Stephen remained still and waited his turn to be cuffed. The soldier walked up to him and said, “Put your hands behind your back, Gill.”
The soldier’s name was Smith, and he had a good working relationship with Stephen. In fact, he and Stephen had gone to boot camp together, selected the same military occupation, and eventually went to the same schools for their military education.
“C’mon, Smitty, you don’t have to do this, bro.”
“Just play along, Gill. You know these things always blow over.”
“These things? C’mon, man. You know this ain’t one of those things. None of this is right. Damm should be cutting us loose to rejoin our families. I’m not against Damm’s intentions. I want to join, but I have this situation at home with my wife and daughter. Some unresolved issues to address.”
“I get it, I really do…”
“Just cuff him, Smitty,” another soldier said.
When Smith was positive he wasn’t being observed, he whispered to Stephen, “Just do what you’re told and keep your hands clasped tightly together.”
Stephen could feel that Smith was mimicking the motions of cuffing Stephen, but was actually placing the zip-ties in his hands.
“Hold on to these tightly and do whatever you’re told. You’ll get out of this and go home,” Smith whispered.
The men were stood up off the ground and escorted to the adjacent building, where they were sat down in a long interior hallway against the walls. There were no windows and nowhere to escape to without being seen.
Command Sergeant Damm walked into the hallway and cleared his throat, as if to catch everyone’s attention.
It worked.
“Gentlemen, this is where you’re going to stay until we’re long gone. It saddens me to have to resort to this, but it’s for the mission. Because you refused to participate, I’m not sure which side of the fence you’re on. It’s a gray area, I know, but it won’t matter when we’re gone. Here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to leave a couple soldiers in a discreet location outside of these walls. When twenty-four hours has passed, you’ll be free to exit this building and return to your families. If you leave before the twenty-four hours has expired, we’ll take that as an act of aggression. I’m about the mission, soldiers. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
Damm turned and walked away.
The hallway fell silent and the men stared at one another. In the silence, Stephen couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to be with his wife and daughter. He attempted to balance the oath he swore to uphold the constitution against his current situation, the condition of America, and the overall confusion of everything. Hours passed by and his anger was kindled against his captors. He was no longer sure if he was one of the good guys or one of the bad guys. Most problems seemed irrelevant when weighed against the unknown and a lack of control. Not having liberty might have been the final straw. It was that thought that pushed him beyond the brink of his coping skills.
Stephen stood up. His hands dangling in front of him, uncuffed, shocked those in the hallway.
“Sit down, you’re going to get shot,” one of the captive soldiers said.
“Shut up, Brown,” Stephen responded. “I’m not about to take another second of this.”
Entering one of the classrooms, he could see that there was a soldier posted on top of one of the buildings catty-cornered from their position. Stephen exited the classroom and went back into the hallway.
“Where are you going, Gill?”
“The science lab, janitor’s closet, anywhere, really; I know this school. Hopefully it hasn’t been completely looted.”
Stephen shuffled through the empty halls and made his way to a broom closet. He spotted a mop and snatched it from the bucket it was resting in. The mop head was stiff and dry rotted from years of sitting in an empty closet. He stood it up in the corner at a steep angle and smashed the long wooden handle with his right foot. The force separated the mop head from the handle, and Stephen eagerly grabbed the wooden stick, which now had a long splintered shank for its tip. Looking up on the shelf, he saw a gallon bottle of bleach, which he took down and poured its contents into an empty spray bottle, which was labeled WINDOW CLEANER. After placing the bottle of bleach into his cargo pocket, he ran to another classroom and carefully looked outside, desperate to find the second spotter.
He couldn’t find him.
As Stephen was coming out of the classroom, he heard humming sounds coming from one of the men’s restrooms. The humming sound grew louder and louder as Stephen moved closer to the restroom. The closer he moved toward the sound, the more familiar the sound became. It was an old nineteen eighties song, titled “Rooster,” by Alice In Chains. The lyrics were being hummed until the chorus came alive as he hummed the words.
Stephen moved against the wall and pointed his spear toward the door. His right arm was tightly grasping the rear of the shank and resting against the wall. His palms became sweaty as a multitude of emotions began to flood his mind.
Am I about to kill an American? Can I live with myself after I do this?
Time was running out for Stephen. He had no time to prepare, either emotionally or physically, for what was about to happen.
How far is he from the door?
There was no running water, no flushing sounds, and no sink or handwashing capability. There was nothing Stephen could use to indicate how far from the door his captor was.
At the last moment, Stephen removed the spray bottle of bleach from his pocket and quietly laid his spear onto the floor.
The door opened.
The tall male soldier walked out and turned right. He was oblivious to Stephen’s presence.
Stephen crept up close, but the quiet hall could not conceal his footsteps, no matter how softly he tread.
“Hey!” Stephen shouted, his voice echoing down the long hall.
The man grasped his rifle and turned toward Stephen, who pointed the spray bottle into the man’s face. The spray nozzle was twisted into the closed position. Stephen, realizing he had fumbled, charged at his captor and struck him with his shoulder in the midsection, taking them both to the floor. Stephen grabbed for the soldier’s rifle, but he had a tight grip on the handguard.
The rifle was now the center of attention for both of the ground fighters. Stephen recognized the man’s face, but did not know who he was. The fact that they did not know one another heightened the threat level. Neither man felt comfortable about the other having possession of the combat weapon. Survival of the fittest was now the only theory regarding life and death. Natural selection had its place in the animal kingdom, but as primal as the fight was, only the strongest man would come out on top.
Stephen was on top of the man, with the rifle firmly planted between the two of them. Stephen latched his wrist into the sling and gripped it tightly.
The soldier found an opportunity to overcome his prisoner when he latched his wrist into the sling. He used his left leg as leverage against the wall to trade positions with Stephen. All it took was a grunt and a little core strength. With that, Stephen had the rifle, but it was still sandwiched between the two of them. The soldier closed the gap by hugging him tightly and locking his legs into Stephen’s legs. Stephen used his upper-body strength to push the soldier back, but the soldier retaliated by grabbing him around the throat with his hands.
Stephen had made his decision. It was his life or the soldier’s. One of them would be dead soon. This was the very fear that had haunted him for the past several months. That one day, American would be pitted against American once again. The great battle of our time that always seemed to repeat itself; the blessings of liberty overshadowed by the threat of tyranny.
The soldier had a tight grip around Stephen’s throat. He couldn’t breathe and his brain was short of blood supply. Soon his vision would white out and he would die from asphyxiation. Before this could happen, Stephen used his legs to push them both up the hallway. Just a few scoots an
d he could reach his makeshift spear. The soldier was so engaged in choking Stephen out that he missed Stephen’s intention. With his right hand, he released the soldier’s wrist and reached out for the splintered mop stick. It was already pointed in a forward direction, so he used his left hand to grab the soldier by the back of his head, and used his right hand to thrust the pointed mop handle deep into the soldier’s throat.
The soldier released Stephen and stood up, groping helplessly at his throat.
Two shots rang out. Stephen now had possession of the M4 service rifle. He put the soldier down with a double tap to the head.
Killing his first American wasn’t what he thought it would be. He had been preparing mentally for these eventualities for some time. Now that it had happened, Stephen just scooted closer to the wall and leaned up against it. His mind was numb and void of thought. Maybe it was his own near-death experience. Perhaps psychologically, he had been affected, or maybe it was all too much to take in at once. Whatever caused the numbing sensation must have begun abating, because the ringing that was already in his ears from shooting the rifle in an enclosed hallway was slowly becoming more and more noticeable. And with it, the radio in the soldier’s pocket was calling out to him.
“Echo Four Fox, come in… Echo Four Fox, I heard two shots, are you sierra?”
Sierra was the unit’s code for secure.
Stephen shook off the numbness when he remembered Sammie and Evan. He pulled the magazine out of the rifle’s magazine well and inspected the contents.
5.56 millimeter. NATO issue with steel penetrator. That’ll come in handy.
He patted the fallen soldier down and took notice of his name tag.
Corporal Brandon Ford.
He had a wallet in his back pocket. It was relatively nondescript, black and worn, made from cheap leather. Inside there were pictures. A lady and a small girl about Evan’s age. Stephen looked down at Ford’s left ring finger. The realization that he had just killed a father and a husband was more overwhelming than the initial impact.
Stephen wept.
When he again gathered himself, he continued to the science room and began the process of shuffling through the drawers and storage cabinets, his mind partially on home and partially on the second guard. Knowing he had little time, he moved as quickly as possible. He found a box of scissors at the moment he was about to stop his search.
On his way back to the rest of the prisoners, he considered the possibility that they were government sympathizers. Releasing them would mean trouble for Command Sergeant Damm’s mission.
I’m in a unique position where they may consider me an asset. I should be safe setting them free, but what about the fight for liberty? Leaving them tied up is counterproductive.
The thoughts kept swirling around his head. There was no right answer and there was no wrong answer. Nothing made sense anymore. All logic, morals, ethics, and rationale failed to make a connection. This was a new era, and with it must come a new way of thinking.
There can be no more good guys, no more bad guys, just raw survival. Primal man against primal man. That’s what life is like without liberty. The man with the better skills, the quickest hands, the biggest gun is the victor. No more voting, no more democracy or bureaucracy. This is beast mode. If I don’t kill him, he’ll kill me.
Stephen stopped at the classroom where he saw the spotter before. He could no longer see him and that gave cause for alarm.
Returning to the hall where the prisoners were located, he slowly peeked around the corner and saw everyone was still seated against the wall where he had left them. Boldly and defiantly, he walked towards them with his rifle at the ready position. Each of the prisoners was looking down as if they didn’t want to look at him. He slowed his pace and heightened his awareness.
What’s going on here? he continued to think.
Placing his rifle at the high ready position, he moved in towards the men. There were several dozen rooms in this hallway. It was extremely unsafe by any measure taken by a security-minded man trained in such things. He felt pressed for time. Sammie and Evan were swamping his mind. His love for his wife and daughter brought about bad decision making. Instead of clearing the rooms, he turned toward the men and asked, “Are we alone?”
“Put your hands in the air, soldier,” a voice commanded from behind him.
Those nearest to Stephen could hear him sigh.
His hands went into the air, along with them, his rifle.
He knew he had to act swiftly. The first thing the man behind him was going to do was to take the rifle.
Stephen felt the rifle get snatched out of his hand.
Check, he thought.
The next thing he’s going to do is pat me down. That’s when I have to respond.
Stephen felt the tip of the man’s rifle pointed into the small of his back. He was clearly holding a weapon in one hand and patting him down with the other. A wiser captor would have commanded him onto the floor to clasp his hands behind his back. Perhaps this man was distressed. Perhaps he was an amateur. Either way, he was making sloppy decisions, too.
Stephen used the distraction of the pat down to make his move. He quickly spun around and moved in toward the man in a single motion. It happened too quickly for the man with the rifle. He fired off a single round that caught one of the men that were sitting against the wall in the chest.
Stephen grabbed the rifle sling as he did before, and used his free hand to grab the scissors he had found in the science lab. This fight didn’t last as long as the previous one because this time Stephen wasn’t going to foil his defenses. Just before he moved to stab the man in the throat, he was taken down by the others, who had stood up and came to Stephen’s defense.
Stephen began cutting the zip-ties from the hands of the men. One by one, he freed them until he once again remembered his family. He handed the scissors to another soldier and encouraged him to continue cutting loose the soldiers. Stephen fled the building and set his sights toward home.
Several roadblocks littered the highway between the college and Murphysboro. Stephen was in an HMMWV that was left behind for the two soldiers at the community college. He used it for transport and it also got him through some of the checkpoints. Being a national guardsman gave some military access in the early parts of the Flip. It was Stephen’s acts of defiance that changed everything.
Once he had reached the eastern parts of Murphysboro’s city limits, he found himself at yet another checkpoint. Pulling in slowly meant he wouldn’t be raising suspicion levels. He kept his story the same at each checkpoint.
Rolling his window down, he spoke to the state police officer.
“I’m heading into town to pick up some MIA guardsmen.”
This time, there was something different about the checkpoint. There were far more electronics set up, and surveillance systems were up and running. The officer had an electronic notepad that was feeding him information in his left hand and a scanning device in his right hand. It wasn’t going to be possible to conceal his name. It was plastered across his chest, just above his pocket.
“First and last name,” the officer asked in a commanding voice.
“Stephen Gill.”
With his right hand, the officer scanned Stephen’s face.
Another officer was nearby, sitting in a patrol car. He exited his vehicle and walked over to the officer that scanned Stephen’s face.
Both men were now staring at the electronic notepad and looking at Stephen’s face, as if making a comparison.
“What unit are you with, Specialist?” the first officer asked.
“Transportation Company, out of the Carbondale Armory.”
“Your unit has been reported MIA and reclassified as FPCON Threat Level Red.”
“Well, you can see I’m still active and I’m no threat. Just trying to round up some MIAs.”
Stephen’s heart was pounding. He felt he was at a complete disadvantage.
“Sir, we’re go
ing to have to ask you to step out of the Hummer.”
Stephen slammed his foot onto the accelerator and busted through the roadblock. As he sped away, he could hear the familiar plinking sounds of firearm rounds impacting his lightly armored HMMWV. He wasn’t worried about their .40-caliber rounds penetrating his vehicle. He paid little attention to his mirrors, which would have revealed at least three patrol cars had given chase. As he sped down the highway, he met several military vehicles with soldiers that appeared to be rounding up people. Two of them stopped what they were doing and joined in on the chase.
Stephen was unarmed and had no plan for such an exigent circumstance. He drew closer and closer to his home, but he realized if he led them to his house, there could be a multitude of additional problems he would have to deal with. In that moment, he considered the impact of his daughter seeing her daddy arrested, or even worse, she could actually get wounded or killed by a stray bullet. Stephen turned down a road that was just a few blocks from his home. As soon as he turned, he was out of the line of sight of his pursuers. He jumped from the moving vehicle, only to have his right leg broken by a bad and uncoordinated tumble. He wasn’t trained in the art of rolling out of a moving vehicle.
With the pain causing him to wince, he struggled toward the front door of a house and attempted to open the door. It was secured, so he broke the glass window and jumped through the opening. His forearm was bleeding and he saw that he had sustained a major cut to many superficial veins in his right arm. Rushing through the living room to find the kitchen, he grabbed a towel that was lying on the countertop. He tightly wrapped his arm and left out the back door.
Sirens and police cars were blanketing the area. When he saw the opportunity, he limped his way to a shed in the backyard. Inside, he found a toolbox with a utility knife and a screwdriver. He placed both items in his pocket and looked out of the window, waiting for another opportunity to head closer to home.
Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) Page 5
