Humankind_Saga 1

by Mic Shannon

Michael looked up at the TV, still muted, but read the headlines: Military Mobilized Worldwide. The headline was shocking, almost surreal. Just a day ago, he was at the group home in his own bed. Today, his whole world had been flipped upside down. What was going on?

  The commotion from the doors opening to bring in breakfast started getting louder, and anyone who was still attempting to sleep had no choice but to be aroused from their slumber cranky. The containers were opened and set up for the line to start moving. Immediately, the complaining began.

  “This food is crap!” was the first comment from a middle-aged man near the floor.

  “You should just be happy it’s free old man!” yelled another.

  The comfortable people on the floor in the front got their food first, with the ones sleeping on the stairs and under the lecture hall seats again last to the line. The tension was thick, with animus being the common feeling amongst those who did not have a comfortable spot to sleep.

  As they filed outside, the campus now resembled a full-fledged military post. Machine gun emplacements, towers, rocket launchers, and barbed wire covered the entire perimeter of what was once an institution for higher learning. Armed patrols roamed around on foot, with German shepherds at their sides. It was jarring. Michael was instantly intrigued.

  Michael sat down next to Manny and Tee outside, looking down at his runny eggs and grits, wishing for at least some bread or meat. He had come to despise grits, as it was usually the only thing to eat on weekday mornings at the group home. It didn’t matter either way, he was starving, but he still hoped for something better.

  Taking a bite of his eggs, Michael felt eyes on him. When some of the other kids stopped eating, he looked up, noticing several people had begun to stare at them. Everyone was huddled. All with their families, except for the boys.

  “Go ahead and eat kids,” said Ms. Tanya encouragingly, as she popped her diabetes medication in her mouth and swallowed it down with water. She was the only adult among them. The only one who could provide some comfort in such an awkward and insensitive situation.

  Some people smiled and looked away. Others continued staring.

  After a few moments, Cynthia stood up with her plate in front of everyone, smiling at Michael and the other boys. She brushed her hair behind her ear and began walking toward them, weaving through the families. Approaching them, she sat down on the concrete stairs next to the boys; her father watching with the subtle pride of raising a daughter with such compassion and empathy.

  “I am soo tired,” she said, rubbing her lower back with her hand.

  “You’re not the only one,” said Tee, “I tossed and turned all night.

  “Something’s wrong with my neck,” said Manny, wincing as he moved his head from left to right.

  “What are we even doing here?” she asked, raising her hands in frustration, “Does, like, anyone even know?”

  “I don’t know,” said Michael, biting his lip, then suddenly stopping, “but it will be fine, okay? This has to be for our own good, right?”

  --- 10:02 am ---

  When they returned to the room, the outright griping began. It’s too hot. It’s too cold. It’s too crowded. It stinks. Everyone was restless, and some decided to speak out on it.

  “Hey this is bullshit, man!” yelled a young man as he stood up from his seat, “We want some of that comfortable space down there! We’ve been sleeping on stairs and underneath seats up here!”

  “Well,” said one of the men from down on the floor, “maybe if you had been here early you would’ve gotten some space. It’s not my fault you people are always late! I’m not moving my family so you can be comfortable, so shut your freakin’ mouth!”

  “Hey man, I’ll bash your head you right now if I have to, but I’m not gonna sleep like this tonight!”

  “EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” snapped the Guard officer with a bellowing yell, annoyed at the inability of civilians to endure some discomfort. The young man sat down. Others began to chatter, praising him for speaking out about their discomfort.

  “Now, here’s what we’re going to do, ‘kay?” began the Officer, “Now, everyone who slept on the floor last night will rotate up to the top and everyone who is at the top will rotate down to the floor. We will keep rotating so that everyone gets a chance to be comfortable, ‘kay?”

  The floor began to chatter with groans; the noise becoming increasingly agitating to the Guardsmen. When people started arguing and getting rowdy, they began to feel like the situation was getting out of control.

  “Look, he’s right!” said Cynthia from the floor, “We should let them have our spots tonight!”

  “Man, shut up chica!” yelled a woman from the floor condescendingly, “you move then, because I’m not moving!”

  “Hey!” yelled Cynthia’s dad, sitting up, “I cut your tits off you talk to my daughter like that, you understand?”

  “Screw that,” said a man from the floor, “I’m not moving!”

  The officer leaned down to look directly into his face, “You can move, and you will move, you got that?”

  “Hey man,” the man replied as he stood up and turned toward someone who wasn’t in the conversation, “what’s wrong with him?” He turned his attention back toward the officer, “Look, I told you I’m not…”

  *CRACK*

  One of the junior enlisted struck the man with the butt of his rifle, knocking him to the ground. He took a step back and pointed the barrel at the ceiling.

  *BOOM*

  The sound of the round was deafening, striking the ceiling as dust fell onto the floor, quieting everyone immediately. The man scurried away in fear holding his jaw, his wife and kids wrapping their arms around him as he got close to them. The room was paralyzed with fear, nobody making a sound for several moments. One of the babies broke the silence with crying. Everyone else didn’t blink.

  “NOW,” screamed the junior enlisted, still pointing the rifle at the ceiling, “EVERYBODY GET UP AND DO WHAT THE CAPTAIN SAID!”

  A long pause. Almost as if on cue, everyone started moving. The stiff and aching multitude made their way down with relief in their hearts, knowing they would sleep comfortably tonight as the others from the floor made their way up the stairs with jealousy and resentment all over their faces.

  Much of the night was restless and uneasy. Although Michael and the other boys were happy to be sleeping in a more comfortable position, their minds were racing with fear of the unknown. On the SMART TV were violent images of rioting and unrest in small cities around the world.

  FRI, JUN 2nd, 2034

  Alexandria, VA, USA

  8:32 am

  M ichael was shaken awake the next morning by Tee. He immediately jumped and grabbed his bag, which had the shoulder strap wrapped around his leg. Tee calmed him, assuring him that he was safe. Pointing up at the TV, Michael saw the headline streaming across the bottom of the news screen: PRESIDENT NYKIRA OLIVER ADDRESSES THE NATION.

  Michael sat up and rubbed his eyes. The room was beginning to come alive as everyone shook their friends and family awake in anticipation.

  “This should be interesting,” said Tee, biting his fingernail and spitting it out. The news cut away from the juicy story about outbreaks of violence around the world as the anchor interrupted the broadcast.

  “And now, we go to live to the President of the United States.”

  The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Everyone sat tensely still; anxious for answers. Michael looked left and right, wondering what was going through everyone’s minds.

  The President stood with her back to a wall with the Great Seal of the United States behind her head. It was apparent that she was in some sort of fortified location, possibly a bunker of some kind. Behind her stood two Marines in dress blue uniforms, unwavering while standing at attention.

  “My fellow Americans,” began the Commander-in-Chief, poised with confidence, “during these troubling times, there comes a point when decisions have to be made. I�
�ve spent the last few days of my life making some very difficult decisions. Decisions that will mark my legacy.”

  She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

  “The fact that we’ve removed you from your homes and relocated you inside of a military protected facility is uncomfortable, but I’m afraid that it’s going to be this way for a little while until we can assure your safety. Even I have had to relocate from my home, and trust me, I did not want to go. But please, everyone, I urge you to stay within these facilities because they are the safest place for you to be at this time. There have been looting, rioting, and a general uproar of discontent all over the country. Because of this, I have been forced, with the approval of Congress, to declare martial law. There will be no curfew. Anyone who is caught committing a crime will be apprehended and detained indefinitely. Your local National Guard along with state and local authorities will be enforcing these laws. Please, I urge you to remain at one of the military protected facilities.”

  Everyone looked around at each other. People whispered in silence, “Martial law?!”

  “Last night,” the President continued, “we confirmed that the largely civilian forces which moved in to respond to the landing were confronted by something unidentified. Early reports are unverifiable. Casualty reports have not been confirmed.”

  The room began to mutter with confusion. Ms. Tanya gasped and placed her hand over her mouth.

  “Streaming footage from any initial contact has been confiscated from all media platforms to gather intelligence. Social media and public networks have also been shut down. Over the past two days, we’ve lost communications with Columbia, Panama, and parts of Venezuela. So far, several cities are not responding.”

  “What the hell?!” said Tee, eyes glued to the screen as he chewed his nails.

  “Right now, on our continent, refugees from South America have been fleeing north into southern Mexico. We are not sure what this means for the United States as of yet, but I assure you our borders are safe.”

  As Michael looked around, he saw many different people stricken with fear, holding their families and sweating with anxiety.

  “This morning, I have activated and ordered emergency response teams to the region, accompanied by the 75th Ranger Regiment for protection. The leave today for Central America to assess this threat, backed with the support of the U.S. Navy, who will be providing relief for displaced refugees. I have also activated another one-hundred thousand reserve components for domestic support. Do not be alarmed, I have our best and brightest on the job. However, let me make myself very clear, if any threat reaches the southern border of our country, we will annihilate it by whatever means we see fit to preserve our great nation. Thank you for your time, and God Bless America.”

  --- 8:37 am ---

  Unknown Location

  The camera stopped rolling as the cameraman clicked the button with his index finger, “Ok, Mrs. President, we’re clear.”

  He lowered the camera, the President’s advisors swarming to her sides as she walked down the hallway of the underground facility, heading toward the situation room.

  “How are we doing on the mobilization?” she asked General Adams, poised by her side with his large stature taking up a large portion of the slim hallway.

  “The first battalion is leaving in an hour, with another two ready by tomorrow morning, ma’am,” he replied in his deep, powerful voice.

  “Great,” she said, turning the corner and continuing down the hall, “what’s the word on the South American forces?”

  “The Brazilian and Colombian forces still haven’t been in contact with their men,” said Patricia as she looked down to consult her notes, using her index finger to push up her chic reading glasses onto the bridge of her nose, “Whatever it is, it’s knocking out all communications.”

  “How many casualties?” asked the President.

  “Other than the Bogotá footage, none that we can see,” replied Adams, “but until we get some boots on the ground we won’t know much.”

  The trio entered the situation room and sat in their chairs around a large table as two young Marines closed the door and stood watch outside. General Adams shifted his weight in his chair and leaned forward, intending to speak openly to the Commander-in-Chief

  “Our biggest issue has been comm, ma’am. Our signals simply don’t work,” said the husky General, looking her in the eye, “That means no radio communications, no satellite communications, and no drone feeds. We saw it near Bogotá, now we we’re seeing it as far north as Panama City.”

  “Get me Horn on the line,” said the President. Patricia pressed the button on the table to turn on the video teleconference equipment and dial. On the wall was a large eighty-inch screen, and as the teleconference connected, Director Horn sat forward in his chair, attentive in his demeanor.

  “Jimmy, what do you have on the communications blackout in South America?” asked the President.

  “CIA assets have launched drones in the area,” said the director of the intelligence organization, “but we’re unable to see anything. Possibly some sort of interference. As people flee, I’ll say we can confirm with certainty danger as far north as Panama and as far south as Bolivia.”

  “What do you mean danger?” asked the President, her thumb on her chin, her index finger over her mouth, and her forehead creased with focus.

  “Some local authorities are reporting possible poisonous gasses, a thick, hazy cloud covering the area,” replied General Adams as he sat back in his chair, “civilians have been displaced all throughout South America, fleeing both north and south, all away from ground zero. What’s most disturbing to me is that animals have been fleeing as well. As if it’s forcing them from their habitat.”

  “Well that’s not good.”

  “You’re telling me,” said General Adams through his frustrated facial expression, “we honestly don’t know what we’re walking into.”

  “Well, what do we know?” she inquired.

  “Well,” said Horn, tapping away at his PDA device and pulling a map up onto the large screen in front of them, “the gas seems to be in pockets, streaming from the crash site in Colombia. Most notably here, in Panama City, and here in Buenos Aires, southern Costa Rica. If we can get some people on the ground, we might be able to better assess the situation.”

  “General,” said the President, turning her head toward the military commander, “are we sending our men out into the field unequipped?”

  “We’ve already equipped the reconnaissance teams with chemical hazmat suits. The same ones we spent a large portion of our budget on to adapt for military operations after the chemical standoff in ‘22. Looks like they came in handy after all.”

  “Very well,” she replied, turning toward the CIA director on screen, “do we have any assets available to attach? I need our best guys on intel.”

  “I have a few good field agents that I might be able to assemble into a team. The rest are spread throughout the globe.”

  “Can we equip them with suits General?”

  “We have a few more that we can spare, but the rest of the Ranger unit will have to wait.”

  “Assemble the team and have them rendezvous with SEALs in Costa Rica. The rest of our agents abroad will attach to available units in their country of operation.”

  “I’m on it,” said Horn, tapping away at his device.

  “General,” she said.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “I want a full report of the reconnaissance assessment.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  SUN, JUN 4th, 2034

  San José, Costa Rica

  6:12 am

  T he short, stocky man sat on a wooden crate in San José, racking the slide on his unloaded sidearm to test its cleanliness. In front of him was the staging area, with a vast array of supplies and munitions laid out on pallets. Helicopters hovered overhead, gently placing Humvees down while others rushed to unhook the cables from the vehicles.
He stared down the barrel of the pistol, making sure it was clean of obstructions, then wiped the sweat from his neck. It was going to be a hot one today.

  Sitting the pistol on his lap, he retrieved a small container from his tactical vest pocket. He snickered at the ingenuity, then popped it open and grabbed the tiny contact lens from the fluid and leaned his head back. After it was in, he blinked twice, pulling a small PDA from his cargo pocket and checking to make sure the double blink had captured the photo. He switched the camera mode to record.

  To his rear, two teams of SEALs approached him. The team of Navy Special Forces operatives were anxious, yet relaxed. They had been restlessly waiting for hours as more and more personnel and support trickled in, but finally, the mission had the green light. The man in front of them put the magazine back in his pistol, slid it into the holster attached to his thigh, and stood up as they approached.

  “Hey Jim, how’s it going buddy?” said one of the veteran SEALs as the group stopped and stood behind him.

  “I know that voice,” he replied, turning around and squinting, then extending his hand, shaking with a firm grip, “Hey Senior Chief.”

  “Fuckin’ lovely, isn’t it?” said the Senior Chief, looking over at the staging area of weapons, vehicles, and supplies.

  “It’s what you signed up for, right? That’s what you always used to tell me.”

  “Yeah well,” he replied, “that’s my job, not yours anymore. You, you’ve moved on to intelligence ya little spook.”

  “Same shit different toilet,” said the brown-skin man, his short hair ridden with naps and his face shaved minus a thin mustache, “Look where I’m at. Back with the family, attached to your team as support, fighting the good fight.”

  “Well then, I guess it’s on us to figure this whole situation out, huh?”

  His olive-skinned face was tense, creases running through it as usual. He was a firm leader, a man most said was made of stone. His team had been rotated back to the states between deployments and, although his wife didn’t like it, he kept his beard to help him blend in while he operated behind enemy lines in the Arabian Peninsula. His bald head he kept because he liked it. He scratched his head, then leaned forward and spit dip out onto the ground, strings of brown goo getting caught in the long facial hair.