World War III

by Heath Jannusch

  “You pulled me away from a nuclear strike to tell me that you still don’t know anything?” asked Hamilton. He was about to return to his office when Moore’s voice stopped him.

  “Not exactly Mr. President. We do know that she’s no longer at the ski resort in Vail.”

  “Well then, where is she?” demanded Hamilton.

  “When our agents arrived and entered Evelyn’s room she was already gone,” explained Moore. “All that remained as proof that she’d even been there was her luggage and the remains of her secret service detail.”

  “Remains?” asked Hamilton. His mouth felt dry. His heart started to pound and he was having trouble focusing on what Moore was saying.

  “Yes sir,” answered Moore, casting another glance towards the agent guarding the door. “Apparently, they’d all been executed.”

  Hamilton’s legs began to feel weak at the knees, as he dropped onto the sofa, his hands clenched in fists of rage. He covered his face, as tears began to stream down his cheeks. His arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably. “Evelyn…Evelyn…Evelyn,” he whispered her name over and over.

  “Mr. President?”

  Hamilton gave no response.

  “Mr. President?”

  “What is it Moore?” asked Hamilton without looking up, his eyes fixated on the carpet in front of him.

  “I just wanted to say how sorry I am, and that we’ll keep looking. Don’t worry John,” said Moore, calling the President by his first name. He rested his hand on the President’s shoulder, “We’ll find her.”

  The door opened and Moore’s assistant entered, “Mr. President, we have Mrs. Whitfield on the phone.”

  Counter-Strike

  World War III – Day One

  Olympia, Washington

  The fog was so thick, that Casey didn’t see the tree branches in the middle of the road, until it was too late. The branches were about a dozen feet in length and six inches thick, left by a recent storm that had passed through the area. He quickly pressed down on the brakes of the big-rig, as he rolled over the branches. His body bounced up and down on the bench seat until the last of his eighteen wheels had cleared the debris.

  He’d left Seattle earlier that day and planned on driving south, stopping at towns along the way to trade in goods. His first stop would be the capital of Washington, near the snowcapped Olympic Mountains, and then down the coast to Oregon and California.

  A steady downpour of rain began, as Casey rolled into the quaint town of Olympia. Although the rain helped to clean the air, he was looking forward to the trip south and the promise of a warmer, dryer climate. He didn’t mind rain, in fact he loved it, but having to deal with it every day was becoming tiresome. Up ahead, he saw what looked like a small farmers’ market located in a large park.

  Perfect!

  Casey turned the wheel of his truck and steered into the parking lot. With an expertise that only comes with experience, he guided the trailer backwards into a tight spot between two tents. He could hear subtle sounds of movement in the back of his trailer, as items shifted back and forth. With the emergency brake locked safely in place, he climbed down from the cab and looked around.

  He could see a few people walking around, holding umbrellas or wearing ponchos, but the majority had taken cover from the rain inside one of the makeshift tents. Casey decided there wouldn’t be much trading done until the rain stopped, so he climbed back into the cab and snuggled down on the small bed in the back. He selected a book from a pile at the foot of the bed and started reading. He didn’t get very far before he dozed off, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the rain.

  A loud pounding on the driver’s side door woke Casey from his slumber. Startled by the sudden noise he bolted upright, the opened book on his chest falling to his lap. He rubbed his eyes, as a yawn escaped from his mouth. A moment passed before the pounding repeated.

  “I’m coming!” he shouted. Casey opened the door and peered out. The first thing he noticed was that it had stopped raining and the sun was beginning to set. He rubbed his unshaven jaw and looked down. Standing before him was a small group of children.

  “Hey mister,” said one of the boy’s, about ten years old, “what have you got in the back of your rig?”

  “All sorts of stuff,” said Casey, letting out another yawn. He climbed down from the cab and stretched. “Why? Are you kids here to do some shopping?”

  “That depends on what you’ve got mister,” replied a girl with green eyes and blonde pigtails. She appeared to be a couple of years younger than the boy.

  “Well,” said Casey, “what have you got to barter with?” He glanced around and noticed that the park was bustling with people walking back and forth from one tent to another. He could see tables set up in front of many of the tents with a variety of items for sale, while other tents traded in services instead of goods. One of the larger tents had a wooden sign hanging above the entrance that read…Hot-Fresh-Food. Another tent, with fancy curtains hanging in the doorway, had a neon sign connected to a generator. In bright, red lettering the sign flashed the same word, over and over…GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!

  “I’ve got a goat,” said the same boy proudly, holding one end of a rope tied to a white goat.

  “And I’ve got some chickens,” added the girl with pigtails. Behind her was a red wagon with a cage on top. Inside the cage were half a dozen chickens.

  “Well, well,” smiled Casey, “a couple of entrepreneurs. Come on,” he said, leading the small group of children around to the back of his trailer. He reached in his pocket and withdrew a handful of keys. It took a minute to find the right key, in part because he was still sleepy. Casey opened the padlock and swung open the double doors. He lifted a metal hook near the bumper and yanked on two handles. With the handles still in his hands, Casey began to walk backwards, as a metal ramp slid out from the trucks undercarriage.

  “Cool,” whispered one of the children to the others.

  Casey couldn’t help but smile at all of the little eyes full of wonder and curiosity, staring up into the dark interior of the trailer. He walked up the ramp and when he reached the entrance to the trailer, stopped and turned to face the group of children. “Well, come on,” he said, waving his hand in encouragement.

  The little boy with the goat was the first to muster enough courage. He tied the goat to the bumper and climbed the ramp, followed by the girl with pigtails. When the children reached the top of the ramp, Casey reached into the darkness and flipped a switch. The trailer was instantly illuminated with a myriad of colors. Both the walls and ceiling were covered in hundreds of Christmas lights.

  “Wow!” gasped several of the children in unison.

  “You can go in,” said Casey, with a friendly smile.

  One by one the children climbed the ramp and entered the trailer. Casey walked back and forth, showing the children his merchandise and asking them each what they were looking for. Some needed heirloom seeds for planting crops, some needed bullets for hunting, and others needed gasoline for generators. No request was the same, nor any form of payment. Casey accepted any trade the children had to offer as payment. Normally he only accepted items that he knew were in high demand, but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell any of the children that what they had wasn’t good enough.

  Casey finished trading with all of the kids but two, the two with the goat and the chickens. “Well,” he said, looking down at the pair and realizing for the first time how similar they looked, “what can I get for the two of you?”

  “Do you have any medicine?” asked the boy.

  Medicine was in high demand, especially antibiotics. Casey knew there was nothing these children had that was worth the value of even a handful of pills. He could lie and say that he didn’t have any medicine. After all, they had no way of knowing. He kept the medicine hidden in the cab, along with his stockpile of gold and silver. But Casey couldn’t bear to send these children away empty handed. “Who’s sick?” he asked.

  “
Our mother,” answered the little girl, as innocent and adorable as could be.

  Casey’s heart sank in his chest. How could he say no to such a precious child? “What’s she sick with?”

  “The doctor thinks it’s a bacterial infection,” answered the little boy.

  “If you have medicine we’ll give you our chickens and our goat,” offered the girl.

  “Quiet Sandy,” hissed the boy. “Don’t you know we’re supposed to negotiate? You don’t just offer everything you have up front.”

  “I’m sorry Sam,” she said, her eyes dropping to her tiny, pink shoes. “I didn’t know.”

  “Well,” laughed Casey, “I may just have a little something for you, and your mother. Come on.” He led the children out of the trailer and to the front of the truck. He disappeared into the cab for a moment and then returned with a small white bottle. “Here ya go,” he said, tossing it to the boy. “Give your mom one of those every twelve hours for the next ten days.”

  “How much mister?” Asked the boy.

  “Forget about it,” said Casey. “Call it a gift.”

  The boy eyed the bottle in his hand suspiciously, as if it were poison. He wasn’t used to people being so generous, especially strangers. “What’s the catch?” he asked.

  “No catch,” said Casey.

  “We should at least give him one of the chickens,” Sandy protested.

  “Do you want a chicken mister?” asked Sam.

  “Only if you can afford to part with it,” said Casey.

  “Oh we can!” said Sandy, full of excitement. “We have dozens of them at home.”

  “Sandy!” hissed Sam.

  “Sorry,” she said, “but we do.”

  “I appreciate your honesty Sandy,” said Casey. “And your savvy business skills,” he added, looking at Sam. “How about we trade for two chickens and call it even?”

  “Deal!” said Sam, as though he thought the offer might be retracted if he didn’t act quickly.

  “Deal,” agreed Casey, shaking the young boy’s outstretched hand. “And here’s a little bonus.” Casey reached into his pocket and handed each of the children a few pieces of candy.

  “Thanks!” said Sandy, immediately opening a piece and popping it into her mouth. Sam, who was less trusting, shoved the candy into his pocket for later.

  “Give him the chickens,” Sam told his sister in an authoritative tone.

  Sandy selected two of her favorite chickens from inside the cage and handed them over. Casey accepted the chickens and tossed them into the back of his cab.

  “You kids better get home,” suggested Casey, “it’s getting late.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Sam, glancing up at the darkening sky. “We should get this medicine back to mom as soon as possible so that it starts working,” he added, looking down at Sandy.

  “Ah huh,” said Sandy, nodding her head. Her mouth was full of candy.

  “Thanks again mister,” said Sam, taking his little sister by the hand and leading her away.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll pray for your mother,” Casey called out, as the children walked away.

  Before disappearing into the crowd of people, Sandy turned to wave goodbye. Sam gave her hand a gentle tug and they were gone.

  Nice kids.

  Casey walked to the back of the trailer, closed the double doors and locked them. His stomach began to grumble, as he turned and eyed the tent advertising hot, fresh food. With the truck and all of his belongings securely locked, he turned and walked towards the tent. As he entered the tent he noticed a couple of drunken men stumbling out of the nearby tent that served as a brothel.

  When Casey entered the large tent the smell of food filled his nostrils. The roof was about twenty feet high and there were dozens of long, wooden tables set up on the grass floor. At the far corner of the tent, Casey could see several sheets hung up in a row with steam rising from behind them. A man’s bald head was bobbing up and down as he went about preparing the meals.

  “Just one?” asked a woman with dark red hair, drying her hands on her apron.

  “Yes please,” answered Casey.

  She led him to one of the tables only half occupied and pointed to an empty seat. “Ya want some coffee stranger?”

  “Please,” said Casey, nodding his head. “Do you have a menu?” he added, looking around to see what his options were.

  “Nope,” replied the woman. “We serve one meal a day and try to change it up as often as possible. Today we’re serving meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

  “Sounds good,” said Casey. He was so hungry, he didn’t really care what today’s meal was.

  “I’ll be back with your coffee,” said the redhead, before strutting back towards the kitchen hidden behind the sheets. Casey could tell by her smile and the wink she cast his way that she liked him, but he wasn’t interested. She brought both the food and coffee back at the same time and placed them on the table in front of Casey. When she handed him some silverware she made a point of rubbing her hand against his.

  “Thanks,” said Casey, pretending not to notice the not-so-casual touch.

  The waitress bent down and whispered in Casey’s ear, “My shift ends in an hour, but I also work in the tent across the way. If you wanna stop by after your meal, I’ll give you a discount.” She cast another seductive wink at Casey.

  “Um, thanks,” said Casey, blushing. “I’ll think about it,” he lied.

  “You do that,” said the redhead, purposefully leaning forward so that Casey could see down her blouse and the ample bosom that the Lord had given her. She turned, and strutted off giggling.

  Casey ate the meal in silence. He preferred to remain a stranger and not become attached to anyone, especially in a town that he would probably never visit again. When he’d finished eating, he dropped a silver eagle on the table to pay for his meal and the service. He knew it was worth much more than the cost of the food, but thought maybe it would help the waitress to make ends meet without having to sell her body.

  “See ya later, stranger,” she called after Casey, as he exited the tent.

  Casey took a deep breath of fresh air and held it in his lungs for a moment, enjoying the salt in the air as he let it back out. The evening sky was sprinkled with stars, and the blood red moon appeared especially large and eerie. He turned and was walking to his truck, when he heard people gasping and pointing towards the heavens. Casey looked up in the same direction and saw several missiles streaking across the sky.

  Not again!

  He watched for a moment, releasing a sigh of relief when he realized the missiles were outbound, not inbound. As they passed overhead Casey’s eyes followed them until they were gone from sight.

  Realizing it was a counter-strike and that the enemy may decide to launch even more missiles at any moment, he decided to leave the area immediately. Anywhere with a military base or a large civilian population would be a target. Knowing this, Casey wanted to be out on the road somewhere far from civilization, if and when the returning missiles arrived. When he arrived at his truck, he noticed that the trailer’s padlock wasn’t secure.

  I know I locked that.

  Casey grabbed hold of the door and started to open it, wondering if someone had broken in. The door to the trailer was only a few inches open when he heard several people start shouting, “Take cover! Everyone needs to get to shelter, NOW!”

  It didn’t appear that anything in the front of the trailer had been disturbed and that’s where he kept some of the most valuable merchandise, his top sellers. He noticed an odd smell that he couldn’t quite place but decided to investigate later. After all, his merchandise wouldn’t do him any good if he wasn’t alive to trade.

  Casey slammed the trailer and fastened the lock, before turning and running for the driver-side door. Expecting nuclear bombs to rain down at any moment, he quickly scrambled up into the cab. He needed to get out of there, and fast!

  Casey turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared t
o life. As he put the truck in gear and sped out of town he passed dozens of people on the side of the road. Everyone seemed excited, pointing towards the sky in the direction that the missiles had gone. If he didn’t know better, Casey would’ve thought they were watching a game or something.

  What fools! Don’t they realize if there’s a counter-strike they’ll be sitting ducks!

  *******

  Casey had been driving for a couple of hours when he finally decided to pull over for the night. Although he’d been watching the sky continuously, he’d seen no sign of incoming missiles. Maybe he’d overreacted and there’d be no counter-strike, or maybe the enemy didn’t have any nukes left to launch. Casey doubted the latter option. Surely any country with nuclear weapons would have an ample stockpile. So why hadn’t they fired another round of missiles? Unless…could it be that they planned to invade the United States and preferred to destroy as little of the natural resources as possible?

  He settled down in the back of the cab with the same book from before, but before he’d finished reading a page, something in the back of the trailer made a sound. He was about to go and investigate, when he remembered the two chickens that the little girl had given him. They were probably just moving around and making a little noise. He settled back into the book, but before he could finish reading a paragraph he heard another noise. Only this time it didn’t sound like a chicken, it sounded larger, much larger.

  The hair on the back of Casey’s neck stood up, as he reached under his pillow. He withdrew a revolver and cocked the hammer, which made an eerie click in the otherwise silent night. As Casey opened the driver’s side door and climbed down from the cab, he remembered the padlock being open when he returned from his meal. Could someone have possibly picked the lock and climbed inside?

  Casey walked towards the back of the trailer and stopped about halfway there. He pressed his ear against the cold, metal siding and listened. At first he heard nothing, but then after a moment he heard a strange noise. The noise was familiar, but definitely not the type of sound that chickens would make. What worried him the most was that it didn’t sound human either.