by Luis Samways
Sammy continues to stare at the dead. Some female, others male, some adult and a few others are children. It’s not something he is used to. Death has become something of the norm now in the past couple of days. He knows that he needs to stay underground if he wants to remain one of the lucky few to breathe in air, or if he makes a mistake, the next thing he could be breathing in could be his last breath.
‘So we burn them?’ a woman says from behind him
‘Yeah, we burn them,’ he says
The woman starts to cry out loud. The wallowing of her screams rattles Sammy to the core.
‘Will my children feel the heat in heaven?’ she says, still crying. A man goes over to comfort her. The rest of the group of survivors remain scattered. Some are paying their respects from afar; others haven’t bothered to pay any at all.
‘I don’t know mam,’ says Sammy
‘Will they feel the fire?’ she says again
‘I don’t know’
Sammy just doesn’t know what to say. He wonders if it should be him to put the flame to the victims, or if it should be someone else. It’s not exactly a decision that anyone has offered to make, and Sammy doesn’t want to seem eager in burning children and adults, no matter if they are dead or not. Principle is principle after all.
‘Should I burn them?’ he finally asks
No one dares to say one word. Sammy takes the silence as answer enough and bends over to grab the jerry can full of gas that he got from the generator room earlier on. He starts pouring the contents of the jerry can onto the heaped pile of bodies. After a few minutes of soaking the bodies through, he throws the can onto the pile and strikes a match. He watches the flame for a second or two and then flicks the burning match onto the bodies, immediately setting them ablaze.
Thirteen
‘Please don’t leave me in here! I’m claustrophobic!’ Miss Harriet screams as she is bundled into the dark room.
‘You’ve been a bad girl. You will be punished,’ says the guard who pushes her into the room as he slaps some handcuffs on her.
‘I beg you, please don’t kill me,’ she says
The guard laughs.
‘Oh no, I’m not going to kill you, before I do that, the boss said I can have some fun with you first!’ he says while forcing her onto a wooden stool.
The room she is in is dark beyond normal. It is as if it was made that way, and judging by the blood stains on the walls and smearing on the floor, she isn’t the first person to have had the pleasure of staying in this particular dungeon.
‘So you’re not going to kill me?’ she asks
‘Nope, not yet anyway,’ he says, wrapping some chains around her torso, confining her arms and shoulders so she can’t move.
‘Not so tight!’ she screams
‘I’ll put it on tighter if you don’t shut the fuck up lady!’
She nods her head as she looks up at the burly guard in a pleading fashion. Her hair dangles down her face freely, the dirt and grime is making it stick to her forehead. The feeling in the pit of her stomach is one of tremendous fear, and the only thing she can hear beside the constant chatter from the guard bounding her up, in the thudding of her heart.
Thump, thump, thump.
‘This won’t hurt,’ he says as he takes out a bandanna from his back pocket and stuffs it into her mouth. She tries to scream but the bandanna muffles the sound.
Thump, thump, thump.
‘But this will…,’ the man screams, as he punches her square in the jaw a few times.
Thump thump thump thump thump thump
Fourteen
‘Sir, the National Guard have captured a covert army grunt. They are wondering if you want him interrogated,’ says the Whitehouse advisor standing in front of the Oval Office desk.
The President’s expression changes from a placid look to one of excitement and bewilderment.
‘What do you mean captured?’
‘The National Guard managed to capture an unwounded soldier. He surrendered after the blast in Manhattan. Most of his fellow fighters were killed in the blast. He is literally all that remains’
‘Yes, interrogate him. I’m giving the National Guard full powers of interrogation. That includes but is not limited to torture. Get all the information you can out of this son of a bitch. Hopefully he can give us the location of this militant group’
The Whitehouse advisor looks a bit nervous as he listens to what the President has to say regarding the capture of the prisoner. The man’s face begins to twitch a little and he starts to rub his hands down his side. President Harriet soon picks up on it and throws him a pandering look.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asks bluntly
‘I just didn’t know we could torture him, that’s all,’ the man says
‘The Geneva convention act is null and void at the minute considering the possibility of these certain individuals being responsible for the outbreak of these so called beacons, and not to mention the fact that they are waging war on the streets of New York. I think a little torture will do us good in the long run. Command has informed us that an A12 missile was detected in the southern axis of the country. The heat signature was picked up, but we don’t know where it was fired from. We do know however that the missile failed for some reason and dropped out of the sky. It landed in a farm somewhere in Nebraska. The Marines have dispatched a bomb expert down to the farm so we can determine where it came from and how far it travelled before it duded out. We are this close to finding out where the enemy is based, and if we have any luck; the missile was fired from the same location in which they are based in. If we can get that information from the A12 or the captured prisoner, either way we will bring the war effort to our side, and maybe, just maybe we can stop this before it becomes the last thing we do’
The man nods his head and smiles nervously.
‘I’ll tell the National Guard that they have our full support on this,’ he says
Fifteen
Mrs Novik is staring at the dead man on the highway. She is feeling unsure of herself and the surroundings she finds herself in. Clare on the other hand is holstering the pistol she shot the man with.
‘You killed many people?’ asks Clare
The question shocks Mrs Novik
‘No of course I haven’t! What made you think I had anyway?’
‘I didn’t. I just thought I’d ask. You shouldn’t feel sorry for him. He was pointing a gun at us after all,’ she says
‘You could have shot him in the leg or something’
‘And then what? Have him shoot at me?’
‘Well no…’
‘Look Angelina, sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. If someone is threatening my life, or in this case, our lives, then action needs to be taken, rather him than us right?’
‘Right, I guess’
‘Right,’ says Clare
Mrs Novik continues to stare at the man on the floor for a few more seconds until Clare pats her on the shoulder, snapping her out of the depression she was in for a split second.
‘I think you should stay the night. I mean, I think it would be best if me and you stick together for a while. Who knows what’s out there? We could be a good team,’ says Clare
‘Yeah, I’m sure I’d be real valuable shaking in the corner sucking my thumb at any sign of trouble,’ laughs Mrs Novik.
‘Someone’s got to do the thumb sucking around here!’ smiles Clare as she pats Mrs Novik on the shoulder once more.
The two women smile at each other for the first time since they met. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad Mrs Novik thought.
Sixteen
Sergeant Richards swings his clenched fist at the man tied up to the chair. Richard’s knuckles crack on the man’s jaw, the covert army man lets out a whimper. He doesn’t cry out loud by any means, it’s obvious by the amount of pain the National Guard First Sergeant has dished out that the captured prisoner won’t break easily. After years and years of hanging with t
he hardest men in the military, Richards knows a lost cause when he sees one. He knows a prisoner who won’t break better than most mothers know their children and this particular prisoner will not break any time soon unless Richards can find something the man fears, and at this moment in time, one thing is for certain, the man doesn’t fear Richards.
‘Is that all you’ve got you prick?’ shouts the tied up man as blood runs down his face from his busted up nose.
The captured covert army man that surrendered on the battlefield formerly known as Manhattan is a tall and burly man. His face resembles a well weathered man, a man who has seen it all. His already crooked nose suggests that he is used to this sort of punishment, so it doesn’t surprise Richards one bit when he hears the man pretty much asking for more pain and punishment. Some men just enjoy a good thrashing once in a while!
‘Aw, come on, give it to me like that priest did to your great granddad in the Catholic Church all those years ago,’ says the captured prisoner.
The comment makes Richards crack a smile. He likes the prisoner immediately. It’s not uncommon for interrogators to have some sort of bond with a prisoner, but the thing is, Richards is a First Sergeant, not an interrogator. The Whitehouse insisted on him doing the interrogation as soon as possible. Usually someone more qualified would be classed with the job, but they did insist, so here he is doing what they insisted upon. Richards decided that it was best to do the interrogation in the nearby Mall seeing that it was empty. They found themselves a little compact men’s toilets in the lower section of the building and decided to use that as an interrogation room. Rule one of the interrogation process is to find a suitable room to do it in. The room can’t be bright and cosy looking, for maximum effect it has to be cramped and dingy looking. If it smells, then that’s an even bigger bonus!
They found the perfect place in the men’s bathroom on the first floor of the mall. It had graffiti everywhere and even had some unsettling remarks about conspiracy theories peppered on the walls. Richards thought it was rather fitting considering the accusations they have towards the captured prisoner. Richards had his fellow soldiers defecate in the nearby toilet. Around fifteen men took a crap in it and none of them flushed. There was so much faecal matter in the bowl that it nearly came oozing out by the time the last man had token a dump. Richards wasn’t planning on using the toilet in any particular way. He just wanted the toilet to smell as foul as possible, so when they did the interrogation the man being beaten up would wise up quickly, considering the amount of shit he is in already!
That wasn’t the case though. The captured man was still hollering at the top of his lungs with every physical beating he received from the First Sergeant.
‘Ow!’ he says sarcastically as Richards continues to punch him repeatedly, the man’s face looking like a boxer’s after twelve rounds.
‘You going to answer my questions or what?’ asks Richards, wiping the blood off his knuckles with a white rag.
The captured covert army grunt shakes his head, grinning a bloodied row full of teeth at the sergeant.
‘You sure boy?’ says Richards
‘Yep,’ laughs the army guy
Richards nods at two of his fellow National Guard soldiers.
‘Drag him to the toilet boys,’ says Richards
The captured man’s expression changes from a smile to one of horror as the two National Guard solders move him over to the toilet overflowing with faeces.
‘Wait a damn minute now! You can’t do this!’ says the captured man, nearly gagging at the sight of the putrid bowl just inches from his face.
The soldiers begin to steadily lower him down until his nose is millimetres away from the toilet bowl.
‘You will tell us what we want to know or I will make you eat that toilet bowl full of shit!’
‘You can’t!’ says the man
‘Oh, I can! Lower him,’ says Richards
The two National Guard soldiers shove the man’s head into the toilet full of faeces. The man struggles for air as he gargles on the contents of the toilet. They submerge the man’s head for four seconds until bringing him back up. The army grunt coughs and wheezes, and then finally vomits.
‘You have ten seconds before I tell them to shove your head down there once again. Now tell me what I want to know, where is your base of operations?’
Seventeen
London, England
Steven slows down at the intersection leading out of London. He cranes his neck to try and see the state of the traffic on the road. It’s near empty which is good considering the panic that surly lies ahead. He had made it clear in his mind that getting out of London as quickly as possible was the safest and surest way of surviving. The majority of the country may not know what is coming but Steven does. He knows what lies ahead; he’s seen it with his very own eyes. He can’t be too sure what exactly is going to happen but he does know it’s bad, hence why he is all packed up with suitcases and supplies en route to a new life somewhere off the coast of England. He stares back down at the road and beeps his horn. A few lax cars lie in front slowing the flow of the traffic. To his Wife, he seems impatient, and that wouldn’t be too far from the truth. In no time of Steven’s life has he been as impatient as he feels now. Today is go time and he has been preparing for something like this for a while. Not only is Steven a world class PI, he is also a Prepper.
He prepares for the worst and has done so ever since he can remember. He didn’t need the events of 9/11 to spur him onto a contingency plan; he just needed to look at the history of the human race. World War 2 was the one that did it for him. Millions of Jews were not prepared for what lay ahead for them, and look what happened to them. Steven doesn’t want to be unprepared. He doesn’t want to be killed or captured. He wants to survive and that’s why he is on the M5 racing out of London.
‘Not so fast Steven, you’ll get us pulled over,’ his Wife Sharron says while looking at her reflection on the overhead mirror on the sun flap in the front. She clicks the visor back in place and gives her husband a candid smile. ‘Are you even listening to me?’ she says
‘Yes, but I’m concentrating on the road,’ he says, gripping the steering wheel as if his life depended on it, which in these times it literally does.
‘Well you should be concentrating on your speed, at this rate we will get pulled over,’ she says again, feeling like a broken record as she puts blusher on her face.
Steven looks at her and wonders something.
‘Why the hell are you putting makeup on?’ he asks
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Because you don’t need it,’ he says bluntly
‘Why thank you!’ she says
‘I didn’t mean it as a compliment. I mean you don’t need that stupid shit right now. How fucking brain dead can you be? Do you not understand the importance of this present moment in time? You do realise that this could be the last fucking day either of us spends on this planet and you’re making sure you look done up for the occasion?’
‘What’s wrong with you Steven? You’ve been a real arsehole today,’ she says
‘What’s wrong with me?’ screams Steven as he pushes down hard on the brakes and stops the car dead in the middle of the road.
‘Are you serious?’ she says
‘Yes I fucking am, now give me that!’ he says while grabbing her make up. He unwinds the window and throws the makeup box onto the road past the speeding traffic. A sea of beeping can be heard from behind them as a backlog of traffic forms.
‘Get your head in the game Sharron. I won’t put up with you if you don’t take this seriously!’ he says
Suddenly police sirens can be heard from behind them. Steven looks into his rear view mirror and spots a police cruiser turning up towards them.
‘You better take that seriously Steven,’ Says his wife, smiling at her annoyed husband.
‘Oh I will,’ says Steven.
Eighteen
President Harriet remains in the
Oval office sipping on coffee and feeling sorry for himself. He’s looking at a picture of his daughter taken when she was younger. It stands tall and proud in a silver tinted rim with golden nuggets on the frame. The picture was taken on one of his congress meetings a while back when he was Governor of Washington, long before the days people called him President. He remembers the trip fondly. It was a day of joy and celebration, not only was he making waves in the political game, but his daughter had just turned thirteen. She was becoming a big girl, and he wanted her to appreciate something adult-like and grown up. She wasn’t the type of girl to like playing outside with a hula-hoop, she was the type of girl to find solace in books and enjoyed watching the news. That’s the entire reason President Harriet took his daughter with him that day, he wanted to make her dreams come true and make her feel like the big girl he knew she was. He remembers when she saw the congress meeting room for the first time. It was decked out with plenty of plush furnishings and the usual American flags draped around every corner of the room. It made his daughter proud when she saw where her dad worked and what he did. It became a tradition long after that day to have her with him where ever he went. He had her home-schooled for three days of the week, and the other days she spent with him, trotting around the country doing stately things. He remembers when she told him she believed he would be President one day. It brings a tear to his eye as he continues to stare at the photo in his hand. A few moist drops run down his leather like skin and down his cheek, they trickle off his face and land on the photo frame in his hand.
‘I’ve let you down dear,’ he says while embracing the photo as if it was his daughter herself in living colour.
‘I miss you.’ He says
Suddenly a knock at the door forces him to pull himself together.
‘Come in,’ he says unevenly, trying to shake the emotion out of his voice
A Whitehouse advisor comes through the door and immediately realises he interrupted the president at an inopportune time.