Treasonous Behavior- in the Beginning

by Robert Johnson

  The soldier explained the serious situation to Robin and told her to leave a note for her husband. She was getting into the bus whether she liked it or not. Robin scribbled a brief note for Cody and left it near the door.

  After a second mild attempt to get Mrs. Gordon and her children out of the house the Chinese soldier grabbed her arm firmly. Having dealt with these submissive Americans the foreign soldiers rapidly became bolder in their actions. The American soldier’s voice turned hostile. He was already growing weary of this babysitting gig and was in no mood to patty-cake these pampered housewives and rotten kids.

  “Mrs. Gordon, we’ve tried the easy way. Now we’ll do it my way.” He nodded at the foreign soldier who forcibly removed Robin and her two screaming kids from the house. He let Robin lock the door and then rushed the pain in the asses to the bus. Six year old Jennifer began crying. She knew something was wrong when these mean men started hurting her mommy.

  Robin kept yelling at the soldiers while holding her children close to her side. “It will be okay, kids,” she tried to reassure them. “Daddy will come see us as soon as he gets home.”

  “My daddy’s going to get you when he gets back,” little Jeffrey shouted at the American soldier. The soldier laughed at the boy’s spunk. The kid was never going to see his daddy again.

  The bus was overloaded as Nick’s family also stepped on board and sat near Robin and her children. Some people were crying and sniffling. Others were glad to be saved from the horrible weather. A few of the men were defensive, not completely sure if this was the right thing to do. They had watched the rough treatment bestowed on several of the families.

  There was standing room only in the bus with fifty-seven residents on board and logged in. It had taken just shy of an hour to fill up the bus. Seven street residents were unaccounted for, lost somewhere without a vehicle. Five were dead, including two old people from the freeze and three from resisting lawful orders. A satchel of guns had

  been collected, three pistols, a shotgun, and two hunting rifles. The bus driver turned the rig around and drove toward the high school with the first load of evacuees.

  The other buses in town had by this time completed their runs as well. Results from those squads were similar to the first. Most people were accounted for, some were lost in the wind, a few wouldn’t need transportation. It was going to be a long day and night for everyone involved.

  Chapter 12

  Leaving the police station, Zeke drove his passengers back into the Safeway Plaza. On their way home the men wanted to see if the store had opened. That would be a promising sign, though the guys knew it was unlikely. Zeke pulled into a vacant parking spot close to the store’s entrance. The pack of hopeful shoppers outside had grown larger than before. Several people turned to see the van drive up, but they were more intent on forcing the grocery store to open its doors.

  The three men sat in silence with the engine running to keep the heater going. They noticed that the Walgreens pharmacy several storefronts away had a gathering of people also. They were burning piles of advertisement papers from a rack outside the door. It was unknown whether their actions were in protest or simply to stay warm. Some of the grownups were throwing plastic water bottles taken from outside displays against the solid glass windows. It was obvious the crowds were growing impatient and more violent as time passed.

  “What do you think?” Nick asked in general.

  “I think there’s going to be trouble,” Cody said. “Those people are getting rowdy.”

  “Yeah, and there’s no cops around,” Nick added.

  “You know what happens when there’s no police in sight.”

  “Anarchy, dude,” Zeke added. “When the man is gone, the natives run wild. Mayhem, man. Pure mayhem.”

  Cody looked over at Nick. He hated to admit it, but Zeke was right. He realized history had shown over and over again that when any semblance of authority breaks down, the natives do indeed cause havoc. When there is no army, no police, no law enforcement to maintain rule and order, other factions will always fill the gap and attempt to take control. It was a sad commentary on the human condition, but it was a documented fact.

  The crowds were getting louder, encouraged by a couple loud mouth instigators. “Open the doors. Open the doors. Open the doors,” the crowd chanted in unison, as if they were at a rally of some sort.

  “Let’s boogey, dudes,” Zeke said. “What if the fuzz do show up.”

  “Wait!” Nick yelled. “Look over there.” He pointed to a rabble of teenagers entering the parking lot through a side alley. There were at least ten, maybe fifteen of them, and like a swarm of trouble, they quickly moved to the crowd banging on the grocer’s windows.

  “Speaking of trouble,” Cody remarked. “Sit tight.”

  The men watched as the encounter between the older group and the teens developed. The younger boys first stuck their faces against the windows and began cursing at anyone inside, though by all accounts, not a soul was there.

  “Open the god-damn doors. We cold and hungry.”

  “We bust down these damn doors, you don’t open up.”

  “I kick the fuckin’ windows in.”

  “I’ll fuckin’ shoot the windows out,” one kid shouted loud enough for the rest of his gang to hear him. He acted like the leader of the hooligans and wanted to show off.

  The loud mouths of the original group that had been waiting outside for some time spoke up. “Hey, you punks, back the fuck off,” one man shouted.

  “Go harass some little kids your own size,” another yelled.

  The gang leader, a kid no older than sixteen, dressed in a hoodie with his pants hanging halfway down his ass, stepped up. “Say what? mutha fucka!”

  “I said back off asshole,” the boisterous guy built like a linebacker said straight to the punk’s face. Some of his buddies backed him up by moving closer to the hoodlums.

  The rest of the young punks moved into the circle of action also. “You don’t know who you messing with, old man,” the kid threatened.

  “I know exactly what kind of low life shit I’m dealing with,” the linebacker snarled. “The likes of you and your friends are all talk and no action. These people here have families and all they want is to get

  some food. So punk,” he drew face to face with the teen, “why don’t you take your little friends and go home to your mommies.”

  The tall, lanky kid was edgy. He had his boys with him and couldn’t back down. A leader takes control and that’s precisely what he was going to do in order to maintain his position and earn respect from his young followers. “All talk, huh? All talk, huh, mista? I’ll show you who the man around here. You find out who you fuckin’ with.”

  At that moment he pulled out a pistol from his saggy trousers and aimed it at the guy’s fat head. Their eyes met. The linebacker’s glance dared the punk to try it. “Go ahead asshole. You haven’t got the balls.”

  The rest of the crowd slowly backed off.

  The kid, growing more agitated by the minute and put on the spot in front of his friends, turned his hooded head toward a few members of his gang. Watch this, he wanted to say to his homies.

  The big man smiled and said, “Just as I thought.”

  The blast startled everyone in the parking lot. At point blank the man’s head exploded. His body was thrown back into the standing crowd like a sack of potatoes dropped from the back of a speeding truck. The gang of teens stopped in their tracks. Even the kid with the gun was shocked. Then he grinned. “Told you not to fuck with me,” he said to the dead man lying on the pavement. “All talk, huh? Now who the punk?”

  Then he whirled around, a brazen look on his face, emboldened by his action. He fired at the plate glass windows of the grocery store. Nearly emptying his clip, he sprayed the glass until entire sections shattered and collapsed. The older crowd of shoppers scattered. The mob down at Walgreens ran in different directions too. Crazies were on the loose.

  The men in t
he van watched through the closed windows in horror. “What the hell is going on?” Cody said to no one in particular. “He just shot that guy for no reason.”

  “Told you,” Zeke said, affirming his theory on social chaos.

  “We should get out of here,” Nick whispered.

  Zeke nodded. “Right on, man.”

  He threw the van into reverse and slowly backed out of his parking space. He tried to be inconspicuous so the gang of teens wouldn’t see

  them. But the lawnmower engine in the back of an old VW bus rattles like a warped tumbler filled with ball bearings.

  “Oh, oh!” Nick said. The gang had noticed the moving van and they stirred closer. “Hit it, man!” Nick motioned to Zeke.

  The van was probably the only running vehicle the boys had seen since yesterday. They wanted it and were going to take it. There were no cops in the city and a van would be perfect to get around. There was a free-for-all on the streets. Anything they wanted was theirs for the taking.

  Zeke raked the van’s gears and went for the closest exit.

  “Hurry, hurry!” Nick screamed. “They’re on our ass.”

  Cody was the first one to hear the gun fire. He instinctively ducked down in his seat. They felt the rear passenger tire pop with a loud burst. The van slowed a bit, but Zeke kept the gas pedal to the floor. “Oh, Betsy,” he mumbled.

  A second shot came through a side window, narrowly missing Cody. Zeke’s body shuttered. “Bummer,” he softly wheezed. Then the van, finally out of sight from the plaza, gently rolled to the side of the road. The bullet had struck Zeke in his neck and he slumped over the steering wheel.

  “Oh shit!” Cody screamed.

  “My god!” Nick said.

  Unaware if the teenage gang was after them, Cody and Nick swiftly moved Zeke’s body to the back of the van. “We have to keep moving.” Cody said.

  Nick jumped into the driver’s seat and took the wheel. “We’ll go the back way. I think we can still make it home with the flat.”

  “What about Zeke?” Cody asked.

  They both took a second to look at the crazy old hippie. It was obvious he was dead. “There’s nothing we can do for him now. We have to get out of here first.” Panic had overtaken Nick.

  They drove through some of the back streets of unfamiliar neighborhoods, going home in a roundabout way. The damaged tire was tearing away as they pushed forward. Turning back toward Coronado Drive, they were surprised to see moving vehicles coming their way. Two school buses raced north past the van. They appeared to be loaded with people.

  “There’s some sort of help going on,” Cody commented. “The cops must be taking people to shelters. Maybe one of the schools or churches.”

  “That’s a relief,” Nick said.

  It was growing more difficult to steer the beat up van. The shredded tire had all but disintegrated and it was running on the metal rim. Finally, the VW turned on their street. Something was different. The abandoned cars had been pushed to the side, just like on the main streets. Several bags of clothing littered the sidewalks and roadway. Then Cody saw something that scared the hell out of him. Every front door along the street had a big red X spray painted across them.

  “Dear God! Hurry Nick!”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t like this!”

  Nick stopped the van in front of Cody’s house, just beyond the mailbox. “What should we do with Zeke?” he asked.

  “We’ll leave him here for now. Sorry Zeke. Nick, you go check on your family,” Cody said, an anxious tone in his voice. He stepped out of the van. Old Betsy had seen her last journey. He looked up at his house. Robin wasn’t peeking out the window. He hoped against hope to see her there.

  Quickly, he looked across the street. Jack’s front door was wide open. He scrambled up the walkway to his front door. Red paint defiled it.

  “Robin! Robin!” he shouted.

  Chapter 13

  The buses began approaching the high school grounds. “Red Leader, this is Rescue One.” The American soldier from the first bus was calling into headquarters. The walkie-talkie radios which were issued to each unit had, like the school buses, also been protected from whatever electrical waves were in the air. However, they only had a short effective range.

  Lt. Col. Fielding was handed a mobile radio by a subordinate. “Red Leader here. What is your status?”

  “Sir, we are returning to HQ. Section A10 has been rescued.”

  “Rescue One, did you encounter any resistance?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle, sir.”

  “Good job Rescue One. Bring your transport in and do your turn around as quickly as possible.” Fielding was pleased with the first response. He expected nothing less. Within the next ten minutes each of the other thirty-nine units would contact HQ with essentially the same results.

  As the buses rolled in they formed a long line at the high school main front entrance. The passengers were rushed to disembark with their few things they carried. Some were upset in the way they were treated so abruptly. A few were crying. Some of the children had fallen asleep during the short trip. Several of the men were growing uncertain about this rescue attempt. But they went along without causing any disturbance.

  Robin Gordon’s arm still hurt from when the security personnel forced her out of her house and onto the bus. She remained quiet and

  watched every move of the soldiers. She knew this wasn’t an ordinary rescue mission to relocate and protect innocent victims from a natural disaster. There was more going on, but so far she couldn’t figure it out yet.

  Her son Jeffrey ran from the bus as the passengers were being routed through the doors of the school. He kicked a guard in the shin and dashed inside. Another guard instantly grabbed the rascal by his jacket collar and held Jeffrey up like a trophy deer, ready to head slap the miserable brat.

  “Please, please. Let him down,” Robin cried out. “He’ll behave and do as I tell him.”

  The guard dropped the scrawny kid on the floor and laughed. Robin tapped her son on his head. “You stay near me young man, and do exactly as I say. Do you understand me?”

  He readjusted his jacket. “Yes,” he said, somewhat reluctantly.

  “I told you so,” his sister Jennifer said. Then she stuck her tongue out at her brother.

  All passengers were directed into the large gymnasium. Men, women, and children. It was policy to keep the men with their families. If they had been separated, possible outbreaks could occur. By staying with their families, it was surmised, the men would be more concerned with the safety of their wives and children and would more likely remain passive and less troublesome.

  Before all the passengers had even entered the gym, the buses were on the road again, destined to their next sections of town. Several armed guards blocked the entrances to the sports arena located in the center of the school. The lights were on, but there was no heat. There were no cots, no blankets, no food or water. The evacuees were lied to.

  One middle aged man spoke out. “What is this? These people need water. You told us there would be food too.”

  A foreign guard went up to the man. He grunted, then slammed the butt of his rifle against the man’s forehead. People screamed at the assault. The man’s wife went over and helped her husband back to his feet. A warning had been sent. Don’t ask questions, just follow orders.

  The entire group of more than two thousand city residents felt more like prisoners in their own high school, rather than casualties of a terrible winter storm. Waiting for something to happen, they huddled in friendly groups. They took up spots in corners away from the guards. They rested on the cold wooden floor. The few who had carried small blankets wrapped up their crying children. Most of them were hungry and thirsty. Many had to go to the bathroom. But nobody was allowed to leave. And clearly, no questions were tolerated.

  Another man went to a guard near the door. He tried the calm and sensible approach. “Excuse me sir, but some of us we
re wondering if we could use the restrooms.” The man received a similar solid head bash as the previous do-gooder.

  A hushed murmur filled the room. No one wanted to talk too loudly. They knew the penalty. Questions ran swift in their minds. Who were these people holding them? Why were they being held here? What did the guards intend on doing with them? How long would they be locked up here? Was a doctor available? Were the guards terrorists? And if they were, where were the real police? Another raging question among many of them was: Why did they allow themselves to get into this dangerous situation?

  Time dragged on in the contained gymnasium. No questions were answered. No assistance offered. Some people cried themselves to sleep. Others tried to block out the nightmare they found themselves in. A few, including Robin, kept their eyes open, searching for possible means of escape.

  Almost an hour later they heard doors across the hall open to the thousand seat theater. More buses had arrived, the same buses on their second return trip. Another two-thousand plus local inhabitants were being stuffed into the school. They heard the doors being locked. Shouts in the other room were quickly silenced.

  Robin’s group realized they were in a perilous position. What now? They silently wondered. Robin constantly worried about her husband. Was he safe? Where could he be? Has he been to their house and seen her note? She wished she had brought some food with her. She should have thought this thing out before leaving the house. But she was rushed. She was scared. She wanted to care for her kids. She checked her cell phone for the hundredth time. But of course there was no service.

  The side gym doors suddenly opened with a loud bang. The guards stood at attention as an American soldier in the same uniform as the detainees had seen earlier, entered the room.