Treasonous Behavior- in the Beginning

by Robert Johnson

  “Ya got the fever, don’t ya boy?”

  “No,” Cody answered, trying to control his rage and fear. “I just want my family.”

  “In that case,” Raz went on. “Let’s go say hello.”

  Chapter 26

  Bill Bennett sat on the edge of his bus seat, third row back from the passenger door. His wife of forty-two years sat next to him holding their four year old grandson who had the misfortune of staying over at grandma’s house for the Thanksgiving holiday. The boy was wrapped in his grandmother’s arms, having cried himself to sleep during the ordeal. The heat from the front of the bus had kept them relatively warm, but food and water were priorities on their mind. They hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since they were abducted from their home more than eight hours earlier.

  The entire bus reeked of stale urine. Women and children who were awake whimpered and moaned. Everyone was trying to fight off the cold, thirst, and hunger. Sniffling and bouts of coughing came from most every section of the shadowy Army bus. No one spoke above a whisper as the loaded transport raced westward along I-10 between Benson and Tucson.

  Bill looked forward to the driver and guard next to him. If they, the passengers, were lucky, they might have one final chance to break toward the soldiers. What was waiting for them was a complete unknown, but for Bill and the others it would not get better. Maybe they were being taken to a detention site of sorts. Maybe a prison camp. Whoever was in charge wouldn’t go through all this trouble to

  gather and then transport them if they didn’t have an ulterior motive. And it couldn’t possibly be good.

  There was no way in hell Bill was going to be imprisoned. Not again. Images of his prisoner of war days crept into his mind from long locked up memories. Fifteen months as a POW in Vietnam, right after the devastating ‘68 Tet Offensive, flashed before him. It was sheer hell for him and ten other American soldiers and airmen being shuffled through the jungle, forced to labor in the fields, living on sustenance barely enough to keep them alive. By the time they were rescued there were only two of them left. His buddies had died from either disease, starvation, exhaustion, or a bullet in the back of their brain. The lasting part about the nightmare was that Bill had lost his right arm during the firefight which had actually saved them. Still, even back then, he would have rather been a crippled man than suffer what he had been forced to live through.

  He would do anything in his power to stop these bastards and to save his wife and grandson. Who the fuck were these assholes? He wondered. They would have to stop the bus sometime, maybe take their eyes off their human cargo long enough to rush them. Bill searched the bus for his fellow allies. Again, with the eyes Bill spoke to three men across the aisle, another sitting on the floor of the bus, and Robin mid-way back.

  Robin saw Bill’s fixed gaze and silently acknowledged his plan with a slight nod. She held onto little Jennifer and made sure Jeffrey had his coat buttoned up. She leaned over and whispered something in her son’s ear. Jeffrey looked at his mother with a confused stare. “Just do as I say, okay. I’ll let you know when,” she said.

  Jeffrey smiled like the superhero he was. He could do this.

  The five or six people who were ready to fight stayed alert, waiting for the right moment. The longer they rode in the bus the less time they had. As luck would have it, within twenty minutes the brake lights of the forward buses lit up. The caravan was either coming to a stop or to a slow turn. Robin’s bus stopped. This was the ‘do or die’ moment. Suddenly the brake lights on the visible buses out front went out and the green transports moved forward.

  The driver of Robin’s bus grinded the gears and released the clutch too fast. The bus chugged and stalled in the middle of the road, as the rest of the convoy continued into the darkness. The driver cursed in an undecipherable language. The armed guard standing next to him

  laughed and slapped the driver on his head. It sounded like he said, “Idiot,” only in a rough, foreign accent.

  Being closest to the front, Bill Bennett did a quick head jerk. The others nodded back. It was time. Robin said to her son, “Now!”

  Jeffrey began screaming like a wild banshee. It sounded as if a jungle animal had been wounded, injured by a hunter’s true aim. He kept up the ungodly noise, drawing everyone’s surprised attention. Including the soldiers’. Simultaneously, Bill and his squad of men rose from their seats and raced toward the standing guard, stunned by the screeching sounds and the shadowy force moving upon him.

  With Bill in front, the hulk of humanity squeezed through the narrow aisle shouting and growling. Screams of death were in their voices. Hatred and revenge drove the unarmed men forward into the path of fury. They were all in. Some might die, but not all of them. Robin left her children and followed the men. Such a sweeping, determined force could surely overtake just two soldiers.

  The guard yelled something in Russian at the top of his lungs, his eyes grew large with a mix of fear and anger. Before the guard could bring his rifle in line, Bill and the man beside him grabbed the man and kneed him in the stomach. The soldier fell forward, but managed to steady his balance. His Kevlar vest had absorbed the deadly kick. He used his helmeted head to butt the men back, but they were too strong, too many, and too close to push back.

  The driver screamed holy hell as the attack made headway. He attempted to draw his sidearm to stop the madness, but was unexpectedly stopped. Just inches away, the woman sitting directly behind him swiftly removed her woolen scarf from her neck, threw it over the driver’s unprotected head, and twisted it into a knot as tightly as she could.

  A man behind her reached over the bench seat and took the scarf ends from the lady. He yanked it full force, putting every pound of his huge frame into the effort. He could hear the driver gurgling, sucking for air, almost pleading for his life with his bulging eyes. But this was no time for mercy. The man coiled the scarf so firmly he could feel the driver’s throat collapse. With one final powerful twist the driver’s neck was snapped and he slumped dead in his seat.

  The standing guard dropped his assault weapon and inched his free hand toward his holster. He was a strong, muscular trooper, a dedicated and seasoned soldier. These petty American prisoners were

  not going to take him down. Robin and other passengers standing in the seats, pushed at the attacking crowd, trying to overwhelm the soldier through sheer weight and body mass.

  The soldier finally caught the handle of his pistol, his fingers searching for the trigger. Several men were on top of him by now, kicking and punching anywhere they could. The burden of bodies was suffocating the soldier.

  Everyone in the bus was yelling and screaming.

  “Kill the bastard!”

  “Break his fucking neck!”

  “Kill the god-damn Russian!”

  “You can do it!”

  But with all the energy and spirit of the saving forces up against just one man, they couldn’t do it. The soldier triggered his weapon and started shooting. Muffled shots filled the bus as they ripped through bellies, chests, and heads. Hushed groans and agonizing cries shrieked out from the pile of men. More shots blasted away as the soldier slowly climbed out from under the heap of dead and injured civilians, like a super hulk emerging from the depths of hell.

  Some of the passengers moved back to safety. Others stayed tall and fought the mangled soldier. But feet and fists were no match for hot lead, and the number of attackers quickly dwindled. Scarred and hurt, the soldier yelled at his attackers, threatening them with words they didn’t understand. And with his gun. He shot wildly into the retreating crowd. Every one of them could die for all he cared. Blood splattered bodies toppled from the pile and into the crowded aisle. Others went limp on top of their fellow saviors. Mayhem ruled the moment.

  Robin fell backwards over a heaving body and crawled back to her children. Jennifer just sat there in a trance, a young child’s way of handling such unbelievable horror and carnage. Jeffrey had stopped yelling and was crying for h
is mother, but through all the noise he could not be heard. Nick’s wife had stayed put with her daughters during the battle, too afraid to move. They remained unharmed physically, but undoubtedly psychologically scarred for life.

  The soldier got to his knees, then finally stood up. He had welts on his bare head, gashes on his face, bruises on his legs and arms. He holstered his pistol, picked up his AK-47 with little resistance this time, and screamed a death cry. He then let loose a wide surge of automatic fire through the entire bus, like a flame thrower drenching his targets with molten fire. The sounds of dying passengers, old and young, filled the transport. Injured fell in their seats and onto their neighbors. Death came mercifully quick for some, unbearably slow for others.

  After the soldier had emptied his thirty-round clip, he dropped his rifle. He then pulled an extra magazine from his belt clip and slammed it into his pistol. He stood there in front of the horrified group of housewives and retirees, faces frightened beyond imagination. His eyes warned each and every soul remaining to not fuck with the demon. Those still alive hid behind their seats, foolishly thinking thin seat fabric would save them from high-powered 9mm slugs.

  Hysterical screaming and crying filled the bus. Parents were praying and children were weeping. The injured howled with unbearable pain, crying for help which would never come. Windows were shot out on both sides of the bus letting in the deep freeze. Bullets had peppered holes in the roof in an arched formation. The front third seats were torn to shreds from the firestorm.

  People were dead or dying in the forward half of the bus. Bill Bennett was one of the first to meet his maker. His wife and grandson, unable to move, were shot and killed as well. Most of the other men who forced themselves on the soldier lay quiet in their pools of blood spilling on the floor and nearby seats. Some who had turned to run toward the rear of the bus had been shot in the back. The brave scarf woman was ripped in half by the assault fire power, as was the man who helped her strangle the bus driver.

  The death toll was at least eleven people. The number of wounded was higher. Finally in control, the armed soldier waved his weapon toward the cowering crowd, but ceased firing. They wouldn’t dare come at him once again. A wicked grin forced an evil laugh from his beat up body. “You die,” he said in fractured English. “You all die.”

  The first three buses were by now approximately a quarter mile ahead of this battleground. Their back brake lights lit up, indicating they were stopping again. Within seconds the front escort vehicle had swung around and was racing toward the shot-up fourth bus. It stopped against the bumper of the green transport and two soldiers jumped out with their rifles raised to kill. They kicked in the side door of the bus and one of them yelled in English, “We saw you stop. What the fuck is going on here?”

  Climbing aboard the steps they looked at the gruesome sight inside. “What the fuck?”

  The Russian guard, his face still red with rage and dripping with blood from the pounding he had endured, turned his hand gun toward the American soldier, prepared to shoot rather than try to explain.

  “Put that fucking gun down now, asshole!” the American ordered.

  It took several seconds before the Russian lowered his weapon. He then stepped off the bus pushing the American soldier to the side. The American peered into the dark bus. “Holy shit! Looks like a fucking war zone.”

  The guard pulled the Humvee driver away from the bus and explained in his language what had happened. “They jump me. Fuckin’ people try to kill me,’ he said in between his agitated Russian.

  The American stepped off and screamed orders to the two standing Russians. “Get rid of these bodies. Now! And get back in the convoy. You got one minute.”

  It took more than one minute to drag the corpses and wounded off the bus and throw them on the roadside. Some of the bodies were still moving and groaning. A few asked for help. But they were all left to die in the freeze. Twenty three bodies were dumped off the bus as the surviving passengers looked on in shock. Murdering animals, most of the civilians thought to themselves, but not one dared to say it out loud.

  The American soldier pointed at the Russian Humvee driver. “You! You drive the damn bus. And you, you sorry piece of shit,” he glared at the soldier who had inflicted the damage. “You watch the passengers. If there’s any more shooting I’ll come back and personally put a bullet in your fat, stupid head. You understand?”

  The guard tried to compose himself. He nodded his understanding. This was another American he’d like to take out if he ever got the chance.

  The American returned to his Humvee, shaking his head at the Russian’s fuck up. The guy did take out more than twenty troublemakers, which was pretty damn good, he thought. He then got in the vehicle and drove back to the waiting buses.

  The Russians looked at one another, as if to say, “Don’t fuck up again.” The driver threw the bus in gear while the battle scarred soldier sat in the empty, blood soaked front bench seat, glaring back at his living cargo. They wouldn’t dare try it again.

  Robin’s hope of escaping the bus, or hijacking it, were over. Her, her children, and everyone else on this bus to hell were destined to wherever they were being taken. Her only hope of being found was her husband Cody.

  But now, that seemed a farfetched possibility, as well.

  Chapter 27

  The President sat in his luxuriously padded chair at the head of the highly polished wood conference table hundreds of feet below the frozen and deserted streets of Washington, D.C. He looked at his newly appointed cabinet of commanders, deputies, and department secretaries waiting for their commander-in-chief to commence the briefing.

  Inside he was smiling at the immediate success of the operation. Under the all encompassing blanket of national crisis, this time a legitimate call, swift and widespread martial law had been established by his authority an hour prior to the electromagnetic event being set off. With the swift brush of a pen he had signed over to himself absolute control of the entire nation.

  All systems were a ‘go’ before the deadly pulse had swept the nation. It was unimaginable how such a small explosive device could devastate such a huge geographic area in a matter of milli-seconds. This aggressive move was going to be much easier than he had figured. The President would soon personally thank the Chinese Chairman for his fine work, though the President’s degree of appreciation would ultimately not meet the Yellow Bandit’s expectations. To hell with the Chinese and the Russians, he thought.

  They were mere pawns in the grand scheme of things, suitable partners helping to create and assist with the event. But none of them would be around long enough to enjoy the spoils of victory. They would be ignorant victims of the event, much like the millions of other people above ground.

  To hell with the hundreds of true-blue, patriotic generals who refused to follow orders for the promise of new visions. Instead, in the face of danger, they faithfully stood by their futile oaths to their country in its declining days. And for their misplaced loyalty their positions had been newly filled and they had been dispensed with.

  To hell with all the top-notch scientists who stood by their research and findings on the dangers of potential man-made electromagnetic pulses, genetically modified food products, and toxic chem-trail saturation in the skies. To hell with their warnings of the inherent perilous hazards, the impending perils. They too were disposed of, traitors to the new and rising regime.

  To hell with the senators and representatives, the Democrats and Republicans, the Independents and the fucking Tea Party, who failed to back him and the inevitable machine. They would go down as enemies of the state in the newly written archives of history, the President silently pondered. Only those few who sided with him would survive and see the new vision rise from the ashes.

  And especially, the President thought to himself, to hell with the American people who would vote for anybody promising them a bunch of free shit and believe what they read in the newspapers and saw on the television. To
hell with their folly and self-centeredness and sheepish mentality. They were their own worst enemy, allowing the few to take from the many, forsaking their past and selling their future, discarding their religious beliefs, their personal morals, their once cherished integrity.

  And because of their shallow ways, every one of them being expendable, they would either perish or serve. Each one of the fools truthfully deserved what they got.

  The President smiled outwardly this time. He was pleased with the plan, thrilled with the potential, ecstatic with the godly control which would soon be his. He sat tall in his throne-like chair and began listening to his comrades.

  “Mr. President,” General Wells, the Secretary of National Defense acknowledged his superior.

  “Gentlemen,” the highest ranking soldier recognized the rest of those in the room. “As you know, the EMP event began yesterday precisely at nine PM Eastern Standard Time, as scheduled. It has affected every inch of the continental United States, including portions of Canada and Mexico and, as planned, has destroyed all means of electrical grid power, communications, and transportation. All except for those units and components which were previously protected from the pulse, which of course, are under our control.”

  Those at the table nodded with joy. The President looked on with restrained glee. This was really happening.

  “All regions in the country have reported tremendous success. The element of surprise and lack of preparedness by the general population has made the execution of the first phases, Operation Rescue and Operation Clean Sweep, nothing less than exceptional accomplishments,” the General continued. “Within the next forty-eight hours the entire country will be fully constrained and ninety percent of the population will be accounted for.”

  The high-powered men applauded the welcomed news. Each one of them had their own reports filled with encouraging intelligence to share, and their own riches to reap as well.