“I want to check the back door,” Janice said.
“Sure, I’m with you,” Garrett said.
The three snuck around the corner of the building, keeping the trees between them and the convenience store. They found the back door ajar. The door creaked on its hinges when Janice pushed it open, bringing shushes and complaints from both of the men.
Janice slipped into the back room. Jorge produced a small tactical flashlight. He had scribbled green magic marker onto the lens, and the dim, green hue would be hard to see just a few hundred feet away.
“Here,” Jorge whispered, handing her the flashlight. “Be quick about it. I want to keep moving east before we have to turn back.”
Janice took the flashlight and found the door to the hallway. Beyond was a large room, likely used for aerobics or some other group exercise. Weight machines lined the sides of the space. Janice stood in the doorway, scanning the muted beam around the room.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Look!”
In the far corner of the room, a pile of open boxes was stacked nearly five feet high. The top one had tilted over, and packages of toilet paper and a large, unopened box of feminine products had dumped out onto the floor.
“Charlie will love me for this,” she said over her shoulder. “She’s almost out of tampons.”
Jorge made it to the door just as Janice began running into the room. She was closely followed by Garrett.
“Hey! Slow down,” Jorge called out.
Janice never answered.
The explosion was deafening, sending Jorge flying back through the door and onto the floor. He struggled to lift himself, using his elbows to elevate his head to look into the exercise room.
Dust and debris filled the air. The room’s left wall had a massive hole punched through it, and dozens if not hundreds of pockmarks had peppered the building’s ceiling and walls. Weight machines were bent, and toppled over. Hundreds of pounds of iron and stainless steel had been tossed about like a kite in the wind. The strength of the explosion was beyond anything he had ever seen.
Jorge staggered into the room used his backup flashlight to search frantically for his friends. The noise of the explosion would attract the gang, and in desperation, he called out for Janice and Garrett.
As he stepped further into the destruction, he stumbled over something. Looking down, he recognized that it was the bottom of a leg. Charred and amputated below the knee, Garrett’s shoe was nevertheless still neatly tied over the foot.
Cursing, Jorge turned and left. His friends had been effectively vaporized by the explosion. They were gone, and nothing remained of them but a bloody stump.
CHARLIE
Janice had been killed while she was trying to help me.
Every time I thought I was cried out, I somehow found more tears to shed. When Jorge came back and told us what had happened, I broke down and had to be carried into my dad’s office, which had become my refuge over these past months.
Maria had stopped in once or twice during the morning and finally got me to leave with a promise of fresh outside air and a glass of sweet tea. I couldn’t choke down the sugary liquid, but having people around me, offering support, lightened my load just a bit.
“She didn’t feel a thing,” Cynthia said. “I know that doesn’t help now, but later on when you’re thinking about last night, it will.”
I looked up at her, a confused and angry look on my face.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve been there before.”
I filed her advice away. She seemed to know what she was talking about. Even John and Mike deferred to her. That says a lot.
“She died for me,” I said. “Damn it, she died for a box of tampons.”
“Yeah,” Jorge said, shaking his head. “I never thought how important that is.”
“Men,” Cynthia said. “Don’t think beyond what’s right in front of them.”
“It’s my fault,” I said. Cynthia turned to me. “Charlie, Janice and Maria needed those things too.”
“Maybe Maria, but not Janice.”
Cynthia looked confused.
“She was pregnant,” I said.
The group deflated. Maria began to cry.
“Janice told me the other day. She knew I was low on feminine products, and she said she wouldn’t need them for a while. That’s why I thought we should move soon. Janice was freaked about it.”
I left them after that and retreated into my dad’s office. The others stayed gathered in the kitchen, discussing their next move. As I sat there, I ruminated about our time in Maitland. We had wasted months here in relative security, happy to survive but afraid to live.
We should have moved on. We had talked a lot about it but always found an excuse to stay.
I thought of the times when I had been the deciding vote, when Maria and Jorge wanted to leave but Garrett and Janice wanted to stay. I realized that I should have been the one to push us forward. I had been afraid to make the call that would send us out face possible death, never thinking that staying could be just as bad.
If I had been more forceful. If I had been more brave. If I had been more of a leader, Janice and Garrett might be alive. I was responsible for their deaths. I was the one that kept us here.
I fell into a deep depression as the night came and slipped away.
The next morning, with no sleep and a suffocating fog of angst clouding my mind, I left the office. I stumbled into the kitchen and found Cynthia sitting at the table, a lone witness to my self-pity.
I sat down and refused to meet her gaze.
“You blame yourself.” She simply stated the fact as if she could read my mind.
“The truth is, it probably is your fault. At least in part.”
My eyes flared, and I looked at her with an anger that would kill if it could.
“Ah. There is life in there.”
“Screw you!” I spat.
She got up and poured herself a cup of hot water and added instant coffee crystals and sugar, stirring slowly so as not to clink on the sides of the cup. I found her anal-retentive motions infuriating. She sat back down and took a sip, staring over the lip of the mug at me.
“I told you earlier. You can either be the hunter or the hunted. It’s as simple as that.”
“I don’t like your attitude,” I shot back. “How dare you blame me?”
“Why not? You blame yourself. I’m just agreeing with you.”
I had no good reply to that. It was true. She must have seen the look on my face and smirked.
“Look, Charlie. I don’t want to pile on. You’re in a bad place. I’ve been there before. But you need to put that aside so you can put the blame on where it belongs. That bomb was set by DHS. From Jorge’s description of the explosion, it was probably a Claymore mine. Only the government has those.”
I tried to process what she was telling me, but I was so tired that my brain took a moment to catch up.
“Yes, the government killed your friends,” she said after seeing the confused look in my eyes. “You didn’t see that coming, did you?”
I had nothing to say. In one sense, I felt relieved that the gangs hadn’t done this. They were the enemy, and continuing to live close to them was our poor decision. But wasn’t them. It was tyrants that were trying to rule the country. They were everywhere.
“Think about what I said. But think fast, because at nightfall, we’re leaving. With or without you.”
Cynthia stood up and left me alone at the table. I got up as well and went to my father’s study. I closed the door and didn’t come out again until sun had begun to drop below the horizon.
I walked into the kitchen and found the group gathered together. They fell silent when they saw me. Fully decked out with my battle gear, my rifle cleaned and slung over my shoulder, I went to the patio and stooped down beside a pile of charcoal we were using to help purify our water supply. Reaching in, I grabbed a piece of the charred oak. I stood with my back to them as I smeared my fac
e with its dark, oily residue.
“Charlie, are you alright?” Maria asked.
I turned around and looked at them, my face painted with black streaks and a fire in my eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“Charlie?” John asked. “What are you doing?”
“It’s time to hunt, John,” I replied. “It’s time to hunt.”
***
I used a number of sources in creating this book. The dialog in chapter 14 was heavily influenced by an article in the Daily Koss by author Major Kong titled “Flying the B-52.” All of the remaining research was done through public websites with no particular source providing the bulk of the information.
I am very impressed with the Tennessee 278th Armored Cavalry. I researched their facilities in Nashville, paying a personal visit to several armories. Their history of service is unmatched and their performance in both kinetic actions and war games is on par with their peers, even though they are “part-time” National Guard. They drill with the 101st Airborne and are often the first to be called in all our major conflicts. Their pride in state and service is unrivaled.
A special thanks to a few important people. First, to my editor Erin. She’s more than patient as my documents were returned with more “red” than “black” on the manuscript. Other writers will appreciate that. She’s a saint.
Second, to Mark Phillips, his military experience was valuable in keeping me on the straight and narrow regarding the equipment in this book.
Third, to Angery American. He’s the man. His knowledge in survival techniques is unsurpassed. He is a gem.
Fourth, to my wife. She’s patient beyond words given that I have a full-time job and write on the side. I think she still likes me. I’m still in the house.
Finally, my thanks to several of the readers that helped me with the Air Force 5th wing and Tennessee 278th armored cavalry. They are vets who served in these units and gave me enough knowledge to sound intelligent.
I’ve started the next book in this series, Charlie’s Requiem: Retribution. It will be available next summer and will sync this series with the Going Home series time line.
Thank you all for supporting Chris and me. It’s been an amazing ride so far and I’ll keep writing as long as you all keep reading.
Table of Contents
PREFACE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
Charlie's Requiem: Resistance Page 27