Doomsday Anarchy

by Bobby Akart

  “Tom! There are people running down the hill over there!” Donna shouted and directed his attention to the right side of the overpass, where more than a dozen men raced down the hill, waving a variety of weapons. Tom wished he had one of his battle rifles. This assault would’ve been over in short order.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror again beyond the small red KIA tucked under his bumper. He decided that backing out of the perfect choke point created by the bridge abutments and the stalled traffic was not an option. He looked forward again. “I’m gonna squeeze through!”

  “Tom, we’re too wide. You won’t fit.”

  “We’ll see.” Tom turned the wheel to the right so that the Yukon barely scraped the guardrail.

  “You’re gonna tear up the side!” Donna warned him.

  “Who cares?” he quickly responded as he forced himself between a Toyota Camry and the guardrail. The driver of the Camry began shaking her fist at him and beating on her horn out of anger as the bumper of the Yukon shoved her to the side. Tom gave the heavy truck gas, and gradually, a path was cleared, allowing him to scoot along the guardrail, with the KIA following his lead.

  “Oh no!” shouted Donna, pointing at a masked man flailing away at the passenger window of the car in front of the Camry. The shiny black Range Rover was taking a beating until the man successfully broke out the glass.

  In Tom’s military career, he’d seen brutality. He’d seen the deadly toll of war and the bodies of the wounded when they returned home. They were visuals he’d never erase from his mind, nor did he want to. It was a constant reminder that war was hell, and regardless of the methods employed to wage it, the toll on humanity was the same.

  The Range Rover shook violently as the attacker fell forward into the front seat. The darkened windows of the four-door sedan obscured his view of what was happening, but when the man freed himself from the passenger door, he fell backwards onto the pavement in a heap, his face ripped to shreds beyond recognition.

  Donna screamed as she saw the man’s mangled face.

  “Unbelievable,” muttered Tom, aghast at the grotesque appearance of the man’s face.

  “Tom, the driver is trying to get your attention.” Donna had noticed as the chaos continued. The other attackers were mercilessly beating the vehicles and some of their passengers. The rear passenger window of the Range Rover rolled down, and a woman driver turned towards their truck, waving to get their attention.

  Tom glanced around and then rolled down his window. “Are you okay?”

  The driver shouted to be heard over the melee. “Yes! Can you scoot back so I can get in front of you? We can make it by the wreckage.”

  Tom pointed toward the attackers’ reinforcements. “There are more coming!”

  The woman glanced forward and then shouted to him, “I’ve got them. Please make room for me so I can get out.”

  Tom gave her a thumbs-up and placed the truck in reverse. The driver of the KIA immediately began to honk his horn at Tom, but he ignored the complaint. He slowly made contact with the KIA’s front bumper and then pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The tires squealed at first, but then the KIA began to relent as it was pushed backwards into other cars that were trying to follow them along the shoulder.

  “That’s enough, Tom,” said Donna. “She’s clear. Oh my god!”

  Chapter 23

  Interstate 95

  Richmond, Virginia

  Hayden winced and forced herself against the driver’s side door as her attacker released a guttural scream. Another blow of the baseball bat caused the passenger glass to explode inward, forcing her to cover her face with her arm and protect herself. The next thing she heard was Prowler.

  “Rrrreeeeer!”

  With lightning quickness, Prowler leapt from the backseat onto the console as the attacker stuck his head through the window to reach for Hayden. The large house cat became a vicious animal, drawing upon his instincts to protect Hayden.

  First, Prowler clawed at the man’s hand to force him to withdraw from Hayden’s arm. This caused the man to fall forward slightly so that he was half in and half out of the Range Rover. This was a fatal mistake that resulted in a brutal beatdown that only could be imagined in a horror movie.

  With a continuous roar of earsplitting screeches, Prowler ripped into the man’s face. The first couple of blows pulled the bandana-style mask away, exposing his skin. The next several clawing motions came so fast that Hayden, whose body remained pressed against the driver’s door, couldn’t attempt to count. She’d never seen Prowler act like this before.

  Scratch after scratch, he clawed at the man’s face, ripping into his skin until pieces of flesh began to fly about the truck. The attacker was screaming in agony as Prowler’s last blow found the man’s eyelid, ripping it away from his eyeball. It was a gruesome sight, sickening to anyone who might’ve witnessed the scene.

  But not to Prowler. It was the beginning of the end for his mommy’s attacker. He growled again, a deep guttural sound that caused the hair to stand up on the back of Hayden’s neck. While all around her, motorists were being terrorized by people dressed in black, smashing their weapons against windshields and car hoods, her cat was viciously mauling one of their comrades.

  Hayden readied her weapon, prepared to shoot the poor, hapless marauder who had become limp from Prowler’s ruthless and barbaric mutilation of the man’s face. She raised her weapon, but the man’s body weight finally pulled him backwards onto the highway.

  Prowler jumped up onto the window opening, disregarding the bits of broken glass under his feet. Hayden feared he’d jump out after the man, who was likely unconscious from the beatdown the Maine coon had put on him.

  “No! Prowler, stay!” She gave him orders as she would a dog. Prowler was trained that way and understood. He stood alert but didn’t chase after the attacker. He continued, however, to bitch about it, emitting a series of growls and yowls to express how pissed off he was.

  Hayden had to stay alert. The assault was not over. She glanced to her left and saw two men with spray-paint cans drawing the black rose symbol on the hood of an SUV while a woman pounded on the driver’s window with a tire iron.

  “Prowler, we’re getting out of here!”

  Hayden looked to her right and got the attention of an older couple who’d fortunately been spared from the onrush of rioters. She took a chance and rolled down her rear passenger window. She waved at the driver to get his attention.

  The driver, an older man wearing a white sweater and a baseball cap with a U.S. Navy insignia, checked around his car and rolled down his window.

  “Are you okay?” he yelled to her amidst the screams and shouts of the attackers.

  “Yes!” replied Hayden. “Can you scoot back so I can get in front of you? We can make it by the wreckage.”

  The man looked forward and pointed. “There are more coming!”

  “I’ve got them. Please make room for me so I can get out.”

  The man hung his arm out the window and gave her a thumbs-up. He was driving a GMC Yukon that was more than strong enough to force the red Kia parked against his rear bumper out of the way. The Kia driver slammed on his high-pitched horn, but it was no match for the brutish, three-ton Yukon.

  The driver squealed the tires, shoving the offended Kia out of the way to make room for Hayden to get in front of the Yukon. As she did, the attacker was awakened by her right rear tire running over his arm, snapping it in several places.

  “Sorry, jerkoff!” shouted Hayden, who wheeled her truck onto the emergency lane, only to be met by half a dozen screaming banshees racing toward her, carrying buckets of paint and bricks.

  Chapter 24

  Interstate 95

  Richmond, Virginia

  “Really?” asked Hayden as she gritted her teeth and set her jaw. “What is their problem?” She inched forward so that the front end of her smashed-up truck was able to get around the wrecked vehicles blocking the road. She periodically gla
nced in her rearview mirror to make sure the Yukon was behind her.

  Hayden had learned to shoot as a young girl on her family farm. Although most of her practice was with long guns, primarily while hunting, she’d taken the time to learn how to use a sidearm by practicing extensively with her father. She was naturally right-handed, but she’d learn to throw darts left-handed and had transferred her ambidextrous skills to shooting as well.

  Hayden rolled down her window and glanced over at Prowler, who was still loaded for bear. “Hold on, buddy, and watch your ears.” The fur on the tip of the Maine coon’s distinctive ears wiggled slightly as he hunkered down in the passenger seat.

  Hayden eased her way onto the shoulder so that the truck would barely fit between the guardrail and the wrecked vehicle. The Yukon was wider than her Range Rover and would experience a tighter squeeze, but should be able to clear the narrow opening.

  She hung her left arm out the window. The fresh set of assailants was upon her when she fired the first warning shots over their heads. Two rounds exploded out of her weapon, causing the group to scatter and jump for cover. This also had the effect of attracting the attention of the first group, who immediately stopped their assaults on other motorists and looked in Hayden’s direction. She was now the focus of the entire group’s ire.

  They began hurling expletives in her direction, together with anything at their disposal. Rocks bounced off the rear hatch of her truck, and a quart-sized can of paint sailed over her roof, nailing the Yukon on the hood and exploding in a spray of red. The driver immediately turned on his windshield washers and smeared the red paint until it began to dissolve.

  Hayden had cleared the opening but didn’t immediately take off, opting instead to ensure the driver of the Yukon could make his way through the opening. She could hear the high-pitched, squeaking sound of metal on metal as the Yukon bulled its way past the wreckage.

  Another can of paint pelted her truck, soaking the hood in blood-red stain. A man jumped from behind the wreckage and raced toward her door. Although Hayden didn’t want to shoot anyone unless she absolutely had to, she took aim at the aluminum bat he was wielding and quickly fired three rounds until she found the barrel.

  The sting the man experienced from the bullet ricocheting off the hard aluminum caused him to yell in pain, and he dropped the bat. Once again, the attackers sought cover, giving Hayden the time necessary to accelerate down the shoulder of the road. Because traffic had been stopped by the attack, all of the southbound lanes had opened up and she was able to speed away.

  Hayden managed a smile as she noticed the driver of the Yukon was behind her, with nothing more than a poorly painted red hood to go with the gold factory paint of his truck. She slowed to pull over and assess the damage to her truck. The Yukon pulled alongside and an older woman shouted to Hayden, “Thank you! Godspeed!”

  Chapter 25

  Interstate 95

  Richmond, Virginia

  Tom reacted to Donna’s outburst by gripping the wheel and jamming on the brakes. It wasn’t her intention to startle or warn him, but it was a genuine expression of astonishment.

  “What?” he asked.

  “That woman ran over the guy,” she replied.

  “Good,” said Tom as he focused his attention and followed the Range Rover forward. They made slow progress through the gap between a wrecked vehicle and the guardrail, scraping the side of the Yukon with a high-pitched squeal.

  Suddenly, a can of paint struck the hood and emptied a splash of gooey red paint all over the truck. The windshield was also covered in red, so Tom turned on his windshield wipers in an attempt to wash it away.

  That was when gunshots could be heard. “Get down, Donna. Now!”

  Donna slumped down and crammed herself between the seat and the glove box. Tom also slid down in his seat to lower his profile. He felt this would protect him from gunfire and more debris being thrown off the overpass.

  The Range Rover was past the wreckage, but the driver paused as if to wait for Tom to follow. He set his jaw, gritted his teeth, and forced the beast of a truck past the debris.

  “Is it safe?” asked Donna as she slowly rose out of her crouch.

  Tom glanced around one last time as he raced to keep up with the Range Rover. “Yeah, come on up. That woman just saved us.”

  “Was she firing the gun?”

  “I believe so. She did a good job, too. She only used a few rounds to send those thugs scrambling for cover. Hold on. I wanna catch up to her and say thanks.”

  Tom accelerated so that he was next to the driver’s side door. Donna rolled down the window, causing the cold wind to blow throughout the truck. She leaned her head out the window, and the female driver responded by rolling down her window as well. She smiled at Donna and gave a casual, polite wave.

  Donna shouted to the driver of the Range Rover, “Thank you! Godspeed!”

  The woman suddenly slowed and the Sheltons never heard her response. Seconds later, they were taking advantage of the now deserted interstate. Full of apprehension, Tom focused his attention on the highway in front of them while Donna kept the black Range Rover in her side-view mirror for as long as she could, concerned about the fate of the young woman who’d probably saved their lives.

  Chapter 26

  Interstate 95

  Richmond, Virginia

  Hayden was puzzled. Did she hear correctly? She slowed down suddenly to attempt to speak to the passenger of the Yukon. She hung her head out the window and shouted, “What? What does that mean?”

  The driver took off at a high rate of speed and probably never heard her ask the questions. Hayden couldn’t blame him. She wanted to get as far from Richmond as she could, but first she needed to make sure her truck could continue.

  While she inspected the exterior and found everything to be safe, she continuously mumbled the word Godspeed to herself.

  “Come on, people. Where is this coming from? Godspeed.”

  She urged Prowler to sit in the driver’s seat while she hurriedly removed bits of glass from his seat onto the floor mat. When the center console and seat were cleared of the debris, she dumped all of it onto the side of the road.

  Still puzzled, she continued to talk out loud. “I’ve gone nearly my entire life and never heard anyone say that except in some old Charles Dickens movie or some such. Godspeed? Safe travels? Good luck? What’s the context?”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she walked around the Range Rover to the driver’s door. A couple of cars sped past, apparently following through the gap she and the Yukon had created. Hayden was more troubled by the use of the term Godspeed in the text messages and from the passenger in the Yukon than she was about the condition of her Range Rover. After all, she had insurance, she thought to herself with a chuckle. Big whoop.

  As she got back under way and traveled through Richmond, she saw fires burning out of control in the vicinity of the state capitol. Traffic slowed on I-95, allowing her the opportunity to view the historic colonial-style structure as she passed. She recalled from her history studies that the building had been conceived by Thomas Jefferson and had managed to endure centuries of political turmoil and bloodshed.

  Now, sitting high atop a hill in the center of Richmond, the capitol once again appeared to be surrounded by turmoil.

  Hayden laughed to herself and then said, “Godspeed, Richmond. Looks like you’ll need it.”

  She glanced one last time at the historic structure; then the voice of her former boss, Justice Samuel Alito, came into her head.

  “That’s it, Prowler!” she exclaimed, stirring the cat out of his curled position. “Justice Alito said that to me once. I was traveling back to the farm and he said, Godspeed, Miss Blount. I wonder…”

  Her voice trailed off as she immediately began to process the events of the last few days and the mysterious texts she’d received. Was there a connection between them and a Supreme Court justice? And why would he reach out to her like that?
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  Chapter 27

  Haven House

  The Haven

  Ryan entered the kitchen and hugged Blair around the waist. He kissed her on the back of the neck and whispered, in his best Hank Williams voice, “Hey, good-lookin’. Whatcha got cookin’?”

  Blair smiled and allowed Ryan to snuggle her before she playfully turned on him. “Get off me. I’ve got hungry children who are demanding breakfast.”

  “Breakfast? It’s almost noon o’clock!” Ryan laughed as he turned around to find the girls sitting side by side like statues, waiting for their yummies. He addressed his four-legged daughters. “Don’t you two have school today? Have you cleaned your rooms or done any kinds of chores? Ever?”

  The English bulldog sisters simply stared back at him, Chubby’s lower jaw protruding outward with her tongue half out of her mouth while The Roo was more closed-mouth, opting instead to study Ryan. She’s a thinker.

  “Pffft.”

  Blair snapped her head around and looked at Ryan.

  “Shew, Chubby!” exclaimed Ryan as he pulled his sweatshirt up over his nose.

  “Don’t blame the child,” interjected Blair.

  “What? It wasn’t me!” Ryan’s voice rose several octaves as he pointed down at Chubby, who appeared to be laughing at him. “Look at the smile on her face. She did it!”

  Blair pushed past him with two bowls of yummies for the girls. “What kind of father blames his gassiness on the children. So rude, right, girls?”

  The girls were less interested in the debate over the guilty gasser and chased after Blair, who placed their breakfast down at the end of the kitchen island.