Remnants of the Day- The Lost Years

by Matthew Gilman

  Border patrol agents and local police approached the dock asking for passports and other ID which was promptly handed over. The blue books were passed around until the border agent finally spoke.

  “You have to turn back,” the agent said.

  “I am a United States Senator,” Rupton said.

  “This is Canada, not the United States. We also have reason to believe you are smuggling contraband and will be searching your vessels.” The officers walked down the docks before the agent was finished speaking. In minutes the chests filled with gold and silver where being removed. One of the officers pulled Rupton’s daughter from the cabin asking who she was. The Canadian’s whistled at the sight of her.

  “She’s my daughter, don’t act like you don’t know who she is,” Rupton said.

  “We will have to check that out ourselves. In the meantime we have found nothing of any importance here so you will be allowed to set sail. But sir, do not try to dock on Canadian soil again.” The agent handed Rupton’s passports back and the officers watched as the crews prepared to set sail.

  “I am not leaving without my daughter,” Rupton said. “We are supposed to be allies.”

  “Under the Non-interference Act signed with the Chinese Government we are not allowed to offer any assistance to American refugees or diplomats. You are fortunate that your daughter looks like a Canadian citizen. I’ll advise you to get on your boat before we find more people to detain.” The agent had made his point.

  Rupton boarded the ship and both crews set sail. Not knowing where to turn they set course for the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. It was a gamble not owning any land or knowing any of the locals. Surely they would know who he was. After sailing through two storms and losing a man in the waters of Lake Superior Rupton made it across to the shore.

  The two yachts found a small town on the shore and docked hoping to be greeted by the locals. Fisherman and locals came to the docks to see the new arrivals. Not recognizing any of the passengers a handful of people ran to get local law enforcement.

  “What’s going on?” A man dressed in a state police uniform asked.

  Rupton hopped off the boat and extended his hand. The officer refused to shake it.

  “Sorry but we have been hearing stories about a bad flu going around. Formalities aren’t needed here. Do you own land here?” the officer inquired.

  “No but I have my boats to trade,” Rupton offered.

  “We have a policy here that only residence with property can stay here,” the officer said.

  “I am a United States Senator,” Rupton stated trying to use his former authority.

  The officer looked at the man standing before him. Through the stubble and messy hair he recognized the man.

  “Rupton? Republican?” the officer asked.

  “Yes that’s me,” he said hopeful he would be allowed to stay. The Upper Peninsula was known for being a conservative area.

  “You voted for the Iraq War.” The officer pulled his side arm and left it dangling against his thigh. “My son went to fight in that war. He was 18 and wanted to go to college. Something I couldn’t afford. Then you sent him over there to be killed my a sniper.”

  “Now hold on a minute.” Rupton could feel the tension building.

  “You knew Iraq had nothing to do with 9-11. All of you assholes did. How much money did you make on that war? How much was my son’s life worth? One million, ten? Tell me Senator, when you voted to go into Iraq did you even pause for a moment to think about my son and everyone else who would go over there to die or did you only think about your bank account?” The officer flicked the safety off.

  “I think you misunderstood, it was a confusing time…” Rupton tried to talk his way out of it.

  The flash of the gun made everyone flinch back. Rupton died on the dock from a single bullet to the head.

  “I’m not confused, my son is dead, not your little whore of a daughter. Get everyone off those boats.” The locals removed the crews and lined them up on shore.

  The crew and Rupton’s wife were marched out into the woods and left with only their clothes. They were warned not to come back to the town or they would be shot on sight.

  In the upper peninsula of Michigan the population density it one person for every forty square miles. They marched out into the woods where some died over night from exposure and the others starved to death before reaching any population centers. Their bodies would never be discovered and eaten by the local coyotes.

  The government officials that had remained in Lansing were rounded up and asked to convert to Islam. When they refused they were decapitated in front of the others. The whole thing was a cruel joke. Even the few that showed their true colors and converted were still executed already declared enemies of the Islamic state.

  After the Muslim army took Lansing winter followed. It would be a mild winter by any standard but the worst that many would remember for other reasons.

  Part 3: The Flu

  Chapter 9

  Dearborn Michigan

  After the Day only a few hours passed before the 40,000 Muslims in the city of Dearborn gathered together at the local mosques to figure out how they were going to handle the expected backlash. The local clerics kept the people calm and tried to make sure everyone felt safe. The feeling didn’t last long when shops started to be torched and houses burned down. The clerics, seeing ahead after some of the vandalism that happened after 9-11, soon appointed the young men to a position of guardians for the mosques. Weapons that had been bought over time and stored in the mosques were taken out of storage.

  At first the police didn’t respond to the calls of arson and vandalism that were happening. After the first fire bomb was thrown through the window of the mosque, bullets started to fly. The fire was put out by the people inside with a fire extinguisher, but the bullets continued to fly long after the fire was gone. From inside the mosque the fight continued even after the police showed up.

  The feed back from mega phones echoed through the street as the police tried to calm down the situation. They asked for the mosque to stand down and hand their weapons over with no repercussions. After decades of living in a country that said every American had the right to own a firearm they refused. Bullets started to fly again and soon the police were leaving the scene. It is thought that Kevlar is always bullet proof, but not against 7.62 rifle rounds. The police were already short staffed trying to keep the general public from looting the local Walmart.

  The mosques in the area sent runners to the other mosques and soon put together an army to protect the community. As 40% of the population of the city it was not long before they went off the offensive. The American Jihad Army marched over the city to join its brothers from Flint and Detroit. While the gangs were busy trying to capture territory the American Jihad Army captured an entire lower quarter of the state. While they were vast and well armed they lacked experience and knowledge. The army decided to stop at the river to Canada and turned around. They looked at the open land to Lake Michigan. They saw a moment of opportunity and sought to grab it. The American Jihad Army stood on the pavement of I-94 and looked at the road ahead. The cars no longer drove. Phones no longer rang. All a Jihadist needed was the feet under him and the rifle in his hands.

  Chapter 10

  The hefty sum of money that John had donated to the church lost its value over time. As the weeks passed the Reverend and everyone else realized that the value of money had disappeared. The use of currency was no longer an option. A person who still had cash was better off burning it to stay warm or using it as the toilet paper. The stack of bills were initially locked away in the church safe. Later they were removed and replaced with the little gold and silver the church had and the first gun that the Reverend was able to get his hands on.

  The money did buy John time. That was all he really needed once he arrived. He went out on raiding parties looking for food. There was the occasional shootout with someone inside a building. He would try t
o give the person the option of leaving if they stopped shooting. Eventually he would have to put them down. People acted more desperate the less they had. One man shot at the group for twenty minutes until he was taken out.

  “If you stop shooting we will leave and you will never see us again.” John yelled down the hall of the apartment building. Any time the group moved in the hall the man would start shooting again.

  John put his sight where the man poked his head out and dropped him. Collins and the others went into the apartment to find nothing but a half eaten jar of peanut butter.

  “Just doesn’t make any sense,” Collins said.

  “Everything makes sense when you’re desperate,” John said looking around the apartment.

  In his spare time John would go on scavenger missions with Chris to pick up gasoline. They would find cars abandoned on the roads and siphon gas from the tanks. By fall they were taking the easier route and punching holes in the bottom of the tanks and draining it into bowls and other containers to pour it into jugs to carry back. John felt ill at ease every time he punched a hole in the gas tank. He felt like he was ruining a perfectly good car but none of them ran and they were unable to fix them. The one vehicle they had was more important than the hundreds scattered around the city. There were five gallon canisters sitting along the side of the church for the car when it needed more. When they found a new canister it was filled and added to the stockpile.

  They continued the same routine until the cooler autumn months. The church was filled with food. Many thought it looked like a extremely good year of a thanksgiving food drive. The people without good sleeping bags started to move into the church for warmth. Before the Day a person would have mistaken it for a homeless shelter and in a sense it was. When people don’t have houses, they can’t keep warm, or have running water, where would they go? The community of the church as able to organize and keep food on the table. The winter would be difficult, it would be long, and it would test their strength.

  The snow had fallen. The days were shorter. People slept more without the clocks to keep their sleep schedules the same. There was no longer daylight savings time. Some of them were happy to see it go, the ones that remembered it. During the day the crew would drive out and find a street they had not searched. Chris was the usual driver. He never understood why he was given that job. During boot camp he was told “never let anyone let you drive.” Then during his time in Iraq an officer told him to drive the Bradley troop transport. It was a box on tank treads he wasn’t trained to drive.

  The major in charge told him “you’ll get the hang of it,” and put him in the drivers seat. They drove down street to a village outside of Baghdad. On the way Chris was able to hit a horse drawn watermelon cart, almost drive off a bridge that was too narrow for the Bradley, and finally crash into the living room of a family’s house. Only after the last incident did the major pull Chris from the driver’s seat and put him in the back with the rest of the grunts.

  Now here he was again sitting in the driver’s seat and he didn’t know why.

  John could tell Collins didn’t trust Chris to do anything other than drive. Collins didn’t know Chris' past and likely didn’t care. He labeled Chris as dumb and gave him the simplest and most miniscule jobs.

  The car was in park and the men closed the doors looking where to start first. John always wanted to start on one corner and work their way around the street. He wanted to work around the block and keep track of where they went, but Collins seemed to pick a building by random.

  “That one, I have a good feeling about it.”

  John would roll his eyes and walk over to the door to start their search for supplies.

  Chris watched as the men went into the building and disappeared. Sometime they would be gone for and hour. His job was to honk the horn if there was trouble or somebody went inside after them. He didn’t like it knowing he would be shot afterwards. He planned on putting the car into drive and hitting the gas before he honked. It never happened.

  Chris played with the radio trying to find a station that was still on air. Nothing was on, everything was static. He didn’t even know if the radio worked. For all he knew it was burned out like most of the electronics.

  Something moved from the passenger side of the car. From behind a trashcan he saw a little face peeking out. A small child was watching him. He didn’t think it was right they were taking all the food they could find from a place a child was living. Chris opened the car door and the child disappeared behind the trashcan. He stood up and walked around. He found a candy bar in his pocket and pulled it out.

  “Hey kid,” he whispered trying not to be heard by the rest of the crew. “Hey kid, where did you go?” Walking up to the trashcan he found the child wedged between the trashcan and the building. “Hey, you have a place to stay?”

  The child nodded. He had a home. His parents were likely looking for food like Chris‘s group was.

  “You hungry?” Chris gripped the candy bar.

  The child nodded again. Chris was able to tell it was a little boy. He wasn’t sure at first, but he was now.

  “Here,” the child reached up and snatched the candy bar from Chris and bolted down the alley. He disappeared behind the building.

  Chris sat back in the car and played with the radio. He left the car running at times to keep the heat on. He wished he was running around in the building staying warm.

  Inside the building John's training kicked in and he was clearing hallways and rooms like he did in the Army. Most of the building was empty. In two apartments they found a body in each. One looked like they had starved to death and the other decided to end his fate early. Collins had the nerve to take the gun the man had used on himself.

  “What?” Collins said looking at John. “He ain’t going to use it.”

  They moved up to the next floor and John kicked it in. The first man in backed up covering his mouth.

  “Oh,” the pungent smell crept back into the hallway. John looked inside to see two people in the living room. A woman laid on the couch with a blanket over her and a man was on the floor. The man had defecated on himself giving off the smell. Both were alive.

  “Oh man,” Collins said.

  “What do we do?” another man asked.

  “We close the door and don’t get infected,” John said gripping the door handle.

  “There might be food back their,” Collins said.

  “Infected food we would take back to the church. You’re going to steal food from sick people?” John asked.

  “They’re dying anyway,” Collins said. “I’d rather shoot them than take care of them.”

  “I’m not going in there,” the other man added.

  John closed the door and went back down the stairs.

  “What about the rest of the building?” Collins said.

  “I’ve seen enough.”

  Back at the car the crew loaded up what they found in the trunk. They went to a few more buildings and Chris never brought up the child he saw.

  Over the next week John would find several more apartments and houses with sick or dead people inside. The deadly combination of limited food and flu season had taken its toll. The people who stayed while the rest traveled south where left to pick from the scraps. John was right to pair up with a group. He only wished they were better organized.

  The trunk wasn’t full when they left, but the hours they spent searching hadn’t amounted to what they were hoping. John took a map out and marked where they left off. Once they were sitting inside the Impala, Chris shifted into drive and they drove home.

  A week later Chris didn’t come out of his tent for morning breakfast. At first John didn’t think about it. When the women started to put the food away he grabbed a bowl for Chris and went to his tent.

  “Hey, you awake?” John said unzipping the tent.

  Tired eyes looked at John. Feeling his forehead Chris had a fever and was sweating while shivering.

  “How,
you stayed in the car,” John said setting the bowl of oatmeal on the floor.

  “There was a kid. Gave him a candy bar and he ran off,” Chris said curled up in the sleeping bag.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” John said.

  “I’ve seen what Collins does to kids.”

  “Here, try to eat this. I’m going to find some other stuff for you.” John took some water bottles and tried to find flu medicine. He found vitamin C tablets and a few other odd items he wasn’t sure would help. He brought them back to the tent and had Chris drink some water.

  “I’m going to find some stuff for you ok. Don’t die,” John said.

  “Roger that,” Chris didn’t move.

  John went to the car and Collins was waiting for him.

  “Where’s Chris,” Collins asked.

  “I’m driving today. He wants a day off,” John said snatching the keys from Collins and getting in the drivers seat. It had been months since he last drove.

  He purposely took the men to an area he knew had a pharmacy. It was a long shot and he suspected it was already looted. Across the street was a Korean market and John had the men start there first. They carried out a few packets of ramen noodles of various flavors. They also found dried squid that John knew tasted good, but the other men thought it sounded disgusting. The crew was ready to look elsewhere.

  “I want to take a peek in here,” John said looking at the Pharmacy.

  “There isn’t anything in there. All the junkies took everything,” Collins said.

  “Junkies like the good stuff,” John said walking to the store.

  John stepped inside and looked around. He found the medicine aisle and looked at the bare shelves. On the floor were hundreds of boxes and wrappers. He looked at all of them. Some still had pills and tablets in them and he tossed them in his bag. He found some cold and flu capsules and smiled.