her shoulders set. But she was crying. Senna hoped the others hadn’t seen it. “You heard her,” Senna said, before anyone else could say anything. “Calla, get your boots on. Laurence, grab the backpack I know you keep snacks stashed in. Mother,” here she paused, unsure. What could she say? Goodbye seemed too… final. “We’ll meet you at the swimming hole at sunrise.”
They weren’t going to meet her there. Senna knew it. Her gut told her so, and her mother’s tear-stricken face agreed. But her mother still gave her a proud smile. “Good plan. With God’s grace, we’ll see you then.” Their mother kissed each of them in turn, ending with Senna. “My brave girl,” she murmured.
She turned, and left the room.
Senna counted to fifteen in her head before she turned to speak. “Right. You heard her.” Her eyes flitted over her siblings. Laurence had the pack on his back, the bat still gripped firmly in hand. Ianthe had taken Watson’s backpack and stuffed some blankets and extra socks into it, and the youngest each had one of her hands. “Laurence, you take the lead. You know the woods better than me.” Senna knew the woods well enough, but Laurence was a better woodsman. And whoever they were running from would have to go through her to get to her siblings. “Ianthe, Calla, Watson, you stay in the middle. Keep your eyes on Laurence. If you get separated, go to the swimming hole. Don’t backtrack, and don’t cry out.” They would get through this. Senna had to get them through this.
She was afraid. Terrified. But something in her mother’s words had melted that fear, poured it like steel down her spine. She gripped the pistol and gestured with her free hand to the door. They would make it.
They ran.
The stretch from the house to the woods felt like a whole galaxy. The light from both moons made Senna feel exposed; though it helped them seem where they were putting their feet, it also illuminated them to anyone who might think to look. Off toward the east, she could see the Harding family farm. It was ablaze. In the echoing emptiness of fields and fields and fields, the shouting and gunfire was amplified so that it sounded like it surrounded them. Maybe it did. Shepard hoped that it didn’t. They just had to make it to the woods, and everything would be okay.
A shout, closer than the echoes. A cracking retort from a gun. That was all it took for the situation to go from bad to downright nightmare. A lone invader chanced upon them; fours eyes gleamed in the night, and Senna recognized the figure as batarian. She’d only seen them in textbooks. Now, she was a bit more up close and personal. The raider snarled something and fired off a shot before Senna could react. She heard a thin, high cry of pain and without thinking she flung her arm out. She’d never attempted any truly offensive biotic moves, though she’d read about warp; untrained as she was, all it did was make the batarian mad. He turned on her with rage. She raised the pistol and fired. Castor Shepard, her father, had taught her how to shoot - a little. This wasn’t cans on the fence posts, with the sun shining down and her father’s warm laughter. This was cold, and dark, and even though she was terrified Senna was angry. She didn’t make a clean shot at the batarian’s head, but it was close enough. He dropped like a stone. Senna made sure he was really and truly down before she turned, and her stomach did a violent flip.
Watson was collapsed against Ianthe, clutching at his stomach and crying weakly. “Senna!” Laurence’s voice cracked again. “Senna, he’s hurt!”
Senna stepped forward and took Watson from Ianthe’s arms, heart clenching at the shriek of pain. “Shhh,” Senna murmured. She didn’t even know if Watson could hear her over his own sobs. “Shh, Watson, easy.” Blood poured from between his fingers and the color was draining from his face. Medical supplies. They didn’t have medical supplies. “Laurence,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Check the batarian’s body. See if he had any medi-gel or bandages.”
“S- Senna…”
“Do it,” she ordered. She didn’t wait to see if he listened, turning her attention back to her baby brother. Watson’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He couldn’t make a sound, but his eyes were wide and terrified when he tried to focus on her. Laurence moved back to her side, empty-handed and shaking, and Watson’s fate was sealed. He wasn’t going to make it. Senna was watching her baby brother die in her arms, and there was nothing she could do about it. Feeling so terribly, utterly helpless, she held his gaze and started to sing. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…”
Her voice, low and soothing, seemed to be all that Watson needed. His face smoothed a bit from pained grimace, and his eyes fluttered closed. Senna knelt, holding him until his chest stopped rising and falling. She laid him out in the grass and stood.
Ianthe tugged a blanket from the backpack and laid it over him. The sounds of invaders were getting closer again; they’d done all they could.
They stumbled into a group of six batarians in the woods. Senna caught two of them unawares, shooting them both before a third managed to get her in his sights. Laurence dove for the third, swinging his bat with all his strength, but he didn’t quite make it in time. The hit was so hard that the bat cracked on the batarian’s head. His shot went wild, slamming into Senna’s left shoulder. The pain was intense; for a moment her vision swam and her empty stomach nearly committed rebellion. She heard Calla scream and forced herself to focus. A batarian had grabbed her by the hair and started dragging her away. Senna raised the gun, unsteady now without a second hand to bolster it, and fired. The batarian slumped forward and Calla scrambled away from him on all fours, bleeding and sobbing but thankfully in one piece. The last batarian went down with another swing of Laurence’s bat, though the bat finally gave way and broke in two.
Senna groaned and leaned heavily against a tree. Ianthe’s soft voice was all Senna could hear over the pounding in her ears. “Senna!” Laurence was kneeling to check on Calla. He had a cut on his face that was bleeding pretty heavily, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. Ianthe snatched a medi-gel off one of the dead batarians and applied it as best she could. The pain in her shoulder eased, a little, but the wound was still raw and aching. “Here, let me make you a sling-” one of the batarians Laurence had hit wasn’t quite dead. He pulled himself up enough to pull the trigger. Ianthe let out a quiet exhale and fell onto Senna. Laurence screamed and turned on the raider. With Ianthe’s weight on her and her whole left side shooting pain, Senna barely managed to fling her arm out. The biotic force flung the batarian into a tree, and his neck snapped with an audible crack.
Slowly, each shift of her muscles causing fresh agony in her shoulder, Senna lowered herself and Ianthe to the ground.
“Dammit dammit dammit dammit.” Laurence paced between her and Calla, the dirt and blood on his cheeks thicker than his tears. Calla cowered on the ground, unwilling to even look at the bodies of the batarians.
Senna slid Ianthe into a laying position - no easy feat with only one working arm. “Laurence.” He stopped pacing and whirled on her. His eyes were wild. “Laurence, come here.”
“No. You’re not dying. Stop it.”
“I’m not dying,” Senna agreed. He paused. “Come here.” He walked over to her, glancing back at Calla as if to make sure she was also still there and alive. Senna reached up and held the gun out to him. “Take Calla and get to the swimming hole.”
“No.”
“Laurence, I’m not arguing this. Take Calla and get her to safety.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Laurence!” Senna raised her voice. She never raised her voice. At least it got his attention. “I have to take the time to bandage up, make a sling. We promised Mother we’d be at the swimming hole by daybreak.” She held the gun out until her arm trembled from the weight, and Laurence took it. “Take Calla there and hide. I promise you, I’ll make it there.”
He exhaled shakily. “Alright. If you promise.”
“I promise,” Senna agreed. “Go.”
Laurence looked from Senna, propped against the tree and breathing heavily, to Calla, curled up in the dirt. He turned his backpack so that it rested on his chest, and picked Calla up to carry her piggy-back. “We can’t leave Senna,” Calla cried.
“You have to,” Senna said. She smiled for her sister, though it felt like it took all of her energy to do so. “You’re scouting ahead for me, okay?”
Calla sniffled. “‘kay.”
Laurence dropped the poor, abused bat next to her. “You promised, Senna. Remember that.” And then they were gone.
Senna waited until she couldn’t hear his footsteps before she dug in Ianthe’s backpack. She pulled out a tangle of blankets. One, she used as best she could to make a sling for her shoulder. She’d made slings before; kids were often reckless when out playing, and her mother had wanted her to know basic first aid. Making one one-handed was new, but Senna could do it. One that was done, she took another and laid it out over her sister. I’m sorry, Ianthe, she wanted to say. But if she said it, she’d cry, and if she cried now she’d never be able to stop.
She used the tree to leverage herself up, the broken bat clenched in her hand. With that as her weapon and her weak, untrained biotics, Senna knew it would take a miracle for her to make it to their meeting place unharmed. But she’d promised her brother, and so she guessed she’d just have to find a miracle somewhere out in these woods. They couldn’t be more than a mile out from the swimming hole. The sky looked lighter, more grey. Sunrise was nearing. Senna swayed on her feet before she took her first step. She could do this. She would. Laurence and Calla were waiting at the swimming hole. The sounds of gunfire had grown exponentially, and now it sounded like someone was fighting the batarians back. Hope surged in Senna. The nightmare had gotten horribly worse every time she turned. Maybe now things really were looking up. Her boots made little sound as she picked her way through the trees.
When she reached the clearing around the swimming hole, Senna’s heart stopped. Laurence and Calla laid stretched-out on the ground. She stumbled and scrambled forward, closer and closer until she could see that they weren't breathing. Thier faces were peaceful and their wounds lined up. They’d been shot, the bullet going straight through the both of them. Senna slid away from them until she could lean over and empty her stomach, but nothing came out. They were dead. All of them, dead. She was supposed to protect them and they were dead.
Overhead, ships droned in the atmosphere. She could hear gunfire, and dying screams, and running - all getting closer to her. She moved toward her siblings and tugged the gun from Laurence’s outstretched hand. She swallowed, and laid the last blanket over them. Senna put her back to a tree and faced the noise, her gun at the ready.
Figures appeared at the edge of the clearing. Senna half-raised her gun before she recognized the Alliance uniform. Alliance. They’d come to help. They’d come to help. She wanted to collapse in sheer relief, but she kept on her feet and kept her gun in her hands. “We’ve got a survivor,” someone called, and then one of the soldiers stepped toward her.
Her grip tightened on her gun. “Stay back,” she croaked.
“Easy, kid.” The soldier holstered his own gun. He moved toward her with hands held up. One of his squadmates muttered something Senna didn’t catch, but he ignored it. “We’re here to help.”
She shivered. “My brothers and sisters needed help,” she said, and she gestured toward Laurence and Calla.
“Lieutenant Commander…” someone said, but the soldier ignored them.
His face softened. Understanding was so clear in his eyes that Senna felt her own well up. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”
“They were the last,” she said, unable to stop herself. “The others died in my arms on the way. We ran, but not fast enough.”
The soldier took another step toward her. “Your parents?”
“Stayed behind to buy us time.” Senna shook her head. “They knew they wouldn’t make it. Mother called me her brave girl and told me to protect them.” Her voice lowered. “I couldn’t protect them.”
“You tried,” he said suddenly, firmly. “You did your best, kid, and sometimes it isn’t enough.” She let out a strangled sob. “We have to leave, go get more soldiers to fight the slavers off. If you come with us, we can get you help.”
“If?” said one of his squadmates.
If. He was giving her a choice. It might not seem like much of a choice, but it was more than she’d had for the last few hellish hours. The grey of the sky was shot through with pink as the sun rose. “I will.”
“Good choice, kid.” He was close enough now that she could read the name over his breast. Anderson. His eyes were kind. “What’s your name?”
“Senna Shepard,” she said, and she took a step toward him.