Warfare Season: An Apocalyptic Thriller

by Eastwood, Blaze

A large SUV swung down the alley and headed his way speedily. He thought about hiding behind the trash cans again, but they had already seen him, anyway. The driver looked at Austin as he drove by, but he didn't say anything. Then the SUV stopped, just a few yards behind Austin. The driver got out of the vehicle and opened the back door.

  Austin thought about running, particularly if the driver was pulling a rifle out of the car. He kept walking; his head looking over his shoulder.

  The driver got back in the SUV and sped away.

  He got to the end of the second alley. He would now have to cross a busy street. He took a look around the area, and then he stepped out and crossed the street as soon as he saw an opening.

  The closed drug store half a block to his left was being looted.

  A military vehicle was approaching from around the corner. He was barely out of the street when the vehicle started moving toward him. He started down the next alley and looked back. The military vehicle zoomed past him and pulled into the parking lot of the drugstore, towards the looting crowd.

  He sighed in relief and moved forward, encouraging himself every step of the way. Five days, he thought. Just five days, and then I'll be there. If I can make it one block down, I can make it a mile down, and then ten miles, and so on. One step at a time. I can do this.

  Chapter 6

  It was fully dark. Even though it was the city, the power outage had brought down the street lights.

  Austin couldn't remember what the weather forecast called for regarding the next week. But since it was May, rain was unlikely. Where he lived, rain was always more common in April than May. Either way, rain was the least of his concerns. In fact, it would make him less visible.

  He pulled out his phone and tried calling his uncle. There was still no signal. Text messaging didn't work either.

  He had spoken to his uncle before about coming to stay with him in a scenario such as this. But he still wanted to confirm it. Showing up unannounced could get him shot and killed. If other desperate people were trying to evacuate the city to head for the country, there would be trespassers on the farm, and he might be mistaken for one of them if he just showed up.

  An emergency camp was approaching straight ahead. He would have to go slightly out of his way in order to avoid the large number of military personnel that were camped out in front of it. He turned left and walked around.

  * * *

  Inside the emergency camp, there were now seven hundred people crammed in together. Enough of the guards were busy enough to not notice Thomas trying to escape. It was also widely assumed that no one would dare attempt to escape.

  Another fight had broke out. Thomas couldn't hold back any longer. He would escape or die trying. Fortunately for him, the emergency camp being used was not escape-proof. Although the conditions on the inside were like prison, the building structure itself was not designed like one.

  He managed to climb out a window by sneaking into one of the off-limits backrooms.

  He watched the headlights move across the outer wall as a pair of military vehicles pulled out of the parking lot to go out and collect more civilians.

  The damage he had endured from being on the losing end of too many fights had left him moving slowly and uncomfortably.

  The main gate was being patrolled by soldiers, so he climbed a fence in back. He paused when he got to the top, trying to remember how he had managed to get past the barbed wire. He had done it before as a kid, but that was a long time ago.

  He figured it out and made it to the other side.

  Now the bigger problem would begin; how to survive on the run.

  * * *

  After walking around the camp, Austin managed to get back on track, avoiding the streets and back roads for the most part.

  He spotted a cemetery a block away to his left, then stopped, struck by a memory. He walked toward it slow and easy. After scoping it out, he made his way inside by scaling a wall and jumping a short fence.

  He had known a group of people that had told him stories about sleeping in the cemetery, and if they had gotten away with it, there was a chance that he would as well.

  It was late. He would have to try.

  Not having an odometer made him have to guess at the distance he had traveled so far. It felt like ten miles, but in reality, it was really more like three.

  Blisters had already formed on his lower ankles. It had been a month since he had walked more than one mile at a time.

  He walked deeper into the graveyard. He wanted get to the center in order to avoid any onlookers from the streets.

  Military vehicles would swerve around the corner and briefly shine their headlights in Austin's direction as they made the turn, but they never seemed to notice him.

  He sat down and popped open a can of beef ravioli. Although he preferred it hot, he had gotten used to eating it cold and out of the can since he was sixteen years old when his parents would have guests over for dinner and he would have to wait it out in his room for hours at a time; something that happened often. He used one of the disposable plastic spoons he had brought with him.

  Even though he had chugged water before he left, the three miles of walking had already left him feeling dehydrated. He drank a 16oz bottle of water in a matter of seconds.

  Already exhausted, his shoulders were slumped. The empty bottle of water was dangling in his hand as he stared straight ahead, still trying to catch his breath. He was in good shape, but the anxiety made his breathing more rapid than what it should have been.

  He was tired, but not sleepy. The ground was his bed. Bringing a pillow and sleeping bag along with all his other stuff would have been simply too much. Thanks to a very unaccommodating childhood friend he had growing up, this wouldn't be the first time he had to sleep without a pillow or blanket.

  As he lied there staring up at the sky, he began to doubt that sleep would ever come, but then he would just think about those times when he would crash over at his friend's place; the unaccommodating one. He had also done it before at camp; again, in his childhood. If he could coax himself into a slumber back then under those conditions, he could do it now.

  His major concern was being spotted by the groundskeeper on night patrol. It was possible that there was no one on duty that particular night, especially with everything that had been happening. After all, not even the grocery stores were open.

  He brushed an ant off his arm and closed his eyes. He practiced deep breathing exercises, trying to get his pulse to slow down.

  The air still retained its smoky fragrance from the recently extinguished fires throughout the town.

  The thought of quitting and turning himself into the emergency camp was continuously running through his mind, and if things got much worse, he would probably have to resort to that. Or would he?

  For a minute, he had begun to convince himself that he was suffocating, but then he realized that he was suffering from an anxiety attack.

  Eventually, he managed to ease his mind somewhat and drift into a sleepy state. But the anxiety was still there.

  As he began to doze off, an almost epiphany-like feeling swept over him; a horrid epiphany. He started to process everything that had been happening. Feeling way in over his head, he began to question his choices and he started to doubt his decisions. What if he didn't make it out of the whole mess alive? Even if he did, life would never be the same.

  Chapter 7

  It was daylight. He woke up surprised that he had actually gotten some sleep. He looked at the digital clock on his cell phone: 7:50.

  Another ant crawled on him, passing over his shoe. Under normal conditions, he would shudder at the thought of bugs crawling on him all night as he slept, but now, it was the least of his concerns.

  He skeptically opened his bag, anticipating a horde of ants to be crawling through all of his stuff. They were not. He sighed in relief and pulled out a pack of pop tarts for breakfast. He followed that with a few sips of water, and then he headed out of
the cemetery the same way he came in.

  He got about five steps out before a voice from across the street shouted at him. It was Thomas. “Hey!” he signaled Austin, trying to get him to wait.

  Austin kept walking, but Thomas kept jogging until he caught up with him.

  “Hey, could you help me out?”

  Austin drew his switchblade, drawing the attention of Thomas to it.

  “Oh, I don't want any trouble,” Thomas said. “Because I saw that you have the big bag there, and I could just really use some food.”

  Austin looked hesitant.

  Thomas smiled. “I'm not gonna rob you, man. I would have just sneaked up from behind you if I was gonna do that.”

  Austin put his switchblade away. “I really don't have that much.”

  “Could you spare what you can?” he asked.

  Austin reluctantly agreed.

  “Okay, let's not do it here, though,” Thomas suggested. “We need to get off the main street. There are military vehicles patrolling this area like you wouldn't believe.”

  Austin turned right.

  “No, this way,” Thomas insisted.

  Austin turned and walked onto a one-way side street, directed by Thomas.

  Austin grabbed a pack of pop tarts and handed it to Thomas.

  “Can I get a water bottle?” Thomas asked, looking inside Austin's bug-out bag.

  Austin handed him a water bottle.

  Thomas opened the cap and started drinking the water right away. “It's been crazy.”

  Austin nodded. “It's been too crazy for me. I'm actually thinking about going to one of those emergency camps.”

  “Don't go to any of those.”

  “Well, pretty soon I might not have much choice.”

  “I just came from there. That's the last place you wanna go.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “It's not that complicated to get out; not the one I was in, anyway.”

  “So I guess the complicated part is staying out, because they'll throw you right back in with serious consequences if you get caught,” Austin said.

  “Can I get some more?” Thomas asked. “What else you got?”

  Austin handed him a can of beef ravioli and a plastic spoon. “I've gotta get going.”

  “Wait, can I get something for the road?”

  “I already gave you something for the road,” Austin responded. He was trying to sound as polite as possible while trying to be firm at the same time.

  “I could still use some more.”

  Austin went on his way.

  “Get him!” Thomas shouted. “Get him!”

  Austin heard two different sets of footsteps racing up to him from behind. He turned around just in time to see a stranger getting ready to charge into him.

  Austin had now put it together. Thomas had an accomplice all along. The plan was to pretend to be at least halfway nice so that Austin would let his guard down. It was an elementary plan at best; sounded like SOCIOPATH 101, in fact. Yet, Austin still fell for it, but not because he was unintelligent; it was because he was too nice in a world full of sadistic cruelty. Still, perhaps he should have known better. When someone had to convince you against your intuition that they weren't going to rob you, it usually meant they most certainly were going to rob you.

  The accomplice grabbed at the bag, trying to pull it away from Austin. He hit Austin in the face with one hand and grabbed at the bag with the other.

  Austin held on to the bug-out bag like his life literally depended on it, because in many ways, it did. He held on to it with both hands, taking the hits and not retaliating with any hits of his own. It was better to not risk losing his upper hand on the bug-out bag.

  Now Thomas had caught up to them, grabbing at the bag and landing some hits of his own.

  Austin couldn't remember where he had placed his switchblade. He either put it in his pocket or in the bug-out bag. If he reached for his pocket now, that would only leave one of his hands on the bug-out bag. Whenever he put it in his pocket, he would usually clip it on so that it wouldn't fall out. He briefly looked down at his front pockets, trying to spot the clip hanging on to his outer pocket, but his long shirt covered the area.

  He managed to kick Thomas in the shin, causing him to fall back and lose his grip on the bag. Austin immediately reached down into his right pocket, frantically reaching around for the knife. He couldn't find it. He was about to give up when he decided to dig deeper. He found it. The switchblade had been resting on the other side of his pocket, sunken deep to the bottom. The clip had not been attached. He drew the blade promptly.

  Thomas and his accomplice backed off.

  “Alright,” Thomas pleaded. He was walking backwards with his hands in front of him. “We're sorry.”

  Just as they were acting like they were going to walk away, they each picked up a broken tree branch from the grassy area to their right. The broken tree branches were the size of baseball bats and could be used just the same. Once again, they both charged towards Austin, swinging the club-like pieces of lumber at him.

  Thomas swung and missed.

  The accomplice also swung and missed, but this time, Austin was able to counter strike, slicing the accomplice's forearm. The accomplice let out a desperate cry of pain, dropping the tree branch to the ground.

  Austin took another swing at him, this time slashing his throat. The accomplice's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lost his balance and grasped for air.

  Now too terrified to get close, Thomas threw the tree branch at Austin and missed him, hitting his own partner instead.

  Austin dropped his bug-out bag and charged toward Thomas, easily catching up to him.

  Thomas desperately wanted to run, but he didn't want to turn his back on the person wielding a knife. He had thrown away his only means of a weapon. His eyes turned to sheer terror. He now turned his back to run, but it was too late.

  Austin slashed at Thomas, cutting his shoulder.

  “AAAAAAAHHHH!” Thomas screamed. He briefly looked back, and then he looked forward and started running again.

  Austin took another swing at Thomas, scraping the back of his neck. Thomas screamed again and kept running.

  Not wanting to get too far away from the bug-out bag he had dropped and left behind, Austin stopped chasing him. He jogged back to his bug-out bag and picked it up.

  Thomas looked back one more time, before disappearing down the street.

  The lifeless accomplice was lying face-up on the concrete in a small sea of blood. His neck was painted red.

  With all of the carnage Austin had seen recently, he thought nothing of leaving the corpse right there out in the open. It didn't bother him that there might be some forensic evidence left behind on the scene. Crooked systems and corrupt laws didn't matter, especially not now. The important thing was that he knew it was self-defense.

  Had it happened a few weeks earlier, it would be a whole different story. But in an apocalyptic event, man-made laws didn't really matter anymore.

  He cleaned off his blade and kept walking, more hurriedly than before due to the added adrenaline he had just received.

  His blisters were really throbbing now. He wished he could take a day—or a week—off to rest. But there were no days off. The thought of taking painkillers for blisters sounded absurd to him, but he didn't have much choice. He popped a painkiller and continued on.

  * * *

  The sergeant had called Corporal Johnson into his office.

  “Corporal,” the sergeant addressed. “I need this area clear. We were not given orders to stand down, so that's not what we're going to do. Word has it that there are still quite a few terrorists roaming the streets. There are dead bodies lying out there because these people are killing each other. I want everybody off the streets. We can worry about the rural areas later, but we need to clear the city streets. As far as I'm concerned, anyone that refuses to cooperate with us by allowing us to place them in an emergency camp
is on the same side as the terrorists. These people need to either be in an emergency camp or dead.”

  “Yes sir!” Corporal Johnson exclaimed.

  “I'm not coming with you, so you're gonna have to run this show for a little while until we link up. There's a squad waiting for you outside.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The troops gathered and moved out.

  * * *

  It was now afternoon. The bright sun felt like it was hitting Austin hard, draining him even more. His back was slightly slouched and his shoulders were sagging with weary discomfort. He had gone through more water than he had hoped he would need, but he still had enough to get him through the journey, assuming he made it to his Uncle's place within the next four days.

  A sign that welcomed him to the next town was hanging several yards ahead of him. He was officially out of the city.

  The area was eerily quiet. He stumbled upon what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Of course, it might not have been completely vacant, but he needed to get out of the hot sun.

  It still amazed him at how fast a person's life could totally change over the course of a week, all due to one large series of chaotic events.

  Occasionally, he would try to piece together how the riots started. Had they been planned years ahead of time? It didn't really matter, but he was curious.

  Although he couldn't see any faces looking at him through the window frames, he couldn't help but think that the building had eyes. He walked right through the torn down fence that had once barricaded the abandoned building, keeping close watch over the windows to make sure no one was getting ready to aim their guns at him. Even with his sunglasses on, the glare of the sun was intense enough to make him squint when he looked up toward the sky.

  The painkillers he had taken in the morning were scheduled to have worn off by now, but perhaps because of the adrenaline, he didn't notice his blisters for the time being.