by M. L. Banner
As they approached, he heard yelling from the beach side—from the rear of the house—where their two forward advancing teams were headed. The crunching footsteps alerted him of a small white man in a black T-shirt approaching their position with a revolver.
El Diablo signaled his man to return to the house’s front corner, and he intended to hop over the wall separating the two properties. They scrambled nimbly before the small man could look up and see them.
Scott Smith lumbered through the Kings’ side yard, pushed by hunger and growing panic over what Clyde would do with his wife. What Clyde had told him to do was wrong. These people had helped him and his wife days earlier. When he and Kathy broke into an abandoned beach house searching for food, Clyde and Judas were already there. Clyde then made his appeal to Scott to join them. His wife, Kathy, would be held as insurance. Scott never cared for Clyde, and figured he would be used as a pawn to go begging to the Kings since they’d already offered help. He had no idea Clyde was a psycho who would resort to violence. Now, he was supposed to harm these wonderful people all because of Clyde’s threats to his wife? No, I’ve got to help the Kings and find a way to get Kathy out at the same time. Maybe I could tell them wha—
“Hey gringo, where you going?” a casual voice from Thompson’s yard asked, as if inquiring about the time of day. His rifle aimed at Scott and camo uniform affirmed his true purpose. A metal rod punched Scott’s back, racking him with pain. He turned just enough to see a giant hulking Mexican behind him.
“Give him your gun,” commanded El Diablo. Scott supplicated to the giant, who grabbed his arm and squeezed with such force that Scott yelped like a small fawn caught in a hunter’s snare.
“We should go in now and kill them all,” said Gigante in Spanish to El Diablo.
“No,” El Diablo responded calmly. “Let’s see what happens. These gringos may kill each other and do our work for us.”
Gigante nodded. There was a reason El Diablo had been second in command of Rodrigo’s men… Diablo’s men, now. Gigante was glad for this and knew they would prosper as long as Los Diablos Verdes in the sky lasted. El Diablo let Gigante kill many people, an activity that filled him with more pleasure than the women. “If all of them die, can I at least kill this one myself?” he begged his boss.
“Yes, he’s yours.” Then El Diablo scowled, looking toward the yelling from the beach.
Gigante snickered while facing Scott, who still whimpered at the viselike hold on his arm, and wondered if this little man knew what was coming.
29.
Preparing for a Fight
Laramie, Wyoming
Frank Patton kept weary watch on the enemy through his binoculars from his position below the steeple of St. Matthew’s. The Episcopal cathedral’s bell tower was the highest point in Fort Laramie. After the first warning, Frank had rushed out of their meeting to the steeple, busting through the trap-door entrance just as Rohrbach was blasting his second warning of the foe’s approach to the northern gate.
It was a group of ten men, all heavily armed. They stood silently in the middle of the road in front of the gate’s entrance, waiting.
“They’re obviously not here to exchange recipes,” Frank said to himself.
“They’re everywhere.” Rohrbach’s voice shook worse than his hands.
“Calm down Jeff, we’re prepared for this.” Frank knew that came out less convincingly than he’d hoped as he continued to scan their walled perimeter, working his way counter-clockwise to see where else their adversary was advancing. He could see his own people on top of the western wall, running back and forth in a frenzy on its new wood walkway. Most of these people had no fighting experience. At least they knew how to use a gun… if they could just keep their cool. Frank frowned hard, lowered the binoculars for a moment to scratch the bridge of his nose, and raised them again. One of his people stopped, looked over the wall at the railroad tracks below, and then spun around on his heel, waving frantically at Frank.
“Who’s on the western wall?” Frank asked Jeff, while attempting to make sense of the man’s mouth and hand movements.
Jeff stepped back, trying to avoid brushing against Frank’s grenade, and moved to the western facing belfry window to see for himself. Their lookout was crowded, just barely enough room for two adults. Until last week, its space had been occupied by the speakers for the electronic bell-like chimes. The real church bells had been done away with back in the ‘80s.
“Oh, that’s Morty, you know, the butcher. Oh shit, he’s saying something… Okay, he’s saying, there’s ten… no, twelve… Fifteen. He’s saying there are fifteen men outside our western wall. Oh shit–oh shit–oh shit—”
“Jeff, shut up and make the announcement about our visitors on the west wall.” Frank maintained his calm as he continued to follow the wall’s line southward.
Jeff took an enormous breath and blew their announcement, bearing a remarkable resemblance to a puffer fish.
At the southwestern corner, Frank could see the heads of more invaders hustling from the rail yard through the parking lot, just outside of the wall. He followed the southern wall, working his way east, until he came to the 5th Street gate. On top was Sandra also waving at him, her face wracked in distress. She held her palms out, and then pointed to what was approaching from her position.
“We have enemy at the southern gate too,” Frank informed Jeff, translating the hand signals he had set up for their sentries.
Her forefinger and middle finger, pointed downward, mimicked two legs walking on the palm of her other hand. Then she balled her hands into fists and shot out all ten fingers.
“There are ten men approaching our southern gate….”
She balled her hands into fists again and extended nine of her ten fingers, then pantomimed like she was holding a rifle and pointing it at Frank.
“… no, make that nineteen men, all with weapons…”
And then she thrust both hands and arms into the air. She was asking what she was supposed to do next.
“Make the announcement. We’re surrounded.” Frank dropped the binoculars, letting them hang from the strap around his neck, and exhaled as he hung his head.
~~~
A fourth long blast followed by ten short blasts echoed throughout the town, telling the occupants that they were surrounded. Most of them ran to their posts, some ran for cover, the remainder ran without purpose, having forgotten their training and not knowing what else to do.
“Mel, we don’t have two to three days left. Hook up the Executioner now,” Carrington called across their workshop, grabbing his and Melanie’s rifles.
“Damn straight. We can do it. Is your other project ready?” Melanie shouted from their bedroom, pulling a fresh shirt over her head and buckling her gun belt. The heavy silver revolver poking from the holster pulled at her rig as she caressed its wood handle, instantly bringing to mind the rapist she sent to hell another lifetime ago. She took a deep breath, readying herself to commit violence once again: whatever was necessary to protect Carrington and their new friends.
“I think so. Let’s go.” He handed Melanie her rifle at the door. A look passed between them, one of mutual concern and then much more. It was love. They stood transfixed by one another’s gaze for almost a minute of non-awkward silence. Carrington’s lips curled into a smile as he caressed her cheek. Then they each grew somber. Now their looks said “this may be goodbye.” She leaned forward, softly kissing his lips. Then she bolted down the street to where she had been working earlier. Only a few of her crew were there waiting.
Carrington ran in the opposite direction, down the middle of Grand, turning right at 1st Street, into the entrance of a two-story, turn-of-the-century brick building known as the Johnsons’ hotel, before housing the watering hole, Lovejoy’s bar and restaurant. Now, it was home to his “other” project. He raced through the building to the stairwell leading to the roof, knowing time was not on his side to get Zeus working.
30.
Making the Wright Choice
Wright Ranch, Illinois
“What the hell am I doing here?” Darla whispered to herself.
“Shh,” growled Joselin, only a couple of feet in front of her.
Darla and Joselin were kneeling beside a bubbling stream, just in front of a fence that separated them from a hill that rose on the other side, up to the house that they were supposed to storm the moment they heard the signal.
She was no damned Army Ranger, and she felt ridiculous wearing her olive drab T-shirt and GA armband. She had no intention of shooting anyone, except someone who would harm Danny or her. These people were no threat and certainly had every right to defend themselves against these monsters she had been hanging with for the past month. She had been playing the game, pretending that it was okay and going along with what they were doing, all because they held Danny’s safety over her head. But, it was more than that. She had come to terms with a darkness that permeated her thinking, an evil that offered her safety and comfort if only she would look away from the unspeakable acts they were committing. Every day, she heard of or witnessed the violence they unleashed on innocents: people just like her parents or grandparents or friends, who were just trying to survive. She may have not pulled the trigger, but her ambivalence condoned and enabled, just as so many Germans allowed Hitler to commit atrocities against the Jews.
Yesterday, when she had come to that realization, repulsed by what she had become, she resolved to take action. They were leaving today, regardless of what happened. This morning, she packed her backpack with only a few essentials and her spear gun, so it wasn’t too obvious when she snuck it to the battlefield. And even though her plan was in motion, she couldn’t help but once again feel self-hatred for having taken part for this long.
She let go of her rifle, which dangled loosely from the sling. What if this were Mexico instead and the GA were waiting to storm the homes of her family and friends, all while folks like her did nothing about it? No, she wouldn’t do this any longer. It was time to make her stand.
“Do you realize what we are about to do?” she asked Joselin, just above a whisper. “We are going to shoot this family, and for what crime? They’ve done nothing wrong. It’s their food, not ours. Just because we’ve done nothing to prepare for this Armageddon, does that make it right to kill them for their food? What if this was your family, Joselin? Would you still march in and shoot your family so you could take their food? Would you kill your own family, just to save your own miserable life?”
Joselin said nothing, only turning her face toward her accuser. Darla had carefully chosen these words, knowing their barbs would dig in. Joselin’s shoulders lolled and tears welled up in her eyes, held from release.
Darla pushed up from where she knelt. “I’m done. I’m leaving and taking Danny.” She paused to make sure Joselin understood, “You’re welcome to come with us, but you have to decide right now. I cannot be here another moment.”
“B-but… what about Teacher?” Joselin’s protest was weak.
“What about him? He’s the reason we are here, about to kill innocent people.”
“B-but Teacher says no one is innocent in the eyes of God,” Joselin recited one of his many teachings just as she’d been taught to do when someone questioned the group’s actions.
“Fine, that’s between all of us and God, not the Teacher.” She took a breath. “He is just a man; no, not just a man, he’s a disgusting pig who drugged and tried to rape me, and he kidnapped my brother, and he makes me serve in this ridiculous fucking army.” Darla stopped herself, swallowing her repressed anger threatening to flare into rage. “Yes, Teacher is a charismatic man, and I can see the attraction, but he is just a man who is making you be something you are not. You are better than this, Joselin. I’m begging you, please come with us.”
Relief took the place of Darla’s anger. She had kept this bottled up for a month, knowing she was following the wrong path. And now that she had articulated it, she felt so much better for finally having done so.
A long, uncomfortable time passed, but Darla just waited, stalwart for her friend. Finally, she got tired of Joselin’s inaction, slung her rifle around her back, and then turned to leave, with or without her. Then she heard the answer.
“Okay.”
Darla spun around and grabbed her in a bear hug.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll get there together.” Darla set off quietly back the way they had come, still holding Joselin’s arm.
They walked side by side, purposefully, carefully.
Darla’s mind wandered through a loose collection of memories and emotions about her brother, her family, and finally about Steve.
~~~
Steve Parkington was positioned behind a big oak tree that must have been at least a hundred years old. Its broad, knobby trunk and a couple of low branches gave him an excellent rest for his rifle and perfect cover. Its elevation up the hill also provided a great view of a large portion of the hill’s base and the valley below. All where Wilber said he was expecting, “activity from the enemy.”
His father, John, lay prone on top of a shed bordering a pig pen between him and the ridge, watching the area from the base of the ridge all the way to where Steve sat. Wilber, his wife, and five townies who had joined them over the past month watched the rest of the hilly compound from behind an old rock wall circling the top of the hill. Wilber’s son was perched near the top of the windmill tower, armed with a signal mirror and a .22 rifle with suppressor and ample scope. Since the blades of the wind turbine faced away from them, picking up breezes from the other side of the ridge, Buck had a perfect view of the valley and was partially protected by a steel plate Wilber had recently installed in preparation for this precise scenario.
Wilber said this was enough, but Steve wasn’t so sure. He was no soldier; he was a geek. Give him a computer and he could figure out anything, but out here, he was like a babe in the woods—a nerdy little babe in the woods. He had never shot anyone, much less killed someone. He just hoped that he would remain steady and not be too terrified. He had read lots of fiction and was always amazed how the hero of the story could do anything and everything at the right moment, with few consequences. But that was fiction. This was real life, and it was about to get as real as it could get.
So real, that he could swear he heard voices from down the hill. Blinking himself from his thoughts, he squinted through the scope of his AR-some-number, he forgot the name Wilber gave it. There! It was a woman and a man—no, two women, just beyond the fence line, at the bottom of the hill. They wore the same shirts and some band around their arms. He could hear them talking to each other. The woman with a ponytail was arguing with the other and abruptly stood up. Then they were quiet and unmoving, and then they hugged and walked away.
There was something so familiar about the woman with the ponytail. If only she weren’t obscured by the trees and leaves. She looked just like someone he knew, the way she held herself, her confidence, that brief glimpse of her smile–Oh my God, was it even possible?
~~~
Sam Snodgrass heard some movement ahead of him and decided to investigate. The fighting was about to begin and his job, as a Loyalty Officer, was to prevent anyone from leaving the fight, whether it be the family whose ranch home they were taking, their friends, or GA deserters. His orders, direct from John, were to detain them until the fighting began and shoot them as soon as he heard the signal to commence fighting.
He had already proven himself useful twice: once when they took a town (its name escaped him), and then at Fossil Ridge. In both cases, it had been the newer recruits. Once the shooting started, they ran. He hated those “sniveling scaredy-cats,” as he described them in his stories to his friends.
He was ready for this one.
He raised his rifle and gingerly hiked to where he heard the noise, until he came upon two women talking about something. Then, they both got
up and hugged. And then, they turned and walked away. They were deserting! He would double back and cut them off before they made it to the highway.
Thompson Journal Entry
Continued…
They will come at you with everything
This is how the battles in the end will take place.
Desperation will take even the innocent and turn them into something ugly; the weak into the dangerous; and the already evil into the scariest thing imaginable. No matter what dish nature serves, no matter how awful it is, nothing will be worse than the poison served to you by your fellow man.
When the Romans invaded and took over a country, they used overwhelming numbers and technology to humble their enemy, but they immediately ceased violence upon the surrender of the conquered, finding it better to have people be self-governed in their own lands, albeit with a heavy hand.
Your enemy will not be like this. Keep all I have told you in mind when they come after you. Your enemy will not think like a Roman battlefield general would, attempting to protect the spoils of war and its people; they will come at you with everything they have. And after you have surrendered, they will kill and plunder, laying waste to everything they don’t take.
31.
Cocktails, Anyone?
Rocky Point, Mexico
“Hey Miguel, come here and hold my weapon on that asshole on the beach, okay?”
“Si, Señor Bill.” Miguel kissed his wife and child, sitting on the living room sofa, and hurried over to him.