Warfare Season: An Apocalyptic Thriller

by Eastwood, Blaze

  Warfare Season

  An Apocalyptic Thriller

  By Blaze Eastwood

  Text Copyright © 2015 Blaze Eastwood

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced

  in any form or by any means without the

  prior written permission of the author.

  Cover Design By Blaze Eastwood

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  More From Blaze Eastwood

  Chapter 1

  The late-April heat was filling the air. Austin's air conditioner was droning in the background, blocking out the sounds of the screaming neighborhood kids outside, although he could still hear his neighbor Gerald yelling about something in the alley. Gerald was always screaming about something.

  Since the news had been particularly negative recently, Austin decided not to bother reading, watching, or listening to it that night. He didn't need to hear about another shooting, riot, or political scandal.

  He sat back and listened to soothing music. But the harder he tried to be calm, the faster his mind seemed to race. The frustration mounted, as his anxiety increased. Why Can't I just relax? He asked himself in desperation.

  But how could he just take it easy with the way things had been going? Things seemed to be getting worse by the day. Just because you stuck your head in the sand, that didn't mean the disaster around you wasn't real and threatening.

  Although winter wasn't much better, March through October was always the worst part of the year. Criminals loved their warm weather, and crime always escalated drastically once springtime rolled around the corner.

  In an effort to create a peaceful vibe, he turned off the lights. The sun was just beginning to set, casting shadows on the darkened walls.

  It was no use. The only thing he could meditate on was the feeling of adrenaline surging through his veins. Just as he was about to give up and do something else, he was able to coax himself into a mild state of serenity, and for a minute, he almost felt a sense of tranquility fall upon him. Perhaps he was becoming desensitized to his own anxiety, or worse, maybe he was simply giving up on life and not caring about anything anymore. Either way, he breathed a sigh of relief, as the soundtrack he was listening to came to an end.

  By the time he opened his eyes, the sun had retired for the evening. He looked up in amazement at how the minutes seemed to pass like seconds when he was actually feeling somewhat peaceful.

  With the music off, he could hear the muffled sounds of sirens off in the distance.

  Sleep wouldn't come easy that night, and he knew it. Instead of retiring for the evening, he left his headphones on and continued listening to music.

  Although he ignored the initial blast of heat, the second blast forced him to take off the headphones and realize that the air conditioner was not running. He got up and clicked the light switch but to no avail.

  The power was off.

  He used a flashlight and cautiously made his way down to the basement where the circuit box was. Power outages were nothing new. Three times out of ten, the power would turn back on after resetting the switch by clicking it off and back on again. The rest of the time, he would just have to wait an hour or so before the power was restored.

  He clicked the main switch off. He waited a few seconds before clicking it back on again. Nothing.

  He headed out to his front porch, opening the door with enough force to startle his neighbor Eddie. “Do you guys have power?”

  “No,” Eddie replied. A patch of smoke arose from the lit cigarette that rested between his fingers.

  “I guess it's just another power outage then, huh?” Austin asked.

  “Yup. That's exactly what it is.”

  Austin turned around and went back inside. Just before he closed the front door, he noticed that the street lights were out. He hurriedly headed to the back porch and looked out the window. The alley lights were off as well. Someone was running through the darkened alley. Austin caught a brief glimpse of the runner before he disappeared into the darkness.

  The heat was already taking its toll. Austin powered up the generator, getting the air conditioner to work again. He grabbed a glass of cold water and sat back down, staring off into nothingness.

  The sirens had stopped. Now he could hear the sound of fireworks off in the distance. Or were they gunshots? He wouldn't have been surprised either way.

  An aroma of smoke began to fill Austin's house, even though all the windows were shut. After stepping back outside, he could see a house across the street that was engulfed in flames. The neighborhood residents were gathered around the firetruck that was parked in the middle of the street.

  “Do you know how it started?” Austin asked.

  “They're saying it's the owner's fault,” Eddie answered in disbelief. “But I saw some kids messing around out there about half an hour ago. I think it's arson. One of those Molotov cocktails.”

  “And it never occurred to you to call the police or something when you saw a group of strangers trespassing onto their property?”

  “Well. . .” Eddie trailed off. “I wasn't sure if. . .” He trailed off again.

  Another fire truck came rushing through the nearby intersection.

  “Looks like there's more than one fire,” Austin commented.

  There were sirens in all directions, accompanied by more loud thunderous booming noises.

  “Are those fireworks or gunshots?” Austin asked.

  “They sound like gunshots to me. But this is the city. What do you want?”

  “I'd move to a better area if I could afford it,” Austin said. “But this is crazier than usual.”

  “Nah,” Eddie dismissed.

  Austin heard a glass bottle shattering behind his house. He left the crowd of neighborhood residents to go investigate. He hurriedly but cautiously walked through his backyard and into the alley. The alley and garage were empty, but his roof had caught fire. A Molotov cocktail had been thrown onto his garage roof. He ran for the hose and put out the fire before it was able to do any serious damage.

  He could overhear a conversation between three people outside about some kind of widespread terrorist attack that was taking place. They had gathered the information by listening to the radio news in their car.

  Austin didn't need the news to tell him what was happening. The fact that more and more houses and business structures were going up in flames throughout the city startled him, but it did not entirely surprise him. He had heard about stuff like this before, but it was always surprising when it happened right there in person.

  Sirens continued to roar throughout the streets. The smoke in the air was now thick enough to irritate Austin's eyes. He went back inside. The smell of smoke was still prevalent but less intense than outside. He watched it fill the streets, like a heavy fog.

  Screams began to fill the air, as the residents were attacked. The firefighters were also getting attacked, many of them evacuating the scenes for their lives.

  Austin watched a firefighter get dragged out of his truck, before the horde of terrorists stomped on him and crushed his skull into the street pavement
.

  Phones began to flood the police station with calls, but law enforcement was unable to place the lid back on the mass hysteria. Police officers were getting shot at by the terrorists. Other police officers were on the same side as the terrorists.

  They were ready to shift gears and call out the national guard.

  Some people were dragged out of their houses, kicking and screaming. Others were murdered on site, after their houses were broken into.

  Due to the strict gun laws, Austin was armed only with a baseball bat. Some of the nearby residents who owned guns illegally, used them after some brief hesitation. But since they owned them illegally, sufficient quantities of ammo was difficult to get a hold of. They emptied the few clips that they had on the terrorists, before running out of ammo and getting killed.

  Other helpless residents sat inside terrified, desperately waiting for the news to come back on and tell them what to do.

  Austin wasn't entirely sure of what to do. But he knew better than to helplessly wait for the news to tell him what to do. Before he could finish his next thought, he saw a trio of terrorists entering his backyard. They were heading down the concrete steps for the basement door. He rushed downstairs and stood behind the door, slightly staggering with adrenaline. His dazed state of mind put him in a dreamlike state.

  One of the trespassers was yelling something incomprehensible to the other one.

  It was difficult to hear over all the chaos the flooded the surrounding area, but occasionally he would catch a glimpse of what someone said. The words would sort of go in and out.

  “I. . . don't. . . . care,” the other trespasser responded, sounding irritated and stressed out. It was the sound of someone that was so frustrated with life, he didn't seem to want to think about consequences anymore.

  Austin tightened his grip on the baseball bat. His only hope would be to lurk in the shadows and pick off the trespassers after they broke the entry, hoping that they weren't armed with guns. From what he had seen outside, some of the terrorists were carrying guns, while others were not. He didn't have much choice either way.

  The locked screen door began to make the sound of someone that was trying to break in. Then suddenly it stopped.

  “Ah! Stop tweaking me out,” one of them yelled.

  There was a snort of obnoxious laughter.

  Austin leaned his head up against the main door which stood in front of the screen one, trying to listen more carefully.

  The voices became less audible, as they moved back up the steps. It was almost as if they were playing some sort of bizarre game.

  Austin raced back upstairs and watched them exit the yard by climbing over the fence instead of using the gate. He sighed, but it wasn't a sigh of relief. He confusedly stared out the window, trying to make sense out of everything.

  Chapter 2

  By four o' clock in the morning, things seemed to calm down a bit. The fires were no longer blazing to the heights that they had been earlier. It was also quieter.

  However, the destruction left behind was heavy. And it was likely that the terrorists would return soon enough for another round of what they did best.

  Austin had never bothered calling 9-1-1. He figured they were already overloaded with too many phone calls.

  The power was still off, but his generators were still holding up okay. It had cooled off enough for him to turn off the air conditioner.

  He could hear Gerald screaming from across the alley as loud as ever. Austin opened a window and listened in. It turned out that Gerald's car had been stolen. Apparently Gerald didn't realize how fortunate he was that nothing worse had happened. Austin shook his head and closed the window.

  Many residents were leaving the city in droves to stay with their relatives out in the burbs. Cars with suitcases tied down to the roof were finding ways to maneuver through the torn up streets and vacate the city. Austin thought about doing the same, but he had nowhere to go. Everyone he knew lived right there in the city with him.

  Austin's adrenaline skyrocketed the second he saw a car with heavily tinted windows slow down and park in front of his house. Since he had never seen the type of make and model on his block before, he knew it didn't belong to any of his neighbors. The tinted windows made it nearly impossible to see inside, but no one was getting out of the car. The engine was just idling, and the driver and passengers just seemed to be sitting there.

  Aside from the remains of shattered glass from the broken bottles scattered across the pavement, the street was still passable.

  The car engine finally turned off. All of the car doors opened at once. Four terrorists rushed out of the car and slammed the doors shut. One of them had a bottle of malt liquor in his hand. Another one was holding a bottle of hard liquor.

  “We're not done yet,” one of them said. “We gonna party. You think we going back home already? We gonna party.”

  They began shouting obnoxiously. They were celebrating, like a group of pirates that had just taken over the land while enjoying their loot.

  Although Austin was feeling tired and disillusioned, his hammering heartbeat kept his eyes open and raised his senses. He wasn't sure if it would be better to use the generator to turn on the light or just leave it off. If he left a light on, it might just cause his house to stand out in the dark, making it more noticeable. If he turned it off, they might assume that no one was home, thus prompting them to break in.

  He left the lights off.

  The group disappeared down the street, leaving their car in front of Austin's house. They fired gunshots up in the air along the way. It didn't surprise him. In his area, they would fire gunshots in the air to celebrate at midnight on New Year's Eve.

  The city he lived in was never safe, but this was the first time he had ever felt a serious threat of danger. It was breathing on him like never before.

  He set up a mattress, pillow, and blanket in between a homemade barricade in order to avoid any stray gunfire that might come roaring through the walls or windows; his coffee table to his left; his main couch to his right; a smaller couch in front of him; and a stack of weight plates that he had brought up from the basement behind him.

  Sleep finally came, but not before tossing and turning for an hour and a half; and not before looking up to see the early rising sun peering in through the living room shades.

  Chapter 3

  Austin got up at three o' clock in the afternoon, wishing that he had woken up from a nightmare.

  He had been hearing a strange sound in his sleep that he hadn't bothered to investigate until now. It was the sound of the national guard patrolling the streets.

  Good, he thought initially. At least order is being restored. But when he tried to turn on a light, it didn't work. The power had still not been restored.

  Aside from the power still not being restored, there was another problem. Tanks were traveling down the street. In disbelief as much as denial, he had to look twice. Now he had a horrid feeling; an even worse feeling than he had the night before during the terrorist attack.

  Fewer things concerned him more than the idea of martial law being blatantly imposed. At least terrorists gave you a chance to fight and die. Trained, armed professionals just gave you a chance to die or die slower. It was more difficult to fight back against an army than a group of ordinary terrorists.

  He used one of the generators to turn on the T.V. Nearly every station was broadcasting the breaking news. The terrorist attacks weren't just local; they were happening all around the world, but only in the urban areas. The downtown area in his city had been largely destroyed, including major buildings. After watching the global news, he picked out a local station and watched it.

  After viewing some video footage of the flaming wreckage, the scene was transferred back to the news anchor: Many local residents whose houses had been burned down are being rescued and sent to emergency camps, where they are receiving food, water, and shelter. The rest of the residents are being asked to remain in their hom
es for now. Shopping centers and other local businesses will be closed until further notice. Those who are in need of food, water, or other necessary supplies should call the number at the bottom of your screen. A curfew will also be enforced starting tonight.

  After it went to a commercial break, he switched over to another news channel: Many of the residents have been left without power. Although they are working on the problem, it's unclear when the power will be restored. Housing assistance is available to those—

  Austin clicked it off gravely.

  He went into the kitchen and had a late breakfast, trying to temporarily detach from gruesome reality.

  Roughly estimated, there was a big enough food storage in his house to last him approximately three months, factoring in a three thousand calorie per day diet. He also had five gallons of water stashed away, although the water still seemed to be running okay for the time being. He also had a twenty-four pack of smaller water bottles.

  His supplies wouldn't be enough to live off of if the stores never opened again.

  The sound of the doorbell startled Austin. It's the military, he thought. They're here to search the house and interrogate me. He looked through the window above the front door.

  It was Eddie.

  Austin opened the door and said hello.

  Eddie looked dismal. He stared back at Austin, not saying anything.

  “What's up, Eddie?”

  “Hello,” Eddie said, trying to sound enthusiastic and upbeat. “I know in a time like this, it might sound like a lot to ask, but. . . do you have a gallon of water that you could spare?”

  “Sure,” he said without hesitation. “You know what, I'll have to dig it up out of storage, so it might take a minute. Do you want to come in?”

  Eddie stepped in. “I'd appreciate it.”