Sons of War

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  One of the doors creaked open, and a man wearing a red bandanna slumped out. He crawled across the floor, using his elbows, mumbling to himself.

  A guy with a bandage on his face approached and emptied a magazine into the man’s body.

  “Get our shit!” the shooter yelled.

  Vinny recognized that voice. It was his uncle.

  Don Antonio flashed hand signals and turned toward Vinny. The Moretti reinforcements hurried over to the cars to retrieve their stolen money. All but Raff, who ran over with a pistol in his hand.

  “We need a doc!” Vinny said.

  When he looked down, Yellowtail had closed his eyes.

  Vinny checked his chest. It wasn’t moving.

  “Let me,” said Raff. He set the pistol down and switched positions with Vinny to start mouth-to-mouth.

  Vinny staggered away from the car, his hands slick with blood.

  “Let’s go, everyone!” Christopher shouted.

  Vito finally got his considerable bulk down the ramps. Drenched in sweat, he ran with his shotgun past Vinny, but Vinny remained where he was, in shock. The ambush had rattled him, and he found himself momentarily frozen.

  “vin! ” Christopher yelled.

  The shout snapped Vinny out of his daze. He jumped into the four-door pickup with his father and Vito, and they backed away from the purple Cadillac. Gas leaked out of a hole in the back, forming a puddle on the ground near the deflated rear tire.

  Lil Snipes tilted his head toward them. One eyeball bulged grotesquely from the socket.

  “Smoke that rat fuck!” Vito yelled.

  Antonio walked away from the Cadillac. “Let him suffer,” he said.

  Lil Snipes turned his working eye at Vinny just as Antonio lit a match and tossed it onto the puddle of spilled gasoline. One final barbaric afterthought to show what happened when you messed with the Morettis.

  * * *

  A golden sunrise crested the mountains and spread over the line of vehicles creeping north on Highway 395. Ronaldo and his family were in one of them, part of the seemingly infinite caravan trying to reach Oregon.

  The spectacular view of craggy mountain peaks rising from the desert sage was one that Ronaldo had seen many times in his life. When he first moved the family to Los Angeles, they had cherished their weekend drives on this highway, heading north, away from the city. But they had never come this far before, and the war raging across the country made the nostalgic sights hard to enjoy.

  In a way, it reminded him of how he felt when deployed to Afghanistan, where the terrain was often gorgeous but deceiving. Hidden threats lurked on the open roads just as they had in the mountains.

  Ronaldo looked away from the Sierras in the west and out the passenger window to the east. For the hundredth time, he thought of the row that had turned deadly in the camp outside Phoenix. He wasn’t sure where his brothers ended up, or what had happened to Lieutenant Castle, but he had a feeling Marks would find Tooth and Bettis back in Los Angeles.

  With a sigh, he focused back on getting his family to safety. Dom was napping in the front passenger seat, and Monica was asleep in the back. But his wife was wide awake and avoiding his glances in the rearview mirror.

  She was mad and rightfully so. He had changed the plan of going to her sister’s house—the radiation from Palo Verde in Arizona had caused panic and congested the highways. It had been a bad plan from the start, but it got even worse when they set off eastbound and couldn’t move much faster than the pedestrians walking on the side of the road. So Ronaldo had turned around and headed north, following the line of least resistance.

  After hearing Elliot’s radio address, he knew that nowhere in California was safe. The traitor had declared it a rebel state.

  Killing President Coleman and framing the Corps for it, ordering the attacks on San Fran and Palo Verde—how could someone be so evil? And how could anyone follow those orders?

  Shaking his head, he remembered what he had told Dom on the rooftop back in LA, about history being full of evil men following evil orders.

  Ronaldo looked north, toward Oregon, where the seemingly infinite stretch of cars was headed. People like him, trying to get their families out of rebel-controlled territory.

  A glance at the fuel gauge made him gulp. They were down to a third of a tank—just enough to get over the state line, assuming that traffic continued at the same pace.

  The strategic error of first heading east had cost them over half the gasoline reserves they had stored in the back of the SUV. It was almost all gone now, the last precious gallons already out of the cans and in the tank.

  But they were almost there—almost to a safe zone.

  The road bent west, and he squinted into the sunset, trying to get a better view. Traffic was slowing again, down to ten miles an hour.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

  Dom stirred, opened one eye, then shot up, ramrod straight. “What? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing, buddy. We’re almost to Oregon.”

  Dom rubbed his eyes, then grabbed his AR-15.

  The instinctive response told Ronaldo his son understood that the world they had lived in was gone. The rules of civilized conduct had changed the moment the Second Civil War started.

  “What is that?” Dom said.

  Ronaldo pushed down on the brakes as the cars in front of him came to a stop. A FEMA truck had pulled off on the shoulder, cutting through a line of refugees trudging north.

  The people on the shoulder next to Dom looked over at the Explorer, their eyes pleading for help. Food. Water. Transportation. These people would gratefully accept anything they could get.

  Ronaldo had to look away. He couldn’t afford to give anything, and even if he could, stopping would make them a target. He had to think of his family’s safety or they would end up on the side of the road as well.

  Gunfire shocked him back to hypervigilance.

  “Are those gunshots?” Elena said.

  Monica looked up.

  “Stay down,” Ronaldo said.

  His wife met his gaze in the rearview mirror for the first time this morning, but it wasn’t the rueful gaze he was hoping for. Once again she had a look of terror.

  Screaming and shouting broke out along the sides of the road as refugees ran for cover. A woman on the right shoulder, not far from their bumper, fell, and the fleeing crowd trampled her.

  “Oh my god,” Elena said, putting her hand over her mouth.

  Dom went to open the door, but Ronaldo reached over to stop him when he saw the gunmen down the road. Another flurry of shots went off, one of them hitting the windshield.

  “Down!” Ronaldo yelled. Keeping low, he looked left to see around the car ahead of him. The oncoming lane looked clear.

  Ronaldo pulled out left, then jerked away from a van that seemed to come out of nowhere, nearly clipping him. He kept his cool and drove onto the shoulder, his eyes on the fence and the tall dry grass on the left side of the road. More gunshots sounded.

  With nowhere to go except on the grass, Ronaldo decided to take his chances. He drove off the road, knocking down a section of barbed-wire fence. Several other vehicles followed his lead into the open pastureland.

  Elena sat up to see what was happening, but Ronaldo yelled for her to stay down. The SUV handled well, but it was no Humvee, and he drove cautiously while looking for an opportunity to pull back onto the highway.

  “It’s a robbery,” Dom said.

  Ronaldo kept his eyes on the grass, looking for rocks or anything else that could blow a tire or break an axle. A moment’s lapse in focus could leave him and his family stranded just like the rest of these people.

  The pop of gunshots continued, and he darted a glance to the road just as he passed the FEMA truck. He couldn’t see much in that fleeting instant, but
that bare glimpse made his heart sink.

  Several aid workers were on their knees on the side of the road, and the back of the truck was open. Two men wearing black masks stood guard with guns while their accomplices ransacked the back of the truck. More gunmen were going through other vehicles.

  Bodies lay on the ground—people who had fought back and paid the price.

  Ronaldo caught motion in the side mirror. A blue van full of passengers had blown a tire. It skidded over the field, kicking up a trail of dirt as it came to an abrupt stop.

  The other three vehicles moved around it and continued after the Explorer.

  “They shot them!” Dom cried. “They fucking shot them!”

  Ronaldo turned the Explorer toward the shoulder of the highway, jouncing up and down over prairie dog mounds. As he pulled back around the scene of violence, he sneaked another glance and saw that the raiders had executed two of the FEMA workers.

  “My God,” Ronaldo whispered.

  He lay down on the horn as he pulled back onto the highway, forcing his way through the gaps in cars, back to the right lane. A guy driving a Ford F-150 didn’t want to let him in, but Ronaldo was in no mood for niceties.

  He squeezed past, losing the left mirror on the truck’s brush guard. The old guy behind the wheel shouted out the window.

  Ronaldo ignored him and pulled into the right lane of traffic, which was now clear. The other vehicles had all moved ahead and were almost out of sight.

  With only open road ahead, he pushed the pedal down slowly, careful not to waste gas. The scene of violence grew distant in the rearview mirror, and his heart slowed to a normal rate.

  He watched for a moment to make sure they didn’t have a tail, before realizing that his wife was also looking in the mirror. But like earlier this morning, she was looking at him, and this time, tears fell from her eyes.

  -12-

  They neared the state line at dusk. A fiery sunset bled through sky the color of an old bruise. Dom, at the wheel, wondered whether to wake his napping father.

  He decided to let him sleep a few more precious minutes. The fuel warning light had just clicked on, but they still had enough to get them across.

  He hoped.

  “Are we there?” Elena asked.

  “Almost,” Dom said quietly. “New Pine Creek is about a mile ahead.”

  The small town sat across the line from Goose Lake, California, which they were currently passing. Dom looked across the highway, past the refugees walking on the shoulder and in the ditches.

  On the other side, the vast lake glistened in the last rays of sun.

  Monica moved forward from the back seat to look, waking their father. He sat up, yawned, and gestured for her to get back.

  “Seat belt, kiddo,” he said. “Dom, watch the road.”

  After a sip of water, Ronaldo grabbed the rifle and leaned to the right for a better view out the cracked windshield. The round had punched through the back seat just a few inches above where his mom and sister had dived for cover. If they hadn’t ducked, one of them would likely be dead. But they weren’t, and the Salvatore family was almost to safety.

  Dom smiled cautiously at the sight of the border. If the rumors were true, the entire state of Oregon was a safe zone, neutral in the war between President Elliot and the rebels. He wasn’t sure where his family would go, but anywhere the bombs weren’t falling sounded good to him.

  “Stay sharp and watch for AMP soldiers,” Ronaldo said. He pulled his sleeve over the marine tattoo on his forearm and turned to the back seat. “Remember what our story is?”

  Monica nodded. “You’re a schoolteacher from Downey High, and Mom is a homemaker.”

  “What do I teach?” Ronaldo asked.

  That got him an eye roll. “Dad, I’m not stupid,” Monica said. “In fact, I’m the top in my class.”

  “I know, sweetie, but it’s very important we have the same story if we run into any AMP soldiers,” he said. “If they find out I’m a marine …”

  “What will happen if they do?” Monica asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “We just can’t let them find out.”

  Brake lights came on as traffic ahead slowed.

  As the horizon swallowed the sun, the line of cars came to a complete stop. Exhausted refugees on both sides of the highway plodded on, their belongings slung over their shoulders.

  Most of these people had likely been traveling for days after fleeing the cities that were attacked: Los Angeles, San Diego, and San Francisco. Many Americans were heading for the borders of Mexico and Canada, hoping for asylum.

  Dom thought of his friends still in Los Angeles, especially Moose and Camilla, who were both cops now, fighting against the gangs. Would he ever see them again? With all the violence, chances of them all surviving were slim.

  “How long’s the gas light been on?” Ronaldo asked.

  The urgency in his voice pulled Dom out of his momentary fugue.

  “Just came on.”

  “Do we have enough?” Elena asked.

  Monica scooted up to look.

  “Sit back, guys,” Ronaldo said. “We’re going to be fine.”

  “It doesn’t sound like we’re going to be fine if we’re basically running on fumes,” Elena said.

  “You heard Dom; it just came on. That’s not running on fumes. All we have to do is get to the border, and then we can barter for more gas.”

  “And if we can’t find anyone to trade or sell any?” Elena asked.

  “Then we walk. This is a safe zone; we will be okay. I promise.”

  Elena folded her arms across her chest, clearly unconvinced. Seeing his parents fight wasn’t unusual, but the tension between them had grown over the past few days.

  The car ahead of the Explorer inched forward as the line started moving again.

  “See?” Ronaldo said. “We’re going to be just fine.”

  Dom drove into the small town, past old houses and businesses. The crossing was a few blocks in, and he finally got a glimpse of the fence blocking off the border.

  “Is that barbed wire?” he asked.

  “Go slower,” Ronaldo said.

  “What?”

  “Just do as I say,” he snapped.

  Dom eased his foot off the accelerator. A moment later, he saw what had his father spooked. A group of armed men stood in front of the gate, checking vehicles and refugees. Dom could tell by their uniforms they weren’t police or state troopers.

  Then he saw the raven’s-head AMP flag behind them, fluttering in the breeze. They weren’t marines or army, either …

  AMP soldiers cradling rifles checked the cars ahead, and more stood guard behind a berm of sandbags. The entire roadway had been blocked off with a wall of cars, fencing, and shipping containers.

  Behind the barricade, a high stack of concrete blocks separated the refugees from the Oregon side of the border.

  Dom spotted another group of AMP soldiers, some of them with German shepherds, patrolling along the edges of the barrier.

  “Shit,” Ronaldo said quietly.

  As they moved slowly forward, Dom saw AMP soldiers on top of the shipping containers, where they had mounted spotlights. The beams clicked on as the last bit of sun dipped below the hills across the lake. Soldiers manning the lights raked them over the road, hitting the refugees on both sides, and the cars waiting to gain entry at the single gate.

  A few cars ahead, two soldiers grabbed a man and wrestled him to the ground.

  “What’s happening?” Elena asked.

  Ronaldo put a finger to his lips. He was trying to hear what was going on, but to Dom it was obvious. The state of Oregon was no longer neutral territory, and AMP was in control of the border.

  “What should I do?” he asked.

  Ronaldo kept staring. “I … don
’t know. Let me think.”

  “Those soldiers are everywhere,” Dom said.

  “I can see that,” Ronaldo said. He let out a sigh and cursed under his breath. “You guys go without me. I’ll find a way to get through on another crossing.”

  “What? No way,” Elena said, pulling against her seat belt. “And if Oregon is now AMP territory, then what?”

  “I need you to listen to me,” Ronaldo said, glaring at Elena. “I need you to be the strong, smart, protective woman I married and take our kids across the border without me while I find another way in.”

  “Ronaldo,” she said.

  “You got the gun?”

  “Yeah, but so what? We need you, Ronaldo, and I think we should stay together.”

  “Mom’s right, Dad,” Dom said. “Plus, even if we could get somewhere safe in Oregon, how would we find you? And what if you get caught?”

  “I don’t want you to go, Dad,” Monica said.

  “If they catch you, they’ll kill you,” Dom said. “We already know they’re looking for you.”

  Ronaldo seemed to consider the pleas from his family, but the look on his face told Dom he was leaning toward splitting up. They all knew what AMP would do if they captured him, and Dom wouldn’t let that happen.

  The spotlight hit the car in front of them, and another two soldiers made their way over to check the vehicle.

  Before his dad could stop him, Dom put the car back into gear, turned the steering wheel, and pulled into the left lane.

  The two AMP soldiers yelled and held up their hands.

  “See ya, assholes,” Dom said. He pushed down on the pedal, screeching away. “Hold on, everyone!”

  “Dom, what are you—” Ronaldo shouted, but Dom cut him off.

  “Getting us the hell out of here!”

  A gunshot cracked through the night, and Dom checked the rearview mirror to see soldiers aiming rifles at the Explorer.

  “Down!” he yelled.

  Both Monica and Elena cried out as the back window shattered, glass raining down on the empty gasoline cans.