Absolution

by Mark Campbell

  When they neared one of the dorms that had been ransacked the night before, they saw that the plywood covering its battered front door had been pried away and lay in the snow.

  “Fucking roaches,” Hayes grumbled.

  Wright gave the dorm a passing glance and shook his head. “Just like a roach to go in and pick through the scraps that the dead left behind.”

  Hayes and Wright led Teddy past the doorway and kept their weapons sighted towards the adjacent alleys.

  Teddy noticed the old coppery stench of blood and the sickly-sweet aroma of decay as it wafted out of the dorm. He also noticed something else—he thought he saw someone standing back inside, hidden in the shadows.

  “You brought this shit on yourselves,” Teddy warned.

  Hayes looked over at him. “What are you going on about—what did we bring on?”

  “Can’t you see that this place is one big powder keg?” Teddy asked. “Between the work details, the food rationing, and the shitty living conditions… It has all been too much, too fast. Your little retaliation last night served as the perfect lit match.”

  “Shut up,” Hayes snapped.

  Suddenly, a shrouded figure moved across the rooftop of an adjacent dorm.

  “Movement!” Wright shouted. “Rooftop—two o’clock!”

  The officers stopped and aimed their rifles up towards the roof, but the figure was gone.

  Hayes’ eyes danced wildly as he scanned the rooftops with his weapon. “I don’t like this.”

  “Fuck Hock’s rules of engagement,” Wright said. “If I see a roach, I’m killing it!”

  While the officers had their attention focused on the roofs, an emaciated man stepped out of an alleyway and hastily pointed a pistol at them.

  Wright looked towards him, spooked. He pulled his rifle away from the roof and aimed it at the man, but the man was quicker.

  The man fired four times in rapid succession.

  Three shots whistled past Wright’s head, but the final shot struck home.

  Wright’s face flushed a bright red as the side of his neck splattered out in a gush of gore. He dropped his weapon and instinctively reached up to clutch his throat as dark crimson spurted out from between his fingers and bubbled out of his mouth. He fell to his knees in the snow as he gurgled and choked on his own blood.

  The man darted back down the alley.

  “Son of a bitch!” Hayes exclaimed. He pointed his rifle towards the alleyway.

  Three men darted out of the ransacked dorm and ran towards Hayes holding blunt objects.

  Teddy was knocked aside by the besieging group as they neared their target.

  Hayes turned around just in time for a brick to smash his face in like a rotten gourd. He fell backwards onto the ground as the men crouched over him and immediately went to work savagely bludgeoning him.

  Two more, a teenage boy and a woman, emerged out of an alley and stomped on Wright’s bleeding corpse.

  The group stripped the bodies of their weapons and dispersed just as fast as they had arrived.

  Teddy was left slack jawed standing in the middle of an empty footpath—two dead officers lying just a few feet away. So much for the easy way out, he thought.

  An alarm started blaring from the central control tower and he wasn’t sure if it was for what had just happened or if it had to do with whatever was going on at the gallows.

  Either way, he knew he had to get out of there.

  Teddy crouched down next to Hayes’ body and searched the vest’s tactical pockets for anything useful—he found nothing except for a pack of stale cigarettes and a pair of handcuffs.

  Messages pleading for back-up came through the officer’s radios.

  Teddy had to get to Ein before the whole place went up in flames. He needed access and he needed to know what the cops were up to—he snatched Hayes’ FEMA pass card from his vest’s breast pocket and pulled the Motorola radio out of the man’s belt holster.

  He stood back up, stuffed the radio in his back pocket, and broke into a sprint towards the building on the hilltop.

  A message played over the camp’s PA while the alarm continued its steady whine: Attention—due to terrorist activity, an emergency lockdown has been declared. All residents must remain in their dorms or they will be detained.

  The sound of every dormitory lock remotely engaging at the same time created a strange click that resonated down the pathway.

  Teddy ran faster.

  Further down the pathway ahead of him, almost as if in direct response to the lockdown, civilians started emerging out of the alleyways brandishing blunt objects and even a few rifles. They marched towards Teddy, towards the direction of the gallows, with their weapons and fists in the air, shouting and jeering. No food, no peace they chanted. A more alarming chant followed: you kill ours—we kill yours!

  The planning and coordination on the part of a bunch of strangers, who just weeks ago were content playing checkers around a campfire, was impressive.

  Teddy, aware that he would never push through the advancing crowd, turned and ran in the opposite direction, back towards the gallows.

  He blindly bolted around a corner and skidded across the ice, but managed to regain his footing.

  To his left, towards the dining hall, a row of riot troops blocked off the pathway with their shields in one hand and fiberglass batons in the other.

  To his right, towards the gallows, a growing mob of civilians had gathered, and hurled whatever they could get their hands on towards the officers.

  Bricks, stones, and all manner of trash was lobbed over Teddy’s head and uselessly bounced off of the shields or landed in the snow.

  The riot troops advanced in formation while a secondary team mobilized behind them. One of the team members, a sergeant, brought a megaphone to his lips. Disperse at once or we will use force—the threat was drowned out by the mob’s passionate cries of protest.

  Teddy turned and ran towards the gathering mob. He held out his forearm in an attempt to shield himself from small stones and bottles that fell short of their intended targets.

  Tear gas canisters and smoke bombs were lobbed over his head and landed amongst the unruly populace. Dense, white fog inundated the area and sent many running off for fresh air. Others covered their face with rags and t-shirts as they staggered around aimlessly in the haze, throwing their projectiles wildly and blindly.

  Teddy tucked his nose in the crook of his arm and ran through the smoke. His eyes teared up and his lungs burned, but he dared not stop.

  People stumbled around inside the milky haze, wheezing and coughing.

  Teddy jostled through the dancing silhouettes and pushed his way through until he was out of the smoke and on the other side. His vison was still blurry and his breaths felt labored, but the fresh air helped ease his symptoms.

  He stopped in front of the gallows to catch his breath.

  The crowd that was gathered earlier had dispersed deeper into the camp, but the mangled corpses of Sgt. Mayville and his officers lay left behind, strewn in the snow.

  Teddy wiped his irritated eyes with his coat sleeve and looked up at the administrative building that was only barely visible through the smoky air. “So close, yet so far,” he mumbled to himself.

  With the dust-up between the riot squad and the civilians intensifying, he knew there was no way he’d be able to waltz inconspicuously between the two groups and take the main road up to the building—he knew he’d have to find another way.

  Teddy glanced down the footpath that led back to his dorm, and saw that a growing group of civilians were busy smashing in random dormitory doors with a large piece of lumber from the wreckage of the gallows while their peers egged them on like deranged cheerleaders. Lawlessness had an intoxicating allure on a population that had been reduced to little more than an unskilled labor force.

  Two husky men brought an orderly out from one of the dorms and threw him on the pathway outside. Within moments the crowd went to work on hi
m with homicidal glee. Collaborating scum they screamed as they stomped the life out of him.

  Disgusted, Teddy looked away and went back to searching for a way to get back in the building where Ein was being held. Just when he was about to give up, he happened on a narrow alleyway just past the gallows.

  His expression brightened; he had gone down that path weeks before on his search for Ein. The alley led between two warehouses and let out into a lot near the turnstiles of the motor pool area where the busses gathered for work call.

  It would be a straight shot to the administration building.

  Just as he started to hurry towards the alley, gunshots rang out.

  Teddy stopped, ducked down, and covered his head, but the shots weren’t directed at him—people in the mob were firing at the riot troops.

  A frantic voice came over the radio in his pocket: Foxtrot to Jayhawk Control! Civs are using firearms!

  A calmer voice responded: Jayhawk Control to all units, use of lethal force is authorized. Fire at will.

  The response was immediate and deafening as the riot troops started firing their automatic rifles into the crowd.

  People screamed and fell back as they dropped their clubs and rocks and toppled over each other as they retreated.

  The troops pressed forward and shot at anything that moved.

  Some of the protestors were armed with either small-caliber handguns or ill-gotten rifles retrieved from slain officers and tried to hold them off, but they were easily singled out and picked off.

  Teddy sprinted across the courtyard and took cover behind the wreckage that was once the gallows. He got down and pressed his back against the wood, desperately sucking in air.

  The protestors back on the pathway scattered, ducking and diving behind mounds of trash and vanished down alleys and side streets. It only took a few minutes for the pathway to be completely free of anyone except those wearing a uniform, and those who lay dead.

  The riot troops stopped firing, dropped their magazines, and reloaded as they looked around at their handy work.

  A sergeant keyed his mic and looked towards the control tower barely visible through the haze. “Control, do you have a visual on the area?”

  Negative, Foxtrot—it’s too saturated with chemical agents. We have no visual, over.

  The sergeant stepped forward, raised his helmet’s visor, and pointed towards one of the alleys. “Break off in pairs and sweep the backways!”

  Teddy peered around the edge of his cover and watched with impending dread as the riot troops started to fan out with their weapons ready. However, movement above them caught his eye. The movement was obscured from the eyes of the tower through the smoke and wasn’t something the troops on the ground had even bothered to look for.

  At least thirty shrouded figures rose to their feet on the dormitory rooftops along both sides of the pathway—each of them held a glass bottle in their hand.

  The figures lit their cocktails and hurled the bottles down at the riot troops.

  With a loud whoosh the entire battalion went up in flames. The troops screamed in agony and terror as they dropped to the ground and floundered in the snow in a futile attempt to put out the fire. Some staggered forward and flailed their arms wildly above their heads in an almost comical fashion. Their body armor bubbled and melted against flesh. Ammunition in their tactical pockets popped like firecrackers.

  After almost two whole minutes of suffering, the final corpse lay still as the flames steadily rose—Camp Jayhawk’s riot battalion was no more.

  The figures on the rooftop slipped away while the protestors on the ground emerged from their hiding spaces, cheering and whooping in celebration.

  The voice coming over the radio in Teddy’s pocket was suddenly no longer calm: Jayhawk Control to remaining ground units! Dormitory security is compromised—lost contact with Foxtrot. Fall back to the administration cordon! Heavy armament squadron is clear to move in and suppress all hostiles! Repeat—heavy armament contingency is a-go!

  Teddy got out of cover and ran down the narrow alleyway towards the motor pool. He came to an abrupt stop on the other side.

  A small army was gathered in front of the administration building on top of the hill. Four rows of officers all carrying assault rifles stood poised and ready. Other officers, many of whom were badly injured, limped up the hill to take cover behind their defensive line.

  At the base of the hill, the vehicular sally port rolled open along its tracks and a convoy of eight Humvees slowly entered the compound. Each of the vehicles had dual .50 CAL machine guns mounted on their rooftop turrets and were manned by officers wearing heavy ballistic armor. Three black FEMA police SUVs followed the convoy with their blue lights flashing.

  Teddy’s stomach knotted—he knew that there was no way he would be able to break through their line and reach Ein. If he wanted to get to his destination in one piece, he had to go back and wait.

  A crowd of unruly protestors ran up the hill and chased after the wounded, fleeing officers. Most people in the ragtag group of men and women were armed with little more than pieces of lumber and crude steel rods.

  As soon as the group neared the vehicular convoy, the gunner atop the lead Humvee fired.

  Streaks of orange cut through the crowd and kicked up plumes of snow and dirt as the tracer rounds hammered bullet shaped patterns on the ground.

  After a mere five seconds of firing, the gunner stopped.

  The group had been reduced to gory heaps of sexless flesh. Dismembered arms and legs lay in pools of crimson goop; fingers twitched and some of the legs still writhed around as if they were part of some sort of grotesque fish.

  The convoy rolled onwards, over the bloodstained snow, and headed towards the dorms.

  Bullets ricocheted off of the vehicle’s armored panels as a small group of rebels cautiously looked out of cover and fired automatic rifles from the warehouse’s rooftop next to Teddy.

  The mounted guns swung up towards the roof as the vehicles kept moving—the gunner pressed the triggers.

  A series of concussive blasts disintegrated the upper level and caused the roof to collapse. The rebels fell to their deaths as their battered bodies became entombed by chunks of debris.

  Teddy’s ears rang as the high-caliber projectiles made a thunderous sound as they struck against the concrete structure. The building shook.

  Panicking, he turned and ran back out of the alley towards the courtyard.

  Chunks of concrete rained down all around him as the building started to fall apart.

  Teddy slid over a patch of ice and tumbled out into the alleyway just as the building imploded. A growing pall of dust and concrete powder hung over the courtyard and spread through the adjacent alleyways.

  Coughing and covered in soot, Teddy got back on his feet, dusted himself off, and staggered onto the main pathway.

  Teddy was pushed around and nearly knocked down as terrified civilians brushed past him. They dropped their blunt weapons and were running away from the administration building. They craned their necks and looked behind them as they ran for their lives.

  He turned his head to see what they were running from and saw, barely visible through the dust cloud, one of the Humvees as it turned onto the pathway with the rest of the convoy behind it.

  Teddy’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit…” He turned away and ran with the others.

  The gunners opened fire and Teddy broke into a sprint.

  People in the crowd were cut down mid-stride as bullets found their random marks. Pieces of the footpath blew-up into the sky as errant rounds bounced off of them and chipped away at the dorms.

  A man running next to Teddy suddenly erupted like an overripe pomegranate and spritzed him with blood and chunks of meat when he took a direct hit in the back.

  More and more people in the retreating group were slaughtered and Teddy could hear the convoy’s engines as they began to close the distance.

  Teddy felt like a clay skeet waiting
for a marksman’s bullet—but he knew he’d never survive if he stayed put.

  A shrouded figure on one of the rooftops hurled petrol bombs at the convoy.

  The bottle shattered on the lead vehicle and sent flames across the windshield, but didn’t slow it down. The gunner swiveled his weapon up towards the figure and fired.

  The figure fell to the street as part of the building crumbled away.

  Teddy seized the opportunity that the distraction provided and took a hard right, and disappeared down an alleyway while the gunner was distracted.

  Others tried to follow him, but they were too slow—the gunner’s tracer rounds splattered them against the concrete wall and slung them across the snowy asphalt.

  On the other side of the alley, Teddy found himself standing in a narrow service corridor that ran between two rows of dormitories. Debris of the old gambling huts and vendor stalls rendered the passageway nearly impassable. People were cowering and hiding amongst heaps of trash and behind the old stalls.

  On the rooftop in front of him, Teddy noticed a group of three people carrying what looked like some sort of grenade launcher as they hopped from roof to roof following the convoy. Guess they raided the armory and found some new toys, but he doubted a few launchers would do much good against FEMA’s offensive onslaught—especially after the number of men he saw waiting up at the administration building.

  Teddy crawled over the remnants of a shop and hurried down another alleyway. He exited onto the main footpath that would lead him back to his dorm. Given the circumstances, he figured he’d be better off waiting for a more opportune time to get to Ein—perhaps the fighting would lull once the sun went down and colder weather moved in.

  He jogged towards his dorm and couldn’t believe just how much damage had been done in such a short amount of time.

  Many of the dorms had their doors either propped open or smashed in. Bodies of both officers and civilians lay face down half-buried in the snow. Some who were still alive but incapable of walking on their own, writhed in pain on the ground and cried out for help as he passed.

  Just ahead of Teddy, an officer, a young man with short red hair, came staggering out of an alley. His rifle and helmet were gone and his wool balaclava had been removed from his head. His broken nose was crooked and his dislocated jaw hung down against his throat allowing his tongue to loll freely. Purple knots were forming all over his face from where he had been struck.