If there is truly something to warrant this type of engagement, I’m not leaving here without Gabe or Juliana. I hurry down the hallway and side step my way through the hall, hugging the lockers with my back to avoid the lunacy of people scampering over one another.
I veer past the administrative offices and notice that it’s empty, so I dash down to the next intersection of hallways. To the right is the gymnasium, and to the left is a back door that leads to the parking lot, where two federal officers stand. I’m forced to either backtrack or go toward the gymnasium. It’s evident by the sheer panic that no one followed the rules about dismissing to their designated areas. Everyone is supposed to be sitting down by their lockers, but that’s not happening. If I know Gabe, he would have gone to a place that has more than one exit. I taught him to always leave his options open if there ever came a time he were to encounter a dangerous crisis—I guess this would be considered one.
I run to the gym as fast as I can, but it’s empty. I hustle over to the double doors that lead to the back of the men’s locker rooms where I hear a small noise. It sounds like heavy panting near the back corner of the bleachers, but I can’t make out who it is. I go behind the metal stands to get a better look and find Juliana. She’s curled up in a fetal position on the floor behind the bleachers, crying.
I rush over by her side. “Juliana, are you hurt? Was Gabe with you?” She looks like she is in shock. The only thing she can do is point to the double doors where Gabe must be. She doesn’t seem to be injured, just scared.
“Okay, stay here and don’t move, I promise I’ll be right back,” I assure her. I slowly open the doors and peek in both directions. Small drops of blood dot the floor around the corner.
I hurry around the corner and find Gabe sitting up against the wall with his hands on his face. I kneel down so I can get a better look at his face. His cheek is swollen, blood is dripping from his nose, and his clothes are soaking wet. “Gabe, are you all right? What the hell happened here?”.
“I got lost in the crowd when everyone started to run. I couldn’t find you, so I took Juliana toward the gym, thinking that maybe everyone would be gathering there, not to mention there are at least three exits that gave us options if something bad were to happen,” Gabe says with exhaustion.
“I knew you would come here, I taught you well, young Padawan,” I say, smiling.
“Yeah, well don’t flatter yourself, Obi Wan, I still got the shit beat out of me,” he says.
“Let me guess, Derrick?”
“Juliana and I were coming through the gym, and when we noticed no one else was here, we decided to go through the locker-room exits. I pushed the doors open right when Derrick was coming out. He fell backward and just stared at me. I tried to apologize, but that obviously failed. He recognized me, and he and two other guys dragged me into the showers, hosed me down, dragged me back into the hall, and punched me twice in the face. I didn’t really feel anything. My swollen head felt numb. The siren was so loud—no one could have heard anything going on in here even if there was somebody around to help. When the sirens started to wind back down, two gunshots fired, and the guys just took off and left me here,” Gabe says.
“Are you sure you heard gunshots?” I ask.
“I’m almost positive, but then again, I could have imagined it too since I was hit pretty hard in the face. Not sure why they felt the need to throw me in the shower. Was a beating not enough?” Gabe says.
“That would explain your soaked clothes,” I say, examining him. “Let me see your face. Yep, we’re going to have a hard time explaining this one to Myra.”
“Where is Juliana?” he says, concerned.
I almost forgot I left her behind the bleachers. “Come on, she’s in here,” I say as I lift him up.
When we walk back into the gym, the ear-bleeding sirens stop. Juliana is still there, crouched down under the bleachers. When she sees Gabe, she immediately gets up to help him, and I can tell there’s a special relationship building between these two.
She carefully leads him to the bathroom and begins nursing his wounds. A faint noise is coming from outside the gym that sounds like some kind of commotion, but because my ears are still ringing from that damn siren, it could be a flock of blackbirds chattering in the trees for all I know.
I peek out the back door while Gabe is being nursed. Teachers, administrators, and about a half-dozen guards and federal officers are conversing over one another. Students start to pour back into the school as the disorder dies down. My phone suddenly rings. I pull out my phone. Eight missed calls, and Myra is calling right now.
The sound of her voice is almost inaudible because she is yelling so loudly in a panic. Apparently, I never heard the phone ring with all the frenzy and noise. I explain to her that everything is okay, and that everyone is being led back into the school. I reassure her that it was probably a false alarm. The only kind of crisis that would prompt a siren to go off around the city is an attack from some overzealous anti-government group causing sheer panic and widespread looting. If this was a false alarm, someone is sure to get fired.
When I notice Juliana picking up Gabe’s pocket watch, I quickly remember to remind Myra that we will be coming home late and that we will have a ride home. I can tell by her voice that she’s not too thrilled about the idea, but I convince her anyway.
We head back to our classroom like everyone else and listen to the teachers explain that a false alarm was issued and that nothing bad has happened. I can tell by the teacher’s explanation that not even she’s convinced.
A speaker suddenly comes on and a deep voice addresses the entire school: “We sincerely apologize for this unnecessary panic. There is no real threat to worry about. This was only a false alarm. If there is any medical attention needed, we will have nursing stations set up outside the main office. We have taken the appropriate measures to ensure that this mishap will not happen in the future. Again, we apologize for any anxiety this may have caused you. Your parents will be immediately notified that everything is okay and back to normal. Thank you.”
If this was a false alarm, then why were there full body-armored soldiers with gasmasks storming the halls? These kinds of precautions make you wonder what we are preparing for.
The last bell rings, and we are finally dismissed from school. I hurry to grab Gabe out the door, but he’s too busy talking with Juliana, so I just leave them alone for a few moments. I overhear Gabe asking Juliana if she would like to come over and have dinner with us sometime. Not that I’m eavesdropping, but by the size of Juliana’s grin and batting eyes, it appears my baby brother is starting to grow into a man.
“I hope you feel better in the morning,” Juliana says to him, as she plants a small kiss on his forehead before she leaves.
“Wow, that was fast. She thinks you’re the cat’s meow,” I say.
“Yeah, I guess getting beaten up has its perks,” he says, grinning.
After being closed up in a dark, stuffy school all day, the sun seems so bright when we go outside. I notice an unusual amount of federal officers scattered across the school grounds, roaming back and forth across the street. I guess the wailing sirens this afternoon provoked them just enough to be a little more alert, like a disturbed hornet’s nest.
We cautiously walk down the street two blocks where the old, abandoned gas station is rusting away. There are too many stations like this withering away that stretch across the nation. Oil, a once-precious commodity, has dried up because of the indifference of our political leaders. The only foreign policy that hasn’t been spoiled is our waiver of debt from China and the ever-growing relationship with Russian leaders.
Our political leaders are attempting to gain back our country’s world power and dominance through illegal arms trade with untrustworthy nations, even if it means sacrificing the needs of our very own people. It’s evil no matter how you slice it. Like my uncle used to say, You can’t put syrup on dog shit and call it pancakes.
I’m beginning to feel a little nervous with all these vigilant officers pacing the area. Gabe shudders anxiously while we walk toward the wrecked garage. Suddenly, he stops and grabs my hand. Out of some innate suspicion, he quickly steers me to the right of the garage, behind some tall bushes growing up next to an old billboard. I’m a bit apprehensive at first, but my brother’s intuitions aren’t something to circumvent. I crouch down, peering through the cluster of leaves, wondering what it could be this time.
Within seconds, an armored car races around the corner, followed by a dozen federal officers dressed in black with gray sleeves. I’ve never seen uniforms like these before—must be a special unit, because they are each equipped with a Beretta XM37, a very lethal, light, and extremely accurate weapon at long ranges. If it’s a gun, I know it like the back of my hand, thanks to Finnegan.
As soon as they pass, we sneak around the fence to the back of the station. I peek through the broken window and thoroughly inspect the inside just to make sure we’re not going to be ambushed by vagrants.
We carefully climb through the window. The gas station looks as if it hasn’t been touched since the day it was shut down. Years of dust covers every inch of this place.
Into the next small area that leads to the garage, a dark figure moves against the blackness of the windowless room. I stop in my tracks and stay as still as I can. The figure moves toward us, then Father Joseph steps into the light.
“You made it, good,” he says, as he bows his head. “Thank you Lord for Your protection, in His righteous and holy name, Amen.”
When he looks up, his eyes grow wide. “What happened to you?” Father Joseph asks, referring to Gabe’s swollen face.
“I was a human punching bag for someone’s fist. It’s a long story,” Gabe says.
“Come, children, this way,” he says, as he guides us to the garage area. “Did you bring the key?”
“Yes, it’s right here,” I say, pulling it out of my pocket.
“Gabriel, help me with this, please,” he says.
Gabe and Father Joseph struggle to push back an old, broken deep freezer against the wall, revealing a large, black-rubber mat exposed beneath it. Father Joseph pulls back the mat to uncover a flat, metalgray door imbedded into the concrete floor.
There is a lock on the door, which can mean only one thing: this is the basement Finnegan wrote about in his letter, and this is the key that opens it. Without hesitation, I put the key in and turn. My face brightens, and goose bumps run through my body when I hear a click; it’s like opening up a present on Christmas morning. The door is extremely heavy, and the darkness below doesn’t seem too inviting.
I use the light on my phone to see if there are any stairs that lead down this deep dwelling. Underneath the opening, I slide my hand across and locate a light switch. As I click the switch, a trail of illumination unveils a set of steep stairs leading down through a long lit corridor.
As we descend underground, Father Joseph closes the heavy, well-insulated door behind us. I feel like I’m in some kind of post-apocalyptic bunker, waiting for zombies to come pouring out from behind the end of the hall.
While we quietly walk through the long, narrow tunnel, I’m too inquisitive to tolerate this awkward stillness, so I speak up to break the silence. “Did you know about this place?” I say to Father Joseph.
“I have never been down here through this part, but yes, I’ve known about this from your uncle. This was built years ago, about the time of the first rebellion. There are many tunnels underground connecting government buildings, but this I have never seen,” he says.
Gabe keeps to himself and stays silent while we are walking. I’m not sure what’s going through his mind, but there’s an uneasy expression on his face. I want to say something, but I keep to myself and let him be.
We walk through the concrete tunnel about another hundred yards and come to another gray metal door with yet another lock. I use the same key to unlock the door, but before I open it, I take a deep breath and pause as I look at Gabe. When the door opens, all three of us just stand there in complete shock. I can’t believe what I’m seeing—I’m absolutely numb.
Have you ever wondered what’s in those top-secret government facilities that are supposedly hidden beneath the earth, the ones that create a special kind of fear and excitement from fabricated stories written by conspiracy theorists? What’s impossible has become possible, because I think we just stepped into one.
This underground dwelling holds the most sophisticated testing lab for high-tech weaponry you can imagine. It houses an arsenal fit for an army, and its precision machinery is unmatched by even the best government facility. Three of the ten-foot walls hold every kind of gun imaginable: semi-automatic pistols, revolvers, shotguns, rifles and carbines, assault rifles, submachine guns, and weapons I have never seen before. Just being in this room would get Father Joseph shot. Because Gabe and I are under the age of eighteen, we would be sentenced to slave labor.
Up until about five years ago, gun control was a problem in America. Because too many guns were being put into the wrong hands, provoking fear and widespread shedding of innocent blood, the new regime made it clear that all guns would be banned and that those supplying these weapons would be severely punished; some were imprisoned, but most were executed.
Guns being smuggled in from Mexico stopped the day the border was completely shut off by a specialized group of federal soldiers spanning the entire Mexican-American border, killing anything that threatened to infiltrate the country. The “death fence,” as they called it, was used to separate this border. This electrified fence was charged with enough voltage to kill on contact. Not exactly an ethical means of disconnection, but the government deemed it to be proactively efficient. It was erected from one end of the border of Texas all the way to the other end in California about ten years ago, before soldiers were deployed to the border.
In the beginning, guns were being confiscated from door to door all over the United States, and those who refused to give up their arms were beaten and sent to labor camps. This heinous course of action propelled the first nationwide rebellion against the new government.
As the insurgence escalated, so did severity of the government’s punishments. Those still with guns were no longer prosecuted or sent to labor camps; instead, they were executed on the spot. Because the death toll was so incomprehensible, the few remaining riots that were left quickly died down, and the final revolt by the American people ceased.
Those left who pledged to keep the right to bear arms relinquished their weapons and accepted the new era. Those who surrendered their guns but refused to submit their loyalty gained no favor from the new regime and were immediately executed. The only firing weapons around are used by federal officers.
On the far wall to the back is a target range, set back about thirty yards. In the middle of the room are metal tables designed to take a beating. Tools of just about every kind lay beneath them. Electronic devices, circuit boards, wiring, and some special kinds of metals are scattered on top of the tables.
There are several bulletproof vests sitting in the corner right below what appears to be a roll of anx-lead mesh. Just as Gabe starts to drool over the tools, a plasma cutter in the other corner catches his eye. With these tools, Gabe’s brain, and these resources, there is no telling what he can create. Just when I think we are done gasping and gawking at this weapons facility haven, I press a button on the far left wall next to the bulletproof vests and part of the wall moves slowly to the side, revealing another room.
I walk in the room and my knees begin to buckle. I clutch onto the side of the wall to brace myself. “Guys, I think I’m going to stay in here for a while. You can stay out there, but I need some time alone with my new friends,” I say as if I’ve been hypnotized.
I don’t think I’ve truly been in love before, but if I have, I didn’t know it. They say it’s the most spectacular, indescribable, deep-euphoric sensation that warms your heart and
leaves you overcome by a feeling of serenity. When I look upon the walls, that’s just how I feel at this very moment.
Boldly displayed on the walls are pounds of sharpened steel waiting to be thrown, swung, and wielded by a master swordsman. Every knife, blade, and sword gracefully hanging here is handmade with masterful precision and perfectly balanced for my hands. But the most eye-popping of them all are the two authentic Japanese katana Samurai swords, signed by Yoshihara Kuniie Saku. If it is fate that we are here, then I was born to wield them.
I carefully take one off display and hold it in a jodan-gamae stance, pretending to devour my enemy, striking down in kesagiri. Still pretending, I kneel down to my opponent and pray for mercy upon my dead enemy. While other girls pretend to role-play as fairy princesses or delight in a fanciful soiree of dolls during imaginary tea parties for social enlightenment, I am busy pretending to wield my bloody sword into the belly of my foe, conquering the feats of evil and freeing the slaves. Who says I didn’t have an enlightening childhood?
When I’m done with my imaginary fight, I turn around and see Father Joseph and Gabe staring at me with a frightened look on their faces. As I start to get up, they both back up from the door.
“Go ahead, you take all the time you need in here. We’ll just be right outside the door,” says Gabe with a disturbed stare. I place the sword back on the wall, then grab a nice Ka-bar knife with a black sheath, and stuff it into my pocket.
I walk over to the tables next to Father Joseph and Gabe to share my enthusiasm about the swords, but they just look at me like I’m crazy. “What?” I ask. They are staring down at the protruding bulge of the knife.
“I’m not stealing this. It was here for us, right?” I say. “It wants to be used.”
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