At the end was a sprial staircase. He hurried over and stopped. Voices echoed from below. One sounded like Stephanie; the other he wasn’t familiar with, a woman, he assumed a nanny or staff and from what he could make out they were discussing him. Another voice from behind startled him.
“Are you coming with us?”
“What? Ahh . . . jeez, you scared me,” Vincent said. He looked around to see a young boy.
“Are you coming with us?”
“Uhh . . . no,” Vincent said, then walked past the boy to the sectional and sat down.
“Where are you from?”
“Aren’t you full of questions?”
The boy walked over and sat down next to him. “My sister said you survived a helicopter crash. Was it scary?”
“You're very inquisitive. How about we play a game.
"What's the game?"
Vincent thought and just made up a game name, "Umm, it's called ask and answer."
"Never heard of it."
"You'll ask a question, I’ll answer. Then I'll ask a question and you’ll, okay?”
The boy thought for a moment and replied, "Okay."
“So you asked the first question and I answered, now it's my turn.
"No fair."
"Yes it is."
"I didn't know we were playing a game then."
"You're a bit stubborn, fine, I'll just back to my room," Vincent said and stood.
"No, wait."
"You want to play?"
The boy nodded.
"What city are we in?”
“Vista.”
"Your turn."
"Where are you from?"
“I’m originally from Idaho,” Vincent looked at the boy. He thought about how well mannered and mature he seemed for his age. He guessed that he was about eight years old. His sandy blond hair was cut short, and his clothes showed a boy who seemed sheltered, a solid-colored blue polo-type shirt, jeans, and white socks. Vincent smiled and continued. “When are you leaving?”
“My father wants to leave tomorrow.”
“How many in your family?”
The boy waved his finger at Vincent. “No way, my turn.”
Vincent chuckled and replied, “Go ahead.”
“Ever kill anyone?”
Now Vincent looked shocked. “How old are you?”
“Answer the question.”
“Listen, I think we’ve played this game long enough, okay?”
“I think you have too,” Stephanie said. She was standing at the top of the stairs.
Vincent was surprised he hadn’t heard her walking up. He wondered how long she had been listening to his back-and-forth with her little brother.
“Sorry, I wanted to stretch my legs, and I ran into him. What’s your name anyway?”
“Away with you. Now go, you have things to do. Go see our father in the garage,” Stephanie ordered.
Jumping up without a word, he walked for the stairs, but before he started down, he turned and answered Vincent. “My name’s Zachary, but you can call me Zach.” He smiled and then hurried down the stairs past his sister.
“Nice boy. So, were you spying on us?” Vincent asked Stephanie.
“No, I heard voices up here, so I came to see what was going on,” she said, walking farther into the room.
“So you’re leaving tomorrow?”
“Yes, it’s not secret now, thank you Zach.”
“What were you planning on doing with me?”
“Since the cat's out of the bag, I’ll tell you. My father was just going to give you the keys to the house; it’s yours. We won’t need it anymore.”
“Huh, you were going to give me the house?”
“Not give you, but we’re abandoning it. If you want it, it’s yours.”
Vincent didn’t know how to process this. Everything had happened so quickly. Just three days ago he was excited to come home from a long combat deployment; then his world ended. Even for a man who had been through much, this was a lot to tackle.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go prepare for our trip tomorrow.”
“Sure, go ahead,” he said, his head spinning from what she had told him.
She got up to leave, but he stopped her.
“Can I walk around?”
“Sure, but you need to rest. You just survived a crash and your foot is broken.”
“I’m a tough Marine. I’ll suck it up.”
He enjoyed the warm morning sun as he walked the more than six-acre property that encompassed the main house compound.
The perimeter was surrounded by an eight-foot fence with large eucalyptus trees every dozen feet and the entrance was fortified with an iron gate.
Roger, Zach, and Stephanie were busy setting out containers, boxes and packs for their trip. What seemed odd was he wasn’t loading any of the vehicles he had housed in the garage, of which two worked. Too curious to let it go, he walked over to them and stopped to ask a few questions.
“Why aren’t you loading up the old Suburbans?”
“We’re not taking them,” Roger answered.
“Oh, so is someone picking you up?”
“Yes, we’re being picked up.”
“Stephanie mentioned you’re abandoning the house. Does that go for the SUVs?”
“They’re yours too if you need them,” Roger answered, his attention never leaving the task at hand.
“It’s late morning, and I’m starving. Care to join us for a snack?” Roger asked.
“Sure,” Vincent said and hobbled along after them as they headed toward the main house.
“Where are you going?” Vincent asked, not wasting time with casual chitchat and going right into more questions.
“Ha! Why not at least take a bite of your biscuit before we get into the heavy conversation,” Roger quipped.
“Sorry. I’ve been waiting to ask you since we last talked.”
Not looking at Vincent, Roger spread butter on his biscuit and said, “I have a bunker in Colorado. We’re going there.”
“That’s a long drive.”
“We’re not driving. A couple choppers are coming to pick us up.”
“Nice.”
“You know there’s room for you if you care to join us. Having a Marine bunker down with us could be valuable.”
“I don’t think I can. I’ve got to report back to my unit.”
“What does that mean, Sergeant Vincent? I’m trying to understand how your mind works. Let me tell you something, I have had access to privileged information for several decades now. I say that because what I’m about to tell you will come as a shock, but the government will not be coming to save anyone. Their contingency in an event like this is to hunker down and allow Americans to rip each other apart. They’ll come out of their safe and well-stocked bunkers and clean up the mess afterwards. The government has been the largest prepper in the world. While your fancy elite laugh at their cocktail parties about those who get ready for a day like this, the government’s been doing exactly that, but all those supplies, guns, bullets, weapons, food, water, all of it is for them. They don’t give two cents about you or me. We have been nothing more than pawns. Oh, yes, I had gained status and rank and was even invited to have a spot years ago in one of those bunkers. Once I saw what they were doing, I followed in their footsteps and got my own. I saw them prepping, so I prepped. I heard about them buying food, I bought food; if I heard about them stockpiling weapons, I stockpiled weapons. I learned a lesson a long time ago, don’t listen to people, watch them,” he said and took a large bite of his biscuit.
Vincent’s jaw just hung open. He wasn’t naïve and knew the government had their little caches of equipment and so forth, but to hear a man as accomplished as Roger openly discuss what he knew because he got a glimpse behind the curtain made him feel uneasy and in some ways duped.
The screen door sprang open and in came Miguel, a longtime worker on Roger’s property. He was sweating and out of breath.
; “We have people at the gate.”
“How many this time?” Roger asked.
“Too many to count, they're demanding we give them food.”
Roger wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up.
Vincent followed, hobbling on one leg until he reached his crutches.
Roger wasted no time leaving the house; he needed to see who was at his gate.
Vincent came out and asked him, “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, get your weapons.”
Three Miles North of Calexico, CA
Michael woke up quickly, panting and sweating. The sun was beaming directly on him through a small window. The temperature in the little shed had risen to the point it was uncomfortable.
He squinted at the sun and used his hand to cover his eyes. He sat up and stretched. His body still hurt; he feared his aches and pains would be with him for a couple weeks. By how high the sun was in the sky, he guessed it was late morning, and that meant he had slept a very long time.
He needed to get on the road; every minute he was there, he wasn’t in San Diego helping his brother. He couldn’t fault himself for sleeping; he needed the rest.
Outside, he began his search for fuel; fortunately for him it was easy. Several company trucks had gas, all he needed to do was siphon it.
Working on the fuel issue, he allowed his thoughts to go to the last thing he remembered, Viktor Azamov. He didn’t recall who he was specifically, but if they were at war with Russia and there was a Russian on the container ship where the missile was fired from, then there was no doubt the Russians started it with the EMP. Over and over again he saw Viktor’s face, a scarred face with a set of half gold teeth. This was a clearer image than he had ever had of someone from the ship. He could see him clearly, talking to him with a thick accent. He now had a memory of Viktor threatening him while he was being tortured.
That memory made him stand up straight. So he was working against Viktor; he was not working for them. Somehow they had found out about him and were torturing him, but why? Why not kill him?
He carried two jugs of gas back to the car and started topping it off when he could quote Viktor during one of the times he was torturing him. ‘Before you die, just know that I’ll kill your pretty Karina. We know where she is and we’ll do the worst things you can imagine to her.’ Then a flash and black. That was all he remembered from that moment. Who was Karina? Was that his wife or lover? She must have been special; why else mention her? He struggled to remember. Frustrated, he began to smack himself in the head and cried out, “Think, damn you, remember!” But nothing came.
The only place he kept seeing in his mind was San Diego. So without anything else, he’d have to make San Diego his destination still.
With the Chevette topped off, he was on the road again, a man lost on a lonely road.
Vista, CA
The sound of what must have been dozens of people resonated off the brick wall that lined the drive and the gate. This was the only thing that stood between them and the outside world.
Vincent moved as fast as someone could on crutches. He cursed with each step, frustrated by his injury, but he had his rifle and Beretta 92F pistol.
Ahead he saw Roger standing on top of a truck that was being used to help block the gate. It was parked behind the gate and provided a platform for him to see what was happening.
The people outside were begging for him to open the gate and let them in. Hundreds of thousands of San Diegans were now scavenging and on the hunt for food and a safe place. Things deteriorated quickly, and for his neighbors, they suspected he had plentiful resources because he was wealthy. During times like this, rumors were the only source of information, and rumors locally had spread that Roger had a compound full of food and supplies.
Vincent couldn’t make out the back-and-forth between the group and Roger until he reached the truck where Roger stood.
“People, everyone, please stop yelling!” Roger called back to the unruly group. With every surge the gate bowed in and hit the side of the truck Roger was perched on.
“People, please calm down!”
The only response he received was multiple people yelling, “Let us in! We know you have food! We need help!”
Vincent knew what people were capable of when their only choices left were finding food or starving. This situation could easily escalate and spill over into the farm.
Roger’s plea for calm wasn’t working. These people wanted in. They were in need and desperate.
With everyone’s focus on the gate, nobody saw a few in the group climb the fence about thirty feet away.
Vincent turned and saw two men clear the fence and make for the barn.
Vincent was not fazed by the sight of chaos. After his several months in Afghanistan, his mind was sharp. He pulled out his handgun and began hopping towards the barn as fast as the crutches would take him.
The barn was a single-story building with a high ceiling. It provided stalls for the few horses that Roger had. It now also served as a storage area for supplies.
A crashing sound caught Vincent’s attention to his right near the fence. Two more men had jumped over. One was heading toward the guesthouse and the other toward the main house. The situation was quickly falling apart. Roger was still attempting to calm the group at the gate while two of his maintenance staff nervously pointed their guns at the crowd.
Vincent’s instincts told him to just start shooting these people, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him. Ignoring the two outsiders, he pressed on toward the barn. He needed to protect what supplies they had regardless that they were leaving.
The three men inside the dusty barn weren’t trying to be discreet; all were ripping apart packages and eating. Their attention was only on the food in front of them; their hunger had transformed them into caricatures of human beings.
How was this possible? Vincent thought. The power had only been out for days max? Why were people already resorting to this type of behavior? Vincent dropped his right crutch, grabbed the grip of the pistol in his waistband, and pulled it out. He pointed it at the unaware men and yelled, “Stop. Just stop what you’re doing and leave!”
The men stopped instantly and focused on him. They all looked middle-aged. Smears of dirt covered their unshaven and darkly tanned faces.
Time slowed down for Vincent like it always did when he was faced with a life-or-death scenario. He had the gun trained on the man closest to him but was looking at each one carefully to see if any of them had a gun.
The man farthest from him bolted toward the back of the barn. His quick movement startled Vincent briefly.
The other two men continued to stare at Vincent; both were unsure what to do. The one closest to him finally spoke up. “Hey, listen, we’re hungry. You have plenty here.” He motioned with his arms to the large cache of food before them.
“This is not yours. You need to leave now,” Vincent firmly ordered.
The man who had spoken looked at the other. They locked eyes and then turned their attention back to Vincent.
Only ten feet at the most separated them from him. If they ran, Vincent would let them go, but if they took a step toward him, he would have no choice but to shoot them.
“Come on, man. Let us take some of this food to feed our families,” the other man said.
“I can’t let you do that. I need you two to leave, now,” Vincent said louder.
The tension in the air was thick. The men’s hunger, coupled with their basic human instincts, was telling them not to move. What sat before them meant survival if they could keep it.
The sounds from outside were giving Vincent a picture that things were now collapsing. He needed to do something about these two so he could address the chaos near the houses.
The man on the left had a pistol tucked in his pants and stupidly he went for it.
Vincent sighted in and squeezed off a round.
The second man now made a move, and just as quickly, Vince
nt vanquished him.
Needing to help outside, he exited the barn. There he found the scene outside had turned tenuous. Roger was gone from his perch on the truck. No one was at the main gate, but it still held, but that didn’t stop the crazed mob from clearing the fence and coming in. People were running, screaming and panic filled the air everywhere. At the main house Vincent heard glass breaking followed by more screaming.
Out from behind the guesthouse, Miguel appeared with a shotgun in his hand. He ran towards the people coming over the gate. Fear was written all over him. His head pivoted back and forth. He didn’t know what to do, so he freaked out and began shooting people. With the 12-gauge shotgun nestled in his shoulder, he pulled the trigger repeatedly.
The hollering from the invaders turned to screams of horror as they soon realized the mistake of trespassing.
Gunfire suddenly erupted from the main house. Screams of terror soon followed.
With the main house under attack, Vincent turned his attention there.
“Damn it!” he yelled out as he moved as fast as he could referencing his broken and heavily bandaged foot.
Screams and more gunfire reverberated from the main house.
The distance from the barn to the house was only a hundred yards but with his foot it felt like miles.
As he grew closer, some of the invaders came pouring out of the house, their arms full of food and other supplies. Stephanie bolted out after them armed with a pistol. She leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger hitting a man no older than twenty squarely in the back. He collapsed to the ground; the food and supplies he was carrying spilled out across the lawn. Stephanie turned towards another man, she again pulled the trigger hitting the him in the chest.
What reluctance Vincent had to shoot these people was evaporated in an instance. After seeing Stephanie bravely defending herself and her property, he knew the rules had changed, and that he’d better change too. This was about survival, pure and simple. He raised his pistol, and shot a man running by him. He then took aim on another, then pivoted and hit another and another until his magazine emptied. He transitioned to his rifle and continued until he saw no one left standing except for Stephanie.
The Defiant: Grid Down Page 17