Homefront: A Story of the Future Collapse

by Matthew Gilman

  The questions continued until Dallas was satisfied with the answers he was receiving.

  “When you tell the truth you don’t have to remember what you said.” Jack said, getting sick of the same questions.

  “True enough,” Dallas said. The magazine was removed from the M14 before being handed back to Jack.

  “You’re leaving me unarmed?” Jack asked.

  “Would you leave a person armed that you just met?” Dallas asked.

  “I suppose not.”

  Back at the camp Jack was amazed to see a group of people working together to organize supplies, cooking food and simple sleeping arrangements. Everything looked professionally built, but also easy to move or tear apart. The camp was temporary, but functioned like a village.

  “How the hell did you guys do this?” Jack asked, watching a deer being processed into jerky.

  “It took time,” Dallas said.

  “We got our shit together,” Budd added.

  “Are there anymore of you out there?” Dallas asked Jack.

  “There is. A couple of small groups that have been doing sabotage and resistance attacks. The Chinese hate it.”

  “Can you get in touch with any of them?” Dallas asked.

  “That will be tough,” Jack replied. “They don’t use radios or electronics to communicate because the Chinese were tracing the signals. We lost one group when a mortar round landed on them. They were trying to arrange supplies with the Canadians at the time.”

  “The Canadians are willing to help us with the resistance?” Dallas asked.

  “Hell ya. They don’t like the Chinese invading any more than we do. The way they look at it, the Chinese will be knocking on their door soon.”

  Dallas looked over at Clive.

  “I’m on it.” Clive left the group and went back to his bunk area. Ben joined him and they started packing their bags.

  “What’s going on?” Jack asked.

  “You might have helped us get the things we need.”

  Chapter 21

  The hike to the border took two weeks. Traveling the way they did was exhausting. They packed light while making sure they had enough food for the trip. Ben wondered if the camp would still be there when they returned. The fear was a valid one with how often they had to move. The real fear was returning and learning that the Chinese had discovered the camp. Two men could not rescue the group if they were captured. Clive and Ben would reach the border and hopefully bring back reinforcements. They weren’t sure what they could get from the Canadians. Budd kept making jokes about maple syrup before they left and the jokes stuck with them like a sticky irritation.

  The border was the complete opposite of what was down south with Mexico. A chain link fence was all that separated them with the land of bacon and maple leaves.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Clive said, taking his wire cutters out.

  “How do you know it’s not electrified?” Ben asked remembering when they tried to do recon on the city weeks ago.

  Before Ben finished the question a squirrel ran across the top of the fence and moved down the side, crawling to the ground before running off.

  “Good enough for me,” Clive said moving the teeth of the wire cutters to the fence. A minute later the two men were moving through the fence. Once on the opposite side, they looked around to see that it looked no different from Washington state. The two men only moved thirty feet before they heard the footsteps of people approaching. Clive and Ben looked for cover and took up positions behind trees, not know who would be coming.

  A few seconds later Canadian police appeared and ducked behind trees when they spotted the M14 rifles pointed at them.

  “Put your weapons down,” one of the officers ordered.

  Ben looked over at Clive. “These are the good guys?”

  “You better hope so,” Clive replied, knowing where Ben was going with his comment.

  Ben held his rifle by the stock and extended his arm out. His hand was far from the trigger and he lowered the weapon, placing it on the ground. Clive followed his example, but felt naked the moment the rifle was out of his hands.

  “Any other weapons?” the same police officer yelled. One eye was visible from behind the tree that he hid behind.

  Ben pulled out his pistol and tossed it to the ground, followed by his knife, then a second pistol and two more knives.

  Clive tossed out an assortment of brass knuckles, knives, a pistol and machete that was strapped under his rucksack.

  “I didn’t know you had that,” Ben said.

  “When have we ever gotten close enough to use it?” Clive replied as they stepped out with their hands up.

  The police moved out from behind the trees, guns drawn and pointed. The rucksacks were removed and the men’s hands tied behind their backs. Ben and Clive were placed in the back of two squad cars. They were happy not to be hiking anymore.

  Back at the police station both men were placed in separate rooms. Nobody was allowed to talk to them until military officials came in to address the matter. An hour later a man appeared who entered Clive’s room first.

  “Good afternoon,” the man said, wearing a Canadian army uniform. He closed the door and stood before the table that Clive was cuffed to. “From the identification that we found on you, your name is Clive Cabey of the United States Army Rangers. How did a man with your education and experience find his way crossing international borders?”

  Clive looked up at the man. He was fit and trim with a freshly shaved face and his uniform was starched and pressed. The short cut hair under his hat was impeccable and he had an aura about him that gave him a commanding presence. Looking at the pins on his chest and the rank on the collar, Clive could tell he was a career major that had been deployed to various theaters over the years including Afghanistan and Iraq. The Canadians were always suckers for following the Americans into battle even if it was a bad idea.

  “You’ve been in the Stan,” Clive stated.

  “2003-2007,” the Major replied. “You?”

  “2008-2010,” Clive replied. “I was a relief unit that ended up stopping the Taliban when they came back over the Tora Bora mountains.”

  “Now that we have both compared dick size let’s leave it at a draw,” the major said. “What are you doing in Canada? There are international laws that have been put into place by the UN, leaving the United States as a quarantine zone because of the plague that hit.”

  “Plague? What plague?”

  “After your capital was destroyed a plague swept through, killing the majority of your population. The borders were closed.”

  “So why are the Chinese in our country?” Clive asked, curious if the major knew the story was bullshit.

  “Indeed,” the major pulled a chair out and sat down. “What I’m about to share with you is a matter of national security. In the public eye Canada is fulfilling our obligations set by the United Nations on observing the closing of the border.”

  “And unofficially?”

  “We don’t like the Chinese doing what they want. We don’t have the military to come to your defense.”

  “True.”

  “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t aid our friends to the south.”

  “You want to supply weapons?” Clive crossed his fingers.

  “We want to supply you with whatever you need.”

  A smile grew on Clive’s face and it was contagious to the Major.

  “I think we are at the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  “When it comes to fly fishing you have to pay attention to the types of bugs that the trout are eating. If they are jumping for flies that are hatching, match your lure with the fly that they are eating. The dark pools in the river is what you should aim for and if you can see the river bottom you’re in the wrong spot.” Ben was in the middle of a lecture on fly fishing when Clive was taken out of the holding room. A police officer took out a package of lures from his desk and handed them to Ben.
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  “No. these are junk. Don’t buy any at the store. Get yourself some red squirrel tails, turkey feathers and deer hair. Match the color to the local insects and make your own. Companies don’t know what the hell is sprouting up in your area.”

  Clive had never seen Ben so passionate about something before.

  “Clive,” Ben said turning around to see his friend. “I see you have all of your fingernails. What’s the verdict?”

  “Let’s go shopping.”

  An old cargo truck, similar to an American ‘duce and a half’ pulled up behind the police station. By this time Ben and Clive had been able to shower and clean their clothes in the police locker room laundry area. After they were dressed, Ben and Clive were taken outside were wooden crates had been stacked behind the truck.

  “I feel like I’m in Afghanistan again,” Clive said, looking at the crates.

  “We can’t carry this,” Ben pointed out.

  “You can have the truck,” the Major offered.

  “Satellites and the border patrol will catch us,” Clive replied. “You have anything that can move through mountains?”

  Two hours later a truck hauling mules was brought in a trailer. The mules were unloaded and items were removed from the crates.

  “We need to balance the weight and lighten the load as much as possible.” Clive was already sorting the items he would be packing on the mules. Claymore mines were stacked in two piles. Ammo was removed from the cans and laid over the tops of the mules in their belts. Plastic explosives were divided into even piles for packing. The animals carried equal loads and would make the journey back to the camp. Ben was not excited about the trip back, wishing they could simply take the truck. The mules would work better in the long run.

  “Major,” Clive said putting his hand out. The Major gripped it.

  “You get caught this never happened,” the Major stated. “The Canadian government’s official position is deniability.”

  “Understood,” Clive said. “I noticed this was a lot of our old stuff”

  “We like to recycle when we can.” The major added. “Our men will escort you back where you came. Once you’re across the border you are on your own.”

  “Thank you.”

  As the men started to walk away with the mules, one of the police officers ran out of the station with a fishing reel.

  “Hey,” the police officer ran up to Ben. “It’s not the best, but if you could use it…”

  Ben looked at the gift and a grin grew on his face.

  “Thanks,” Ben said, taking the reel. “Don’t forget about what I said. Stop buying shitty lures.”

  “Got it,” the officer said. “Good luck.”

  They shook hands. Ben and Clive continued down the street escorted by a handful of police and military to the woods where they were found. The fence would be repaired and no reports would be filed about the incident. The military equipment that was handed over to Clive and Ben was listed as ‘disposed of’ due to its age and was labeled as a hazard in official documents.

  Ben and Clive held the ends of the fence open as the mules walked through. Ben turned around to the men who stayed behind and waved. The walk back would take another two weeks.

  Chapter 22

  From the moment the Chinese landed on shore, trucks and crews from various companies set off into the wilderness of north western United States to harvest the resources that waited there. The trees of Washington state, Oregon, and northern California were up for grabs and with a growing population in China it only made sense to send a few boats over and start taking what they wanted. Like the oil fields of Africa, Chinese soldiers accompanied the lumber crews into the wilderness. Convoys were protected by soldiers in the passenger seats, tactics used by U.S. companies in places like Iraq.

  The trucks navigated the dirt road into the former federal park. The dense trees above and sudden drop below had the driver’s heart racing. The Chinese soldier sitting next to him gripped his AK-47 tightly to his chest as the truck went around a curve and hit a ditch, sending him a few inches into the air.

  “Watch it,” the soldier said catching his breath.

  In accordance to the rules, the drivers and soldiers were not allowed to talk to one another. The agreement between the government and the companies that were involved in the operation worried that the soldiers would abandon their post if they found out how much the drivers were making compared to the men who attracted bullets.

  The driver was sweaty and wide eyed. He fought to not blink and focused on the task at hand. In the distance, he could see the cranes that waited for him to pick up their load. The Americans had abandoned their equipment when the fuel ran out. No longer able to make a profit from their work, they left everything to find something else. Some of the men had walked home, miles down the roads back to civilization or what was left of it. Others tried their hands at making it out in the wilderness. Very few made good at this attempt.

  The truck traveled a long curve around the mountain to the bald spot the crew had been cutting. The driver assumed the crew must have been at break since the crane didn’t appear to be working. It was lunch time after all and he was hoping to grab a meal before the drive back to shore.

  “Shouldn’t they be working?” the soldier asked.

  “Eating lunch,” the driver said.

  The answer appeared to satisfy the soldier.

  The truck pulled up to find a small campfire burning and a few trucks waiting in line to be loaded. The crew on the other hand was missing. The driver opened the door and hopped out to take a look around. He smelled the food cooking by the fire and walked over to it, ignoring the rest of the camp.

  “Where is everyone?” the soldier asked, hopping out of the truck and looking around. The forest was silent. Growing up in the city the soldier was unaccustomed to silence and found it odd whenever he was in its presence. The constant rumble of the city was comforting to him and he hated being in the wilderness. The driver approached the fire and looked in the pot. Rice was cooking and a wok sat on the fire, lifted by some rocks to adjust the heat. He saw the meat and vegetables cooking and grabbed a bamboo spoon to stir it up.

  “Ah, this is horrible! Who would waste such food? Hey idiots, you’re burning lunch,” the driver hollered into the trees.

  The soldier was growing uneasy.

  “Hey. We should leave,” the soldier said still looking around.

  “I’m not leaving until I have my load. If they were eating anything like this, they are in the woods shitting their brains out. Isn’t that right! The gods of cooking have cursed you!” the driver yelled, trying to salvage some of the meal from the wok. “It’s not so bad, not all of it is burned.”

  The soldier walked up to the next truck to see if anyone was inside. He knocked on the steel door of the rig and heard nothing. He kept his eyes on the trees and finally turned to look at the truck.

  The passenger side window was shattered. He hopped onto the step and looked through the passenger side door. Inside, a soldier’s body rested, leaning over to the side. The driver of the truck was also dead, body resting with his head down. Both were shot in the head.

  “Hey! Hey! Hey! We have to go!” the soldier yelled while still looking in the truck. He stepped down from the truck and gripped his AK-47. He turned around and never felt the bullet that traveled through his head. His body dropped and he was forever still after that moment.

  “Hey. I’m eating here,” the driver said with a mouth full of food. He had been able to find some pieces of food that had not been burned. The chopsticks worked fast moving from bowl to mouth. Constant chewing made quick work of the food. He sat back in a folding chair and finished his last bite, resting his hands on his belly.

  “Hey. You missed out on some good food,” the driver yelled to the trucks. There was no response. “Hey! Where are you?”

  The driver looked around and saw nothing.

  “Okay you bastard, game over. Nice joke. Where are you?�
�� The driver sat up and looked closer.

  The breaking of a twig behind him make him turn around and see a group of men standing above him. His jaw dropped and he knew instantly he was dead.

  “Hey! I only work here. I’m not a soldier. I don’t kill anybody,” he pleaded.

  “This guy thinks we speak Chinese,” Clive said in English. The driver couldn’t understand him.

  “Stupid chink,” Budd added.

  “What do you want to do with him?” Ben asked.

  “Do you want to feed him?” Dallas replied.

  Everyone shook their heads. The driver dropped to his knees and placed his hands together. It was a desperate plea of prayer. The men watched; their painted faces had no emotion. They were ghost, demons in the Chinese world. The type of spirits you didn’t invoke or talk to. These were the demons of childhood nightmares and men’s worst fears. They could not be bartered with, begged to, or worshipped for your life to be spared. They had one purpose: to send men into the afterlife. The driver finally became quiet and waited to the end.

  “Enough of this,” Dallas stepped forward and put a bullet into the driver’s head and the rest watched as his body fell over on the ground.

  “Who wants to have lunch?” Budd asked.

  “I’m game,” Kelly said.

  Out of the six men, four of them walked away. The two left were Clive and Dallas.

  “You think they are going to send more trucks?” Clive asked.

  “Nope, they will figure out after this one that these men are dead and send a group out to check things out. Then they’ll search the mountains until they find us and kill us to get operations going again.”

  “How do you know that?” Clive asked.

  “That’s what I would do.” Dallas turned around and followed the rest of the men to have lunch before they left the area for a new spot to kill more Chinese.

  Sabotaging the trucks and lumber equipment, the Rangers finished their mission then hiked back into the forest. They slashed all the truck tires, poured sand and dirt into the gas tanks, then cut the hoses and the electrical wires; all tactics they learned from the eco terrorist they now called friend.