Warfare Season: An Apocalyptic Thriller (3 page)

BOOK: Warfare Season: An Apocalyptic Thriller
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*
* *

Later
that day, the local residents that used generators saw the news on
T.V. It was reported that the kid was a threat and that the officers
on duty responded correctly.

Gerald
was one of the residents who had caught it on T.V. “That's the
kid that lived on the corner of the next street,” he said
unsympathetically. “Mike; that was his name. Little Mike. I
told you he'd be the first kid in this neighborhood to get himself
killed.”

His
son Harley sat on the other couch on the opposite side of the living
room. “Didn't you say that he was a good kid, though?”


Yeah,
and that's why he's dead,” Gerald scoffed. “People who
try to do the right thing always end up dead. He always talked too
much. I'm surprised he didn't get himself killed from all the trash
he talked.”


But
he spoke the truth,” Harley said.


Yeah,
well. . . and then he took action. Look where that got him.”

*
* *

Austin
caught a glimpse of the news, staring at it in disbelief. It made him
wonder who was next. Himself perhaps?

Although
the thought of digging his bug-out bag up from the attic had crossed
his mind over the past five days, he finally decided to take action
and start packing. It had been sitting in the crawlspace for the past
eight years. He had always hoped he would never actually have to use
it, and he was still hoping that he never would.

By
the time he had finished packing, it was early evening.

To
get his mind off of things for a short while, he played a video game.
It was a successful escape, and we went on to play for an hour and a
half. When he was finished playing the game, he shut down the
console, but not the T.V.

Catching
a glimpse of the local news, it was reported that residents had been
firing upon the military personnel. The motives for firing upon the
military were unclear.

Something
didn't sound right.

He
turned off the T.V.

When
he tried to go online, he couldn't get a connection. He retried three
times, but he couldn't connect to the web.

He
went into the kitchen and had a big meal. After days of being
conservative, it simply felt right to eat big for a change.

Screams
began to fill the air, similar to the night of the terrorist attack;
only this time, the screams sounded more like pure desperation
instead of fear. The sounds were jarring enough to interrupt his
meal.

From
what he could see out the window, people were being forced out of
their houses and dragged into military vehicles at gunpoint. They
were a block away and working their way down the street, towards
Austin's house.

Instead
of just running and bugging out, he had to at least warn his
neighbors what was happening first. He wouldn't take anyone with him,
but he would advise them to leave town.

He
picked up his cellphone and tried dialing, but there was no service.

He
rushed over to Eddie's house and rang the doorbell. He waited twenty
seconds before ringing it again. When Austin opened the screen door
to try knocking on the main one, he realized that the main door was
hanging slightly open. He let himself inside the dim hallway.

His
racing mind made it difficult to find the right words. Finally,
something came to mind. “Eddie? Ed? It's Austin from next door.
Your door is open.” Since Austin knew that Eddie had a gun, he
didn't want to sneak up on him. “Eddie?”

Austin
picked up a flashlight from off the floor and turned it on. There was
a trail of broken glass that led him to the living room.

Eddie
and his wife were both lying dead in a pool of blood on the floor.
Austin shined the light on the bullet holes that had emerged on the
corpses.

Was
it a double suicide? Was it the soldiers? Either way, why hadn't he
heard the gunshots? It was possible that he had his headphones on
with the volume turned up real high when it happened. It was also
possible that he had fallen into a deep sleep when it happened. It
was amazing what he was able to block out sometimes.

On
closer inspection, there were no guns lying around in the immediate
area. It was not suicide.

The
chaotic noise was growing closer.

He
needed to hurry. But he didn't want to bug-out without a gun. He
hurriedly searched the house, looking in places that people were
likely to stash their guns. He thought about how some people duct
taped them under their desks, while a friend of his said that he used
to keep his in his dresser drawer.

Then
he saw a safe inside one of the bedrooms. The door to the safe was
open, but nothing was in it.

After
a minute of doubt, he convinced himself that the military must have
confiscated Eddie's guns. If his guns were registered through federal
forms, it would have been easy to track. But guns were illegal in
that city. If Eddie owned guns illegally, there was no reason to
register them.

Knowing
Eddie, it was possible that he tried fighting the military with
lethal force after they had forced their way into his house. But why
had they entered Eddie's house, but not his own? He was thankful to
be alive, but also terrified.

He
headed back to his house to grab the bug-out bag. He would go to the
underground shelter that his granddad had built on his farm, but it
was a long walk away.

His
granddad had died fifteen years earlier, but his uncle had taken over
the farm and shelter.

Due
to the security checkpoints in the major roads, driving was not an
option. Fortunately, he was in very good shape. The only thing about
the long walk that bothered him was the very real possibility of
being attacked or shot and killed.

Thinking
about the long distance involved on the journey was intimidating. The
important thing was to break the large obstacle down into smaller
pieces, focusing on one step at a time. The first objective was to
get out of the city as soon as possible.

When
he reached the front porch for his house, the military was only a few
houses down. He watched them force their way through the door of the
Petersen's house and drag out the family members, before loading them
into the vehicle.


We're
under orders to clear the area,” one of the soldiers said. “I
said you need to clear the area,” the voice said in a slightly
more demanding tone.

Three
helicopters were circling the area.


I'm
not leaving my own house,” another resident down the street
said. “You can't just drag me out of here.”

When
they advanced on him, he fought back, and he was gunned down
immediately.

Other
residents were struck on the head.

Austin
saw the whole thing from his front porch. He went inside and chugged
as much water as he could comfortably handle.

A
loud, forceful knocking sound hammered away at Austin's door. The
sound continued for a minute. Then a much louder sound came into
play. It was the sound of the door bursting open.


Search
the house,” the voice said. “Let's move.”

Austin
was in the basement. His bug-out bag was good to go. But he needed a
way out. He looked through the basement window, towards the front of
his house. There were at least four soldiers standing out in front.

He
headed for the basement door. He would have to surprise them by
dipping out through the back. He could hear the heavy combat boots
stomping on the floor above him. He unlocked the door and opened it
slowly, trying to avoid making any noise.

The
trouble would be the screen door. It was locked with a hook-styled
latch. Unhooking it always made a certain degree of noise.

It
now occurred to him that there might also be some soldiers waiting
out back. He would have to take the chance.

He
tried to open the latch silently, but it wouldn't budge. After
applying more pressure, the door made a rumbling sound. He had no
idea how loud or quiet it sounded from upstairs. He stopped thinking
about it and just went for it, opening the door all the way.

Assertively,
he made his way up the concrete steps and peaked from behind the
wall, looking to his left and right. The coast was clear, allowing
him to slip out back through the backyard. When he got to the gate,
he briefly looked back at the house, perhaps for the last time.

Chapter 5

The emergency camps were
filled with people sitting and standing around and not talking; only
panicking. More and more panicked people were pouring through the
doors every minute.

The people were told when
to eat, when to finish eating, how much to eat, when to get up from
their cots, not to speak unless spoken to by military personnel, and
when to take restroom trips.

It was prison.

Conditions were also
abusive. There was a lot of infighting among the camp dwellers. Food
would get stolen right off of people's plates, water would get
stolen, and others would get assaulted just for fun.

The officers seemed to make
things worse, rather than help matters. They would look the other way
when fights would break out, but they would assault and harass the
dwellers, themselves. They were never there when needed, and they
were always there when they were unwanted.

We should have fought
while he had the chance
, was a
thought that crossed many of their minds. Bugging out might have been
an option if they were at least somewhat prepared. But now it was too
late.

* * *

Although the
grim conditions of the emergency camps had gone unreported in the
news, Austin knew that whenever someone was forced through
intimidation into doing something, that something was always the very
same thing that no person in the right mind would want to be a part
of. It was a lesson he had picked up through none other than real
life experience. Did bullies ever give their targets options? Did
tyrants ever give their targets any reasonable alternative? The
answer was no.

As Austin
stepped out into the alley, he couldn't get past the feeling that he
was being watched. The helicopters had gone away, but he still felt
vulnerable. This feeling was most likely due to all the extra
adrenaline he was experiencing, although he was close to being
watched.

He took pains to
stay out of sight as much as possible, ducking behind the alley trash
cans each time a military vehicle passed through the street at the
end of the alley.

When he got to
the end of the alley, he looked both ways questioningly, debating
about whether he should just hide behind the trash cans until it got
fully dark. Staying off the main streets was a given. But the side
streets were the only other alternate route, and they were filled
with military personnel and hysterical residents.

Regardless,
there wasn't a lot of hesitation in his decision to keep moving. He
was about to step out from behind the trash cans when Gerald's garage
door opened.


Get out
of there!” he shouted from behind Austin. “Hey! Get out
of there!”

Austin stood up
confusedly. “I'm not trying to rob anyone. I'm just trying to
hide from the military. They're dragging people away against their
will.”


They're
not dragging anyone away,” Gerald argued. “They're
rescuing them. Now get out of there!”


They're
not even your trash cans,” Austin asserted.


I don't
care whose trash cans they are. I highly doubt those people want you
hanging around their house.” He drew his 9mm pistol and pointed
it at Austin.

Harley saw a
group of soldiers walking in front of their house. “Hey,
there's


Shut
up! Get in the house!”


And
you! What did I just say? Get

A
loud noise interrupted Gerald.


They
just knocked down the front door!” Harley shouted from the
backyard.


What?!”
Gerald screamed. He ran back toward the house. But by the time he got
to the backyard, a group of soldiers were already out there waiting
for him.


Drop
the gun now!” the soldiers all shouted in unison. “Drop
it!”

BOOK: Warfare Season: An Apocalyptic Thriller
10.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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