The Defiant: Grid Down

by John W. Vance

  “It does make sense to go to a nice area and be in a house,” Matt added.

  “If you two want to go, you can. I’m staying put,” Bryn fired.

  “Don’t be like that,” Sophie pleaded.

  Bryn calmed down and walked over to Sophie. “Baby sister, I won’t be going to Mom’s house, and that’s my final answer.”

  Sophie shook her head, frustrated by Bryn’s resistance and stubborn resolve.

  Bryn said, “You two stay here. I’ll be back shortly.” She quickly jumped up and headed for the door.

  “Where you going?” Sophie asked.

  “The old man has something that we can use. I shouldn’t be gone longer than a couple of hours,” she said, then closed the door.

  When the door shut, Matt asked, “What’s the deal with her and your mom?”

  “She blames Mom for what happened to Dad. And Mom wasn’t the best mother while we were growing up, but I’ve moved past all that. I don’t believe in living in the past. Bryn, though, can’t move on. When she holds a grudge, watch out, she’ll never let it go.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Matt joked and relaxed back on the floor. His body was sore from the miles walked.

  “Do you really think we need to plan for the worst?” Sophie asked.

  “I’m only guessing at what this could be, but I’ve seen enough movies and read enough books to know that this has all the earmarks of the end. So, yes, we need to plan for the worst.”

  After Bryn closed the apartment door, she stood and listened. She could hear Sophie and Matt still talking, but she was listening for other sounds. Her dilated eyes peered into the darkness, but gone were the lights she was so accustomed to seeing. Without the light, she needed to perfect her other senses, so with intentional focus she listened carefully to the sounds of the evening. Slowly things came to her. Somewhere in the far distance she heard a car driving, a baby crying somewhere in her complex then hit her ears, followed by some yelling, which was familiar as it was a neighbor who lived several buildings away. Then other noises and sounds came, a random series of gunshots cracked far away, then a dog barking, doors opening, slamming. She reached out and grasped the railing and leaned out, her eyes now adjusting to the darkness.

  Her ears then began to work in tandem with her eyes as she heard then spotted the dark shadow moving through the parking lot. The person stopped, but she couldn’t tell what they were doing, then a light appeared. The person was holding a flashlight. The long beam stretched out far beyond and illuminated the darkness. The person was going from car to car, looking inside.

  She knew this person was looking to scavenge. At first she had an impulse to yell out, but she stopped. How was this person any different than her? She had been stealing since yesterday, so how could she tell this person not to? Questions filled her mind, “Was there a code to theft?” “Did it matter where or who you stole from?” The questions were foreign to her, but deep down trying to steal from her neighbors did seem wrong. She knew that didn’t make sense, but to her it did. If this person were out on the road, she wouldn’t think twice, but since they were looking through her neighbors cars, it did seem wrong.

  Going with her gut, a sense she would rely upon heavily in this new world, she cried out, “Hey, what are you doing?”

  The light stopped and flashed in her direction, but she quickly knelt down, taking cover behind the railing. The light darted back and forth, but Bryn stayed put, out of sight. Eventually, the light disappeared, and she heard the footsteps of the unknown person quickly walk away.

  She stood, smiled to herself, and made for Colin’s apartment.

  Unsure of the time, she assumed he’d be awake, but regardless she wanted his help if he was willing to do it.

  She knocked and waited, a minute went by but nothing. She knocked again and this time she got a response.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Bryn, your neighbor.”

  The door opened quickly, the yellow glow of candles and a few kerosene lanterns burst out and cast upon her tanned skin, soiled jeans and T-shirt.

  “You came. Wasn’t sure if you were going to make it,” Colin said, his eyes then looked past her. “Anyone with you?”

  “Nope, just me.”

  “Come on in,” he said and opened the door fully.

  A strong whiff of fragrance hit her as she stepped into his apartment. She took another sniff and recognized the smell, pine. Somewhere among the few candles he had lit was a pine-scented candle. The smell reminded her of Christmas and with it brought memories, not all good.

  “Where are the other two?”

  “Back at my place, I thought it best I come alone.”

  “Take a seat; can I get you a drink, water, beer or whiskey?”

  Bryn was tempted to have a drink, but she wanted to focus. This wasn’t a social call. “A water would be fine.”

  Colin disappeared into the kitchen and re-emerged with a glass. He handed it to her and said, “Here ya go.”

  “Thanks,” Bryn responded as she looked at the glass. She didn’t get a vibe from him, but her guard was up when she saw the glass. She didn’t think he’d slip her something, but she just couldn’t trust anyone. She placed the glass down on the coffee table in front of her.

  The apartment was the exact same floor plan as hers. The front door opened to a small living room on the left, dining space on the right and kitchen in the right corner. A hallway straight ahead led to a single bathroom and the single bedroom at the end. However, the similarities ended with the floor plan. Colin’s décor was lacking as Bryn looked around. She wasn’t one who prided herself on being on the cutting edge of interior design; her style would be characterized as more of a minimalist. Colin was clearly the opposite. Everywhere there could be a piece of furniture, there was, and on it was stacked items. The coffee table in front of her was loaded with magazines and knickknack items. Looking at him, she never would have thought he was a collector of such things, but here was his apartment the telltale of a part of him. The walls also showed the same abundance of items. Above her head, there was barely an inch of wall showing in between the framed pictures and military awards. Colin couldn’t be called a hoarder, but he definitely had an issue with getting rid of things.

  “So you were some sort of military guy?” Bryn asked as she saw many pictures of him in uniform.

  “Yeah, I was in the Navy,” he answered and sat down himself, across from her in an old fabric recliner, a glass of water in his hands.

  Bryn was nervous and wanted to get to the point of her visit but thought it proper to have meaningless dialogue beforehand.

  “Did you go to war?”

  Colin knew she was anxious and only asking to pass the time. In an attempt to relieve her of this stress, he went right into why she was there. “You need a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “One second.” He stood and left the room.

  She heard some rustling and other noises, and within moments he reappeared holding a box. He placed it on the table and opened it up. She was curious as to what he had, so she leaned forward.

  The light in the room wasn’t bright even after her eyes had adjusted.

  “What you need if you’re going to be running around is something compact. You can’t go around carrying a shotgun. This little piece will come in handy for you,” he said, handing her a small revolver, the cylinder open.

  She took it in her hand and was amazed by how light it was. “What is it?”

  “It’s an old Colt Detective model. It’s lightweight, and this little guy has an advantage over other smaller revolvers, it carries six not five.”

  She admired it while also feeling let down. She had hoped to get a pistol like she’d seen in movies. “I really don’t mean to be ungrateful, but do you have something bigger and…” She paused, trying to find the words to describe what she had envisioned.

  “That size is perfect for you.”

  “Um, anything black and has the
thing that goes back and forth up here,” she remarked.

  “You want a semiauto pistol?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

  Bryn didn’t want to answer, but she knew she had to and do it honestly, “No, never.”

  “Then without proper training, this is the piece for you.”

  “What’s to learn? You just point and shoot.”

  “Ha, if only it were so easy.” Colin laughed.

  She closed the cylinder and held it tightly in her hand. These were not times to act like you knew everything. If she was going to survive, she needed to learn, and he was the guy who could help her. “Teach me how to use this.”

  “I can do that.”

  “What’s it going to cost me, though?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I just like helping.”

  “Everything has a price,” she challenged.

  “I have plenty, and you seem like a good girl. I like helping people, been in my blood since I joined the Navy years ago. I was given a second chance at life, and whenever I can pass it forward, I do.”

  “I insist, let me pay you something.”

  “No, really, it’s not necessary.”

  “Something.”

  “If you insist, I’ll take a case of that water, nothing more.”

  Bryn thought she could sense he was just as stubborn as her. “Deal.”

  San Felipe, Mexico

  Dinner was much later than he had been promised. Michael didn’t care. When he ate didn’t matter; what he was more interested in was what he thought might be happening.

  “Michael, I never formally introduced you to my wife. This is Francesca. Isn’t she a beauty? You already know my two little ones, Maria and Jose, but we call him Junior.”

  “Nice to meet you. Thank you again for taking such good care of me.”

  Marco sat at the head of the table, his bulky frame dwarfing the table and Michael, who sat next to him.

  Francesca smiled broadly and said, “Welcome to our table. I hope you enjoy what I’ve prepared.”

  “It smells wonderful,” Michael said. He was grateful that the swelling had gone down enough that he could now see out of both eyes.

  Marco just sat emotionless and grunted when asked if he liked carnitas.

  With the food dished out and before anyone could dig in, Jose spoke. “If everyone could bow their heads for a prayer.”

  Michael obliged and with his good eye winked at little Maria, who wouldn’t stop looking and smiling at him.

  Jose recited the standard Catholic meal prayer and then finished off with a toast. With the formalities behind them, everyone dug into their plates and began eating.

  Michael’s memory of his past had essentially come back, but any recollection of what he was doing on the ship and who might have launched the nuclear missile was still unavailable to him.

  Consumed with eating, Marco stopped his relentless staring at Michael. As if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, the large man ate with ferocity. Michael wondered if he was man or animal.

  Junior and Maria were laughing to themselves at how Marco conducted himself at the table.

  “Where are you from, Michael?” Jose asked.

  Almost taking the bait, Michael caught himself and said, “I wish I could tell you, but I don’t remember.”

  “If you don’t remember anything, how can you speak,” Marco blurted out, food falling from his overstuffed mouth.

  “I don’t understand,” Michael answered.

  “Your memory, how do you know how to speak? Why don’t you forget how to speak?”

  “Hmm, good question. I don’t know,” Michael said.

  “Amnesia is a common thing after an injury to the head,” Jose interjected. He looked at Marco and saw he needed more beer. “Mas cerveza?”

  “Si,” Marco answered him.

  Jose looked at his wife and nodded.

  She left the room.

  “I think you’re lying, but it doesn’t matter whether I take you over there tomorrow or in a week, you’re going to speak. The boss won’t waste too much time and then you’ll be mine, gringo.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows and swallowed hard. He knew what that meant. Grabbing his napkin, he wiped his lips. When he put it back on his lap, he pulled the glass shank from his pocket and tucked it under his leg.

  “Miguel, I can promise you, I don’t remember anything,” Michael cracked.

  “Marco, my name is Marco.”

  “Sorry, see, I can’t even remember your name.”

  Marco stared at him hard and grunted. “Funny, gringo, I’ll be having the last laugh.”

  Francesca came back in the room and placed a beer in front of Marco.

  He picked it up and swigged half the bottle down.

  “Can I get you more food?” Francesca asked.

  “I’m fine,” Michael said.

  “She was asking me, gringo!” Marco said, slamming his beer down.

  The children jumped and looked scared.

  “Please take them to their rooms. It’s time for bed,” Jose ordered Francesca.

  Quickly she gathered them up and left.

  As the awkward seconds turned to minutes, Michael could sense his moment might be coming. He placed his right hand on his lap and readied himself.

  Jose opened his mouth to talk, but Marco cut him off. “You must think handing this gringo over will get you some leniency, don’t you, Jose?”

  “I’m just being a loyal servant is all,” Jose answered.

  “What exactly was wrong with your girl?” Michael asked.

  “Cancer, we couldn’t get the care we needed here, so Manuel lent me the money and got us across the border so she could get the treatment she needed. That was last year, and now she’s in remission. God blessed us.”

  “God? More like the boss blessed you. You and your fucking God,” Marco exclaimed boldly.

  Jose looked at his empty plate and fiddled with his fork.

  Marco finished his beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “I want another.”

  “I’ll get it,” Jose said and stood up.

  “No, have the gringo get it,” Marco ordered.

  “It’s okay; I’m closer to the kitchen,” Jose said and turned to leave.

  “No!” Marco yelled, slamming his fist into the table. “The gringo gets it!”

  Michael was nervous about standing; the shank was underneath his leg. If he stood too quickly, it might fall on the floor, but how could he put it back in his pocket without Marco seeing it.

  “Get me a fucking beer, white boy!” Marco barked.

  Michael swallowed hard. A bead of sweat coursed down his temple and a nervous flutter hit his stomach.

  “Are you deaf?” Marco asked Michael as he waited for him to get up.

  “No, I can hear you just fine,” Michael replied and slowly stood up, trying not to move the shank, but the tip snagged on his pants and he pulled it off the chair. It hit the floor with a thud.

  Marco looked down. His eyes grew two sizes when he saw what it was.

  Michael also looked at the shank lying on the floor. He wanted to grab it, but would he be quick enough?

  Their eyes met, but no one moved. Both stood frozen, like a game of chicken, who would move first?

  Marco leapt from his chair and tackled Michael. As he fell to the floor with Marco’s mass on top of him, Michael took the moment to think about how fast he was for such a large man. He would never have guessed he would be so spry.

  Marco began pummeling Michael in the face with his fists, one punch after another.

  Michael reached up and jammed his right thumb into Marco’s left eye and punched him in the neck with his left.

  Marco recoiled from the eye jam and throat punch, but almost immediately composed himself and went back to battering Michael.

  Michael threw every combination of punch he knew, but Marco
was unstoppable.

  As one punch after another connected with Michael’s already injured head, he began to feel himself slipping away.

  Suddenly Marco yelped and fell off of him.

  Michael looked and saw Marco squirming on the floor next to him.

  Above him was Jose. He held a large ten-inch culinary knife in his right hand. He raised it and came down with a forceful blow into Marco’s chest this time.

  Marco yelled out.

  Again, Jose plunged the blade into Marco.

  Seeing his opportunity, Michael grabbed Marco and put him in a head lock and began to apply pressure on his thick neck.

  This choke hold exposed Marco’s chest and gave Jose an unobstructed target for the knife and he took it. Three more times he came down with a ferocity that few men are capable of.

  Like a bull, Michael held on as Marco’s massive body shifted and squirmed in a feeble attempt to free himself from Michael’s hold, but the repeated knife blows to the chest weakened him.

  What felt like an eternity was probably no more than a minute as Michael clamped down until Marco stopped moving. Michael released him and scurried out from underneath him and sat up.

  Blood freely poured out of the half a dozen two-inch knife wounds soaking Marco's white shirt.

  Michael was shocked at Jose’s barbarity; it wasn’t something he thought the man was capable of.

  Panting heavily, Jose looked at Marco then turned to Michael.

  This look gave Michael pause as he wondered if he was Jose’s next target.

  Jose looked at the bloody knife; his face cringed as he tossed the knife on the floor.

  “Thank you,” Michael said.

  “He was an evil man, pure evil,” Jose muttered.

  “I can’t thank you enough for everything,” Michael said, the fight with Marco taking a toll on his already battered body.

  A loud banging on the front door startled both men.

  Michael looked at the door then at Jose.

  Jose said, “We have to leave, now.” He turned and ran for the hallway.

  Michael saw exactly what he needed just then, a pistol. He pulled it out of Marco’s shoulder holster and press-checked it. He scrambled to the opposite wall and contemplated his next move.

  Loud knocks turned to kicking and banging. The yells and chatter were unintelligible, but Michael knew it was Marco’s colleagues.