by Steven Bird
“I wouldn’t complain,” Jason replied as he stood up and stretched. “Well, let’s get to it.”
As they reached the fork in the creek, which was their predetermined location to turn up the hill to the left until they crested the ridge, Evan said, “Well, the fun is over, I guess.”
“Yes, until we get up there, at least. It’ll be a struggle to the top in your condition. We can stop and rest all you need on the way up. Once we get to the top, we can diagonal downhill—terrain and brush allowing—until we get to the bottom. We’ll stay in the bottom for a while as we press on toward the Homefront and the radio gear cache. How are you holding up?”
“Better now that I had a chance to rest and got a bite to eat.” Evan then looked up at the hill, took a deep breath, and said, “Lead the way, brother.”
~~~~
After several more hours of trekking their way through the rugged wilderness in the dark, Evan said, “Hey, man. I need a break. I’m starting to get shaky. I’ve sucked it up for as long as I can for a while.”
“That’s okay, man,” Jason replied, reaching into his pocket for Q’s map. “This is close enough to the radio cache for me to strike out on my own. Let’s get you situated where you can rest up comfortably and securely, and I’ll get a move on. As slow as the going is, the sun may damn near be up by the time I get back, so you might as well tuck in for a while.”
“Sounds good to me,” Evan replied as he sat down and leaned back against a tree.
Jason did a quick scan of the immediate area and found a bush of rhododendrons and mountain laurels that would provide natural visual cover from both the air and the ground if Evan were to remain there after sun up. He then cleared a spot out for him to lie down and led him to it. Jason took Evan’s AK-74, verified that a cartridge was in the chamber, the safety was on, and was ready to go. He propped the rifle up on a tree branch where Evan could grab it easily and asked, “How many mags do you have?”
“Four. I’ll be good.”
“Take one of mine; you’ll have one hundred and fifty rounds that way. You can hold your own for a while with that if need be.”
“Hell, no. You might need everything you have,” Evan insisted.
“The difference is, I can run. You’re not really in any condition to be sprinting through the woods. You’ve probably pushed yourself over the edge already.” Jason felt Evan’s side, feeling him twitch with pain from the lightest touch. “You’re bleeding again. Just take the damn magazine and do as I say. Molly will kill me if I come back without your dumb ass, so just listen to me on this.”
“Alright, man. You take care out there. If you need me to help carry something, come back for me. I’ll be rested up and feeling as good as new in no time.”
“Just rest up and don’t worry about anything else for now. Understand?” Jason said in an insistent tone.
“Yes, Mommy,” Evan replied with a crooked smile.
As Jason slipped off into the dark woods, Evan closed his eyes and thought of his beloved wife, Molly, and his wonderful children. Maybe I can dream about her, he thought.
Chapter Eighteen: Angels from Below
Ed, Nate, Tommy, Aaron, and twenty-three other detainees on board their bus gazed out the windows, fearing an airborne response to the escape would catch up with them any minute. The camouflaged Ford Bronco still trailed their bus, but the other escort vehicles from the raid had split off with the other two buses.
“Where are we going?” asked Nate.
“Each bus is going to a location that only the driver and his escort know,” Aaron explained. “I don’t even know. They were locations determined at the last minute before the raid took place and not shared with anyone else. That way, if any one of the buses are captured, or if individual personnel are caught, they can’t be forced to share the whereabouts of the others with the feds or the UN. We’ll get there when we get there is all I can tell you.”
“That’s sound thinking,” replied Ed.
“What we lack in material support, we have to make up in any way we can,” said Aaron, still scanning the sky for threats as he spoke.
“What happens when we get there? To wherever it is we are going, that is,” asked Tommy.
“Debrief, medical attention, and aid and support in getting you back to where it is you need to be—within reason, of course. We can’t return you to downtown Atlanta, obviously, but if you were taken by the UN from somewhere else that we have freedom of movement, we will do what we can.”
Ed looked over at Nate with a smile on his face. “See, never give up hope. There are still good people in this screwed up world.”
“Amen to that,” shouted Tommy.
For the rest of the ride, Nate gazed out the window, thinking of Peggy. He wondered if she had any idea what had happened to him. He and Ed hadn’t seen or heard from Evan and Jason since they were taken, and were not sure if they shared a similar fate. He hoped they had somehow already made it home to the homesteads. If not, he feared for the safety of those who remained without sufficient protection from the ever-encroaching reach of the occupying forces.
Turning his attention back inside the bus, Nate looked around to see some of his fellow detainees with tears of joy rolling down their cheeks. He clearly wasn’t alone in assuming he may not see his loved ones again and that his life, as he had known it for the past year, might be lost to him forever. But now, with the selfless acts of these militia volunteers, they might all be able to be reunited with their families and begin to pick up the pieces of what was left of their lives.
“So, what’s next for you guys?” Tommy asked, interrupting Nate’s thoughts.
“Home...” Nate said with a smile. “And then to propose to my girl. One thing this mess has taught us is that we can’t put anything off in the world. If you have something that you know you want for sure, you had better seize the moment and take it while you can. None of us can be confident what will happen from one day to the next anymore.”
“I hear you on that one,” Tommy replied with a smile.
“What about you?” Nate asked in return.
“Well... I may just be home for my kid’s birthday, after all,” he said with tears of joy welling up in his eyes. “Damn, I just can’t believe it,” he said as he fought back the tears. Looking to Aaron, he said, “Thanks, man. I knew there was something about you. Something a little more calculated than the rest of us. Something about the way you carried yourself and were always observing. Thanks. Thank you for putting yourself in that position to be able to help us out like that. The rest of the world could have just forgotten us and left us to rot, but you guys... you risked everything for us. And for that, you have my eternal loyalty.”
“So what’s next on the agenda for you guys, Aaron?” asked Ed. “I’m sure this isn’t the extent of what you have planned in response to the occupation.”
“No, not at all,” Aaron said as a flash of light behind him illuminated the inside of the bus. The thunderous sound of an explosion followed the flash of light as the Bronco that served as their escort exploded, sending a shockwave through the bus.
The bus swerved, followed by another explosion just to the right of the bus, sending it careening to the left, overturning and rolling over several times before coming to a stop. As it came to rest on its top, Ed shook off his confusion from the violent event and immediately kicked out the shattered remains of the nearest window and squeezed through the opening. He then reached inside, grabbed Nate by the arm, and dragged him free. He threw Nate over his shoulders and ran toward several run-down houses off to the side of the road. Looking back for a moment to check on the others, he saw several of the detainees limp away into the darkness as the whirring sounds of a rapidly approaching turbine-engine-powered aircraft streaked through the sky. A few seconds later, another explosion decimated the bus, sending debris in all directions, the shockwave knocking him to the ground.
Winded from the impact, but undeterred, Ed stood back up with Nate s
till on his shoulders. He ran toward the houses under a veil of darkness and smoke, which came from the burning remains of the two vehicles.
Ed ran as fast as his bare feet could take him with the extra weight of Nate bearing down on him. A few blocks into the neighborhood from where the attack on the bus took place, the pain of multiple blunt-force trauma injuries suffered during the crash began to replace Ed’s adrenaline. He carried Nate into the backyard of one of the suburban neighborhood homes and laid him down behind several overgrown decorative shrubs.
“Nate... Nate... Wake up. C’mon, Nate,” he said as he smacked him gently on the cheeks. Getting no response, he checked for a pulse and signs of breathing; he was pleased to find both life signs present. He then gave Nate a cursory look for indications of trauma and found a laceration about two inches long on the top of his head. Ed did not have enough visibility in the darkness of the night to do a thorough evaluation. He decided that, for now, he needed to get Nate inside somewhere to hide, as he knew it was only a matter of time before UN soldiers would be sweeping the streets, looking for survivors.
As Ed took Nate by the arm and started to lift him off the ground and throw him back over his shoulders, he heard the familiar click of a cocking hammer followed by an elderly man’s voice. “Don’t you move a damn muscle.”
Paralyzed with fear, yet desperate to get Nate some help, Ed said, “I’m sorry, sir, but my friend here is in desperate need of medical attention. I just—”
“Shut up. I didn’t ask you for your life’s story. I told you not to move a muscle. Your jaw muscles included. Now... only speak when answering a direct question. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Ed responded, feeling defeated and fatigued by the night’s events.
“Who are you with,” the man asked.
“His name is Nate. He’s a good friend of mine and—”
“No, dumbass. Who were the people in the vehicles, and who was shooting at who? And what’s with the orange jumpsuit? Did you just escape from somewhere?”
“My friend and I were captured by UN peacekeeping forces and were being detained by some federal outfit. I’m not sure who. They wouldn’t tell us much. All I know is that they were working in concert with the UN and the Russian troops in the Atlanta area. They called the place Camp Twenty-one.”
Ed heard the hammer click back to the safe position as the old man whispered, “Come, give us a hand with this one.”
Ed turned around to see an elderly man leaning his old Winchester model 1897 hammer-pump shotgun up against the overgrown shrubbery. Emerging from the shadows behind the man, an elderly woman of around the same age came out of hiding and knelt down next to Nate.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.
“We were hit pretty hard and the bus rolled over. He hit his head, but I’m not sure what else. He’s alive, but that’s all I know.”
“Let’s get him inside,” the old man said as he reached for Nate’s feet, only to be startled by his missing limb.
“Don’t worry. That’s a previous injury,” Ed said. “He's had a rough few years. I can carry him.”
As Ed lifted Nate into his arms, the man retrieved his shotgun and his wife led them into the home through the back door. Once inside, she led Ed through the house to a corner bedroom. The man then opened the bedroom closet and began moving boxes out of the way, revealing a lift-up type door, underneath which were stairs leading down beneath the house.
“Can you carry him down these rickety old stairs or do you need my help?”
“I’ve got it,” replied Ed as he twisted his torso sideways in order to fit down the narrow stairs with Nate in his arms.
The elderly man’s wife led Ed down the stairs using a candleholder for a light. Once they were at the bottom, he heard the door shut above them, followed by sounds of the boxes being placed back on top of the door and the closet being closed once again.
“Put him here on the sofa,” she said as she directed Ed to lay him on an old sofa that was up against the old, damp brick wall.
Ed did as she asked and then looked around the room to see that they were in a small space of about ten feet by fifteen feet. The space seemed to have been constructed many years ago, as the brick and the construction techniques seemed very old to Ed’s reasonably trained eye.
“I’m Meredith,” she said, leaning over and checking Nate’s pupils by holding the light over him.
Nate moved his head back and forth slightly as if he was struggling to get the bright light away from his eyes. Ed knelt down next to him and asked, “Nate... are you in there, buddy?”
“His resistance to the light is a good sign. Let’s just let him rest for a while,” she said. “He took a pretty good hit to the head, but his pupils responded well to the light and his heart rate and breathing seem fine.”
“Are you a nurse?”
“Oh... many moons ago I was an army nurse. That’s been a long time, though. My husband served in the Army from the tail end of Korea to the beginning of Vietnam. He’s a retired Sergeant Major. That’s where we met. He brought some of his injured soldiers to our field hospital for treatment and the rest is history.”
“Is this some sort of bunker?”
“It was a storm cellar for the house that was here previously. My husband bought the lot back when he first retired from the Army after the house that was on it burned to the ground. When he built the new house, the storm cellar didn’t really fit into the floor plan so he just worked the closet upstairs into the design so that he could maintain access to it. It has mostly gone unused until recently. We find ourselves hiding down here a lot these days.”
“I can imagine so,” Ed replied. “Some things almost seem like they were meant to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your husband bought a lot with this old storm cellar on it. He could have easily filled it in and built right on top of it instead of working the floorplan of the house around it. And here you are, all these years later, blessed to have it in these troubled times.”
“Yes. I guess you’re right. When the attacks first started, we thought it would all just pass like September 11th, 2001. We assumed the government would just go after whoever did it, and we would begin the process of rebuilding. Things just didn’t go that way,” she said, her reflections of the past few years showing in her eyes as she paused. “Then when people started getting desperate and crime shot through the roof, we would hide out down here until the danger passed. There were times when we barely came up for weeks.”
“How have you been surviving? I mean... you’re located in a residential area where there really isn’t a natural food source readily available.”
Meredith stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Pausing for a moment, she drew back a large curtain covering the back wall, revealing that the room was twice the size it had initially appeared to Ed in the low light and the stress of the situation. The other side of the room was filled with old wooden shelving, similar to an old library, with two freestanding shelves and one against the far wall. There was just enough room to walk between the shelves to retrieve the items stored on them.
“One thing my husband learned during his time in the Army, watching people’s lives being turned upside down and losing everything they had, was to trust nothing. The only sure thing in this world is us, he would often say, to justify hoarding all these supplies all these years.”
“I guess you could say he was a prepper before it was a household word,” replied Ed.
“Yes,” she responded with a chuckle as she looked through the remaining items on the shelf, much of which had already been utilized. “We never thought of it as a doomsday sort of thing. The things he saw over there simply made it so that he could no longer trust the world around him to stay safe, stable, and fair. I don’t think he actually thought we would ever use this stuff. I just think it made him feel better to be doing it. It was sort of like therapy for his nerves.”
&nbs
p; “Like I said, some things just seem meant to be,” said Ed with a smile. “Your husband’s uneasiness with the world around him was well justified and has kept you two alive all this time. There aren’t many people, especially in a residential neighborhood such as this, who have been able to maintain themselves in their own homes without resorting to extreme measures. Most people in urban and suburban areas, at least from my experience, have had a very hard time, to say the least.”
“I’m pretty sure Henry has resorted to extreme measures. I’m also pretty sure he will never tell me what he has had to do. He’s just that kind of man. No matter what he has to go through for us, he will—and he will bear the burden alone.”
As she finished her sentence, they heard the sound of the boxes placed above the hidden entrance to the storm cellar being pushed aside, along with Henry’s familiar knock. This was to let her know it was him and that the coast was clear.
Henry walked down the steps, shotgun still in hand and at the ready. As he reached the bottom, he looked deep into Ed’s eyes and said, “We don’t make a habit of inviting strangers inside. Especially strangers in prison jumpsuits. If I hadn’t seen those commie bastards directly attack you, I might have shot you myself. You’ve got five minutes to convince me not to do that now.”
“Henry!” Meredith said with a scowl on her face.
“Well... let’s hear it,” he said insistently.
“Yes, sir,” replied Ed as he began to tell the tale of his former affiliations with the state of Ohio, how both he and Nate ended up at the Homefront with the others, and how they were on a simple supply run when they got caught with weapons that may have implicated them in militia activity, leading to their arrest and detention.
“So you’re not militia?” Henry asked.
“No, sir. We met some members of the Blue Ridge Militia early on during our supply run, but we’re not affiliated with them. But in the spirit of openness and honesty, I would be glad to call any patriot currently serving in a civil militia, my friend. I’m not sure how many, but militiamen lost their lives tonight rescuing us from Camp Twenty-one. I’ll forever owe them a debt, and my service where I can give it.”