Jack pulled out his pocket knife & carefully carved a hole into the top of a can in the dim light of the foul basement. The knife was his prized possession. It was his brother, Wesley’s, before it was his. Wes left it to him 3 years ago before he left for war. Jack was startled by the explosion of another bomb. The ground shook above his head as pebbles and grains of dirt battered him. He could hear the firing of weapons in the distance. They were getting closer. Jack’s hometown had become the battlefront, something no American had ever expected. No one knew where the sudden influx of advanced weaponry had come from, but it came suddenly & silently 3 nights ago. The ceiling continued to cave in above him as another bomb went off. Jack glanced at Dakota still cowering in the corner, her tear-streaked face covered in dirt. He placed the can beside her and patted her head. He prepared himself, knife in his unstable hand. He knew what he had to do. He had go up there. He had to find Wes before it was too late.