The Reversion

by Steven Smith

  "Negative, one. There are some dead bodies, but the only thing moving is us."

  "I think we have someone at a second-floor window on the next block. When you get to the next house, let me in the back door."

  "Okay, one. See you in a few."

  Fifteen minutes later, the back door of the house opened and a scout wearing a bandana over his face motioned him in. He ran the final fifty yards and entered the back door to be met by an overpowering odor he hadn't smelled in years. He looked at the scout. "That mask helping much?"

  The scout shook his head. "Not much."

  "Find some menthol chest rub and wipe it on your upper lip and on your mask. That's what we did in the old days. It helps." He looked around. "What are you finding?"

  "It's a mess. Everything has been ransacked. All food is gone. Some houses are empty, but we're finding bodies in others. From the look of things, they died real thin, but I don't know if they starved to death or were killed. Some of the bodies have been torn up pretty bad by animals."

  Christian looked around him. The kitchen was the typical upscale of the area with stainless steel appliances, cherry cabinets and granite countertops. It was obvious that attempts had been made to keep the place clean, but without running water and an increasing concern with just staying alive it was cluttered with dishes and old empty food containers. Dust was heavy on the furniture, showing that no one had used it for some time. "Have you checked upstairs?"

  The scout shook his head. "We figured we'd let you in first."

  "Okay. Secure the basement and let's take a look."

  Leaving two scouts to cover the basement door and first floor, the rest of the team mounted the stairs to the second floor.

  The first three rooms turned up nothing. One was a boy's bedroom, another a girl's and the third an office. The lead scout opened the door at the end of the hallway and entered, followed closely by another. "They're in here,” he called.

  The other scouts remained at the doorways of the rooms they had cleared while Christian walked past them and entered the master.

  The family was in bed. A man, a woman and two children. The man and woman bracketed the children, who lay in the middle, turned toward them as if to comfort and protect them. In one of the children's arms was a stuffed bear, in the other's, a doll. A Bible lay among them, as if it had slipped from the man's right hand. Christian looked at them, then stopped himself. Just as he had years ago when coming onto a death scene, he had started to look closely at the deceased to try to imagine their last moments and hours, but this was too heart-breaking. He knew he could do nothing for them, and also knew they were together in a far better place where hunger, fear and sadness didn't exist.

  He turned to the younger scouts. "Don't let this get too deep into your heads. It won't help them but can really affect you. Do your job and concentrate on the living."

  Turning back to the family in bed, he drew the sheet up over their heads, then went to the window. From here, he could see the house he had been watching. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and looked through the ACOG. Acquiring the window from which he thought he had seen movement earlier, he saw a scoped rifle pointing back at him.

  “Gun!" he yelled, moving quickly to the side and dropping to the floor. He waited several seconds, expecting incoming fire, but none came.

  He moved farther away from the window. Why hadn't the man fired? He obviously had Christian and the team in his sights before Christian saw him. He probably knew, or should know, that the wall behind which Christian hid wouldn't stop a bullet. Was he short on ammo, or out? Was the rifle even manned? Prudence made him assume that it was. "There's a rifle pointing at us from a house on the next block. Let's get back downstairs. Stay low."

  They returned to the first level and had two scouts check the basement, but they found nothing of interest. Looking out one of the front windows, Christian saw that the house with the rifle was obscured by the houses across the street. The street corner was three houses away, and he judged that their target was two or three houses up on the other street.

  He turned to the team. "We can't see him from here, which means he can't see us either. We're going to clear the houses down to the corner where we'll be able to get a better look. Be thorough, but don't go toward the back of the houses where he might be able to see you through a window. Any questions?"

  There were none.

  "Okay, two by two, let's go."

  The first two scouts exited and ran across the street, followed by the next pair ten seconds later and a third pair ten seconds after that. Christian followed them a few seconds later. As the second pair reached the open front door of the house, the first pair entered, followed by the second pair when the third pair arrived. Within thirty seconds, all were inside the house.

  It took them five minutes to clear the house, then the movement was repeated on the next two houses until the team found themselves in the corner house. Two scouts cleared the basement, two the upstairs and two the main floor while Christian carefully made his way in the shadows to where he could look out a kitchen window and see the target house.

  "I'll be damned," he said in a low voice. "Look at that."

  Four flags flapped in the breeze, each on its own perfectly spaced flagpole in the front yard. On the left was the American flag, followed in descending order to the right by the Kansas flag, the Marine Corps flag and the Gadsden. The front yard, including the driveway, was encircled by sections of chain link fence of varying heights topped with barbed wire. In the driveway sat a white Ford pickup with decals of the Marine Corps and the National Rifle Association on the back window. The personal license plate said SEMPER.

  Christian smiled. "Looks like a quality individual."

  "What do you want to do?" asked the team leader.

  Christian thought for a minute as he continued watching the house. "Guess I'll go talk to him."

  The scout eyed him skeptically. "What do you want us to do?"

  "If all goes well, sit tight. If he shoots me, drag me out of the street. If I go inside and don't come out in half an hour, come get me."

  The scout looked at the fortified house, then back at Christian. "How do we do that?"

  Christian shrugged and patted the scout on the shoulder. "Beats me. You'll think of something."

  Christian left the house through the front door and walked to the middle of the street, then turned toward the corner. Raising his hands above his shoulders and holding them wide, he walked to the intersection and turned toward the fortified house, staying in the middle of the street. When he reached the house, he stopped and faced it, slowly lowering his arms to his sides. He looked up at the second-floor window, trying to decide what to say, then thought of something from a John Wayne movie.

  "Hello, the house!" he yelled, feeling a bit silly hearing it come out of his mouth.

  "Hello, yourself!" called a man's voice from inside the house.

  "How ya doin'?" Christian yelled back, smiling at the inanity of the exchange.

  "Not bad," said the voice. "How 'bout you?"

  "Not bad."

  "What can I do for you?"

  Christian almost chuckled as he thought of a reply. "I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."

  A laugh came from the house. "Can't think of anything right off, unless you've got some electricity to spare. Or a cheeseburger."

  Christian smiled. “Afraid not. Sorry. I'm from Stonemont."

  "Oh, yeah? What's stonemont?"

  "Well, it started out as my uncle's farm with a stone house west of here. It's kind of developed into a community of people who came together to help each other out."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "We're scouting the area to see what's around us, and to make contact with anyone who's left." He looked around. "Doesn't look like many are."

  There was a short pause before the man answered. "No, not many. I think we're about it."

  Christian look
ed over at the pickup. "You a Marine?"

  "Yep. You?"

  "No. Cop."

  The man laughed. "The only time I got my ass kicked was by a cop."

  Christian smiled and shrugged. "Sorry. I don't think it was me."

  The man laughed again. "I deserved it. Eighteen and drunk on Hotel Street. HPD cop didn't like me taking a swing at him and let me know it. What do you want?"

  "First, information. We want to know the state of things around us. Second, to help you if you need it and if we can. Third, to let you know about Stonemont and offer whatever kind of relationship you'd like, including relocation closer to us if you want. By the way, I'm Christian Bell."

  "I'm Tom Murphy. Hang on a minute."

  Less than thirty seconds passed before the front door opened and a man stepped out onto the porch. His blond flat top was getting a little long, but his bearing, his t-shirt and the way he held his M-4 all said 'Marine'. He looked around the neighborhood. "Where are your guys?"

  Christian cocked his head back behind him. "Back in a house watching us." Then he looked up at the flags. "I like your flags."

  Murphy nodded. "I went round and round with our HOA over those. They said they were going to put a lien on my house if I didn't remove them, then this happened." He chuckled. "Looks like I won. You know what the yellow one is?"

  Christian nodded. "Gadsden. Created by Christopher Gadsden of South Carolina and given to the head of the Continental Navy, whose name I forget, and also to the South Carolina legislature. It was also used by the Continental Marines. To us it means liberty. I had a sticker on the back window of my truck, across from the NRA."

  Murphy raised his chin and an eyebrow. "I doubt that more than a couple out of every thousand people who flew the flag or wore the t-shirt knew that." He lowered the muzzle of his rifle to a down position and pointed to a section of fence next to the driveway. "You can open that small section with the 'Keep Out' sign on it if you'd care to come in and meet the Murphys."

  Christian entered the house ahead of Murphy, glad that Murphy hadn't asked him to give up his weapons, uncomfortable that Murphy was behind him, and surprised at the darkness inside the house.

  "We'll stop here for a minute and let our eyes adjust," said Murphy. "Patty, toss a light stick, will you?" Then louder, "Kids, come on down. We have company."

  Christian heard a snap and a shake, and a green chemlight arched through the air from the back of the house to land in what it revealed to be a large family room with a massive fireplace. With the glow of the light stick, Christian saw that he was standing in a large foyer which opened into the two-story family room. A dining room, dominated by a long table with eight chairs, was to his right. An office was to his left. Sheets of plywood covered all the windows, explaining the darkness inside the house.

  "We don't get many visitors anymore," said a woman's voice from the far back corner, “so excuse the mess.”

  Christian watched as a woman emerged from the dark corner into the green light. The woman was blonde and had the same pre-competition body builder look of her husband. She was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, and carried a bullpup rifle. The sound of footsteps drew his attention to a staircase on his right, where two teenagers, a boy and a girl, descended from the second floor. Both were well set up kids resembling their parents, and both carried rifles.

  "Guys, this is Christian Bell from a place called Stonemont," said Murphy. "He says it's a community of people working together on his uncle's place and has invited us to join them if we want to. Or just be friends in whatever way we'd like. Christian, this is my wife Patty and our kids, Tommy and Saoirse."

  Saoirse said "hi" quietly, and Tommy nodded. Both looked serious.

  Christian nodded back. "Good to meet you all." He looked at the girl. "To be named for freedom is a special thing. Especially now."

  The girl cocked her head at him. "How did you know that? I've never met anybody except my family who knew what my name meant."

  "My uncle was involved in the Irish republican community. He talked a bit about it."

  "IRA?" Murphy asked.

  Christian shook his head. "He knew them and agreed with their efforts to fight British oppression, but he didn't like their socialist leanings."

  "This is the uncle at your Stonemont?"

  "Yeah." Christian waited to see what effect this information would have on Murphy.

  Murphy looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "My great, great, great grandfather came to America on one of the coffin ships. His stories of British oppression were passed down through the family. I did a stint doing urban training with the SAS in Belfast and Derry and saw it was still going on." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Your uncle sounds like a good man. What's his plan?"

  "His main plan was to take care of his family and friends. He would have preferred to leave it at that, but he recognizes the situation calls for more. To put it simply, Stonemont is welcoming any who want to become a part of our community and agree to adhere to our rules. Secondly, we're establishing or assisting satellite communities to support those in surrounding areas for mutual benefit. Thirdly, we're establishing relationships with other communities in an effort to rebuild a society worth living in."

  Murphy had been listening intently and nodded slowly. "That's what's needed. What are your rules?"

  "We expect all able adults to work and be responsible for themselves and their families. Those who are unable to take full care of themselves will be assisted, but will be expected to participate and contribute to the extent they are able. We go by the Ten Commandments, The Golden Rule and what my uncle calls the laws of common decency."

  Murphy looked at his wife, then back at Christian. "We've talked about that ourselves, how good it would be to return society to that model."

  Christian nodded. He was getting a good sense of these people, and thought he would put something out to see their reaction. "My aunt said she thought this all might turn out to be a good thing, because regardless of all the suffering, it might have been the only way to get society back on the right track."

  Murphy nodded and looked at his wife again, this time longer, then at his kids. "I think we might be interested, Christian. But we have a problem maybe you can help us with."

  "What's that?"

  "Follow me."

  Murphy led off down the stairs to the basement, followed by Christian, then Patty. Tommy remained on the first floor and Saoirse returned to the second as if they had been trained to do so. At the bottom of the stairs, Murphy opened a door and turned on an LED lantern, then entered an unfinished section crowded with paint cans, tarps and miscellaneous tools. As the others followed, he went to a large sheet of wallboard leaning against the wall and moved it aside, revealing a door behind it. Opening the door, he stepped through.

  Christian went through the door after Murphy, followed by Patty, and stared around the large concrete room. Shelves lined the walls to the ceiling, and more ran down the center. All of the shelves were empty except for one which held a few packages of toilet paper, three gallon-size jugs of hand soap and several cases of green beans.

  "We planned to stock two years of food," said Murphy, "but we were only at about four months when it happened." He nodded at the few items on the shelf. "This is all that's left."

  He turned to Christian, holding the lantern up so each could see the other's face. "Patty and I have been on reduced rations for a while so the kids could have enough, but we finally told them about a week ago." He nodded again at the few cans of beans. "We were getting ready to head out in a couple of days to try to make it in the woods."

  Christian studied the man. The inner strength and rock-hard resolve were obvious, as was his love for his family. He nodded. "We can help, Tom. Come with us to Stonemont. We need people like you and your family, and I think you'll fit in just fine."

  Murphy looked at his wife, who smiled and nodded, then seemed to relax with the making of a decision. "Okay. But we'
ll need help carrying some stuff."

  He handed the lantern to Patty and turned to pull out a section of shelving, revealing another door. Unlocking and opening it, he took the lantern from Patty and stepped through the door, followed by Christian and Patty.

  "Holy cow...," breathed Christian, looking around the room.

  Racks of rifles and shotguns stood along the walls, interspersed with shelves of ammo corresponding to the various weapons. Above each group were signs; .22, .223/5.56, .308, 30.06, .50, 12 g, 20 g. A smaller area held boxes of handguns with their associated ammo; 9mm, .40, .45.

  "I guess I went a bit long on the guns before I switched to groceries," Murphy said.

  Christian was still looking around the room in awe. "No RPGs?"

  Murphy gave a dry chuckle. "When I got out of the Corps, I had a pretty good chunk of change in addition to my retirement. The stock market didn't look that good and neither did real estate, but I figured that guns and ammo were always going to go up, so you're looking at our investments."

  Patty spoke up with surprising humor. "As you can see, we have a diversified portfolio."

  Murphy put his arm around his wife and looked at Christian. "We were going to have to leave most of this anyway, so could we trade this to Stonemont in exchange for a place in the community?"

  Christian tore his attention away from the weapons and turned to the Murphy's, shaking his head. "That's not necessary. You're already welcome. We've established an economy we think is right and fair, that everyone has ownership of themselves, their possessions and their labor, and trade with others on an entirely voluntary and mutually agreeable basis. These are yours, to sell or trade with others however you see fit."

  Murphy nodded slowly and looked around the room. "How would that work with this?"

  "Well, we're going to need a truck to move all this." He saw the surprised look on Murphy's face. "Yes, we have trucks. Plus, people to help load it all and guard it on the way to Stonemont. Jim, my uncle, will figure out a fair trade for the use of the truck and the personnel, which Stonemont will provide. All the rest will remain yours to sell or trade as you see fit. Food, clothing, housing, medical care, whatever. Believe me, your investment is going to pay off for you."