Fall, Rise, Repeat

by Matthew Schneider

  They jogged out of the house, except for Christopher, who was too winded and decided to walk behind them. They kept their pace, hurrying down Broadway and making several turns to get to the elementary school.

  They approached the school from South Miller Street, perpendicular to Broadway but at the corner of the school. It was already a great sight from a distance, and Zav was impressed the Outlaws did so much to transform the school into a base.

  The cars left behind in the parking lot had been pushed to the outside, forming a weak, makeshift wall that barricaded the school like a fortress. There were a few tents, supplies, Outlaw vehicles, and people walking, scattered about the parking lot in an unofficially organized way.

  Zav and the group entered the parking lot through the actual entrance, where no cars were placed. There were two armed guards standing defensively at the “gate”, who nodded graciously as Zav marched past.

  “Mornin’ men,” Marx chuckled as he passed through, saluting the guards.

  They pushed open the front doors of the school and sifted through the messy interior to the cafeteria. Inside, there were at least a hundred people bustling about, tending to chores, talking to one another, or just occupying space.

  Zav peered through the busy room and found a table. He ran over and jumped on top, preparing himself for the next speech.

  “May I have your attention,” Zav called out, and looked at his feet, wondering if that was supposed to be a question or an order.

  The Outlaws in the room halted their chatter and turned to Zav, some smiling, others still dead from their little sleep.

  “I’m surprised to see everyone up. We’ve had a very busy past couple days, so I’ll make this short. I am looking for four,” Zav held up four fingers to clarify, realizing his homonym might be confusing, “strong soldiers to meet with me. This will be an exclusive operation that will,” Zav paused, “pay well in honor.”

  His eyes darted to his group, where Ethan had a concerned look on his face. Nonetheless, he continued. “If you are up for the task, please meet me in five minutes in this corner!” Zav clapped his hands once and jumped down from the table.

  He slid over the bench and leaned against the wall in the corner. Ethan, Marx, and Christopher walked over. Ethan crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. “You do realize you just promised payment, right?”

  “In honor,” Zav corrected, shaking his finger.

  They waited several minutes, but nobody came forward. Zav ground his teeth and looked around the room. His eyes caught a person moving towards him.

  A man, bigger than Thor in height, and in body weight too, stepped forward and stood in front of Zav. He had blond hair that stretched to his shoulders and wore a black leather cap on his head. He had opaque, black gun-range glasses that hid his eyes, and a bushy moustache that hid his upper lip. His face was covered in scars.

  He wore a black leather jacket almost identical to Thor’s minus the spikes. It was unzipped, however, and a shirt with the American flag painted across it peeked through the opening. He was a muscular man, and the very fibers of the patriotic shirt were stretched. He had black pants that matched his jacket, but they were in horrible shape, torn in odd places.

  “Wow. Okay. Are you here for the job?” Zav asked, intimidated by the monster of a man standing before him.

  The man spoke with a voice like a Greek God. It was deep, powerful, and echoed. “This is no job,” he rumbled. “It is only destiny.”

  Zav stared at the face of this man. “Can I get a name?”

  The man clenched his jaw and cracked his knuckles like a gangster about to throw punches. “Scorpio.”

  The color rushed from Zav’s face. “Okay. You seem like you know what you’re doing…” Zav paused, and took a breath. “Are you willing to work as a hitman?”

  “I did not come for questions.”

  Zav glanced at his group, who stood off to the side. “Yes...sir...I am giving you an order to carry out an assassination.”

  “Who.” There was nothing in his voice that suggested it was a question.

  Zav gulped. “You are to hunt down McConnell and assassinate him.”

  “Payment.”

  The man lowered his head and took off his glasses. He had gray eyes—a gray eye, the other one was milky white and had a scrape across it.

  “Uh, you,” Zav licked his lips, “can have the Gurkha! Yes. Thor’s truck, with the gun. It’s all yours if you kill McConnell.”

  “I will leave now for the job,” Scorpio grunted, and walked out of the cafeteria. He marched out of the school and put one foot in front of the other until he had crossed the street and made it to the triangular building on the next street corner.

  Scorpio looked up and down the building, then walked up the steps to the front door. He covered his eyes to block the rising sun and peeked into the building.

  “Good.”

  He brought his arm back to wind up and punched forward, his fist breaking through the glass door like thin ice. He stepped back and kicked out the rest of the glass, then stepped in.

  His eyes darted around and he grabbed the closest thing to him. He pulled the small BMX bike out of the building and climbed on top of it like a clown doing a circus stunt.

  He sat down with his knees out and pedaled down the road as though he did not look like a madman. His powerful legs stomped down on the pedals and he sped down the street, making his way to the junkyard. He pulled up to its entrance. The barricaded fortress was completely locked down.

  “Not good,” Scorpio said to himself as he grabbed the handle of the gate and tried prying on it. It would not move.

  He picked up the bike and threw it over the top of the fence, listening for it to clatter on the other side before he jumped up, his fingers gripping the rusty fence. He pulled himself up and swung his legs over, dropping two meters to the ground. A cloud of dust and dirt exploded off the asphalt when he landed.

  This was no unfamiliar territory. Scorpio stretched himself out and rode his bike to the entrance of the junkyard building.

  His hand grabbed the doorknob of the front door and swung it open. “Good.” He looked around the lounge and locked his eyes on the door of what used to be Thor’s office. There was trash littered on the ground, but Scorpio paid no attention to it as he marched forward, his eyes not moving from the office door.

  It was a simple office door: a wood body, and a textured-glass window that did not allow anyone to see in. Scorpio could make out a human figure through the window against the bright light coming through the windows on the back wall.

  He grabbed the doorknob and twisted, but it held its position. He drew back his arm and punched through the glass, its entire surface shattering into a hundred pieces. McConnell sat in the office chair, and their gazes caught each other’s. Scorpio reached through the window and opened the door as McConnell leaped over the desk.

  The door swung open and McConnell dove out, grabbing at Scorpio’s feet. Scorpio jumped back and raised his fists.

  “You made a mistake coming here!” shouted McConnell, bouncing back and forth aggressively. He punched the air, but Scorpio did not flinch. “All I needed was a day, just one day, to relax before I came into power.”

  “Your life is a song. Your heart beat is the rhythm. And I don’t like how it sounds,” said Scorpio, stepping forward. McConnell continued to box the air but moved his foot back.

  “Now the old king is dead. Long live the king!” sang McConnell, smirking. He lunged forward and swung his fist, his knuckles grazing Scorpio’s nose.

  Scorpio roared and lurched forward, grabbing McConnell by the shirt. McConnell pushed back at Scorpio, his palms on Scorpio’s throat.

  Scorpio bent his knees and lifted McConnell into the air and grunted as he threw him onto a cafeteria table. He sprinted at McConnell, but McConnell fell off the table and reached into his pocket. He whipped out a switchblade and danced it around his fingers.

  He jumped at Scorpio and they co
llided in the air. McConnell slid the knife into Scorpio’s wrist, but Scorpio ignored the pain and pulled McConnell to the ground. He mounted him and punched him in the nose, blood spraying over McConnell’s face.

  “GAH!” screamed McConnell. He grabbed Scorpio’s wrist and elbow and lifted his hips, throwing Scorpio off from on top of him. Scorpio rolled on the floor and got to his feet.

  He pulled the knife out of his wrist. Blood flowed out like a dam had just broken. McConnell had gotten to his feet and swaggered around, rubbing the side of his head. Scorpio pinched the blade of the knife and brought his elbow up, then threw the knife. It hit McConnell in the left breast, and he cried out in pain.

  Scorpio roared again and ran at McConnell, tackling him to the ground. McConnell collapsed under the immense weight, and gurgled blood. He felt no other option was available and slid the knife out of his chest and jabbed at Scorpio, but he was not fast enough.

  Scorpio grabbed McConnell’s wrist and squeezed until he heard a crack and McConnell’s hand opened, dropping the knife. Scorpio leaned forward and placed his hands around McConnell’s neck and shifted his weight forward.

  McConnell gasped for air, blood dripping from both sides of his mouth. His face turned as red as the Communist flag and his fists beat at Scorpio’s face. Scorpio ignored the distraction.

  Scorpio pressed his thumbs down, his fingernails digging into McConnell’s throat, tearing the flesh. As McConnell choked, blood bubbled out of his mouth and dripped from his nose, forming a puddle around his head.

  Scorpio’s thumbs broke the skin and spilled blood. McConnell gagged again, his hands grabbed at his throat. His face was becoming pale as Scorpio continued to lean on him.

  McConnell stopped fidgeting and his hands laid still at his sides. Scorpio pulled his thumbs out of McConnell’s throat and wiped the blood on McConnell’s shirt.

  “It is done,” he said to himself.

  He stood up, his boots splashing in the lake of blood that was seeping into the cracks. He stepped over McConnell’s lifeless body and reentered Thor’s office. He looked around and spotted something unusual in the corner.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice softer than normal.

  Victoria looked up with a quivering lip. “Victoria.”

  Scorpio bent down and picked Victoria up, folding her over his shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

  He walked out of the office, ducking under the doorframe to make sure she did not hit her head. Victoria closed her eyes as they stepped over the mutilated corpse and reopened them when they made it outside.

  “Here. Bicycle.” Scorpio picked up the bicycle and handed it to Victoria. “I’ll walk.”

  Victoria pedaled and Scorpio casually jogged alongside her as they made their journey back to Shelbyville.

  Scorpio looked back at the junkyard as they left, but showed no emotion. The junkyard was not what it used to be. Nothing was.

  It was indeed a sad sight to see McConnell with his neck torn open, and blood spilled like soda at a party, and it would take only a true neutral to kill and not be affected.

  Chapter 9

  Zav now had no competition. Scorpio had retrieved the Gurkha. Christopher and Ethan were satisfied that no more blood had to be spilt. Marx was excited they were going to travel to Chicago for clean water.

  Zav pulled on his suit pants and tucked in his shirt. He tightened his belt and tie. His arms stretched through his coat and he used a comb to fix his hair.

  “All right. Let’s go find a solar powered car so we needn’t worry about trying to find gas,” commanded Zav, and the four, dressed in their best, headed out from the house and walked Broadway until they found their ideal car.

  “I’ll ask the owner for the key. Where’s the water for bartering?” Zav asked, and Ethan handed him half-a-dozen bottles of water.

  He walked up the steps to the house that the car was parked outside of and knocked three times. He tapped his foot anxiously and was startled when the door opened.

  A woman with orange hair stood in the doorway. “Xavier Starr...what an honor! Would you like to come in?” she asked.

  Zav smiled and shook his head. “We’ve actually chosen you for a particular barter, uh, miss. Water is scarce, and so we are offering you this lukewarm water in trade for borrowing your car while we travel to Chicago on business endeavors. We...yes, business. Hard, political business.”

  The lady raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Oh, yes! I can do that. Let me grab the keys,” she said, and reached into a panel on the interior wall next to the door. “I’m so happy we have a leader like you to protect us while the country is at war!”

  “Well, we’re not really at war anymore, are we?” Zav chuckled, and accepted the dangling keys from her hand.

  “Oh yes, actually. We just heard a broadcast come in from our government-issued household radio. Don’t you have one in your house?”

  Zav curled his lips and looked at the other three. They shrugged and he turned back to the lady. “No, we don’t.”

  She squinted and raised her chin. “Well, as odd as that is, I’ll offer you ours since we can get another from our dead neighbor’s house. Let me grab it,” she smiled wide and turned away.

  Zav blinked, gaped, and looked to the house next door. He raised an eyebrow at the lady’s peculiar response. She returned in a few moments holding a white radio with a square body and a semicircle top.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Consider yourself a noble in this dark time.” Zav nodded his head and turned back. As he descended the steps, he heard the door close behind him. While unlocking the car with the keys in his right hand, he tossed the radio to Christopher with his left.

  They climbed in the car and it gave a soft hum as Zav started it. It was much like his, but was a newer, upper-class Tesla model that had been introduced just a couple of years ago.

  “Christopher, tune that to whatever source you can find. Marx, I’m not used to this car, so mess around with the things in here to see if you can get the digital navigation system to work.”

  “Anything I should do?” asked Ethan.

  “Shut up.”

  Ethan licked his lips and stared out the window.

  Marx tapped at the buttons on the control panel and the screen in between them flickered to life.

  “Good afternoon, Amanda. What operation would you like to perform?”

  “Fuck you, I’m not Amanda,” Marx laughed, and chose the navigation option.

  “What is your destination?” the computer asked.

  Marx typed “Chicago” using the onscreen keyboard.

  “Calculating route, route calculated.”

  Marx sat back in his seat and sighed. “We’re never going to have technology like this again.”

  Ethan continued to stare out the window but responded, “I disagree. After these dark days, things will return to normal. We’ll have a lot to rebuild, though.”

  Christopher nodded. “Yeah.” He continued to carefully twist the knob on the radio, searching for some sort of feedback.

  Zav decided to switch the car to autopilot. He slid his finger around on the screen to see the route the car was taking.

  “You know, I don’t really want to go through Indianapolis. It’d be cool to see how the city is doing, but we’ll probably be attacked and that’s the last place we want to be stranded. Marx, see if we can run an alternative route. I’m going to try and get some rest.”

  The radio crackled and Christopher clapped his hands. “I think I just found something.” He turned the knob and held the radio up to the window. He turned up the volume and the static grew louder, but the voice of a person became more distinct, too.

  “Damn, keep going,” muttered Zav, turning his head to face the radio even though his eyes were closed.

  The static began to subside and a voice could be made out.

  “2:35,” chimed a man’s voice, but it sounded inhuman. It was robotic, but realistic. It matched those on the emergency broadcast syst
ems. “This is a status report on repeat by the United States Federal Government. The United States fired 153 missiles at the following Russian cities: Moscow, Saint Petersburg, Novosibirsk, Yekaterinburg. One missile tipped with a nuclear warhead struck a Russian military base. The government used their anti-missile defense system to deflect 79 of the missiles. The remaining missiles were weakened, but still struck the cities. Russian officials have confirmed the death toll is eleven million.

  “2:40. This is a status report on repeat by the United States Federal Government. The United States was hit by seven missiles. Two of the seven were nuclear. Nuclear explosions occurred in Southern California and Dallas, Texas. One missile hit Tallahassee, Florida. The anti-missile defense system successfully defended the cities of Chicago and Indianapolis. One missile struck north of Milwaukee. One missile successfully evaded the anti-defense system and hit south of the District of Columbia.

  “2:46. This is a status report on repeat by the United States Federal Government. The President of the United States was on Air Force One during the time of the attack. His whereabouts have been kept classified as troops are deployed in major cities. Martial law is in effect until wartime has seceded. Power will return to households in several days. Supply packages with food and water are being dropped in safe havens near largely populated cities.

  “2:49. This is a status report on repeat by the United States Federal Government. The following is a message from the President of the United States. Please standby.” The radio cut, and the static returned.

  Nobody said anything. Christopher stared at his feet. “I can’t believe we’re living through this.”

  “And now, a message from the President of the United States.”

  The president began speaking: “And so, it is on this warm Summer day that I am reaching out to all Americans. The United States engaged in a necessary war. For far too long have we been attacked. Our enemy, the Russian Federation, has made many threats. They puppeted our presidents with their globalist hands and grabbed at our money like we were a child. We showed the world that the United States does not falter. The attack that I authorized was a necessary action in deterrence. They fought back. We’ve always known Russia is a strong country. War will continue. No more missiles or nuclear explosives will be authorized. The soldiers of this nation must fight the true enemy...the rivaling globalist men who sought to destroy us. We are a country stronger than any other. Americans, work to take back what is ours. Our best-trained troops, our strongest tanks, our fastest jets, our powerful military is engaging the enemy as we speak. We will move the war from our doorstep to theirs. Stand strong, Americans.”