by Joe Nobody
Jack shook his head, feeling disappointment in having been right. “And let me guess,” the commander continued, “the African American kids formed the Black Panthers?”
A jolt jarred the leader, his weapon snapping up to point directly at Jack’s head. “You said you’ve been underwater. How did you know about the Panthers?”
Raising his hands in surrender, Jack responded, “A lucky guess. The Black Panthers have been around since before you were born, son. So have the Chicanos. It just made sense, that’s all. I’m telling you the truth about being on a boat all this time.”
Again, wisdom beyond his years flashed across the leader’s eyes, his weapon lowering slowly. “What are you doing out here? Why were you taking that bike?”
“My family is in Texas,” Jack admitted. “I’m going to try and get back to them.”
Several of the kids grunted, one remarking, “Won’t work, Gringo. The wheels leave a trail that’s easy to follow. You’ll be picked off in no time. The only way is to walk softly and sneak around.”
The commander had a million questions. Just as he inhaled to launch his own interrogation, a sharp whistle sounded from behind.
All of the Chicanos stiffened, turning around quickly to face the school and the site of Jack’s firefight. Two of the older members sought cover behind a nearby car.
“We have to get out of here,” the leader warned. “The Eagles are coming. A lot of them. They’re pissed somebody invaded their turf.”
Jack found himself pushing the bike through the ash again, this time surrounded by the Latino gang. They turned again and again, the blocks passing by quickly.
A sizeable structure loomed ahead, the pointed steeple and top-mounted cross indicating they were heading for a church.
A sign announced Our Lady of Mercy Catholic Community as Jack’s party hustled by. The Chicano leader whistled and waved to some unseen sentry. A short distance later, Jack spied several more armed, scurrying children rush to man defensive positions on the brick and stucco wall that surrounded the church.
Indeed, the entire grounds had been turned into a fortress of sorts. Jack noticed that a church bus had been placed to block the driveway. On both sides of the makeshift barricade, stacks of bricks and concrete blocks had been formed into defensive positions. Gun barrels poked over the wall here and there, young eyes peering down the barrels. Someone had spray-painted warning signs along the whitewashed divider. More than a few bullet holes dotted the cathedral.
Once they were inside, the ninjas relaxed instantly. Here is home, Jack thought. Here is safety. It was easy to understand why.
The commander was stunned at the number of armed children roving throughout the facility. In just a few minutes, he counted at least 30 of the camouflaged defenders. “Do you expect the Eagles to attack?” he inquired.
The leader’s hand waved through the air in dismissal. “No,” he stated with confidence. “They might harass us, but they won’t try to breach the walls. They learned a hard lesson the last time.”
Jack followed his rescuer as they rambled through the complex. It was a large facility with many buildings. The commander observed a school, community center, two smaller chapels, and a series of administration offices. There were children of all ages scattered throughout, but no adults to be seen.
They entered what had been a gymnasium, the glass basketball backboards and hardwood floor still intact. The shiny maple surface, however, was covered in cots, blankets, boxes of clothing, and piles of personal items.
Continuing across the main floor, the two proceeded down a long hallway of classrooms. Some had been converted to dorms, others apparently housing looted supplies. “Where are we going?” Jack asked.
“I’m taking you to meet Father Burke,” the young warrior answered. “He’s in charge.”
Finally, someone old enough to shave, Jack mused.
Cisco was escorted into another section of the building, the area clearly reserved for the upper echelon of the church’s management. Jack noted the heavily paneled walls, ornate desks, and several fine pieces of art.
They approached a doorway, Jack’s new friend reaching to rap loudly on the frame. “Yes?” a voice from inside answered.
The duo entered what was obviously the head man’s abode. Jack detected a figure in a priest’s frock replacing a book on a high shelf of a wall that was filled to the ceiling with expensive-looking, leather bound volumes.
“Father Burke, we found this man near the Eagles’ school. He is a naval officer, or so he claims. He was observed taking out at least one of our enemy.”
The priest turned and smiled, or at least made a serious attempt at showing a friendly face.
Jack had never seen a person so badly burned. Over half of the holy man’s face was scarred with twisted, rope-like ribbons of flesh. One eye was covered with a patch, the other barely visible given the malformed tissue. It took all of Cisco’s willpower not to flinch at the Father’s appearance.
The priest stepped toward Jack with his hand extended, “Hello, sir. Welcome to Our Lady. I’m Father Antonio Burke.”
Jack accepted the handshake, replying, “Commander Jackson Cisco, USS Utah.”
Burke studied his guest, his gaze neither friendly nor hostile. Finally, “Pardon my curiosity, Commander, but I was informed that the naval base was abandoned. Your appearance is quite the shock.”
The priest wasn’t the only one who was sizing up a new acquaintance. Jack was trying desperately to figure out how old his host might be, as well as trying to judge the man’s demeanor. “My sub has been at sea for several months, Padre. We had no radio contact and have just returned to San Diego to find that the world we left behind seems to have disintegrated.”
Grunting, Burke motioned toward one of the high back, ritzy, rawhide chairs sitting in front of the runway-sized desk. “Please, Commander, have a seat. Civilization still exists behind our walls. Could I offer you a glass of water? Do you have any other immediate needs?”
Jack shook his head, “No, I’m fine, thank you. I do, however, have about a million questions.”
Moving for the offered perch, Jack noted that his host took the other chair instead of moving behind the massive oak desk. He understands people, the commander surmised. He wants me to relax.
“I can only imagine the surprise and confusion you and your crew have experienced, Commander. I’ve lived through it every, single day, and I still experience periods where I think I’m stuck in some sort of nightmare – praying that I will wake up and find this was all a nocturnal illusion.”
“How did this happen, sir? We know about the volcano … Yellowstone. We know about the tsunamis. Even with all that, how did society evaporate in less than four months? Where did everyone go? Where are all the people?”
An intense melancholy crossed the priest’s face as he contemplated Jack’s questions, the emotion inside making the already horrific damage to his face even more evident. “There was so much chaos. Bedlam overtook us in a matter of days. I’m not really sure how to even begin explaining what occurred. Some of it I witnessed firsthand, some I only know via rumor.”
Jack could sense there was more coming. He didn’t have to wait long.
“We had an earthquake here. It wasn’t a major event. The electricity went out, and along with it went most of our access to outside news. The church had an emergency generator. We were a designated shelter and had emergency supplies stored in the basement for just such times. That, and the fact that our Catholic charities used this location as a foodbank for the low income communities on this side of town were all fortunate events. In the end, that’s what saved our lives.”
“So there was no tsunami here?”
“Yes, there was, but it wasn’t nearly as destructive as further up the coast. The warnings actually killed far more people than the actual rise of the ocean – at least around San Diego.”
“The warnings?”
“Yes. About 20 minutes after the quake
finished rattling windows and breaking dishes, the police began rolling through the neighborhoods with their loudspeakers. They were warning everyone to get to high ground. Most people panicked. The roads from the coast were overwhelmed in minutes. Rumors started spreading. Some said that Los Angles had collapsed into the sea, others claimed that San Francisco had been completely destroyed by the earthquake and the follow-on tsunami.”
Jack didn’t reply, giving the Padre time to sort his memories and find the words.
“When the ash started to fall, things got worse. Evil reared its ugly head among the people. Violence broke out. I could hear gunfire and see the fires at night. More and more of our flock showed up at our doors, asking for someplace safe to sleep … seeking shelter for their children and families.”
Father Burke rose just then, some painful aspect of the retelling giving the man restless legs. He stepped to a nearby window and gazed blankly into the courtyard. “Everyone was waiting for the government … the Red Cross … the National Guard … someone to come and render aid. One member of our parish was a police officer, and he told me that the officers were running out of gasoline for their squad cars. He said that the firefighters weren’t showing up for work, staying at home to protect their own families. A week after the earthquake, he left us and never returned.”
The priest turned to make sure Jack was listening. The commander spotted a tear running down the man’s deformed cheek. It was nearly a minute before Burke’s story continued. “The food riots broke out sometime in the second week. I am a man of God, Commander. The savagery I witnessed was enough to make me question my faith on more than one occasion.”
Father Burke returned to stand behind his seat, the man’s voice dropping low and monotone as if he was a bad actor reading a script. “A story went around, someone claiming to have seen fields of cattle lying dead by the thousands. The ash was covering everything. Plants, birds, and fish were dying in droves. The pumice was so thick; everyone had trouble breathing. Our own infirmary was full of people with serious respiratory issues. The elderly died first, their older bodies unable to cope with the stress. We saw the first case of the plague six weeks after the eruption.”
“The plague? You mean Bubonic Plague?” Jack questioned.
“No, this was respiratory. I’m not a physician, but I was told it was from the ash in the air. Every day, we incinerated bodies by the dozens. The very old and the very young were the most susceptible. And malnutrition didn’t help. I am one of only six adults that survived. The others are all female and now work here at the church. The young people perished by the dozens as well, but their youthful bodies seem to be capable of dealing with the strain better than the very young and the elderly.”
Jack had difficulty believing what he had heard. “Forgive me, Father, but how did the food run out so quickly? Where was the government?”
A cynical smirk spanned the priest’s face, followed by a short nod of agreement. “I understand your sense of astonishment, Commander. I’ve experienced the same disbelief repeatedly, and I lived through this catastrophe. There were over three million people in San Diego County when Yellowstone erupted. I doubt more than 10,000 survive today. Many folks evacuated, but the vast majority perished from the violence, disease, and starvation that followed the natural disaster. You are the first stranger we’ve encountered in over a month.”
Jack didn’t want to believe the man standing beside him. The Padre’s words were too much for the commander to comprehend, despite his having witnessed the lingering devastation. There was a positive aspect to the tale though. Until this moment, there had been no news of a mass migration or hope of refugee camps somewhere to the west. It was the commander’s turn to stand and seek the relief of the window.
Burke misread his guest’s reaction, some inner sense of guilt rising in the priest’s throat. “I know it doesn’t seem very God-fearing to let our teenagers roam the area with weapons of war. At first, I struggled against defaulting to any sort of violence. But these are desperate times, sir. When word spread that our walls housed massive supplies of food and medicine, those that had survived tried to take it from us by force. We had no choice but to defend the church and our parishioners. Our crusaders are purely defensive, fighting to save our faith and preserve the word of Jesus Christ. If we didn’t defend ourselves, the marauders would come and take everything we have, including our lives.”
Jack waved the man off, “I wasn’t judging you, Padre. I’m trying to deal with an entirely new reality. I don’t blame people for attempting to defend themselves, and I’ve seen firsthand what you’re facing. If it weren’t for your so-called crusaders, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
The priest seemed relieved. “I understand, Commander. Perhaps it might help if we changed the subject. What can you tell me of your submarine and the men who serve aboard her? Perhaps we can become allies in this troubling world we now share.”
Clearing his throat to answer, Jack never got the chance. A volley of gunfire erupted from outside, the volume of shots causing the two men to exchange a troubled glance. “The Eagles are upset over our trespass today,” the priest offered. “Still, it sounds like more than a simple raid.”
Cisco didn’t offer any response, his focus fixated on the courtyard below and the dozens of armed children running for the walls. Is this what we have become, he thought? American kids fighting like some third world nation living without rule of law?
It was amazing to the commander, watching as school-aged pre-teens took cover, shouldered weapons and began firing like trained infantry.
Father Burke, evidently accustomed to this routine, seemed more concerned about the length and ferocity of the engagement. “This should have ended before now,” he whispered. “Something is wrong.”
A knock on the door announced the young man who had escorted Jack to the inner sanctum. “Father, it looks like the Eagles are making a serious attempt to overrun the church. There are more of them than I’ve ever seen before, and they aren’t going away.”
“I’ll be right there,” the priest said in a rush.
Jack followed the local duo, rushing back through the halls and buildings that now carried an atmosphere of fear and adrenaline. Miniature soldiers were hustling here and there, some hoisting baskets of ammunition, a group of smaller children carrying the body of a badly wounded boy away from the wall. All the while, more and more rifles were heard joining the fray.
There were dozens of defenders at the concrete barricade now, puffs of stucco and masonry polluting the already thick air as more and more incoming rounds smacked into the church’s defenses. Cisco followed his hosts to what was obviously the command center, a small enclave protected on three sides by the stone foundations of larger buildings.
It took the older boys just a few moments to brief the priest, his face soon colored by a deep scowl. “How did they get so close?”
“They feined attacking the east wall. We dispatched most of our shooters there, and that’s when the main group attacked from the north. They got in close before we could move our people back.”
“How many?”
“At least 100, maybe more.”
Two more kids fell from the wall as Jack glanced to the north. The church’s refugees were shouting, running, and screaming in all directions as the battle increased in pitch. Jack saw another girl go down right in front of him, her chest torn open and oozing crimson. She couldn’t have been much older than his own daughter.
Anger began to boil inside of the commander’s soul, the emotion driven by both the carnage in front of his eyes as well as the injustice of the violence. Hadn’t these survivors suffered enough without having to fight a war before reaching puberty? Hadn’t they all endured enough pain, death, and trauma without having to kill or be killed?
Two white skulls adorned with feathers appeared above the barrier, both of the Eagles ducking back quickly. Before Jack could shout a warning, both of the attackers pointed their weap
ons over the edge and began blindly spraying rounds into the courtyard.
Ducking as a string of bullets slammed into the surrounding stonework, Jack initially felt the ice of fear searing through his veins. That reaction was soon replaced by fury and outrage as he stared down at the dead child lying nearby.
The developing scenario insulted his very humanity. The entire world surrounding the church had been decimated. Society had evaporated. The United States of America no longer locally existed. Why weren’t the survivors pulling together? Why weren’t all of these children combining their resources and helping each other? Had the entire human race become animals?
Despite his momentary embarrassment at the illogical behavior of the species, Jack had to trust his gut. In every one of his limited encounters, the Eagles had been the aggressors. The girls at the base fence hadn’t started that gunfight. No one from the church had tracked him like an animal or tried to kill him as he merely rode a bicycle down the street. Father Burke’s so-called Crusaders had not only rescued him, but had shown the only signs of compassion and humanity he’d encountered since returning to shore.
While the US Navy hadn’t seen fit to teach Jackson Cisco the finer points of small arms combat, the training the commander had received did encompass handling the stress and fear of conflict. Jack was no stranger to his life being at risk. He was a man who had spent extended periods of time living under hundreds of tons of water and dodging hostile enemy forces.
Mentally choosing a side was easy. With a growl of disgust, the commander charged the exposed section bent at the waist. In a desperate leap, he hurled from a bench to the roof of a low outbuilding, landing just as the two shitbirds barreled over the wall.
Jack fired several rounds off balance, his M4 spitting lead in a frantic effort to repel the breach and buy time for more of the church’s defenders to shore up that section. Again and again, he squeezed the trigger as he raised his weapon. Like before, he realized his mind was moving 100 times faster than his body would respond.
