The adults may have left, but they didn’t go far.  They came prepared and retreated to their camp which Yakov realised must not have been far.  As the sun rose beyond the hill over which their attackers had marched, he saw two dark figures shrouded by the morning fog standing, waiting.  Watching.

     Yakov watched the adults stand still for what seemed an eternity; he ordered Evan to take the youngest and hide in the barn.  They were not to come out under any circumstances.
     “If I don’t come back, you’re the leader,” he started, “don’t let them take us back.” Yakov made for the two adults, fighting the urge to head back and cower with Pietra, who resumed sobbing.  During the restless night he had toyed with the idea of setting up an ambush, but he understood nothing of such things and figured it would end up in disaster.  Setting aside the dead had been terrible enough.

     He neared the two adults, they extended their arms upwards and outwards to show Yakov they meant no harm.  The tall dark man on the left lurched forward; Yakov gasped and slunk back, tripping and falling backwards.  The dark man caught Yakov’s arm and spoke in a deep, gravelly voice, “Sorry mate.  Didn’t mean to scare ya.  We just want to talk.”
     “Talk?  You tried to kill us!”
     “Look, things got out of hand; we didn’t want this to happen.  There were two groups of us and the group I’m representing tried to talk everyone — including your Dad — out of taking you home by force.”  Yakov looked at him skeptically.
     “What is it you want?”
     “When Abdul told us where you were we wanted to,” the man blushed, though it was difficult to see, “that is to say we do want to,” he stopped mid-sentence.
     “Oh you big girl’s blouse,” chastised the woman, her flowery voice chirped with restrained excitement.  She bent down to meet Yakov face to face, “Yakov, we think you’re right.  You’ve ignited hope in us; we realise there’s a better way and we want to be a part of it.”
     “I don’t believe you,” Yakov snorted.  He knew they needed protection.  He knew they needed help.  “Wait here,” he ordered, returning down the hill.

* * *

     That the others had voted to accept the adults into Eden had not surprised Yakov.  That they maintained he continue leading had.  Even the adults accepted the decision; whether or not they liked it he dared not guess.  Some of the kids returned to Kilda, deciding the mistake had been theirs and not the adults’, but there were more than enough hands to work the land.  Over the following months, the harvest had been long and ardous, but the results were worth the extended hours and aching backs.  The crop they yielded was more than enough to feed all and to celebrate they danced all night around a large bonfire. Yakov’s leg was still weak but the fresh air and sun made him feel alive.

     Life was good.

     “Can we open another tin, Yakov?  I’m still hungry.”
     “Evan, we have to ration now.”  Yakov had been unable to shake his lethargy for weeks.  He underestimate the physical effort required to transform an overgrown patch of land into a farm.  Spirits were still high, but goodwill and promises only went so far.  In their time at Eden, they had nearly exhausted their supplies and grown nothing.  The blackberry bushes had long been picked clean.  Despite the difficulty working the land, Yakov enjoyed life at Eden.  He dared not tell the others this was not the place sought but instead continued with his lie: The previous occupants must have abandoned the farm; the journal was left for him.  The lie had been eagerly accepted by all; whether they knew the truth was unclear.

     In their haste to begin planting, investigations of the large shed near the homestead had been neglected.  A cursory inspection had found nothing but rusted machinery which Yakov supposed was for farming but otherwise ignored.  On Pietra’s advice, Yakov took a group of boys to investigate the machinery.  Yakov had dismissed her suggestion, but when Pietra put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot he knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer twice.  Yakov looked over the machines with a close eye and tried to understand each machine’s purpose.  He knew Pietra would be smart when she grew older; probably already was smarter than him, Yakov thought, but machines were his specialty and after careful consideration he ordered the other boys to pull a small tractor from the shed.  They dubbed the tractor ‘Daisy’ after the only flower they knew.  Yakov began to repair the machine immediately; he worked from dawn until dusk every day, leaving Evan and Pietra in charge.

     Repairs of the tractor were interrupted one sunny morning when Yakov heard yelps of excitement from some of the children.  On investigation, he saw all had gathered to meet a visitor.  One of those who had abandoned their group early on had, instead of wandering home, stumbled upon Eden!  The children celebrated Abdul’s arrival into the early hours of the morning; their parents would have disapproved.

     Yakov resumed work early next afternoon, eager to complete his time consuming project; the tractor was close to functioning, he knew it was only a matter of time.  Sitting in the driver’s seat, Yakov impusively leaned over to connect a loose wire.  His impatience, brought on from the previous night’s festivities had dulled his senses; he noticed the tractor tipping too late.  Legs crushed beneath the beast, Yakov passed out.

* * *

     Thanks to Pietra’s splint, Yakov became mobile earlier than she had expected.  She said it had probably been a fracture since his legs weren’t swinging forwards, but it still hurt to walk and Yakov had taken to staying indoors for long periods.  Abdul came to visit Yakov as sat in his room, alone.  “Yakov, ” he started, “I have something I need to tell you.”

     Over the next few weeks Yakov was the most and least popular person in Kilda. The adults scoffed at him while the kids reveled in the possibilities his speech had planted. Yakov — as constantly reminded by Hans — tried to forget his adventure and focus on the tasks at hand; finding food for the impending winter was top priority for all non-essential townsfolk. Town guards worked double shifts, alternating between minding search parties and ensuring raiders kept their distance. Tensions were high.

     The fat man had called another meeting shortly before Yakov’s return. Yakov gathered that amidst all the blubbering, sweating and weaseling the fat man managed to convince the town to go on the offensive, to perform raids against other suburbs. After all, argued the fat man, they needed to survive and taking supplies by force was the easiest way — at least until casualties mounted. While Hans avoided duty on account of his back, Ivan was not so lucky. Yakov could’t stand the thought of his brother under fire, or worse.

     Pushing these thoughts from his mind, Yakov suddenly realised where his feet had taken him: back to the deserted suburb. The house with the red wallpaper seemed empty now and it was his fault; if only he had returned sooner instead of wasting time fawning over Jane. He sat with his back against the wall, head in his crossed arms, and shut his eyes. It was pointless to think about that wonderful place, yet Yakov let his mind wander back at every opportunity. Since he had never learned the name, Yakov christened it Eden.

     Yakov looked up, tears welling in his eyes. It would be difficult but he knew what he must do.

* * *

     Under cover of darkness, Yakov looked back towards his house. He commited the vision to memory; the row of two-storey terrace houses, most missing front doors or windows, had been integral to his childhood. There had been no goodbyes, though he had written notes to all — including Ivan, should he return; writing Pietra’s note had nearly broken his heart, he wished he could scoop her up in his arms and carry her but he had to face facts, she would just slow them down. He promised to return for her, one day.

     “Is everyone here?” Yakov asked the assembled crowd. Convincing others to follow him to Eden had been easy.
     “I think so,” whispered one, “Dudley chickened out but won’t dob.”
     “Let’s go before any of us do, too,” said another, unable to hide his apprehension. Yakov recognised him as the younger brother of one who hadn’t returned.
     “Agreed. Move out,” Yakov ordered; his voice unexpectedly sounded like a leader.

     As the view of Kilda’s rickety guard towers faded, Yakov sighed. A crashing sound ahead roused him from his daydream, the kids slipped behind the nearest cover. Yakov approached the source of the sound.
     “Hello?” he whispered. Someone dwarfed by a backpack stood from behind an overturned car.
     “Why should I miss out on all the fun?”. It was Pietra!

     For three days after the meeting, Yakov barely saw his father. He was so busy he barely saw anyone. As Yakov made his way toward the Meeting Point for all beginning the Rite, he mind wandered. Would he find anything? In which direction should he head? Did it even matter?

     At the Meeting Point, the crowd still argued. They sounded like squawking birds to Yakov; he knew the arguments and didn’t care to get involved. He was going, regardless of the outcome. The others about to embark on the Rite were nervous; they gazed at the ground, shifting their heavy packs and shuffling their feet. Yakov knew the odds of finding what they sought, and had resolved to find it anyway. The wind picked up and whipped through the crowd, causing Yakov to pull his coat tight; even the Earth was concerned.

     Goodbyes were short and without ceremony. The mood was somber and, in response, the heavens opened with a steady downpour. Yakov headed inland hoping he may escape the rain. For two days he and another traveled before parting ways. The rain persisted; days passed. Since separating from his companion Yakov had seen no signs of inhabitation. Soaked to the core, he decided to camp for a day to take stock — he needed to start rationing to survive. Basic training for those undergoing the Rite had been forgone in haste; Yakov had not been taught how to ration or even how to weild his father’s gun, despite having just six bullets.

     Sheltered in a house with partly intact but blackened walls, Yakov camped for two nights. On the third morning the rain stopped and morning light shining through the windows woke him. Spirits high, Yakov walked with a spring in his step for the next week; gaps between houses grew as he made his way to the edge of suburbia and into the badlands. Tired but resolute, Yakov pressed on. Approaching the top of a hill one afternoon, Yakov heard a sound he would later describe as the town’s attack warning siren, crossed with gas being passed. Further down, Yakov recognised the source of the strange noise as a cow, he had never seen one in person. There were dozens of them beside a small group of ramshackle houses.

     Nearing the complex, Yakov was startled by a voice from behind a cow.
     “Hello?” The voice was feminine but gruff.
     “Uh, hi,” Yakov replied, voice crackling from misuse, “where am I?”
     “My name’s Jane, thanks for asking.” Yakov was smitten instantly. Jane was short and her cheekbones were gaunt; auburn hair fell around her face, just like his mother’s.

     Yakov was tolerated by the commune; because he showed aptitude for repairing machinery, some even welcomed him as time passed. Soon, Yakov realised the commune’s isolation was not it’s best asset, they grew their own food! Weeks later, Yakov overstepped his bounds and asked to sleep in Jane’s room. Once notified, the community leaders demanded he leave there and then.

     He had failed; the journey home was long.

     It was a dank, dark room. Red wallpaper once lined the walls but was now faded and torn; large stains showed through where they pleased. Devoid of furniture, the small square room still seemed large to Yakov.
     Yakov was tall for a kid his age; his slender frame made him appear even taller. Though his hair was jet black, it was too dirty to tell it’s true colour. In fact, he bathed so rarely it was difficult to determine his skin colour. He stood, towering over the others in the room, who remained seated, cross-legged.
     “Sun’ll be going down soon, I should get going,” he muttered to no one in particular, and strode from the room. Barely-audible goodbye mumbles followed him down the hallway and out the door which, no longer supported, had not fared well since being exposed to the elements.
     Peering into the sky, Yakov noticed the sun was far lower in the sky than he had expected. Cursing under his breath, he pushed aside the rusty bicycles covering his and mounted up his slightly-less-rusted bike. Being late home was not a big deal, at least not to him, but the pointless and wordy lecture he would receive bothered him.
     As Yakov sped along the empty street, his eyes scanned the streetscape. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t find fault. The rusted cars or charred and blackened buildings certainly weren’t out of place. Nor were the scattered piles of debris — not for this part of town. The adults no longer came here; they said there was nothing worth scavenging. It followed, then, that the kids adored the deserted suburb. Maybe there was nothing wrong after all — perhaps the imminent tongue lashing that troubled his thoughts.

     His lateness this evening was exactly what saved Yakov from yet another chiding. As he rounded the corner to Block 34 — the area his family called home — he saw his parents in the distance, standing outside his communal home. Though he could not hear their conversation, he knew his father was displeased.
     “You’re late,” announced Hans — Yakov’s father, stating the obvious. Hans’ accent was thick but not Australian, even though he had lived in Australia all his life. Some felt he emphasised the accent, perhaps to stand out. He was shorter than Yakov by almost a foot but a stern, stocky man.
     “So? I’m old enough to look after myself,” Yakov retorted.
     “I doubt that,” replied Hans, “but tonight you’re looking after Pietra — you know she can’t walk far and I’m not carrying her. We had to ask your brother but since you’re here, he’s coming with us.”
     “Where are you going?”
     “Town meeting, get inside and tell your brother to catch up with us.” What that, Hans turned and walked over to his wife. Yakov went inside, for a short while. Suddenly, he stood straight up and grabbed Pietra’s hand.
     “Why should we miss out on all the fun? Come on, we’re going to that meeting.”