The Resolution (10 page)

“Down! Everybody down!” Aaron shouted as a small explosion blew a section of the sheet metal free, exposing a large opening in the wall

Before the smoke even settled, three armed militiamen, all wearing various types of camouflage and gear, entered the quad and yelled, “Darcy!”

“Here,” Aaron said as he raised his hand and motioned for the militiamen to proceed. “Over here.”

They immediately shoved and kicked the cots out of the way, clearing a path for the barefoot detainees and shouted, “Move! This way! Go! Go! Go!”

Nate threw his arm around Ed’s shoulder and the two joined the others in their rapid egress from the building. Once they got outside, they noticed an entire section of the outer wall was missing and three former school buses, painted in flat OD green, were inside the camp walls with detainees from the other quads already piling inside.

“In the buses!” Aaron shouted, directing his fellow detainees toward the closest bus.

As the last man to climb into the back door of the bus, Aaron gave the militiamen who were still on foot the thumbs up. One of them ran to the driver’s side window, banged on it with his open palm, and gave the driver the thumbs up. The bus accelerated through the missing section of the camp’s wall. Once on the other side, it joined up with the other two buses, as well as several pickup trucks and two Humvees, making up a convoy away from the facility. The militiamen on foot climbed into the back of a woodland-camouflage-painted ’79 Ford Bronco and brought up the rear, maintaining a steady stream of suppressing fire during their escape.

Ed and Nate were tossed around in the back of the crowded bus as the driver made several abrupt turns, changing the route and splitting up from the other two buses. “Where are we going?” asked Nate.

“We’re splitting up from the rest,” Aaron said in a loud voice, trying to overcome the loud sounds emitted by the speeding truck. “We have several former Air National Guard AH-64 Apache attack helicopters in the area to fend off any pursuit, including putting on a diversion with any of the UN’s Mi-24s that may be called in for support. By splitting up the three personnel carriers, we reduce the risk of a total loss if we are pursued. Chances of which aren’t too high, as the intel we have on the facility indicates that they were mostly set up as a security and patrol force and not a highly mobile tactical force. They can operate hunt-and-strike patrols, but until now, they didn’t have this sort of contact on the forefront of their mission planning or protective posture. I’m sure that will all change now though. We’ve got to brace for impact from this point forward. We just threw a sucker punch at the bully, but he will get back on his feet soon and will be looking to save face.”

As Aaron finished his sentence, two Apaches, in tight formation, flew directly overhead the convoy, traveling in the direction of what remained of Camp Twenty-one. The Apaches broke formation, one bearing off to the right, and one to the left and began to engage targets on the ground off in the distance.

“That’ll teach those bastards,” Aaron said with a smile on his face.

Chapter Seventeen: A Shared Struggle

“Ev... Ev... wake up, buddy.”

Flinching from being startled by Jason’s gentle nudge on his shoulder, Evan looked around, regained his senses, and said, “Damn. I didn’t realize I was that tired. How long have I been out?” he asked, noticing that the darkness of the night was upon them.

“A few hours. It’s around nine o’clock—I think,” Jason replied. “How are you feeling? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” replied Evan, knowing that he wasn’t himself, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. “I’ll be okay. Just a little hungry and tired, I guess.”

“Yeah, we were stupid for not bringing our packs along. I know we planned on returning to Carl’s place with him to retrieve our horses, but we’ve really got to stop setting ourselves up for failure like this.”

“I hear ya. Well, at least the first bit of the hike is downhill towards a stream. A good long drink of water will help.”

Jason stood and stretched. “If you’re up for it, I think we should get a move on. We don’t know how long it’s gonna take, and moving in the dark will be slow going as it is.”

“Yeah, let’s get on with it,” replied Evan as he struggled to his feet, wincing in pain.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“I would rather push on through it and die at my own house than lie around and die out here if I’m worse off than I think. So yeah, let’s get on with it.”

“Roger Roger.” Jason pushed a large, downed tree branch that made up part of their blind out of the way. “So, we’re gonna head down the hill to the creek and then turn left and follow it until we reach a small fork. Then, we’re gonna have to make it over a ridge and back down the other side.”

Jason motioned for Evan to follow as he began slowly working his way through the thick vegetation and low tree limbs. With the moon hidden behind the steep mountain ridge behind them, it was hard to see beyond arm’s length. Feeling in front of them as they went, they worked their way down to the stream below, pushing brush out of the way when necessary. As planned, they turned left and followed the stream, working their way alongside its banks.

As the moon worked its way across the night sky, finally illuminating their path, Evan looked at the stream next to him and said, “Hey, man. It's dinner time.”

“What?” asked Jason, confused since they hadn’t brought any food along.

“Watch and learn, city boy,” Evan said jokingly. He stepped out into the stream and positioned himself facing upstream. Allowing the disturbance of the sediment caused by his boots to clear before proceeding, he studied each and every stone and stick in the water.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Jason.

“I’m getting our dinner.”

Jason watched him intently, not sure whether he had finally snapped and lost it, or if he was truly on to something.

Evan then reached into the cold water of the small stream and gently lifted a six-inch long, flat, oval-shaped rock, attempting to limit the disturbance he made with his movements. As soon as the water was once again clear, he removed his hat and gently placed it in the water, downstream of the depression in the soft mud where the rock once lay. He then took his other hand and wiggled his finger in the water in front of the depression. Jason thought Evan had truly lost his mind when he saw Evan lift his hat back out of the water while staring inside. As the water drained from his hat, he carefully passed it over to Jason, who was still standing on the dry creek bank.

“Well, hell,” Jason responded with a smile as he saw a crawfish scurrying around inside of Evan’s hat.

“It’s a piece of cake, man. I grew up catching crawdads—that’s what we called them—in the creeks of East Kentucky. If you lift the rock gently and slowly, the crawdad won’t run. They’re not much more than small freshwater lobsters; they swim backward when threatened and can’t see where they’re going. You place something behind them to catch them in, pose a threat in front of them, and they swim right into your trap. A fast food soda cup works great, but having a wet hat in exchange for fresh protein isn’t that bad of a tradeoff. Now, whack that sucker so he won’t get away, and toss me my hat so I can keep it up.”

Jason shook his head and laughed.

“What?” Evan asked, wondering if he should be offended by Jason’s laughter.

“Oh, nothing. I had just assumed I would be taking care of you this whole time, and here you are feeding me.”

“It’s called a team, man. Besides, I have to feed you so you’ll have the strength to carry me later.”

“Ha... deal, then.”

For the next half hour, Evan worked every rock in the creek while Jason killed and cleaned their catch. Once he was satisfied that he had harvested every crawfish within reach, Evan waded back to the bank, unrolled his pant legs, and asked, “So, what do we have?”

“Thirty-two of the suckers,” Jason replied. “How do we eat them?”

“You killed them, right?”

“I cut their heads off.”

“Good.” Evan fished around in his pocket for something. “Ah, here we are,” he said, pulling a cigarette lighter from his pocket. He then reached into the pile of headless crawfish, pulled one out, ripped the tail from its body, and stuck it on the end of his knife like a kabob. He then flicked his lighter, held his crawfish over the flame for approximately thirty seconds, looked at it, and said, “That’ll do.”

Peeling the shell from the tail, Evan popped the morsel of meat into his mouth and said, “Oh, yeah. Creekside Bic lighter crawdad just can’t be beaten.”

After a satisfying meal of fresh crayfish, Jason turned to Evan and said, “I have to hand it to you, Ev. I would have never thought of that. I’ve never eaten crawfish—or crawdads, as you put it—like that before. Or even thought of where they come from. I’ve had them in New Orleans on layovers, of course, but that’s it.”

“That’s just the northern boy in you,” Evan replied with a chuckle. “You grew up in Massachusetts before moving to Ohio, so you probably had better things to do than play in a creek. See, we didn’t. If it was a hot day, we played in the creek to keep cool. We didn’t have much else to do. It was tire swings into a pond or crawdad hunting in a creek. Sure, city kids would probably have just called us backward hillbillies, but I wouldn’t trade that upbringing for the world.”

“Hell, yeah, your hillbilly superpowers just fed us.”

“I guess we should be moving on,” Evan said. He then began to chuckle. “Along the way, maybe I’ll activate my hillbilly superpowers once again, and conjure up a squirrel or a rabbit.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” Jason replied as he stood up and stretched. “Well, let’s get to it.”

As they reached the fork in the creek, which was their predetermined location to turn up the hill to the left until they crested the ridge, Evan said, “Well, the fun is over, I guess.”

“Yes, until we get up there, at least. It’ll be a struggle to the top in your condition. We can stop and rest all you need on the way up. Once we get to the top, we can diagonal downhill—terrain and brush allowing—until we get to the bottom. We’ll stay in the bottom for a while as we press on toward the Homefront and the radio gear cache. How are you holding up?”

“Better now that I had a chance to rest and got a bite to eat.” Evan then looked up at the hill, took a deep breath, and said, “Lead the way, brother.”

~~~~

After several more hours of trekking their way through the rugged wilderness in the dark, Evan said, “Hey, man. I need a break. I’m starting to get shaky. I’ve sucked it up for as long as I can for a while.”

“That’s okay, man,” Jason replied, reaching into his pocket for Q’s map. “This is close enough to the radio cache for me to strike out on my own. Let’s get you situated where you can rest up comfortably and securely, and I’ll get a move on. As slow as the going is, the sun may damn near be up by the time I get back, so you might as well tuck in for a while.”

“Sounds good to me,” Evan replied as he sat down and leaned back against a tree.

Jason did a quick scan of the immediate area and found a bush of rhododendrons and mountain laurels that would provide natural visual cover from both the air and the ground if Evan were to remain there after sun up. He then cleared a spot out for him to lie down and led him to it. Jason took Evan’s AK-74, verified that a cartridge was in the chamber, the safety was on, and was ready to go. He propped the rifle up on a tree branch where Evan could grab it easily and asked, “How many mags do you have?”

“Four. I’ll be good.”

“Take one of mine; you’ll have one hundred and fifty rounds that way. You can hold your own for a while with that if need be.”

“Hell, no. You might need everything you have,” Evan insisted.

“The difference is, I can run. You’re not really in any condition to be sprinting through the woods. You’ve probably pushed yourself over the edge already.” Jason felt Evan’s side, feeling him twitch with pain from the lightest touch. “You’re bleeding again. Just take the damn magazine and do as I say. Molly will kill me if I come back without your dumb ass, so just listen to me on this.”

“Alright, man. You take care out there. If you need me to help carry something, come back for me. I’ll be rested up and feeling as good as new in no time.”

“Just rest up and don’t worry about anything else for now. Understand?” Jason said in an insistent tone.

“Yes, Mommy,” Evan replied with a crooked smile.

As Jason slipped off into the dark woods, Evan closed his eyes and thought of his beloved wife, Molly, and his wonderful children.
Maybe I can dream about her,
he thought.

Chapter Eighteen: Angels from Below

Ed, Nate, Tommy, Aaron, and twenty-three other detainees on board their bus gazed out the windows, fearing an airborne response to the escape would catch up with them any minute. The camouflaged Ford Bronco still trailed their bus, but the other escort vehicles from the raid had split off with the other two buses.

“Where are we going?” asked Nate.

“Each bus is going to a location that only the driver and his escort know,” Aaron explained. “I don’t even know. They were locations determined at the last minute before the raid took place and not shared with anyone else. That way, if any one of the buses are captured, or if individual personnel are caught, they can’t be forced to share the whereabouts of the others with the feds or the UN. We’ll get there when we get there is all I can tell you.”

“That’s sound thinking,” replied Ed.

“What we lack in material support, we have to make up in any way we can,” said Aaron, still scanning the sky for threats as he spoke.

“What happens when we get there? To wherever it is we are going, that is,” asked Tommy.

“Debrief, medical attention, and aid and support in getting you back to where it is you need to be—within reason, of course. We can’t return you to downtown Atlanta, obviously, but if you were taken by the UN from somewhere else that we have freedom of movement, we will do what we can.”

Ed looked over at Nate with a smile on his face. “See, never give up hope. There are still good people in this screwed up world.”

“Amen to that,” shouted Tommy.

For the rest of the ride, Nate gazed out the window, thinking of Peggy. He wondered if she had any idea what had happened to him. He and Ed hadn’t seen or heard from Evan and Jason since they were taken, and were not sure if they shared a similar fate. He hoped they had somehow already made it home to the homesteads. If not, he feared for the safety of those who remained without sufficient protection from the ever-encroaching reach of the occupying forces.

Turning his attention back inside the bus, Nate looked around to see some of his fellow detainees with tears of joy rolling down their cheeks. He clearly wasn’t alone in assuming he may not see his loved ones again and that his life, as he had known it for the past year, might be lost to him forever. But now, with the selfless acts of these militia volunteers, they might all be able to be reunited with their families and begin to pick up the pieces of what was left of their lives.

“So, what’s next for you guys?” Tommy asked, interrupting Nate’s thoughts.

“Home...” Nate said with a smile. “And then to propose to my girl. One thing this mess has taught us is that we can’t put anything off in the world. If you have something that you know you want for sure, you had better seize the moment and take it while you can. None of us can be confident what will happen from one day to the next anymore.”

“I hear you on that one,” Tommy replied with a smile.

“What about you?” Nate asked in return.

“Well... I may just be home for my kid’s birthday, after all,” he said with tears of joy welling up in his eyes. “Damn, I just can’t believe it,” he said as he fought back the tears. Looking to Aaron, he said, “Thanks, man. I knew there was something about you. Something a little more calculated than the rest of us. Something about the way you carried yourself and were always observing. Thanks. Thank you for putting yourself in that position to be able to help us out like that. The rest of the world could have just forgotten us and left us to rot, but you guys... you risked everything for us. And for that, you have my eternal loyalty.”

“So what’s next on the agenda for you guys, Aaron?” asked Ed. “I’m sure this isn’t the extent of what you have planned in response to the occupation.”

“No, not at all,” Aaron said as a flash of light behind him illuminated the inside of the bus. The thunderous sound of an explosion followed the flash of light as the Bronco that served as their escort exploded, sending a shockwave through the bus.

The bus swerved, followed by another explosion just to the right of the bus, sending it careening to the left, overturning and rolling over several times before coming to a stop. As it came to rest on its top, Ed shook off his confusion from the violent event and immediately kicked out the shattered remains of the nearest window and squeezed through the opening. He then reached inside, grabbed Nate by the arm, and dragged him free. He threw Nate over his shoulders and ran toward several run-down houses off to the side of the road. Looking back for a moment to check on the others, he saw several of the detainees limp away into the darkness as the whirring sounds of a rapidly approaching turbine-engine-powered aircraft streaked through the sky. A few seconds later, another explosion decimated the bus, sending debris in all directions, the shockwave knocking him to the ground.

Winded from the impact, but undeterred, Ed stood back up with Nate still on his shoulders. He ran toward the houses under a veil of darkness and smoke, which came from the burning remains of the two vehicles.

Ed ran as fast as his bare feet could take him with the extra weight of Nate bearing down on him. A few blocks into the neighborhood from where the attack on the bus took place, the pain of multiple blunt-force trauma injuries suffered during the crash began to replace Ed’s adrenaline. He carried Nate into the backyard of one of the suburban neighborhood homes and laid him down behind several overgrown decorative shrubs.

“Nate... Nate... Wake up. C’mon, Nate,” he said as he smacked him gently on the cheeks. Getting no response, he checked for a pulse and signs of breathing; he was pleased to find both life signs present. He then gave Nate a cursory look for indications of trauma and found a laceration about two inches long on the top of his head. Ed did not have enough visibility in the darkness of the night to do a thorough evaluation. He decided that, for now, he needed to get Nate inside somewhere to hide, as he knew it was only a matter of time before UN soldiers would be sweeping the streets, looking for survivors.

As Ed took Nate by the arm and started to lift him off the ground and throw him back over his shoulders, he heard the familiar click of a cocking hammer followed by an elderly man’s voice. “Don’t you move a damn muscle.”

Paralyzed with fear, yet desperate to get Nate some help, Ed said, “I’m sorry, sir, but my friend here is in desperate need of medical attention. I just—”

“Shut up. I didn’t ask you for your life’s story. I told you not to move a muscle. Your jaw muscles included. Now... only speak when answering a direct question. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Ed responded, feeling defeated and fatigued by the night’s events.

“Who are you with,” the man asked.

“His name is Nate. He’s a good friend of mine and—”

“No, dumbass. Who were the people in the vehicles, and who was shooting at who? And what’s with the orange jumpsuit? Did you just escape from somewhere?”

“My friend and I were captured by UN peacekeeping forces and were being detained by some federal outfit. I’m not sure who. They wouldn’t tell us much. All I know is that they were working in concert with the UN and the Russian troops in the Atlanta area. They called the place Camp Twenty-one.”

Ed heard the hammer click back to the safe position as the old man whispered, “Come, give us a hand with this one.”

Ed turned around to see an elderly man leaning his old Winchester model 1897 hammer-pump shotgun up against the overgrown shrubbery. Emerging from the shadows behind the man, an elderly woman of around the same age came out of hiding and knelt down next to Nate.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.

“We were hit pretty hard and the bus rolled over. He hit his head, but I’m not sure what else. He’s alive, but that’s all I know.”

“Let’s get him inside,” the old man said as he reached for Nate’s feet, only to be startled by his missing limb.

“Don’t worry. That’s a previous injury,” Ed said. “He's had a rough few years. I can carry him.”

As Ed lifted Nate into his arms, the man retrieved his shotgun and his wife led them into the home through the back door. Once inside, she led Ed through the house to a corner bedroom. The man then opened the bedroom closet and began moving boxes out of the way, revealing a lift-up type door, underneath which were stairs leading down beneath the house.

“Can you carry him down these rickety old stairs or do you need my help?”

“I’ve got it,” replied Ed as he twisted his torso sideways in order to fit down the narrow stairs with Nate in his arms.

The elderly man’s wife led Ed down the stairs using a candleholder for a light. Once they were at the bottom, he heard the door shut above them, followed by sounds of the boxes being placed back on top of the door and the closet being closed once again.

“Put him here on the sofa,” she said as she directed Ed to lay him on an old sofa that was up against the old, damp brick wall.

Ed did as she asked and then looked around the room to see that they were in a small space of about ten feet by fifteen feet. The space seemed to have been constructed many years ago, as the brick and the construction techniques seemed very old to Ed’s reasonably trained eye.

“I’m Meredith,” she said, leaning over and checking Nate’s pupils by holding the light over him.

Nate moved his head back and forth slightly as if he was struggling to get the bright light away from his eyes. Ed knelt down next to him and asked, “Nate... are you in there, buddy?”

“His resistance to the light is a good sign. Let’s just let him rest for a while,” she said. “He took a pretty good hit to the head, but his pupils responded well to the light and his heart rate and breathing seem fine.”

“Are you a nurse?”

“Oh... many moons ago I was an army nurse. That’s been a long time, though. My husband served in the Army from the tail end of Korea to the beginning of Vietnam. He’s a retired Sergeant Major. That’s where we met. He brought some of his injured soldiers to our field hospital for treatment and the rest is history.”

“Is this some sort of bunker?”

“It was a storm cellar for the house that was here previously. My husband bought the lot back when he first retired from the Army after the house that was on it burned to the ground. When he built the new house, the storm cellar didn’t really fit into the floor plan so he just worked the closet upstairs into the design so that he could maintain access to it. It has mostly gone unused until recently. We find ourselves hiding down here a lot these days.”

“I can imagine so,” Ed replied. “Some things almost seem like they were meant to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your husband bought a lot with this old storm cellar on it. He could have easily filled it in and built right on top of it instead of working the floorplan of the house around it. And here you are, all these years later, blessed to have it in these troubled times.”

“Yes. I guess you’re right. When the attacks first started, we thought it would all just pass like September 11th, 2001. We assumed the government would just go after whoever did it, and we would begin the process of rebuilding. Things just didn’t go that way,” she said, her reflections of the past few years showing in her eyes as she paused. “Then when people started getting desperate and crime shot through the roof, we would hide out down here until the danger passed. There were times when we barely came up for weeks.”

“How have you been surviving? I mean... you’re located in a residential area where there really isn’t a natural food source readily available.”

Meredith stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Pausing for a moment, she drew back a large curtain covering the back wall, revealing that the room was twice the size it had initially appeared to Ed in the low light and the stress of the situation. The other side of the room was filled with old wooden shelving, similar to an old library, with two freestanding shelves and one against the far wall. There was just enough room to walk between the shelves to retrieve the items stored on them.

“One thing my husband learned during his time in the Army, watching people’s lives being turned upside down and losing everything they had, was to trust nothing.
The only sure thing in this world is us
, he would often say, to justify hoarding all these supplies all these years.”

“I guess you could say he was a prepper before it was a household word,” replied Ed.

“Yes,” she responded with a chuckle as she looked through the remaining items on the shelf, much of which had already been utilized. “We never thought of it as a doomsday sort of thing. The things he saw over there simply made it so that he could no longer trust the world around him to stay safe, stable, and fair. I don’t think he actually thought we would ever use this stuff. I just think it made him feel better to be doing it. It was sort of like therapy for his nerves.”

“Like I said, some things just seem meant to be,” said Ed with a smile. “Your husband’s uneasiness with the world around him was well justified and has kept you two alive all this time. There aren’t many people, especially in a residential neighborhood such as this, who have been able to maintain themselves in their own homes without resorting to extreme measures. Most people in urban and suburban areas, at least from my experience, have had a very hard time, to say the least.”