by Steven Bird
~~~~
Later that evening, Ed, Nate, and Tommy were sitting in the same shady corner as they had the day before. Matt’s bloodstains still painted the gravel in front of Nate as he mindlessly tossed pebbles on the ground, staring at the stain.
“I’m not going,” Nate said, tossing another gravel.
“What?” Ed asked with a confused voice.
“I’m not going with them. Whatever happens will happen. I would rather stand up to them like a man and let the chips fall where they may rather than be hauled off as if I am their property. If I die here, at least I’ll die by the terms of my choosing.”
“Nate,” Ed paused, trying to put his words together. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea. A lot has happened lately. I know you’re down. I know it seems hopeless. But you can’t... you just can’t stop trying to get home to Peggy and Zack. You can’t give up now.”
“I’m tired, Ed. I’m so damn tired. The last few years have taken the life right out of me. I’m tired of worry. I’m tired of misery. I’m tired of watching the horrors this God-forsaken world inflicts on good people. I’m just tired.”
“Well, Peggy’s not giving up on you so easy; I can damn well promise you that. Now snap out of it. We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”
Nate gazed at a gravel he held between his index finger and thumb, looking it over as if he was trying to find some sort of answer within it. He then tossed it on the ground, in the center of Matt’s bloodstain, and lay back with his arms crossed behind his head. “I’m just tired, Ed.”
Ed worried about his friend. He had never seen Nate without a fire in his soul. The events of late had taken their toll on all of them, but it seemed Nate had demons in his life that he had yet to deal with properly and they were chipping away at him from within.
~~~~
Later that night, as Nate lay awake in his cot, staring into the darkness of the ceiling, he thought of Peggy and Zack. He thought of the love he felt inside for both of them and had often wondered if the drive he had inside to find his mother and father had been meant to be so that he could find them. He fell for her as soon as he met her, as if he had known her all of his life. Was it the desperation of the situation? The desperation of the world we lived in that made us want to latch onto the first person we found? Were we just rebounding from the world’s biggest breakup? Were we rebounding from our loss of the world as we knew it? He asked himself. No! Of course not! I love her. I really love her. I love the smell of her hair. I love the sparkle in her eyes. I love her smile, her touch, her laugh. I love her... I love her completely and with all of my heart and soul. I love Zack. I love my family. I can’t go out like this. I can’t leave this world without being there to provide for them for a long damn time to come!
Nate’s thoughts were interrupted by a muffled thump off in the distance. His heart skipped a beat, not knowing what it could have been. Then another thump could be heard, followed by several loud cracks. Shit! That’s gunfire! he thought. “Ed... Ed...” he said as he shook his friend’s arm to wake him.
“Wut... uh, what’s wrong?” Ed replied as he awoke and looked around the room, confused. Another distant thump immediately told him the story of why Nate was waking him. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know. It just started.”
As Ed sat up, several other detainees could be heard whispering in the darkness of the room. As more and more began to wake, the whispers turned to louder conversation as the distant noises began to increase in intensity.
There was a scuffle outside the door; then they heard the sound of the large steel beam that was always propped up ominously next to the door sliding into position, filling the two large brackets welded to the door frame.
“They’re barricading us in!” one of the men shouted in the darkness.
Chaos ensued in the barracks as the detainees all scrambled to get up and put their orange jumpsuits on, as that was all they had to wear.
“Everybody, listen up!” shouted Aaron. “If you want to make it out of here, follow my lead. Stay away from the walls. Everyone gather in the center of the room. Gather all of the cots together, lay them on their sides, and arrange them in a circle around us.”
“Why... what for? What’s going on?” one of the men asked in a panic.
“The cavalry is here,” Aaron said. “They’ll have to breach the walls to get in. They can’t take much time to do it, so it’ll probably be violent, and they’re gonna be relying on us to be prepared. Just do as I say, for now; everyone get in the center of the room and lie on the floor. When they breach the walls, there may be shrapnel and the cots could help protect us. Shove all of the pillows and blankets between the cots for extra protection.”
As the sounds of mortar fire, gunfire, and explosions continued to increase in intensity outside, most of the men in quad two followed Aaron’s directions and built a circle out of cots and blankets. Several others, including Tate, ignored his pleas for cooperation and ran to the door and began to bang on it violently while screaming at the guards for help.
Tate yelled, “Let me out! Let me out! You owe me! You owe me! Get me the hell out of here!”
As Tate pounded away at the door, Ed attempted to get him to join the others for safety. “Tate, get your ass over here! Get over here!”
Tate ignored him and continued pounding relentlessly at the door. A nearby explosion, with a near-deafening shockwave, rocked the flimsy metal building. Bits of shrapnel tore through the walls, leaving small jagged holes scattered throughout the structure, illuminating the room with small rays of light from the light outside.
After having ducked behind the cots for cover when the explosion hit, Ed looked up to see one of the men limping back towards them with a leg injury and Tate lying on the floor, convulsing; he was covered from head to toe with shrapnel wounds. Ed and one of the other detainees ran over to him and dragged him into the protective circle, closing the gap behind him.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” one of the men said as he began assessing the extent of his injuries. With barely enough light to assess him properly, the man, who clearly had past medical training, noticed a bulge on the side of Tate’s head. He gently felt around with his fingers and quickly realized that Tate’s skull had been ruptured and his exposed brains were partially spilling out onto the floor.
The others noticed that he immediately stopped his assessment and just sat there as if he had given up as soon as he started.
“What? What is it?” one of the others asked.
“There’s nothing we can do. Nothing,” he said.
Aaron spoke up amidst the chaos and said, “There’s nothing you could do, Doc, but thanks for trying. Just look for others who may need you now.” He then turned his attention back to the group and said, “I told you to stay down and stay in the center. We don’t know which wall will be breached, but I can assure you it’s coming. Now, stay the hell down behind the cots and look out for each other. When the time comes, and you’ll know when it does, follow my lead or the orders of the militiamen who enter the room. Don’t appear to be a threat or they will smoke you. Understood?”
The detainees now seemed to take Aaron’s advice and orders seriously and stayed down, clinging tightly to one another in the confined space of their tightly packed circle.
As small-arms fire seemed to be getting closer to their location, they could hear gunfire originating from the observation level just above their barracks. They could hear empty shell casings hitting the metallic ceiling above their heads as they were ejected from the guards’ rifles. A barrage of incoming fire both ricocheted off of and penetrated the structure. The sound of each impact was deafening as the detainees struggled to stay together on the floor as tightly as they could, and out of the line of fire.
During the barrage of incoming fire, Nate heard what he assumed was a rifle hitting the ceiling above them, followed by the thump of one of the guard’s bodies as he seemed to go down
hard during the exchange. That sound was followed by another, and then another until the remaining shots seemed to be incoming, with no more defensive fire originating from the observation floor.
They heard three loud bangs on the north wall of the quad as if someone was striking it with the butt of a rifle.
“Down! Everybody down!” Aaron shouted as a small explosion blew a section of the sheet metal free, exposing a large opening in the wall
Before the smoke even settled, three armed militiamen, all wearing various types of camouflage and gear, entered the quad and yelled, “Darcy!”
“Here,” Aaron said as he raised his hand and motioned for the militiamen to proceed. “Over here.”
They immediately shoved and kicked the cots out of the way, clearing a path for the barefoot detainees and shouted, “Move! This way! Go! Go! Go!”
Nate threw his arm around Ed’s shoulder and the two joined the others in their rapid egress from the building. Once they got outside, they noticed an entire section of the outer wall was missing and three former school buses, painted in flat OD green, were inside the camp walls with detainees from the other quads already piling inside.
“In the buses!” Aaron shouted, directing his fellow detainees toward the closest bus.
As the last man to climb into the back door of the bus, Aaron gave the militiamen who were still on foot the thumbs up. One of them ran to the driver’s side window, banged on it with his open palm, and gave the driver the thumbs up. The bus accelerated through the missing section of the camp’s wall. Once on the other side, it joined up with the other two buses, as well as several pickup trucks and two Humvees, making up a convoy away from the facility. The militiamen on foot climbed into the back of a woodland-camouflage-painted ’79 Ford Bronco and brought up the rear, maintaining a steady stream of suppressing fire during their escape.
Ed and Nate were tossed around in the back of the crowded bus as the driver made several abrupt turns, changing the route and splitting up from the other two buses. “Where are we going?” asked Nate.
“We’re splitting up from the rest,” Aaron said in a loud voice, trying to overcome the loud sounds emitted by the speeding truck. “We have several former Air National Guard AH-64 Apache attack helicopters in the area to fend off any pursuit, including putting on a diversion with any of the UN’s Mi-24s that may be called in for support. By splitting up the three personnel carriers, we reduce the risk of a total loss if we are pursued. Chances of which aren’t too high, as the intel we have on the facility indicates that they were mostly set up as a security and patrol force and not a highly mobile tactical force. They can operate hunt-and-strike patrols, but until now, they didn’t have this sort of contact on the forefront of their mission planning or protective posture. I’m sure that will all change now though. We’ve got to brace for impact from this point forward. We just threw a sucker punch at the bully, but he will get back on his feet soon and will be looking to save face.”
As Aaron finished his sentence, two Apaches, in tight formation, flew directly overhead the convoy, traveling in the direction of what remained of Camp Twenty-one. The Apaches broke formation, one bearing off to the right, and one to the left and began to engage targets on the ground off in the distance.
“That’ll teach those bastards,” Aaron said with a smile on his face.
Chapter Seventeen: A Shared Struggle
“Ev... Ev... wake up, buddy.”
Flinching from being startled by Jason’s gentle nudge on his shoulder, Evan looked around, regained his senses, and said, “Damn. I didn’t realize I was that tired. How long have I been out?” he asked, noticing that the darkness of the night was upon them.
“A few hours. It’s around nine o’clock—I think,” Jason replied. “How are you feeling? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” replied Evan, knowing that he wasn’t himself, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. “I’ll be okay. Just a little hungry and tired, I guess.”
“Yeah, we were stupid for not bringing our packs along. I know we planned on returning to Carl’s place with him to retrieve our horses, but we’ve really got to stop setting ourselves up for failure like this.”
“I hear ya. Well, at least the first bit of the hike is downhill towards a stream. A good long drink of water will help.”
Jason stood and stretched. “If you’re up for it, I think we should get a move on. We don’t know how long it’s gonna take, and moving in the dark will be slow going as it is.”
“Yeah, let’s get on with it,” replied Evan as he struggled to his feet, wincing in pain.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I would rather push on through it and die at my own house than lie around and die out here if I’m worse off than I think. So yeah, let’s get on with it.”
“Roger Roger.” Jason pushed a large, downed tree branch that made up part of their blind out of the way. “So, we’re gonna head down the hill to the creek and then turn left and follow it until we reach a small fork. Then, we’re gonna have to make it over a ridge and back down the other side.”
Jason motioned for Evan to follow as he began slowly working his way through the thick vegetation and low tree limbs. With the moon hidden behind the steep mountain ridge behind them, it was hard to see beyond arm’s length. Feeling in front of them as they went, they worked their way down to the stream below, pushing brush out of the way when necessary. As planned, they turned left and followed the stream, working their way alongside its banks.
As the moon worked its way across the night sky, finally illuminating their path, Evan looked at the stream next to him and said, “Hey, man. It's dinner time.”
“What?” asked Jason, confused since they hadn’t brought any food along.
“Watch and learn, city boy,” Evan said jokingly. He stepped out into the stream and positioned himself facing upstream. Allowing the disturbance of the sediment caused by his boots to clear before proceeding, he studied each and every stone and stick in the water.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Jason.
“I’m getting our dinner.”
Jason watched him intently, not sure whether he had finally snapped and lost it, or if he was truly on to something.
Evan then reached into the cold water of the small stream and gently lifted a six-inch long, flat, oval-shaped rock, attempting to limit the disturbance he made with his movements. As soon as the water was once again clear, he removed his hat and gently placed it in the water, downstream of the depression in the soft mud where the rock once lay. He then took his other hand and wiggled his finger in the water in front of the depression. Jason thought Evan had truly lost his mind when he saw Evan lift his hat back out of the water while staring inside. As the water drained from his hat, he carefully passed it over to Jason, who was still standing on the dry creek bank.
“Well, hell,” Jason responded with a smile as he saw a crawfish scurrying around inside of Evan’s hat.
“It’s a piece of cake, man. I grew up catching crawdads—that’s what we called them—in the creeks of East Kentucky. If you lift the rock gently and slowly, the crawdad won’t run. They’re not much more than small freshwater lobsters; they swim backward when threatened and can’t see where they’re going. You place something behind them to catch them in, pose a threat in front of them, and they swim right into your trap. A fast food soda cup works great, but having a wet hat in exchange for fresh protein isn’t that bad of a tradeoff. Now, whack that sucker so he won’t get away, and toss me my hat so I can keep it up.”
Jason shook his head and laughed.
“What?” Evan asked, wondering if he should be offended by Jason’s laughter.
“Oh, nothing. I had just assumed I would be taking care of you this whole time, and here you are feeding me.”
“It’s called a team, man. Besides, I have to feed you so you’ll have the strength to carry me later.”
“Ha... deal, then.”
For the next half hour, Evan worked every rock in the creek while Jason killed and cleaned their catch. Once he was satisfied that he had harvested every crawfish within reach, Evan waded back to the bank, unrolled his pant legs, and asked, “So, what do we have?”
“Thirty-two of the suckers,” Jason replied. “How do we eat them?”
“You killed them, right?”
“I cut their heads off.”
“Good.” Evan fished around in his pocket for something. “Ah, here we are,” he said, pulling a cigarette lighter from his pocket. He then reached into the pile of headless crawfish, pulled one out, ripped the tail from its body, and stuck it on the end of his knife like a kabob. He then flicked his lighter, held his crawfish over the flame for approximately thirty seconds, looked at it, and said, “That’ll do.”
Peeling the shell from the tail, Evan popped the morsel of meat into his mouth and said, “Oh, yeah. Creekside Bic lighter crawdad just can’t be beaten.”
After a satisfying meal of fresh crayfish, Jason turned to Evan and said, “I have to hand it to you, Ev. I would have never thought of that. I’ve never eaten crawfish—or crawdads, as you put it—like that before. Or even thought of where they come from. I’ve had them in New Orleans on layovers, of course, but that’s it.”
“That’s just the northern boy in you,” Evan replied with a chuckle. “You grew up in Massachusetts before moving to Ohio, so you probably had better things to do than play in a creek. See, we didn’t. If it was a hot day, we played in the creek to keep cool. We didn’t have much else to do. It was tire swings into a pond or crawdad hunting in a creek. Sure, city kids would probably have just called us backward hillbillies, but I wouldn’t trade that upbringing for the world.”
“Hell, yeah, your hillbilly superpowers just fed us.”
“I guess we should be moving on,” Evan said. He then began to chuckle. “Along the way, maybe I’ll activate my hillbilly superpowers once again, and conjure up a squirrel or a rabbit.”