It had been a long time since the last break, and Chrissy needed to use the bathroom. She knew the other people around her weren’t waiting to stop and had been relieving themselves on the truck floor. She could smell it and occasionally had to shift her body away from the warm streams of urine trickling past. She had curled up in the arms of an elderly woman and eventually fell asleep. The kindhearted woman stroked Chrissy’s hair and sang soothingly to her until she drifted off to sleep. Chrissy wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn the old woman called her Angela several times during the night. It seemed strange, but Chrissy was too exhausted to correct her.
Chrissy had been separated from her brother and grandparents two summers ago on a camping trip to Yellowstone. She’d met a younger girl in an RV park along the way, and they became the best of friends. April had a baby sister, and Chrissy loved playing with her. Her mother’s boyfriend, Chad, had befriended April’s dad, and they agreed to let Chrissy stay with April’s family for the rest of the trip into Yellowstone. Chrissy tried to go back to her RV to say goodbye to her brother and grandparents but for some reason Chad wouldn’t let her. He and April’s dad told her that April’s family was leaving right away and she wouldn’t have time to say goodbye. Chrissy thought it was odd but was happy to hang out with her new friend’s family.
Chrissy began to worry when April’s dad said he would spank her if she asked anyone about when they were going to get to Yellowstone. Chrissy was scared of April’s dad and made it a point to stay close to April whenever he was around. When everyone laid down in bed at night, April’s dad would look at her funny. One afternoon when they were eating lunch at a rest stop, April’s dad caught Chrissy alone in the RV and began tickling her. Chrissy kept telling him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. As Chrissy began to cry, April’s mom came into the RV. April’s dad swore he was just tickling her and apologized to Chrissy for not stopping. April’s mom got really mad at April’s dad and said something about him being sick and how he had promised the last time that he would get better.
The next day, April’s parents got into a big fight. He left with some guys and never came back. When Chrissy tried to be nice to April’s mom to help her calm down, April’s mom starting screaming at her and saying it was all her fault. Chrissy tried her best to not make her mad, but April’s mom starting slapping and kicking her. Chrissy ran away as fast as she could and didn’t stop until she couldn’t hear April’s mom screaming at her.
Chrissy was lost. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. She didn’t know where she was or how to get back to her grandparents. She walked for hours and eventually made her way into a small town and started knocking on doors, desperately hoping someone would help her. Eventually, someone let her in and drove her to a nearby church that had been converted into a homeless shelter. Chrissy was welcomed in, and the church staff took care of her. She bounced back and forth between three church families and lived moderately well for the better part of a year.
Chrissy had taken a liking to the church staff and enjoyed helping out with the smaller children at the homeless shelter. One day while she was playing with a little three-year-old girl, a bunch of men with guns came into the church gymnasium and started firing at the ceiling. They kept screaming, “Get your hands up! Nobody move!” The preacher obeyed and slowly walked over to the men, trying to reason with them. One of the men with guns shot him in the chest, and the preacher fell to the gym floor. Although the sight of so much blood frightened her, Chrissy wisely snatched up her little playmate to protect her
A fearful silence hung over the gym. Those who had witnessed the death of their beloved preacher knew they had no choice but to cooperate or be killed themselves. The kidnappers forced them all to walk outside and line up in two lines. The slavers sized all of them up. Any people who were sick, weak, or disabled were shot in the head. Chrissy hugged the little girl to her chest to keep her quiet, raising her gaze from the ground only once in an attempt to make eye contact with the child’s parents for reassurance.
Fifty men, women, and children were loaded into the back of the semi and locked in muted darkness, the bullet holes in the roof providing an eerie star-like illumination. Chrissy returned the little girl to her desperate parents, found a place to sit, and began to cry. She missed her mother and her older brother, Timmy. She missed her grandparents most of all. They weren’t really her grandparents; they were the parents of her mom’s boyfriend. They insisted on being called Grammy and Pappaw. They were the closest thing Chrissy had to loving caretakers. She tried her hardest not to think about the evil men and what they would do when they opened the door to let them out. She had no idea where she was going or what was going to happen to her.
Chrissy tried her best to wiggle free from the old woman’s sweaty embrace without waking her, but it didn’t work.
“Angela? What are you doing, dear?”
“My name’s Chrissy, ma’am.”
“Oh, Angela, don’t be silly. You always like to play your little make-believe games. Is something wrong, dear?”
“I just want to stand up and stretch, ma’am.”
“Sweetheart, you start calling me Granny. Stop being silly.”
“Uh… you’re not my grandmother.” Chrissy practically whispered it for fear of angering the confused woman.
“Angela, dear, be a good girl and ask your father to pull the van over. I need to use the restroom.”
Chrissy finally understood what was going on; the poor old woman had something wrong with her mind. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the men with guns had killed all the old people. Chrissy was scared for the lady; if she acted like this in front of slavers, they would surely kill her.
“Granny, Daddy told me earlier that we’ll stop at the next gas station. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and it will be a long time before we can stop.
“Such a little sweetheart; there’s my good girl.”
“He wants you to get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we stop.”
“Okay, dear. That’s probably a good idea.”
For the first time since all this madness began, Chrissy began to feel a bit more confident and less fearful. She had a purpose now, something to keep her mind occupied. She had to take care of this woman and make sure she was safe.
As the truck slowed to a stop and the cab door slammed shut, Chrissy’s fear returned with a vengeance. Once the engine was silenced, she was blanketed by the frightened mewing of her fellow captives. Angry people could be heard pleading for divine intervention.
“They can’t do this! We have to do something!”
“Shut up! You’re gonna get us all killed!”
The doors opened and two rounds were fired into the roof of the truck.
“Get the fuck out! NOW!”
“Listen here! You can’t do this to us! This isn’t right! I demand to…”
Another shot was fired; silence followed.
When will these people figure out that the bad guys will kill them if they don’t keep their mouths shut? Chrissy closed her eyes and prayed.
“Anybody else have any fucking demands? Huh? Anyone? No? Good, that’s what I thought. Hurry the fuck up and get out!”
The first two people stepped out. Both were grabbed and flung to the ground. “You’re not moving fast enough! Hurry up! We don’t have all day! Everybody out! Get in a double line, now!”
Chrissy started to panic. She had to come up with something quick to keep the old woman safe. “Granny. Granny! It’s time to wake up now. C’mon, let’s get going.”
“Are we there, dear? I hope your father found a place to eat. I’m very hungry.”
“Uh… yeah, we’re at a restaurant now. They want us to line up outside so they can get the tables ready. We need to be quiet and let them figure out where we’re gonna sit.”
“Okay, Angela, that sounds nice.”
Chrissy helped the old woman to her feet, and they shuffled from the truck and stood in line. Everyone was starin
g at the ground, terrified to speak or move a muscle.
Chrissy held the old woman’s hand as they waited quietly on the second row. Chrissy’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what she would do if the old woman made a scene. If she couldn’t keep her quiet, she wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to stick her neck out and run the risk of getting shot.
Chrissy cautiously raised her head and surveyed the scene around her. They had stopped in the biggest parking lot she’d ever seen. There were signs all around. The one that caught her eye said “We Hope You Enjoy Your Stay at the Magic Kingdom.” There was another one with a picture of Mickey Mouse on it but she couldn’t make out the words.
The bad guys brought us to Disney World?
The group waited in silence for several minutes while the slavers talked with another group of men with guns. Then they just stood there and said nothing; it looked like they were waiting for something to happen. Chrissy began to shake. Are they going to kill us?
Chrissy glanced to her right and saw the apparent cause of the delay. An important-looking man was slowly walking toward the group. He shook hands with one of the slavers. The slaver gestured toward the group and the two men started to walk up and down the rows of frightened people. As they made their way down the second row, Chrissy let go of the woman’s hand, tears of shame streaming down her grimy face. She didn’t know what she would do if the old woman got confused and drew attention to herself. She prayed harder than she ever had before that the old woman would remain quiet. If they shot her, Chrissy would blame herself for the rest of her life. Chrissy heard the two men talking as they approached.
“You should be able to get a lot of work out of them. Plenty of good, healthy men to do some labor; plenty of women to fuck when they’re not cleaning.”
“Why’d you bring kids? What am I supposed to do with kids?”
“I’m sure you’ll find use for them; they’ll grow up soon enough. Better to train ’em now so they learn what’s expected of them when they get older. You can also train them to do other things… if you catch my drift.”
“How much you want for the lot of them?”
“I have a list of things in high demand on our routes. We can discuss that over dinner.”
“Of course. How many men you got with you?”
“Six.”
“Round ’em up and we’ll take them to the chow hall. I bet you guys could use some drinks and time to unwind after your long trip.”
“Damn straight! Lead the way.”
The men were herded toward a building a hundred yards away.
The man in charge walked to the front of the group of slaves he had just agreed to purchase. He said something to two of his men and shook his head. The two men ran forward ten yards, stopped, and raised their arms, pistols in each hand. In a deafening roar of bullets, all six of the evil monsters that Chrissy had feared with every fiber of her being dropped to the ground.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the Unified American Empire has decided to put an end to the slave trade. I never tolerated it, and I think it’s time they did something about it. You’re all free men and women. My name is Benjamin Black, and I’d be pleased to have you join our community.
CHAPTER FOUR
Kaliz Mubbarak stopped his pickup truck in the parking lot of an apartment complex in Sausalito, California. He didn’t honk the horn or get out of the vehicle. He and his partner sat in silence, waiting for the other two members of their team. Kaliz discreetly scanned the crowded parking lot for any sign of movement and found none in the hushed, shadowy hour before sunrise. A minute later, his teammates exited their apartment and climbed into the back of the oversized cab. No words were spoken for a full ten minutes. They had learned to leave the talking to Kaliz. They didn’t even know each other’s real names, only the aliases they had adopted to maintain their cover. All four were American citizens. Their families had immigrated to the former United States when they were small children, and they had grown up behind enemy lines. All had attended American schools, played sports, had girlfriends, and voted in local, state, and national elections. Kaliz had even spent two years as an infantryman in the United States Army. They’d spent their entire lives hiding their true nationality and passed themselves off as Spaniards. In their youth, they spent many long hours learning to speak Spanish and had mastered the accent, even their English tainted by a touch of the foreign tongue.
Behind closed doors, however, they diligently practiced their Islamic faith. They prayed to Mecca five times a day, observed Ramadan fervently every year and, most importantly, their parents trained them to join the ranks of The Silent Warriors. All four men were experts with pistols, shotguns, and rifles. One of their favorite childhood pastimes involved competing to see who could reassemble weapons the fastest after their parents took them apart and scrambled the many pieces. Kaliz won every time.
When The Star of Allah brightened the night sky over the Eastern Seaboard, Kaliz and his team were fortunate enough to watch the entire event unfold live on television. They celebrated for the better part of a week as they watched the country crumble into ruins. Kaliz’s teammates could barely contain their excitement, eager to execute their plan immediately. They’d spent years preparing for The Day of Judgment and couldn’t understand why Kaliz wanted to wait. Kaliz told them that patience was now the only plan. The Star of Allah didn’t cripple the West Coast, and they didn’t have the luxury of darkness and confusion like their brothers on the other side of the country. They simply needed to alter their agenda. The crippled nation would not be repaired anytime in the near future; if anything, it would only get worse before it got better. Kaliz spent eighteen months crafting his plan to perfection. Every member of his team not only knew his own role, but had memorized the responsibilities of his fellow teammates as well to ensure that every facet of the plan would be carried out should one of them fall.
The day had finally come. The destruction they would unleash would not only further cripple the infrastructure of the country, but it would also deface a national icon, a symbol recognized in every corner of the land. Kaliz’s men were not aware of the entire operation; they had no idea they were only one half of the plan. Another cell leader would execute the same scheme from the opposite end of the bridge.
Kaliz’s two-year stint in the infantry had been part of this covert operation. He used his military connections to smuggle the equipment he needed for his plan. He managed to steal a dozen grenades, assorted weapons and ammunition, and the grand prize – a case of C-4 plastic explosives. His counterpart on the other team had managed to do the same. Kaliz had manipulated and bribed many people to acquire the items and had even killed two men to do so. He was meticulous in his planning and was never a suspect in any of the thefts or murders.
The truck traveled south down the 101 and waited patiently in line at the checkpoint to the Golden Gate Bridge. With much of the interstate highway system in ruins on the other side of the country, Regional Governor Jimenez closely guarded critical bridges and freeway intersections in his territory. The Golden Gate Bridge had a platoon of soldiers at both ends. Every vehicle was stopped; the driver and occupants required to show identification in order to pass. For the initial six months after The Day of Judgment, every vehicle was thoroughly searched. The process took hours; angry citizens had to add at least two hours to any trip that required transit across the bridge. Kaliz simply bided his time, waiting for complacency to kick in. Slowly but surely, the thorough searches became less and less diligent. Without a single incident on The Golden Gate Bridge in eighteen months, the soldiers began to relax. They saw the same familiar faces day after day and recognized the same cars traversing the bridge. Kaliz’s only purpose for driving back and forth across the bridge every day was to bolster his position as a regular to the soldiers guarding the bridge. At first, his truck was searched five days a week, both coming and going. As the months passed, five days became four, then three until it become once a week, if ever. Kaliz
became so familiar with the guards that when he pulled up to the checkpoint, he would roll down his window with his driver’s license in hand and the soldiers would simply wave him through without even stopping him.
Today was a day like any other. He pulled up to the checkpoint and produced his driver’s license. The young soldier waved him through and Kaliz drove on. When he was two car lengths past the checkpoint, he stopped the truck and got out. His partner in the front seat exited with him.
“Marco! What are you doing? Keep it moving man! C’mon!” The young soldier was visibly frustrated by the delay.
“So sorry, Private Morris, the engine died on me,” said Kaliz in his polished Spanish accent.
“Try to get it in the other lane quickly. I gotta keep the line moving.”
“Yes, of course. So sorry about this.”
Kaliz glanced into the back seat and waved his men out of the truck. His team members stood at the back of the truck, pushing as Kaliz steered the vehicle. Once the truck was blocking all the lanes, Kaliz put the vehicle in park and unzipped his jacket so he could quickly access his tactical vest. The others retrieved their bags from the truck bed and did the same.
“Marco! What the hell, man? Rush hour’s coming and I don’t need this shit!”
Kaliz and his team took their time getting ready. Nothing about their movements aroused suspicion, only frustrated confusion from the soldiers at the check point. Once his team members stopped and made eye contact with him to signal their readiness, Kaliz nodded his head and the attack began.
Resistance na-2 Page 4
