The boy languished behind, each short dragging step a Herculean effort for the tired child. The man wanted to pick the child up and carry him but knew he couldn’t, not in his condition and not with their equipment that already weighed him down. “Not much further.” The man tried to encourage him on. The boy hadn’t talked in hours and the man knew neither of them could take much more of this. They were both near breaking.
They continued to slowly ascend the hill and it seemed to the man ten times as steep than it first looked. Each step felt like it would be his last but it wasn’t. He continued to push himself to take “just one more step” until finally after untold one more steps they were now within grasp of the goal. It was only about fifty yards away now. He had to get to the top. Hopefully there would be something on the other side. The man wished to see a stream or lake, maybe a pond, any kind of water the man prayed, any kind at all. Inexplicably the boy had managed to keep up. The child’s feet struggling to keep pace with the man’s longer stride. “We’re almost there!” Still no words from the boy, all of his energy needed to keep up.
As they approached the top, the man noticed from the corner of his eye what appeared to be a “slot” in the side of the hill, just below where it crested. He could also see what might have been the faint signs of a trail leading off to the right. The man thought it odd but kept going. He had no time to consider it. He had to finish. Somewhere he found a little more energy and actually increased his step. The boy fell far behind.
Finally the man reached the top and had nothing left in him. Exhausted, he dropped to one knee, his body hunched over with his face to the ground, each breath a difficult struggle. He could hear the small steps of the boy coming up from behind. Suddenly he heard other footsteps as well. The man looked up to see several soldiers closing in, their rifles with a single unified purpose, him.
Instinctively he reached for his own rifle. The man had been in tough situations before and the rifle had gotten him out of several. This would not be one of them. The rifle was slung over his shoulder along with the backpack and all of his other gear. Needless to say he was unprepared for the situation but had to do something. The man struggled to bring the rifle off his shoulder but was tired, hungry, sick, his efforts were clumsy and slow. Even slower than the boy who was now fast approaching.
The man managed to get the rifle off of his shoulder and as he brought it up a tiny familiar hand held the muzzle down. At the same time the soldiers surrounded him, the closest approaching on his right side, his rifle in the man’s face. The man knew for sure he was going to die right then but didn’t care, he had to try. He wouldn’t go without a fight. The closest soldier now had his rifle mere inches from the man’s temple and only a split second away from ending his life.
Abruptly the man was brought back to reality by Joshua’s voice. He looked down to see the frightened boy gazing up at him, his hand holding down the barrel of the man’s rifle, keeping him from pointing it at the soldiers, keeping him from being killed. His eyes looked into the man’s, the eyes were in tears and they were desperately begging him. The man heard the soft words again and this time he understood them, “Please, don’t.”
The man stood up, he stood up straight and tall. If he was going to die at least he would do it on his feet. The closest soldier backed off, putting himself just out of arm’s reach of the man. He counted eight of them there, all with their guns trained on him. He still held the rifle balanced in his right hand just at mid length, his finger nowhere near the trigger, the other reason he was still alive. He took the rifle and tossed it at the feet of the soldier that moments earlier stood ready and willing to end his life.
Another soldier, obviously the one in command, spoke up. “Take off all of your equipment and stack it there by the rifle.” The man carefully complied with the order and as he finished the soldier shouted another, “Take off your coat and empty your pockets too!” When he finished empting the last from his pockets, there came a third and final order. “Now, get down on your knees, put your hands behind your head and cross your legs!”
The man simply said “No.”
This is it. I’m going to die right here. I might have to die but it won’t be on my knees.
The soldier repeated himself. “Get down on your knees! Put your hands behind your head and cross your legs!” At the same moment he motioned to the soldier closest to the boy who immediately took the child by the arm and dragged him back a safe distance. There were now seven guns on the man, any one of them appeared more than capable of finishing the job.
The man knew he was going to die now, his only regret that the boy would have to watch. He wondered what would become of the boy after he was gone.
The senior officer was getting angry and the man could see he was trying very hard to control his emotions. “This will be the last time I tell you! Get down on your knees, put your hands behind your head and cross your legs!”
The man looked down to see a mass of brilliant red dots swarming over his heart.
Suddenly the boy broke free of his captor putting himself between the commander’s rifle and the man. The guard ran up from behind the boy taking hold of him at the waist and once again pulling him back out of the line of fire, all the while the boy frantically pleading, “Don’t hurt him! Please don’t hurt him!”
The man could take no more and threw his hands up to surrender, shouting, “Leave him alone, I’ll comply! Just leave him alone!” He dropped down to his knees fully expecting to die right there.
The man was on his knees, his legs crossed at the ankles. He put his hands on his head as ordered but they weren’t there for long. Quickly one of the soldiers came up from behind him, pulling his arms back and restraining them at the wrists. The soldier used zip ties and made an extra effort to ensure they hurt when he put them on. The soldier then gave the man a thorough pat down, making sure he had nothing left on him but his tattered clothes.
The man sat there and watched, completely helpless, as the soldiers stood around him performing various tasks as ordered. Two still held guns on him; they were several feet away but he had no doubt they could kill him anytime they desired. The third was still tightly holding the boy. They took his small backpack and checked his pockets but had otherwise left him alone. The fourth and fifth were rummaging through their valuables taking inventory. Everything that he and the boy owned was scattered out on the ground as the soldiers went through it. They verbally listed the items as a sixth soldier wrote it all down. “One M1A 7.62 NATO rifle, one three to ten variable power scope with mount for said rifle, eight twenty-round magazines for said rifle, fifty-seven rounds of 7.62 NATO ammunition for said rifle. One length of plastic pipe, approximately six feet, one compass, one pair binoculars—eight power, one …” They even inventoried the boy’s toys. The seventh soldier stood ready with his scoped rifle at the top of the hill, just in case, and the eighth soldier, the one in command, was talking on a handheld radio. He had walked about thirty feet away. The man tried to eavesdrop on the conversation but it was too far and only heard the occasional intelligible word. The one word he did clearly hear was “quarantine.”
The man was shaking, it wasn’t freezing out but it was cold enough for a coat and his was lying on the ground about ten feet in front of him. He had had a cough for over a week and being tired, hungry and now cold was not helping it. He thought it was just a regular chest cold but couldn’t say for sure. One thing for sure was the soldiers were all keeping their distance from him.
From his position he couldn’t see very much as most of the soldiers purposely stayed away from him. They hadn’t even spoke to him with the exception of taking their names, the soldier writing down the inventory making note of it in his small pad. And while the man didn’t really have the opportunity to get a good look at any one of the soldiers, he was able to make some general observations about all of them.
He now knew these soldiers were not who or what he originally thought they were. At first sight he
naturally assumed they were one of the ex-military groups that roamed the countryside. Like everything else, the military descended into chaos after the collapse. It only took them a little longer than the rest of society. Most members of the military began leaving their posts as civilization rapidly descended into madness, the rioting and killing becoming too overwhelming for anything to control. Most left for very understandable reasons, to be with those they loved. But others formed into groups using their skills and training to take what they needed from civilians to survive.
There were many different types of gangs roaming about and they varied greatly. It was difficult to generalize but if you were forced to you could say there were two main types of these groups. By far the most common were just plain robbers, they only wanted your food and valuables and while they might take all you had, they would leave you relatively unharmed. They weren’t killers per se, unless you resisted them; they were just trying to survive and didn’t care who they had to hurt or kill to do that.
But the other kind, the ones the man feared the most, the ones that invaded his sleep, were the so-called “Gamers.” Gamers were the human species degenerated to its lowest form, lower than animals. Animals typically killed to survive but these Gamers often killed just for the depraved pleasure of it. If you had the bad luck to meet some, it was guaranteed they would take all of your possessions and most likely your life too. But even your life wasn’t enough for them. They just didn’t rob and kill you, Gamers liked to have a little fun too, the “fun” being you.
No two were really the same. One would decapitate their victims and keep the heads as trophies, another would let you live but keep all of your fingers and toes. Yet another only wanted everything you owned and one little keepsake for their scrapbooks, your left ear. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it except the mutual love for suffering. And that’s the only thing they truly shared in common: an inhuman need to create as much pain, death and misery in their wake as possible.
While robbers and Gamers were all too real there was a third type that lived only in legend. The tales of their evil could be heard around many campfires and the trading posts bulged with those that claimed to have witnessed their horror. They were most commonly known as “Eaters.” Eaters were said to be cannibalistic and roamed the countryside looking for fresh prey. Eaters didn’t care about your possessions; their only interest in you was the meat on your bones. It was said their favorite part was the tongue and they loved to rip it out of the mouths of their screaming victims. The man only heard secondhand stories about these cannibal gangs so he didn’t know what to think. The few stories he had heard sounded incredible but given some of the terrifying sights he had seen over the years there was no way he was going to say it was impossible. Yes, the man had encountered, on rare occasions, people that actually resorted to cannibalism to survive, but he had never seen an organized gang of them.
The man knew these people were not like anyone he had encountered or heard about before. First, they looked too organized. Their uniforms were clean and in good repair and were using standardized equipment that all appeared well cared for and in good working order. He had never seen or heard of gangs this well equipped. Second, what did these people want? Gangs always wanted something from you and weren’t hesitant about taking it. They took what they wanted when they wanted and any complaints were usually answered with brutal, swift and overwhelming violence. He didn’t know who these people were but did know who they were not. They were not like any gang he had ever seen or heard of.
They could be one of the militia groups the man had heard about. It seemed possible and given what little he actually knew it appeared the most probable answer. One thing was certain at this moment, he didn’t know who they were or what they wanted from him and the boy, and that made him very uneasy.
The commanding officer promptly walked back to the group while returning the radio to his belt. “We’re taking them back to the compound. Hurry it up people, it’s getting dark!”
The man was blindfolded, a heavy piece of cloth doubled over made his eyes useless. Now the man had no eyes or hands, as those remained bound behind his back. He had long lost the feeling in his fingers and wondered if this is how his body would be found some day. A length of rope had been tied around his waist with the remaining length being taken up by a soldier, or soldiers, out in front of him. He had no idea exactly where the soldiers were and with the exception of an occasional tug pulling him along wouldn’t have even known they were there at all.
His current dilemma brought back a long forgotten memory from a circus a lifetime ago, the memory of a laughing little boy, him, and a small monkey in a similar predicament. The monkey on a string dancing for peanuts. The man couldn’t help but laugh.
The soldiers moved along making very little noise and there was no discussion between them. Only the indistinctive sound of their boots in the grass gave any suggestion they even existed, instead of being some nightmare that both he and the boy shared.
The boy had been blindfolded too but wasn’t tied, he threaded his small arm through the man’s and together they both stumbled along in the darkness. The boy was softly crying and he seized onto the man’s arm as if he would never let it go.
CHAPTER THREE
“All right, that’s far enough!” The soldier sharply yelled out the order and as he did the entire group came to a disciplined stop. The man immediately recognized the voice as the one that had been commanding this group. Obviously they had arrived at wherever they were going.
Although the man couldn’t see, he tried to count steps and keep his ears open to anything that might help him get out of this situation. It didn’t help. It seemed to him they had taken a long roundabout way to wherever they were. He was sure he had stumbled over the same sharp rock at least twice. As for counting the steps, it didn’t matter anyway as the man had lost count early on. He was just too sick and weak to keep track of it all in his head. Neither did he hear anything that could help. The group spoke not one word during the entire trip.
The man had no idea where he was. He had no idea how many were holding him captive. He had no ideas what their plans for him and the boy were. Well, you just don’t know anything, the man jokingly told himself in an effort to feel better about their circumstances. It didn’t help.
But he wouldn’t let himself give up. He had come too far and survived too much to just quit now. Even in this seemingly hopeless situation he stood there quietly listening, hoping he might hear anything that would help him and the boy. What he could hear was the rustling of their boots in the grass and weapons being checked. Clearly something was going on but he didn’t know what.
After a couple of minutes, there came the sound of several footsteps approaching and unexpectedly stopping. Someone a short distance off then quietly but clearly said, “Whisky,” and the commander of the group he was with responded, “Popcorn,” and with that the footsteps resumed. Finally the footsteps arrived and as they did someone else said, “Good night.” The man still had no idea what was happening but was sure he would soon find out.
The man felt the rope tugging at him again and was led another thirty-five paces from where he had been before it went limp.
Suddenly right next to him he heard an unfamiliar voice and turned to face it, “Back up!” It was the voice of a man and it was definitely new. It also sounded peculiar like it was restrained in some way. The voice repeated and at a much louder volume, “I said back up!” Just then the man could feel the pressure of a hand on his chest slowly pushing him backwards until eventually he was trapped there between the hand and an unyielding object, a wall pressed against his shoulder blades.
All this time the boy stood with his arms locked around the man holding on tight. They had made the whole trip together without speaking a word and now here they stood both backed up against a very solid wall.
They’ve already got everything we own, what more could they want from us? The man stood against the
wall helpless, silently trying to find some answer to his own question. He didn’t know the answer but instinctively knew he wouldn’t like it when he found it.
He stood there against the wall for what seemed forever, the question constantly coming back to his mind. What do they want from us? What do they want? The more the man thought of it the more nervous and agitated he became. He was angry and scared and working himself into a rage. Finally the question that rattled in his head for so long found its way to his lips. “What do you want from us?!” the man blurted out in half scream half plea.
In an unaffected voice, the new soldier plainly answered, “All we want is for you to just stand there and be quiet. When we want something else from you we’ll let you know.”
The man stood there quiet as he was told, and shaking. He was cold. The soldiers never gave him back his coat and now the temperature had dropped. He had a long sleeve T-shirt and thermal shirt too, but it wasn’t enough. They let the boy keep his coat, the man tried to reassure himself as he stood there shivering. They’ve got at least a little human decency.
Gradually the man forgot about his discomfort and realized he could hear people talking. These were not the voices of the soldiers guarding them. These voices sounded muted as if very far away or blocked by something. The man had a revelation, They’re in a building! He and the boy were standing next to a building and people were inside. It was not just a wall he was standing against; it was the side of a large and solid building.
The voices were soft and it was nearly impossible to make out the conversation. But he could definitely hear them. He could distinguish several different voices in the group including at least one woman. One of the voices seemed to be reading off a checklist and others sounded like they were having normal conversations. At the same time there was the sound of heavy objects (furniture?) being moved around and it made the man think the building was constructed of wood, or at least with a wood floor, although it was only a feeling. At one point he heard what sounded like an argument between a man and woman, their voices raised above the rest. He thought the woman said, “This is not right!” or something similar, although the voices were still too faint to say with any certainty. Then the man could clearly hear the sound of a heavy door abruptly opening, its rusty hinge loudly creaking and giving it away. At that point someone a short distance off shouted, “Okay!” and suddenly he had a bad feeling inside.
Joshua (Book 1) Page 2