Snafu

by Chris Lowry

  Now, it was an entryway, lined on both sides with two long fences that ran almost the length of the store then made a hard left toward a wall they couldn’t see.

  “Barbican,” Hammer said with an appreciative note to his voice.

  “Not all the survivors are as nice as you,” Aldean said.

  He led them through the fence walkway and turned left.

  The fencing ended at a hole in the wall with another guard, a second bald black guy that if he wasn’t the first guards brother, was a close cousin at least.

  He manned a .50 caliber machine gun behind a metal plate aimed the length of the doglegged fence.

  Aldean bumped fists with him as they passed, but he kept the other hand on the trigger mechanism, ready to shred whatever threat might present itself.

  On the far side of the hole in the wall, there were people.

  Too many to count and besides, it was too dark to do the counting. Fires flickered in half cut metal barrels scattered in front of small tents, lean to’s, and sheets tacked to the wall in the second store.

  There were bodies everywhere, the sense of desperation, hunger and fear almost as strong an odor as the smell of unwashed body and waste.

  “Jesus,” Boyd whispered.

  “He must have forgot about this place,” Aldean said. “Come on.”

  He led them down another walkway to the far side of the second store where they entered a third.

  It was set up as another indoor refugee camp, just like the first.

  There were eight stores, all packed with survivors, before they reached the corner store and turned toward the big box grocer.

  “How many?” Hammer asked.

  He could feel eyes on them.

  Hungry people searching, desperate for food, for answers, for respite.

  It made him want to walk faster.

  “Thousands,” Aldean answered.

  He moved them through three stores until they reached the big open warehouse style building.

  Body heat washed over them like a wave. There were masses of them, gathered to distribute weak runny soup, or cleaning weapons.

  Archie could see several hospital beds against the far wall, bodies on them as people scurried among them.

  “Jesus,” Boyd said again.

  He seemed struck speechless and the Captain couldn’t blame him.

  They were looking at a shit ton of dead people.

  Not yet.

  Now, they were still breathing, still moving and walking.

  Still hoping the six man squad had come with some word that the government they had grown to rely on was coming to save them.

  Dead.

  Once the squad was done, not a single person in the camp would be alive.

  It made him shudder.

  Aldean kept them moving through the clear marked walkways.

  Archie could see the sense of organization.

  Someone was in charge, and that someone was trying to run a tight ship.

  It wasn’t an easy job, especially with civilians, but he could appreciate the effort.

  They entered the back of the store where food was once delivered and stored.

  The people up front had been silent for the most part, but there was a low level hum that just comes from so many bodies in one space.

  Clinks and clatters, whispers of fabric on skin, and muttered, whispered conversations.

  He didn’t notice until they were through the doors into the back and silence descended like a veil.

  A man stood up from a whiteboard with columns of numbers on it in the back.

  There was a conference table that looked borrowed from the break room covered with a large paper map of the LA Valley, and several heads around it that swiveled to watch them come in.

  “About damn time you got here,” the man called out.

  “General,” Aldean said. “Here they are.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  He didn’t look like a general.

  Long, sun bleached hair streaked with strands of gray was pulled back in a ponytail between his shoulder blades.

  He was tanned, though it was starting to fade to match the crinkles around his ice blue eyes.

  “You’re not here to help?”

  Hammer stepped forward.

  “Sargent Hammer, General,” he snapped a salute.

  The man in front of him waved him off.

  “It’s an honorific, son,” he said. “I was a cop before all of this started.”

  Norman glanced over the man they called General’s shoulder at the others gathered beyond him.

  “How many military do you command?”

  “Not many of those survived,” the General said. “Most of us are just normal folks in here.”

  “Tight ship,” Archie admired as he looked around the room.

  The General nodded as he glanced past him to the hole in the wall behind.

  “Idlewood Story,” he held out his hand.

  “Why do they call you General?” Hammer shook.

  “Cause he is the HMFIC,” answered one of the men who led them in.

  Story shook his head.

  “Like I said, it’s an honorific.”

  “He’s in charge,” Aldean answered. “He says what goes.”

  The man who called Story HMFIC bumped fists with Aldean.

  “How was it?”

  Aldean shook his head.

  “Anyone left is gonna be holed up good,” said Story.

  “Nice operation,” said Hammer. “What is it?”

  Story studied the men in front of him.

  “What’s in the backpacks? You on a mercy mission?”

  “A man who answers a question with a question is usually trying to hide something,” said Archie.

  “You think I have something to hide?” Story grinned.

  He made a motion with his finger.

  “Bring him out.”

  The man next to Aldean wore faded ballistic armor. It was scarred and creased, like it had seen a lot of heavy duty. The name on the front was hard to discern, but it looked like Tritt.

  He stepped aside to show Toi sitting in a chair.

  “Let him go,” Hammer growled.

  Toi leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Toi told him.

  “He’s not a prisoner,” said Story. “He asked for amnesty.”

  “Amnesty?”

  “Said you boys were here to blow shit up,” Tritt crossed his arms over the battered armor. “Blow us all to hell.”

  “We’re here to kill the aliens,” Norman said.

  “And everyone left here,” Story countered. “I can’t allow that to happen.”

  “We won’t let it,” Tritt stood up.

  His hand drifted to the rifle strapped across his shoulder.

  Archie held up both hands in surrender.

  “You won’t get an argument from me,” he said. “I’m with that guy.”

  He pointed at Toi.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Toi said. “He’s an officer.”

  “No shit?” Tritt asked.

  “It’s not honorific,” Archie said. “I earned it.”

  “Busted down to it,” Snow added. “If Toi’s out, then I’m out too.”

  “Let’s just stay calm,” Norman held up his hands in an attempt to placate everyone.

  “Who the fuck is he?”

  “Spook,” said Boyd.

  “We still got the alphabets?” Story asked.

  “That’s about the only thing left,” Hammer said. “We’re getting our ass handed to us.”

  “Yeah, they took our ass, and everything else we could give ‘em and we’re not even holding ground,” Tritt told them.

  “”That’s why we’re here,” said Norman.

  “Who came up with this shit show?” General, you got something to say to these fellas?”

  Story glanced around at the men huddled in their small part of the store.

  �
��You know, when tensions get high, I think breaking bread together is a good way to hear what each side has to say.”

  “There is no side,” Hammer argued. “There’s us. And there’s them. And they are trying to kill us.”

  “They ain’t trying to kill us,” said Tritt. “They are. Fast.”

  “Which is why we don’t have time for hippie dippie bullshit,” Norman snapped. “The longer we wait, the harder this job becomes. Just give us his gear and we’ll get out of your way.”

  “Did you just ask us to let you go so you can kill us?” Aldean asked.

  “I’m not asking.”

  Tritt shifted the weapon on his strap.

  “I don’t know that you’re in a position to ask much.”

  Story stepped between the two groups.

  “I think you need to hear us out,” Story said to Archie and Hammer.

  “He doesn’t want to be part of this,” said Hammer.

  “Damn right I don’t,” said Archie.

  “None of us want to be a part of this, son,” said Story.

  His voice was a low soothing rumble that projected patience and calm and ease.

  “If we need to eat to get the detonators back, then let’s chow down,” Norman interjected.

  “You’re not getting anything back,” said Tritt. “We worked too hard just to blow it all up.”

  “No,” said Story. “He’s right. Let’s sit down and hash this out.

  No one looked ready to do it, but Story motioned them to a table against the wall and waited for them to sit.

  Then he began.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Archie watched a man with a carbon fiber blade attached to his leg swagger over to the table and sit down. His ebon skin reflected the faint glow of dim LED’s that lined the walls, each too small to do much on their own, but combined to create a lit space.

  Story moved to the head of the table with a sense of familiarity, and waited for the others to join him.

  There wasn’t much on the table top, but a few people brought out beans and rice, and a flat bread on platters.

  “We don’t get much variety anymore,” said Story.

  “You get used to it,” said Tritt.

  Story served up a scoop of beans and a scoop of rice to each plate and passed them on his left hand side.

  They made their way around the table and tucked in.

  “We’ve been here since just about the beginning,” Story told them. “These three saved my life.”

  The black man nodded, but Tritt and Aldean just ate.

  “I had twenty seven people with me that day,” Story said. “We brought twenty six into this building. And he sacrificed almost two dozen soldiers to do it.”

  “Not quite that high, General.”

  “Felt like it. It was a high price to pay, especially since they were supposed to be in a fight on the beach.”

  “A slaughter more like it,” said Aldean.

  “Yeah, Lick got us good on the landing. We lost a dozen for every one that touched sand, I bet.”

  “And the powers that be,” said Story. “They either didn’t make it or didn’t bother to show up for the fight.”

  “Didn’t bother to answer any calls after either,” Tritt reminded him.

  “Which left us here.”

  “Command had problems of it’s own,” said Hammer. “Lick hit back.”

  “I figured something like that happened,” Story nodded. “Course we were so used to getting news from television and radio and Facebook. All of that coming in stopped. People stopped coming in too.”

  He finished off his small portion and pushed the plate away.

  “We lost DC,” said Norman. “The big cities are gone, or occupied, like this one.”

  “And you think the solution is nukes?” Story gave a sad shake of his head.

  “We have to stop them.”

  “Can’t,” said Tritt. “We’ve been trying.”

  “This will work,” said Norman. “They shot the ICBM’s out of the air, but they won’t expect a small insertion team.”

  “Is that what you’re calling this cluster fuck?” Tritt shoved his empty plate away.

  “This cluster fuck is going to save a lot of lives,” Norman argued.

  “How many?”

  “Millions of people.”

  “And kill millions in the process,” said Story. “We’ve been hauling ass working to coyote people across the mountains. But a lot of people are staying.”

  “Working with the Licks,” Aldean spit.

  “Working?” Archie asked.

  “Who knows,” Tritt said. “They take slaves and put them on work camps. We can’t get anyone out, and we can’t go in to see.”

  “We get people out of Los Angeles,” said Story. “There were thirteen million people when they got here. A couple million died in the first wave of evacuation. Now the rest are hunkered down just trying to survive. And the collaborators are trying to survive too, any way they know how.”

  “This is a great story,” said Norman. “I like it. Tugs at my heart strings, the whole rebel alliance fighting thing. But I’ve got a job to do.”

  “A job that will make a strong show against the enemy and cripple their ability to fight us.”

  “No matter the cost?” Story asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Norman answered.

  “I think you’re being short sighted, son,” Story said after a moment of silence.

  “I think you’re wrong,” Norman answered. “A difference of opinion.”

  “You’re wrong, nothing happens,” said Tritt. “He’s wrong, and you kill a couple million.”

  Norman sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “We’ve got a failsafe,” he said. “A dozen nuke tipped bunker busters coming in an hour after our deadline if we don’t get the job done.”

  “Hold on,” Archie shoved back from the table. “When were you going to tell us about this?”

  “He wasn’t,” said Hammer. “Orders were to play that close to the vest.”

  He glared at Norman. The CIA man shrugged and sent a quick glance at his watch.

  “Thirty hours,” he said. “How many people can you get out by then.”

  “He’s bluffing,” said Tritt. “If they were going to fucking do something like that, they would have done it by now.”

  Story locked eyes with Norman, the two men measuring each other. Norman sat with a stoic look on his face, impassive and immobile.

  “Fuck this noise,” said Tritt.

  He shoved back from the table and turned his rifle on Norman.

  “You can die first.”

  Story held up a hand and didn’t say anything.

  Tritt kept his rifle leveled at the spook’s face.

  “Evacuate,” Story said.

  “General,” Aldean leaned over.

  “Muir, get these people moving. Send runners to the other outposts. We fall back to the outpost at Arrowhead.”

  “It won’t work,” said Muir.

  He got up from the table and moved away to execute the evacuation plan.

  “How many can we take with us?” Albdean grumbled.

  “Not enough,” Story said.

  “You know when Lick sees all the activity, patrols are going to increase,” Aldean said, then stopped and smiled.

  He glanced between Norman and the man they called the General.

  “How active?” Hammer caught it first.

  “Who knows,” said Story. “They get stirred up and pop up all over the place. Sometimes it’s like stepping on an ant pile. One minute, there’s a couple of worker ants, then next thing you know, a thousand are swarming up your leg.”

  “Shit,” Norman cursed.

  “Shit is right,” Tritt said. “You fuck with the bull, you get the horns shoved up your ass.”

  “You just made my job harder,” Norman bitched.

  “You gave yourself thirty hours,” Story reminded him. “I’ll have e
very post in the loop in an hour and people on the move twenty minutes after that. I can’t save them all, but I can get a lot of fast movers out in a day.”

  He glanced at Tritt.

  “You know nukes?”

  Tritt shrugged.

  “We can hit a safe zone in ten miles, worry about fall out after that. Santa Ana’s are gonna take it out over the bay, so we’ve got that going for us. Fuck though, if he’s talking twelve big bombs, it’s gonna get bad. And that’s just if the fuckers can aim straight.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning pilot’s aren’t the most accurate motherfuckers when Lick lasers are cutting their planes in half. And bunker busters aren’t timed. They go off when they hit. Where they hit.”

  “We were doomed from the start,” Archie said.

  “What part of suicide mission did you not understand?” Snow snapped.

  “You could have just gone with this plan from the start,” Archie slapped the table in front of Norman.

  “He’s right,” the man nodded to Tritt. “There’s no guarantee any big bombs will get in where we need them. We were supposed to be the guarantee.”

  “Now everybody’s fucked,” said Tritt.

  Behind them, the building started to hum with activity. Folks grabbed packs and moved in a quick, orderly fashion toward the exits.

  “Runners out,” Muir called to Story.

  They could see him moving among people and leaving with a quick word.

  “You expected this,” Hammer said. “They’re trained to move.”

  “Never know when Lick might find you,” said Story.

  “What about them?” Tritt asked.

  Story shoved back from the table.

  “Cut them loose,” he said and started to storm away.

  “What about my detonators?” Norma called out.

  Story stopped. He watched the activity around them for a moment. There was tension in the air, a sense of impending doom and people moved like they were on the verge of being caught in something.

  They had been here for so long, out here on their own, fighting to survive, fighting to save people.

  Gone.

  Or it would be in a few hours, gone in a flash and at the whim of men a thousand miles away. A plan made by people who had no idea of the stakes, the real stakes and consequences of their actions.