The World Bleeds: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 5)

by Boyd Craven III

“Sounds like a plan,” Patty said, looking more to Lisa.

  “Rebel Radio.” Lisa agreed.

  Chapter 5 -

  Choccolocco Alabama –

  “Do you think they saw us?” Michael whispered.

  “I don’t think so… Bret and Linny, if you see or hear someone you don’t know, stick close to one of us got it?”

  “Got it,” They both chorused together and then almost busted up in giggles.

  A look from Michael sobered them up immediately.

  “Those don’t look like the normal APC’s the cops in the big cities have been getting.”

  “That’s because they aren’t. Those were Russian built BTR-80’s.” John said, his voice strained.

  “The Russians are invading us? Is this like Red Dawn?” Michael asked.

  “No, they quit making those a long time back. Their like the cockroaches of the APC world. Everybody has a few and they just don’t die. Black market sales when their economy tanked—“

  They fell silent as the sounds of motors could be heard again and Michael felt a tug on his hand. Bret was holding himself and stepping from one foot to another silently.

  “I really have to go,” Bret almost pleaded.

  “Ok. John, can you keep an eye out?”

  John nodded and Michael led Bret into the house. He turned when he heard a crunch in the debris behind him and saw Linny had followed.

  “I have to go too,” She said.

  Michael led them to the main bathroom. It had been trashed, the medicine cabinet torn out of the wall, its contents spilled all over. He pointed to the toilet and then to Bret and led Linny to his parents’ bedroom where there was a master bath.

  “When you’re done, meet me in the hallway,” He whispered, and she nodded before shutting the door.

  Michael had to go himself, and he wasn’t sure if it was from hearing the sound of those motors or the fact he really had to go. He waited in the hallway and Bret opened the door to the guest bath.

  “Toilet doesn’t flush,” He whispered.

  “That’s ok, wait here for me and your sister.”

  Michael closed the door and held his breath while he went. He slowly counted to ten until sweet relief. He was almost done when a firm knock on the door startled him.

  “I’ll be right out,” He said, not quite whispering.

  “You have to hurry, they’re coming.” John’s voice was almost frantic.

  Michael opened the door and looked out. John had always been calm and laid back. When the standoff with the police happened, he’d never lost his cool. Now it looked like he was losing it.

  “There’s two of them out front, the APC’s are a little further down the street. I want you to take the kids and head out back, go to my place. I’m going to distract them.”

  “How?”

  “I need your car,” John said and Michael Nodded.

  They both knew the car couldn’t stand up to the rolling war machines they’d seen, but with any luck, whoever was out there had no idea how many people where here. Those machine guns could cut it in half… Despite that, it wasn’t a bad plan.

  “If I can’t find you by my house, make your way back to the cave when this is all done.”

  “John, I… Thanks.” Michael said and hugged his friends father, a man he’d now come to associate as more than that, much more.

  “Go, hurry,” John motioned to the back door. Hurry hurried maybe change

  Michael and the kids hurried out, using the privacy fence for cover until they reached the back. Michael stood on his tip toes and looked into the neighbor’s yard, not seeing anything. He boosted the kids over, letting them fall softly when the roar of Michael’s Impala shook the house. A screeching of metal made Michael wince and then tires squealed as it took off. Immediately the revving of the APC’s could be heard. A long string of automatic gunfire sounded off and Michael scampered up and over the fence as quick as he could and took the kids by hand and headed for the next yard, trying to put distance between them.

  “In here, quick,” Michael pointed to the corner of the shrubbery.

  The neighbor had taken meticulous care of his lawn and shrubs, working the back of them into a hedge of sorts. Michael had been hired off and on to take care of this lawn and do the gardening when the old man wasn’t around and knew that in the corner there was almost a hollow spot where shrubs met up. It was there he hid the kids and he wedged himself inside of it.

  “What do we do now?” Linny asked.

  “I don’t know. Shhhh, lets listen.”

  Michael could still hear his car’s distinctive rumble, but it was moving away and getting quieter.

  “Maybe John’ll be ok,” Bret said, a quiver in his voice.

  +++++

  John’s hasty exit tore the garage door free as the Detroit muscle pushed its way past. He braked hard, the remains of the door slid off, and he shifted into drive peeling rubber. A quick glance in the side mirror showed the coaxial machine gun turning his direction. John pushed the pedal down harder and tore out of the immediate area with the APC’s starting to move. He winced when he heard the chatter of automatic weapons and watched sparks erupt from the road beside him.

  “They aren’t shooting at me, they’re trying to get me to stop,” John thought and made a hard turn down the road that led to the interstate. He started to weave the car from side to side as the machine gun hosed rounds at the car. He knew the APC had a top speed of close to fifty miles an hour, so he did his best to push Michael’s car up to speeds far above that until the men in the APC decided he wasn’t getting the picture.

  The lead APC opened up with its bigger gun, punching holes through the passenger side and smoke erupted from under the engine compartment. John could see a sharp turn coming up and didn’t want to slow much, so as he got close, he pulled the parking brake and floored it while turning the wheel. It had been many years since John had to use his defensive driving skills he learned in the teams, but they hadn’t grown too rusty, and he got the car pointed down the center of the road again. John spent half a second to check the gauges because the smoke or steam was increasing and he never saw the truck that rammed the driver’s side.

  The truck had been a deuce and a half or one of its variants. The heavy metal bumper crumpled the side door and John’s vehicle rolled as the passenger side tire crumpled. It tumbled and he was thrown around the inside of the car. His vision dimmed as he hit his head several times.

  The door being wrenched open is what made him come to. A fresh faced young man no older than his early twenties was speaking to him. He couldn’t hear what he was saying and his head was spinning. The man pulled John out and dragged him by the arms into the underbrush.

  “Don’t talk,” the stranger said, pulling branches over John.

  John couldn’t if he wanted to, but the voice of the stranger was funny. It had a foreign accent somehow but his English was clear.

  They sat like that for a minute or so, long enough to see the driver of the deuce and a half get out with a crimson smear from his nose to neck. He was pinching the bridge of his nose and screaming orders into a hand held radio in a foreign language. Seconds passed and the APC’s caught up with the tangled mess of car and truck. Six troops got out of the two APC’s and met up with the bloody man.

  “I do not know… I hit my face on the wheel…”

  “I did not want him dead, you were to block…”

  “dirty Americans, they did this to themselves…”

  “..want to clean up their mess. Yosef, you and your team fan out. He may be armed.”

  “Come, they will find us if we stay here,” the stranger said, pulling on John’s arm.

  “Who are you?” John asked, trying to fight down the nausea and blinding pain in his forehead.

  “Henrikas, formerly of Lithuania’s armed forces. Hurry, they will kill me if they find me, you they will just interrogate. Then kill you,” he said with a smile.

  “Henrikas?”


  “Yes, please, we must hurry.”

  “Lead the way Henry,” John said getting to his feet with less grace than he would have liked.

  +++++

  Michael could kick himself. They had been safe in the hedgerow until they moved into John’s yard to see if he’d returned. His house had been trashed just like Michael’s parents house had and the rear door was off its hinges. Michael and the kids crept inside and peered around.

  “John?” Michael asked softly, Bret holding his hand and Linny holding onto his shirt tail.

  “Please, step in,” he heard, but it wasn’t John’s voice. He turned to run and three men with carbines had them covered. Michael looked back towards the direction of the voice when another soldier stepped forward, his carbine at the ready, but not aimed at them.

  “Please, we aren’t going to hurt these children. Lower your weapons,” he had a smooth cultured voice.

  The soldiers complied and Michael’s eyebrows rose when he noticed the NATO armband. Things clicked into place and he relaxed slightly, but he worried about John.

  “Thank you, we were stopping at my house to look for things. I didn’t know that…”

  “Your country has had martial law enacted. Did you not know this?”

  “Just what we heard on the old radio,” Michael said as both kids got on either side of him and held onto him tightly.

  “I am sorry for earlier, we heard a motor that we suspected belonged to a criminal faction operating around here. The motor sounded as loud as our personnel carriers so we thought—“

  “I heard guns,” Linny said in a small voice.

  “Yes, your friend, he surprised my men. We were trying to get him to stop.”

  “Is he ok?”

  The man hesitated for a second too long and Michael pulled the kids tight and tried to take a step backwards, right into the men standing behind him. He moved forward again, feeling Bret crushing his hand in a tight grip.

  “He hit one of our trucks trying to run. He was, how do you say it… getting the lead out, when the car crashed.”

  “Is he—“

  “We did not find him. There is no blood inside of the car but the windshield was gone. We spent an hour looking to see if he was thrown clear.”

  “He’s gone?” Bret asked, his voice hitching.

  Michael looked down and saw fat tears pooling up into the boys eyes. He knelt and picked up Bret who put his arms around his neck and buried his face into his shoulder.

  “We did not find a body. We will of course keep searching. I am Commander Lukashenko, and I insist you three come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” Michael asked, feeling like something dropped into the pit of his stomach making him both nauseous and stone cold afraid of the answer.

  “We have a camp for survivors, you will be safer there until your military can return home and some semblance of order restored,” the commander said.

  “Do we have to go far, sir?” Linny asked, and the Commander gave her a big smile.

  “No dear, it’s been set up about thirty miles away. We can transport you there easily. Is there anything you’d like to take from your house here before we leave?”

  “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” Michael thought to himself, “This is our friend John’s house. The one who was driving…”

  “Ah yes, so the house where you first parked is yours, yes?” Lukashenko asked, his voice smooth.

  “Yes,” Michael replied.

  “Good, my men will take you there, then we shall leave. Is there anyone else in the area that could benefit from our help?”

  Michael was ready to say no but the way Commander Lukashenko paused and said help with a sarcastic smile made him cold, “No sir.”

  “Good, good. We will of course, need to confiscate your guns.”

  Chapter 6 -

  Choccolocco Alabama –

  John woke for the second day in a row with what felt like the world’s worst hangover. He rolled over before he could puke on himself and dry heaved in the barn they had been hiding in. Henrikas had immediately recognized the severity of the concussion and had helped John out of the area before they had been found. He’d helped him into the barn before collapsing with exhaustion of helping drag the man several miles as he went in and out of consciousness.

  “Good, you are awake again,” he said, trying to hand a steaming mug to John.

  “Barely,” John said, taking the mug, “How long?” They both knew what he was asking.

  “Two days, you are still in rough shape.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Henrikas asked.

  “Why did you help me?”

  “Because like you, I am a fugitive but for other reasons.”

  John pondered that for a moment, “Why am I a fugitive? We did nothing wrong.”

  “You are… were… Let me find the words… You should have already been in the camps. All people are in the camps that the troops can find.” Henrikas grabbed a steaming mug from his feet and motioned for John to drink.

  The broth was salty and for a moment his stomach almost rebelled but he knew he needed to hold it down. Two days was a long time to be in and out of things. John almost scalded himself when his stomach accepted the broth and begged for more. It was all he could do not to drink the whole mug in one shot.

  “So you and the troops. You’re with the UN?”

  “Some of us. I was conscripted many years ago and when we heard that our unit was coming to America to help rebuild I was happy. Things were not as they seemed.”

  “How so?” John asked him, finishing the mug and sitting it down.

  “The Navy, your boats and submarines ya?” Henrikas asked and John nodded, “They have been fighting almost nonstop. Boats, airplanes and all sorts of peoples were trying to come here. Many made it, your Navy sank many more or shot down the airplanes. They have been too busy trying to keep ISIS away. Much of the world is now at war as your cruise missiles have turned entire countries into smoking piles of glass. Your president and vice president came out of hiding to speak with… ambassadors? Heads of state? The area was hit by a small yield nuclear bomb. We do not know who set it off.”

  John let those words digest before asking, “So where do you and the UN fit in with this?”

  “I do not know much more than that, except that the peacekeeping we were supposed to be helping and supporting is basically to throw Americans into camps. I had always planned on defecting if possible, but what I saw in those camps and what the world is allowing to happen to America, only pushed my agenda to happen faster. I left my post three weeks ago.”

  The two of them talked off and on that day as Henrikas kept making broth and then a thin stew when it became apparent that John was past the worst of the nausea. The constant worry for Michael and the kids kept gnawing at him. Neither of them knew what had happened to them.

  “I have to go back to the house and see if they’re there,” John told Henrikas or Henry as he’d started to call him. “If not there, maybe they are back at the camp we stayed in,” he had been careful to not disclose how they’d survived the past month or where.

  “It is possible the commander has moved onto the Anniston area, but he still has patrols that sweep through the countryside. If we are careful… My friend, I do not want to get caught, but my conscious won’t allow me to sit idle anymore. I pray they are there and not in the camps.”

  John silently agreed, but just nodded and took a short walk to relieve himself, noting that he was still dizzy. Henrikas stood to join him but sat back down. John smiled to himself when he wasn’t followed. He mostly believed his new friend, but belief wasn’t blind trust. Allowing John to walk out of his sight meant at least there was some there.

  “Maybe he really does have a guilty conscious, why else would he be so helpful? God, that’s paranoid.” John thought to himself.

  He made his way back to the spot where they had camped out inside the barn only to find it empty. He foun
d a note by where they were sitting, “Will return shortly, getting some items for tomorrow.”

  +++++

  Talladega Federal Penitentiary & Temporary FEMA Camp, Alabama

  The camp was nothing like Michael thought it was going to be like, it was worse. His eye was still almost swollen closed. As soon as he was off the transport, they separated the kids from him. He tried to make the guards understand they wanted to stay together but he caught a rifle butt and was dragged to the men’s barracks. The blow hurt more than he’d like to admit, but it really didn’t scramble him the way he’d pretended. He’d been in fistfights that hurt more, but the swelling was worse for a lack of ice.

  They took him into a brick building with jail style rooms on either side. A large area that looked like it used to be a cafeteria had been converted into a bunkhouse of sorts with bunk beds set up in orderly rows. Men milled about and the noise of the chatter was loud but constant, like being inside of a baseball game or the races before the engines fired up.

  Right away, he’d noted the conditions of the men there and the stink of unwashed bodies. They were pale, thin and many of them had a gleam in their eyes that made him feel uncomfortable. Michael wondered his swollen eye made him look vulnerable, weak. His question was immediately answered.

  “Hey kid. Your shoes, I don’t have shoes that nice,” a man with a rough northern accent surprised him, coming towards him from his left side.

  “Yeah, they’re nice.” Michael said, turning slightly.

  The man’s skin was slightly sagging around his neck and he shuffled forward on bare feet that had rags tied around the arches. He had something shiny in his left hand he kept low to his side.

  “I said, I don’t have shoes that nice,” The man brought the shiny object out in front of him and switched hands with it.

  It looked like the handle to a fork or spoon that had been sharpened crudely to a point.

  “You like my shoes?” Michael asked, in disbelief.