American Assassins

The world had fractured, splintering into warring factions. Nine-year-old Kimberley Carter clutched her seven-year-old sister, Ronnie, their small bodies trembling as their father, a Union loyalist, strangled their American mother. The scent of blood and fear permeated the air.

Their mother’s eyes, filled with a fading light, found theirs, a desperate plea in their depths. Then, silence. A sickening thud as her body hit the floor.

"United States filth," their father spat, his beard matted with blood, his eyes burning with hatred. He turned towards them, a predatory gleam in his gaze. "You weaklings have a choice, either join me as a Union officer or die as a filthy, puny Americans."

Kimberley’s heart hammered. This was not the father she knew. This was a monster.

"Ronnie, you need to run," she whispered, shoving her sister hard to the side. As her father’s fingers closed around her own throat, cutting off her air, she fought, kicked, screamed, until her vision blurred and her struggles weakened. Just as she thought she would join her mother, the pressure released, and she fell, gasping, coughing up blood.

Her father had Ronnie now, his hand around her small neck. "Your choice," he snarled, looking at Kimberley.

Fresh blood trickled down Kimberley’s chin. She pushed herself up, a new fire igniting in her chest. "I’d rather die a low class American than be supreme commander of The Union."

Ronnie, surprisingly, bit down on his hand. The shock made him release her. Kimberley, seizing the moment, grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter, plunged it into his side, ripped it out, and dragged it across his right eye.

He shrieked, clutching his wounds. Kimberley grabbed Ronnie’s hand. They ran, out of the house, out of their shattered lives, into the cold, unforgiving night.