Gracie

Under the heel of rusty concrete stairs, through a weary, unlighted corridor, divulged a door to an eerie store room. A lamp hanging from the ceiling, within the wooden floor, a wide trapdoor of brute steel painted to merge with the floor, led the way to more, increased numbers of stairs.

A grand contrast between the corroded preface of the scene behind the obscured door, forged on the wall of the Country Church, the stairs ushered to the underground, four-storey bunker was a sight to behold.

It should be armoured enough to withstand grave, oppressive attacks.

The lowest floor had been crammed with women, while the second lowest floor were occupied by men.

There were double leveled, thirty rows of bunk beds paralleled in order—lined up in the room. The storey had the capacity to hold around one hundred and twenty individuals, and more with the children glued to their mother.

Neva leans her back on the wall, resting on the lowest bed of the two layered metal bunk bed.

Midnight, a gloomy moon in the sky, she found it gruelling to sleep. The men were gathered, guarding the shelter in shifts.

Rhett made sure she was fine, before he left with them, one with the countryfolks, protecting the people. She let's her head fall on the wall behind, peering up, her eyes focused at nowhere.

Her heart gripped in misery, she could still hear the havoc the invaders storm down on the countryside.

There were country people out there, bare to the doom. The chest is heavy and burdened.

You can only put yourself out of the treacherous sight, hands tied, divulging innocent flesh burning, children crying, bloodbath in the land. Everyone in the room lay still, aroused or asleep; fear claws through, bleeding the heart. It rots the soul, they were all, brutally helpless.

Neva had reunited with an unharmed Mrs. Barlowe and Anna. The ache in her belly before, which had lasted for a couple of minutes, Mrs. Barlowe concluded them to be just braxton hicks.

Hands on either side of her, palms pressed down on the bed. Fingers creasing the white sheets, she scrunches her face in pain; her awaken, energetic baby not at rest—abusing the insides.

The movement so strong, it was evidently visible through her garment.

"Coming into a hard night my dear?" An elderly voice startles Neva.

She glances beside her: on her right space, on the lowest bunk bed, an old lady, beholding wide wakeful eyes, smiles at her—crinkling the ashen, loosened skin around the eyes.

"Certainly," Neva replies, a faint smile feathered on her lips. The old lady smiles as she sits up, "Mothers are the strongest, and the bravest." She remarks.

The room was lightened up in a hazy, golden luminescence of lanterns. Her lush, silver-white hair, flowing down, far below her waist, she stands up—trudging towards Neva. She seats herself on the edge of her bed, as Neva scoots away to give her more space.

"May I?" She asks, her gaze trailing from Neva's bump to her eyes. She nods in return. The old lady smiles, gazing at the motion of the baby.

She caresses her belly, rubbing it gently, soothing the baby.

She shortly retracts her hand, looking up at her with a gentle smile on her face. "The child is rather healthy dear."

Neva smiles at her, "Could you not sleep as well Grandma?"

The old lady appeared to be in her eighties, she was donned in a white, floral printed granny dress. Although aged, her eyes were vibrant, and her aura had a kaleidoscope of vigour.

She shakes her head in response, "I can sleep good if I wish, but I had waited for us to be alone." She smiles, reaching out for her hand, "You are as beautiful as I had seen you in my dream my dear."

Neva's stiff, a little staggered inside, "What do you mean Grandma?"

"I had dreams about you, for many, long nights." She replies, "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Neva's hand still in her hold, she had shivers running down her spine. What in the world? "Do you have precognitive dreams?"

"It is a present from God." She sighs, looking up—she veils her eyes. "I'm amused," Neva mumbles, her twinkling orbs swimming sparks of amazement.

She believed her, she had heard from her aunt; even her mother had intuitive dreams.

"You are a sweet little lady my dear." She smiles at Neva, "I am really happy to see you." She brings Neva's hand to her forehead, a tear drop falling from her right eye. Neva was stunned, she didn't know how to reply to her.

She meets Neva's eyes, "I am grateful to your husband, he had delayed their attempt in pilfering the hidden treasure of the Church." She reveals.

Neva's eyes widens in surprise. How did she know?

Neva swallows in nervousness, "Did you have a dream about it too?"

The old lady nods, "It will be all over in the morn. The night is rough, but the daylight shall summon grace over the land."

She softly pecks her hand, "Sweet dreams dear." She let's her hand go and she arises on her feet, her slow steps leads her to the bed. She lay on her back, with a beautiful smile adorning her face.

Neva's dazed eyes pursuing her moves, her heart's warmed at her serene features. Hands on her chest, she slumbers away, deep.

"Have a pleasant sleep Grandma." She whispers. And slowly slides down on the tiny bed, endeavouring to find a little rest.

⑅ ⑅ ⑅

Twilight in the countryside, sun had yet to dawn in Ziriri.

Neva had merely slept an hour, along the company of the hubbub in her womb and apprehension in her mind.

The flame of the battle burning fast and fiery.

Military forces had intervened the onslaught of the assailants.

The shelter shook so hard, everyone jolted up from their unconsciousness. The women sleeping on the bunk bed, hopping down in fear.

Did an earthquake strike?

Then the mind draws to a close, the battle has coerced to it's climax.

Infant, toddlers, children, teenagers, the youths, they weep, wrapped up in their mother's secure embrace.

Everyone in the hall were petrified, but an ancient said: mothers are the strongest and the bravest.

Their hearts are sanctuaries, their body the fiercest shelter. A mother's love, knew no bounds.

Neva's eyes trails off accross her; a shuddering Anna, in the warm hold of Mrs. Barlowe.

Mrs. Barlowe glances at Neva's space of bed, she's seated on the bed alone, their eyes connects.

"Are you alright my dear?" She asks Neva, her voice aloud, breaking through the noise of turmoil.

Neva nods her head in response. She glimpses at the old lady beside her, she's sleeping deep, tranquiled.

Neva smiles, she lay in the same posture as she had drifted off to bed.

On a spur of moment, the curved up fringes of Neva's lip sinks down.

Her chest isn't heaving up or down. Her heart skips a beat. She cores her eyes to her still form.

She slowly gets out the bed. Nearing the old lady, Neva pats her shoulder lightly. "Grandma? Grandma wake up," There returned no response from her. She had garnered curious eyes on her. Mrs. Barlowe frowns at her actions.

Neva leans down, her fingers close to the old lady's nose. She isn't breathing anymore. Neva swallows hard, deeply anxious. She grazes her hand on her neck, checking her pulse.

She stands up straight, glancing around, there were whispers hovering round the room. Their questioning gaze on Neva and the old lady.

Mrs. Barlowe walks towards her, "What is wrong my dear?" Neva purses her lips, glancing at the cold form of the elderly.

"Grandma's no more." She declares, and follows astounded gasps around. The children who realised grew afraid, screams and yelps out the mouths, they were horrified to be in the same room as a corpse.

Proceeds the yowls of the young ones, for they were terrified of the sudden erruption of cries.

Some of the women, approaches the old lady. One of them analyses her breathing and pulse, her body's warmth. She's cold, she was long gone.

"Nana Gracie is dead." She announces, errupting loud murmers.

Neva's seated on the bed, she's muddled, like a dream, they were just having a conversation a few hours ago. She had been vibrant, and seemed happy and healthy.

"How did she die?" A woman asks. "Oh Nana Gracie. It is because of her why we are alive!" A different woman wails, crashing herself on the old lady's body.

The commotion interrupts Neva's floating mind. Their hearts in grief of their saviour. Her posture graceful even as she's dead. They pray over her pure soul to peacefully cross the bridge.

Boom!!!

A big explosion, dust scatters down from the ceiling. The shelter shudders to collapse.

Is the Church being assailed by a direct route? How long will the aged shelter survive the attacks?

Abruptly the door bursts open, "Hurry!! We need to get out of here!!"