The World Bleeds: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 5)

by Boyd Craven III

  John nodded to the prisoner who had pleaded for his friend’s life and the microphone was handed to him.

  “This is Saul, these men are telling the truth. They do not care to kill you but I made a deal with them. Do not shoot at them and you will not be killed.”

  “Sounds too easy, doesn’t it?” Tex asked no one in particular.

  “Nothing’s ever easy,” Caitlin said, and then put her hand on Saul’s shoulder, “tell him if they move that unit, we will be forced to kill them and the deal is off.”

  Saul grunted and repeated the message. In response, the enemy APC’s engines roared and the APC moved to put its front in the way of the 12.7mm heavy machine gun.

  “Lighting him up,” Mouse said as the heavy gun began firing again.

  The APC can move, but not as fast as a speeding bullet and the second the tires and sides of the unit got pounded, the armor on the old unit failed in a spot. Smoke billowed out of the hatches and screams filled the radio, begging them to stop.

  “Unit neutralized.” Mouse’s voice was soft, in contrast to the look the ex-biker had.

  “Ok, moving.” John told them, opening the hatch, helping first Tex and then Caitlin out, as the rest of the team remained in the APC.

  “Light up those guard towers. Cut them down, and if they start firing rockets, put the rounds into the men. I made a promise, but I don’t expect to keep it if it means losing American lives.”

  “You got it boss,” Mouse shouted over the din of the motors and the cycling of the gun.

  “Hon, you ready to move it, or we going to get a table for three?” Caitlin asked.

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here before the guards—“ John’s voice was cut off as troops came running towards them, three abreast, firing carbines at them.

  They rolled behind the APC for cover and aimed between the big tires, wincing every time a ricochet got close.

  “Ut oh.” Tex grumbled, a finger pointing up.

  John looked up and saw the heavy gun moving towards the advancing troops. He expected them to break for cover, but they kept converging, spraying bullets until they had to reload mags. When the gun opened up, it was slightly louder than a locomotive making love to a 747, and the bullets shredded flesh in an explosion of gore.

  “That was ugly. They must have thought the burning APC was us,” John said with a sick look in his eyes.

  “Let’s go, we’re too far out in the open,” Tex said, checking his gear before standing up.

  +++++

  Michael couldn’t hear his father anymore, the shouting of the prisoners and the gunfire from outside was too much. Short bursts of gunfire would be answered by long strings of it, and a lot of cursing. Three simultaneous explosions made it feel like the oxygen was sucked out of the room, but Michael instinctively knew that if they had gone off inside this part of where they were held, they would be dead from the concussion alone.

  Through all of that, and the rising smell of smoke, he could hear the door at the end of the hallway kicked open. Those in the isolation cells fell silent and he could hear keys jingling. Pleas, then screams and gunfire abruptly ended the begging. The keys jingled again, shocked screams and gunfire. The keys jingled closer, the cycle repeated.

  “Dad, Dad, they’re shooting us.” Michael said.

  “Son, I want you to know I love you. I always will. Both your mother and I have always been proud of you.” Michael winced as a door closer was kicked by an inmate.

  Keys, screams, gunfire. The isolation unit screamed as a whole, as the realization hit everyone and Michael stood, uncertain what to do. He could hear the keys to his right now, and his father’s screams. A new sound over rode that. The sound of mortal agony and then two short gunshots ended the sound. Almost in a panic, Michael moved to the right side of the door, where the hinges were. He could tell the door opened in, and if he was lucky, he could make it hard for them before he died.

  The keys jingle/jangled just outside the door and as it opened, it was kicked back hard. Michael cringed, but pressed himself into the wall as much as he could, the heavy steel door almost slamming his head through the wall. He held his breath.

  “He’s in here somewhere, you take care of him, I’m going to get the rest.” A deep deep voice said, but Michael couldn’t recognize it over the screams coming from nearby.

  Sweat trickled down his face, running into his eyes making them sting. He waited, even as his brain was begging for him to breathe, to act, to flee. A barrel of a carbine slowly poked in front of the door, where Michael could see, and he pushed the steel door and latched on the end of the barrel, pushing it away. Gunfire strafed the ceiling and he pulled at the carbine’s barrel and strap with all of his strength until he felt the gun pop free from the others grip. In a panic, he over compensated it and it went flying across the room, skittering into a corner.

  Michael’s vision narrowed and he leapt for the gun, landing on his hands and knees, scrabbling, expecting blows to rain down on his head, back, legs. Maybe the taser, they loved using a taser, especially on him.

  “I won’t—“ Tears threatened to blind him as he started to exact his revenge for the death of his—

  “Dad?” Michael shouted, lowering the gun and running to his father, crushing him in an embrace. “But how?”

  “Big guy, tall, black. Looked like he could…” Michael’s dad stopped and looked to where Michael was staring.

  “We have to move if we’re going to get your kids out,” King said, his voice rumbling.

  King was in poor shape and bleeding from several places. What looked like a long furrow was cut through the skin of his left shoulder and he was dropping blood off his chin from a cut under his eye. Besides the ring of keys, he held a pistol.

  “Do you know where they are?” Michael asked him hopefully, trying to hand the carbine to his father.

  “I do, and you better keep that.” Michael’s father said, pushing the gun back into his arms.”

  An explosion made the floor shake and King looked at them, as the rest of the prisoners from that level ran for the staircase at the far end of the doorway.

  “We really have to go,” King told the Lewiston men.

  +++++

  John had split off from the group. His next target was right in front of him, a young soldier who despite the chaos was guarding the door to the women’s dorms. Using the shadows and watching the young NATO soldier, he moved as close as he could when he kicked an empty shell casing, causing it to skitter across the pavement and draw the attention of the man. The barrel of the gun rose, but with regret, John stitched the man with the M2, now running full out because his element of surprise was lost.

  As the guard slid to the ground leaving a red smear on the doorway, John was picking up the fallen gun, putting the M2’s sling across his shoulders. He checked to make sure there wasn’t another guard on the other side of the door before easing inside.

  Immediately the smell of unwashed bodies and filth almost overwhelmed him. Rows of keys lined the walls and John grabbed some meant for the first row. Not seeing anyone down the long narrow hallway that ran through the whole facility, he fumbled with the lock. When the lock clicked open, John slammed the door back in a hurry, covering the room in case somebody was lying in wait. The room was empty except for a ragged woman in filthy stained white pants and a cotton tank top. It was immediately obvious she hadn’t had a shower or wash in quite some time, yet she cowered in the corner terrified.

  “Ma’am. I’m here to get you out of here. Do you need help walking?” John asked, hoping, dreaming, wishing she could, because they didn’t have enough manpower to carry out a lot of wounded.

  “You… you’re American?” She asked in a hoarse whisper, not meeting his gaze.

  “Yes ma’am. We’re here to bust everyone out.”

  “Took you long enough,” the woman wiped her face with her forearm and stood up and gave John a long appraising look.

  It took her a few seconds to get the
courage to lift her eyes to meet his gaze, but when she did, she saw the sincerity in his features. She immediately relaxed inside and straightened her posture. She was as nearly as tall as John, but she’d missed a lot of meals and her skin hung loose from her frame. Still, there was something about her that John recognized. Despite her act moments ago, this woman had a backbone of steel and she had been biding her time.

  “Can you help me get everyone else out of here?” John asked, and had to raise his voice at the end as the big 12.7mm machine gun of the APC opened up again.

  “Yes, I just need a set of keys. There’s a master key on each ring.”

  John tossed her a set and then went from cell to cell. He didn’t waste time in explaining anything, but opening doors. Slowly, by twos and threes, women and young ladies left the cells and stood dumbfounded in the hallway, too scared to move without instruction.

  “Shake your asses’ ladies, we’re getting out of here!” The first woman that John freed had yelled over the growing din of voices.

  The smell was rising and John had more places to be, so he made sure he was the first one out of the door as he saw part of his team firing sporadically, towards the guard towers. Tex and Caitlin must have gotten the Men’s dorms freed, because as soon as the ladies saw the men, they surged past John, almost running. Husbands and wives met in fierce embraces. Daughters yelled for their fathers, and a flood of short people came boiling out of the building to the west of the woman’s dorms. Kids!

  Chapter 14 -

  Commander Lukashenko already had his go pack ready and on his back. He’d armed himself from his personal kit, what he’d always thought of as his get out alive pack. He knew his orders were a joke, he knew what he was doing was wrong, but he was a soldier, a career soldier. It was laughable that sixty men were assigned to manage a camp of many many thousands of people. When the facility had been a fully functioning federal prison, a normal staff consisted of hundreds of personnel. It had always made him nervous to be so outnumbered.

  He was a soldier, not a prison warden!

  His efforts of bringing Michael into the fold of most day to day operations had been sincere, because he wanted the others to realize that he was stuck just as bad as they were… but he knew the big plan, the big picture and as much as he loathed his orders, he felt they were necessary if America was to survive. Now, Michael had spit in his face, and having him moved into isolation seemed like it should have been done after the first incident. He tried, he tried to show the inmates his merciful side but even the kind Michael had turned on him… It had been a disaster and even his men were whispering behind his back, wondering if he was fit for command. “I should have just had the boy killed,” he thought to himself bitterly.

  Without America, the world would be a very scary place as the voice of ISIS spread like wildfire across the globe. Convert or die. England and Greece were the first to fall to civil war after America’s fall, while Lukashenko’s own men were being shipped stateside. Heavy bombing and eventually glassing Iran and Saudi Arabia with high yield nuclear bombs was the only thing that made the Jihadists pause long enough for the EU to regroup and fight back. If only he could have gotten a pause here in this facility, he may not be running for his life with a pistol style AK and an original AK with a dozen mags and half a tin of ammo in his pack. Every move he made sounded like wind chimes he clinked so much.

  He knew he was dangerously overloaded, but by the sounds, the explosions and the destruction at least battalion strength was attacking. It never occurred to him that such a small team, well equipped with intelligence could do so much damage. Never the less, he was bugging out before the inmates turned angry and tore him limb from limb.

  As Lukashenko ghosted out of the now darkened offices and into the smoky moonlight, trying to make his way past the high security lockup, when the doors bolted open and the prisoners there emptied out, following the large crowd heading towards the open front gate. He almost paused to shout, but everywhere he looked, he saw dead or disabled men from his unit and if the inmates/workers/prisoners were all loose, they’d tear him and his men to pieces. If he had any men left.

  He was backing into the shadows when he saw a large block of a man, as dark as night exit the building right in front of him, King. He was followed by a tall but gaunt white man, one he recognized as being one of the boat people that the National Guard had dropped off in the beginning. He was a man who loved to quote scripture aloud and spread dissention with the population at large. The commander himself had given the order to put him in the isolation units of the old hospital ward converted into solitary. When the third figure emerged, it was all he could do not to empty his gun into the man-child. Michael!

  +++++

  John was working against the flow of bodies at this point. Any of the NATO forces were dead or had surrendered and were escorted to a holding cell. Some of them had looked relieved which puzzled John when he first happened across it, but he was letting Caitlin and Tex keep track of them as John went building to building, making sure everyone who wanted to leave could. Some folks were too scared to move at first, and he left them figuring they would come out on their own as they left the gates open afterwards.

  Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Michael’s father and Michael, exit a building just behind a large black man who was covered in blood, carrying a pistol. John almost called out, in surprise and joy to see his neighbor alive and safe. If Michael had found him, had they found Linny and Bret? He moved through the crowd of near panicked people towards two of his own, trying to scan for threats.

  “John?” Michael shouted pointing so his father could follow his line of sight.

  “Michael, have you seen the kids?” John screamed back, scores of people separating them as they fled the compound.

  “No, not since they separated us when we first got here.” Michael called back.

  The sound of the heavy machine gun opening up again was deafening. They must have reloaded and now one of the remaining guard towers was being turned into small wooden toothpicks by the relentless fire. Everyone winced when an explosion rocked the disintegrating building, but the crowd kept moving.

  +++++

  Lukashenko had found a good spot to follow Michael unobserved, and was shocked to his roots when a man in black combat dress stepped out to the crowd and called for him. Their familiarity had almost sent him into a fit of rage, but then he looked closer at the gaunt man by Michael’s side. The family resemblance was unmistakable. Both of them were trouble makers and now one of the men attacking his command was speaking with…

  Lukashenko didn’t believe in coincidences and he now had three people literally within his sights who had brought ruin and potentially stranded him here in a foreign land. His hands barely shook as he raised the AK pistol, using both hands to steady things.

  +++++

  Michael’s father saw something out of the chaos, burning buildings, press of bodies fleeing and screams. A gun barrel broke into the moonlight from the deep shadows, and the commander stepped into the moonlight. His face was a rictus of anger, pain and hate. The barrel swung in their direction over the crowd of running people as the commander stepped up on a stone planter. With horror, he realized that Michael was right in the line of fire. He tried to scream, but there was too much noise and as he tried to push his son down and out of the way, bullets tore through his malnourished body instead.

  He only felt the first two impacts as pain. Falling, he saw his son’s shocked expression. Pistol fire was louder than the immediate crowd, and a dark blur launched itself towards the commander’s location. King. All strength seemed to flow out of him. Too weak to move, every breath labored, Michael took his hand and pulled himself close to his father.

  “Proud of you son,” was the last thing he whispered to Michael, before falling back. He closed his eyes for one last, long sleep.

  +++++

  The Homestead Kentucky

  “Baby, you remember the young man that was
with John, down in Alabama?” Sandra asked.

  “Yeah, wasn’t he one of the ones in the camps? I’m still waiting on hearing news on the progress” Blake asked as Chris crawled up on his lap near the radio.

  “Yes, that’s him. We’ve been getting updates on the scrambled channel,” Sandra said, sitting down and ruffling her son’s hair, “Alabama’s camps have minimal loss of life, most of it being the NATO forces who didn’t surrender. Michael and the kids he was taking care of made it out fine.”

  “Something’s bothering you. I can tell,” Blake told his wife.

  “In the escape, Michael’s father was killed. There is no sign of his mother, and the commander of the facility got away.”

  “Oh no,” Blake said and stood to stretch.

  Patty who had given up her seat slid back in and switched to the scrambled frequency and soon updates were pouring in from the southern parts of the country. They all listened for a while before Blake took Chris by the hand and pulled him into the kitchen. The news was good, but not good enough that he wanted to depress his son with.

  “Daddy, what are we doing in here?” Chris asked Blake, who was pulling some supplies out of the cupboard.

  “There’s a kid in Alabama who lost his parents tonight buddy. I don’t know if you remember what that’s like, before mom and I… but I think there’s something we can do together. That boy loved to go cat fishing, let’s make us some stink bait and dough balls and try our luck with a bunch of the kids in the next few days.”

  “The kids? Really? Will momma let you go without her?”

  “Who says I’m not going, you think a girl can’t go fishing?” Her tone was stern but her eyes twinkled and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.