The Last Marine : Book Two (A Dystopian War Novel)

by T. S. Ransdell

  “What the fuck is this?” Bella screamed her outrage.

  “People are saying they’re going to shut down the protest,” a tall, chubby man wearing a “My Other Car is a Dragon” T-shirt and a red bandana around his face informed her.

  “Oh, fuck no!” Bella cried. “We can’t let them get away with this! Does the media know what they’re doing?”

  The chubby man responded by blowing his air horn in anger, but giving her no answer.

  Bella joined a group of protesters tipping over a car belonging to a protester which was parked near Peace Village, and set it on fire. She then cheered along with the rest of the crowd, watching the car burn. When another protester, with a bag of chunks of concrete, walked by, Bella took two. She ran to throw them at the line of FedAPS agents. Then, out of rocks, she settled for hurling obscenities at the federal agents wearing gas masks. They were an easy target for her to vent her anger upon. Yet the more she yelled, the more indignant she felt.

  Bella ran back into the crowd, hoping to find more projectiles to hurl. She found a few bottles she could throw and ran back towards the line of FedAPS agents just as armored vehicles pulled up.

  “Who the fuck do they think they’re kidding?” Bella screamed and laughed. “Seriously, what are you going to do with that?” The display of strength inspired even greater audacity in the rioters. Many walked right up to the shielded agents and spit on them. One protester dared the armored car to run him over.

  Bella jumped in fear when a machine gun atop an armored car opened fire. Instantly, the crowd’s mood went from sanctimonious to horrified. Bella ran, but didn’t know where to go. She followed the crowd before her looking for a dark place to hide, but overhead drones pouring light down, exposing the protesters. FedAPS agents, now with guns, moved into Peace Village, shooting into the crowds of demonstrators. The park that twenty-four hours before had been the victory hall of social justice warriors, was now their killing ground.

  Dizzy with fear and confusion, Bella fell to the ground. She pulled herself up to her knees with clumsy desperation and looked back to see FedAPS agents interspersed between armored cars, advancing and killing.

  “Why?!” Bella screamed. “You’re not supposed to be doing this!” She wanted to run, but she couldn’t make her legs move. Instead, with tears in her eyes, Bella threw her hands in the air.

  “Please,” she begged, to no one in particular. “I’m innocent. Don’t shoot!”

  A FedAPS agent, armed with a twelve-gauge shotgun, killed Bella Bradford where she knelt.

  Sarah was surprised to see that it was already dark outside. Her day off had flown by. Having gotten up after everyone else had left, she’d spent all afternoon binge-watching junk TV. Only now did she try messaging Mackenzie.

  “Come on,” she mumbled to herself, “you’ve got to be done with inventory by now.” Wondering if Lulu’s had opened for the night, she called down at the bar, only to be directed to voicemail. Sarah found that a little odd, since Mackenzie’s note had said she’d be down at the bar all day. She then called Mackenzie’s cell phone and got the same result.

  Frustrated, she tossed her phone onto the sofa, turned the TV to live news, and went into the kitchen for something to eat. From there, she heard over the speaker that the Peace Demonstration had been brought to an end, and rioters were arrested.

  “Good! Maybe the city can get back to normal.” Sarah enjoyed the sound of her own voice in response. The news recap of the Marine Corps’ mutiny and treason caused her to stop looking through the fridge and listen. When she heard that the entire First Marine Regiment was destroyed in an attempt to overthrow the government, she ran to her computer and logged on for more news.

  She read that Second and Third Battalions had overtaken some naval vessels, in concert with First Battalion attacking FedAPS units. Additionally, noncomplying Marine personnel and their families, at Camp Pendleton were killed by the rebellious Marines. President Tang had no choice but to order drone strikes to put down the rebellion. While no Marines were suspected to have survived the president’s counterstrike, citizens were encouraged to be alert and report any Marine Corps personnel they saw to FedAPS. A “Report a Marine” hotline was established for such a purpose.

  Sarah reached for her phone and attempted to call Mackenzie again. This time she left a message for Mackenzie to call her back as soon as possible. She went back to the kitchen counter, where she had left Mackenzie’s note, and reread it.

  “There’s no way they could’ve gone back to base at that time.” Sarah spoke aloud as fear created a new chain of events in her mind. Once more she reached for her phone.

  “Hello, I have four Marines I want to report. They were at my apartment last night. I’m afraid they might have kidnapped my friend,” Sarah spat out. Then forcing herself to speak more slowly, she began to divulge everything she knew.

  It was a long and quiet ride to Arizona, exactly what they had hoped for. With a full tank of gas from the start, there was no reason to stop. Along I-8, a few miles east of a casino, they hit a dark stretch of interstate. They pulled off the road, and Harris and McCurry hauled the bodies out into the bush. Edwards cleaned the front passenger floor the best he could. Rivett switched out the license plate and did a gear check. He found two hooded sweatshirts along with two loaded nine-millimeter pistols, a sawed-off shotgun, plus a bag with forty thousand dollars cash and a whole bunch of prepaid debit cards.

  “Hell, we should have just hit this van first thing and saved ourselves a lot of trouble,” Edwards said, feeling good about their luck. He walked over to Mackenzie, who sat on a rock, shivering in the cold. He wrapped one of the hooded sweatshirts around her shoulders. “You doing all right?” he asked, but she didn’t respond.

  “We’re going to need to hit the road.” His attempt to sound gentle made Edwards feel all the more awkward. Mackenzie stood up and walked back to the van without acknowledging him.

  Rivett, being the only one who’d ever travelled this route, was now behind the wheel. The van was only equipped with an AM/FM radio. Radio reception was poor, and their attempts to get news broadcasts were mostly in vain.

  To help him stay awake, Rivett talked about his family, their ranch, and the land. Mackenzie, sitting in the front passenger seat, stared out the windshield. Harris and McCurry were dozing in the back of the van. Only Edwards engaged Rivett in conversation, asking about the terrain in central Arizona.

  Camping and hunting is all he can think of at a time like this? Mackenzie thought. They were innocent. Why have they only made things worse? How do we get out of this now? The more she thought about it, the more she felt like the only one who cared about getting back to normal, and the angrier she became.

  “Look alive, devil dogs.” Edwards woke Harris and McCurry up as they approached a FedAPS checkpoint on the California side of the border. “Remember, if asked, we’re all political science students.”

  Harris pulled his hood tight over his head. Then he turned the left side of his face into the hood, to hide his scar, and pretended to be asleep.

  “Looks like they’re just waving people through,” Rivett said optimistically.

  “Good.” Edwards allowed himself a slight smile. “I’d hate to have to shoot it out if they ask for identification.”

  How can he be so casual about killing? A chill went down Mackenzie’s spine. He’s not the man I thought he was, she decided and prayed they would just be waved through. Her blood turned cold when the FedAPS agent signaled for them to stop.

  The agent walked over to the passenger side of the van and signaled for Mackenzie to lower her window.

  “Howdy,” he pleasantly greeted them. “Where you all heading to tonight?”

  “Flagstaff, sir.” Rivett instantly regretted saying sir, fearing he sounded too militaristic. He stopped himself from adding NAU to his answer, deciding the less information he offered, the better.

  “I see. You got people in the back?”

  “Yea
h.” Rivett consciously avoided saying sir.

  “Open the side door, please,” the agent ordered. Rivett considered punching the gas pedal and making a run for it. He looked to his front and left for potential targets. There were only two other agents. They were talking to each other and laughing. His instincts told him not to make a run for it just yet. Harris, on the left side of the bench seat, was turned towards the driver’s side rear window. His right hand was tucked under his hooded sweatshirt, firmly gripping his pistol. McCurry sat upright with a blanket over his lap, concealing the sawed-off shotgun. Edwards, in the back of the van, stood bent over and opened the side door. His left hand rested on the pistol in his back pocket. The FedAPS agent briefly looked at the three young men and smiled.

  “All right. Drive safely and have a good night.” He stepped back and motioned for Rivett to drive on and the next car to drive forward. No one said a word. Rivett’s eyes darted left and right, looking for any sign of trouble.

  “Welcome to Arizona,” Rivett read the sign as they crossed the Colorado River into Yuma, Arizona.

  “Man”–McCurry couldn’t stop smiling in his relief–“when you opened the side door, I thought for sure that was it!”

  “Me too.” Edwards smiled. “I tell you what, Jimmy. Back there, I was wondering why the hell you weren’t punching the gas when he said he wanted us to open the door. Man, I’m so glad you didn’t. Good call!” He leaned in towards Mackenzie and spoke quietly. “You did good too. Hang in there. We’ll get through this.”

  I’ve got to get away from them, Mackenzie silently concluded.

  Seeing there were only men in the back of the van, Agent Nero waved it on. He looked to the next car and, seeing the driver was a woman of Asian ethnicity, motioned for it to stop. He walked over to the driver’s side window, asked for identification, and compared her photo to that of Hannah Tse’s picture on his clipboard. Confirming the driver was not Hannah Tse, he waved her on through.

  “Hey,” Nero yelled over at the other agents, “tell Dutton to get his ass out here! It’s five after ten already!”

  “Sorry,” Dutton yelled as he ran out of the guard office. “I was printing off new orders from San Diego HQ.”

  “Yeah, fine. Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off with a full bladder,” Nero complained on his way to the bathroom. Dutton rolled his eyes to the other agents.

  “Nero’s such a drama queen,” he quietly joked. “Hey, in addition to Hannah Tse, we’re supposed to be on the lookout for four escaped Marines traveling with a woman. These are some of the traitor assholes who attacked our boys at Camp Pendleton. One of them has a very noticeable scar running across the left side of his face.”

  “Listen up,” Rivett said loud enough to wake everyone up. Despite their tension, the last three hours of driving Arizona highways at night had put the others to sleep.

  “What’s up?” Edwards asked, sitting up immediately.

  “We’re about thirty miles out from home,” Rivett answered. “We’re going to hit Yarnell here soon. I’m thinking I don’t want this van at my house in case it ever gets connected to those guys we killed, or whatever.”

  “So, what, you want to walk?” Edwards asked, he thought in jest.

  “Exactly,” Rivett replied. “We can gas up and get some supplies in Yarnell. About five miles out of town along Highway 89 (that’s what we’re on now) there’s an unmarked road on the left side of the highway. It’ll take us back to some trails that’ll lead us all the way home. We’ll slip into Skull Valley, and no one will see us. We can stash the van for future use and hoof it the rest of the way to the ranch. It’s less than twenty miles from there. Also, there’s a big pinyon pine tree, easy to locate, where we can bury the cash for future use when the time comes.”

  “I like it,” Edwards said. “It almost sounds too easy.”

  This had all gone better than he’d thought it could. Edwards knew they were still in a tough spot, but thought it would be better than being stuck in San Diego. He squeezed Mackenzie’s shoulder. She reflexively pulled away. Edwards didn’t know how to respond, and he didn’t want to. He did not want to believe that Mackenzie would fall apart now.

  Let’s just get to the ranch. We can sort it all out then, Edwards thought.

  “Fill ’er up, pump four, please,” Rivett said. He could see their black van on the gas station’s security monitors. Figures, he thought. He had purposefully pulled the van up to the gas pumps on the side of the station instead of the front, hoping to avoid detection, or at least not be seen with the van.

  Al Ventz stared down at the three twenty-dollar bills on his counter. His mind took a few seconds to process what was going on. He was always suspicious of customers paying cash at this time of night. Generally, the only customers he got at this time were either FedAPS agents or Arizona patrolmen.

  “You’re all set,” Ventz replied.

  “Thank you, sir.” Rivett nodded with a smile and left.

  Kid looks like too much of a shitbag to be that polite, Ventz thought. Who the hell talks like that anyways?

  He thought the whole group that walked in looked like the protesters he’d seen tearing up San Diego on the news. He hoped the other four who had walked into his store were as nice as the one who had left. At this late hour, working with cash along a dark, lonely highway, he took comfort in the .40-caliber pistol tucked in the small of his back.

  Watching his patrons, Ventz listened to the news broadcast on TV. The announcer, once again, was reporting on the Marine suspected of murdering some young women in San Diego.

  “Despite the death of so many Marines recently,” a female reporter announced, “FedAPS has reason to believe the suspect may still be at large. He is identifiable by a thick scar running across his left cheek.”

  “How can anybody with a face like that hide anywhere?” Ventz mumbled to himself. His attention was on a muscular man, with blond hair, placing six water bottles on the counter.

  “Will that be all?” Ventz prepared to ring up the order.

  “No, sir,” Edwards answered, “I’ll take six cartons of cigarettes also. My buddies are getting more stuff. It’ll all be on the same bill. Hey”–Edwards reminded himself not to say sir–“where’s your bathroom?”

  “Over there, around the corner, behind the counter,” Ventz grunted as he nodded to his left, wondering how the guy could have missed the sign.

  “Thanks,” Edwards grunted back, irritated by the clerk’s attitude. He glanced up at the sign coated with dark filth. If you cleaned the goddamned sign, it’d be easier to spot, you old bastard.

  Ventz’s watchful eye on the other three patrons was disrupted once again by a buzzer that notified him more cars had pulled up next to the gas pumps. His security monitor showed two FedAPS SUVs at the pumps.

  Good, Ventz thought. He’d heard on the news that travel in Arizona was to be restricted with roadblocks due to the fire up north. Ventz hoped the fire would get close enough to bring him more federal business, but not too close to shut him down.

  “I got to go pee,” Agent Janelle Blige indignantly replied when FedAPS Sergeant Joseph Gunn asked her to fill up the gas tank. Without giving her commanding officer an opportunity to respond, she jumped out of the SUV and headed towards the convenience store. Gunn exhaled slowly to calm himself down, then got out of the SUV to fill the gas tank.

  Two weeks earlier, the senior agent had looked forward to taking on the role of mentor to a rookie agent. An Arizona Militia veteran of the Mexico Campaign, Gunn felt himself fortunate to have survived those early days of the war. At that time, no one in his chain of command seemed to know what they were doing. There was a lot of trial, error, and death during those early months of the war. More than just survive, Gunn had evolved during that period. He learned from his enemy and then excelled at killing his enemy. Gunn rose through the ranks of command in his unit. To Gunn, his role as a leader was a sacred duty. What he taught his men not only kept them alive, but, in his opinio
n, made them the deadliest unit in the Arizona Militia.

  During the Harmon administration, the Arizona Militia was disbanded, and he was offered the position of a senior agent in the newly formed Federal Agency of Public Safety. For the most part, he enjoyed being a FedAPS agent. He took pride in serving his fellow Americans by keeping the homeland safe. As during his years in the militia, his greatest satisfaction came from instructing junior agents in skills that would make them better agents and keep them alive.

  “Agent Blige could be a challenge,” Gunn’s lieutenant had told him two weeks earlier. “Of all our new agents, she needs the most help. You’re the best we’ve got here, so I’m assigning her to you.”

  During her FedAPS basic training, Blige failed nearly every physical and academic test required to become an agent. However, under the Tang administration, she was of a demographic FedAPS now found highly desirable. Thus, she was graduated, and now it was Gunn’s responsibility to turn her into a competent agent. The old veteran accepted the assignment as a compliment, with a determination to make Blige the best FedAPS agent in his unit.

  Now Gunn felt at his wits’ end. While usually not an advocate of hard discipline, he had found times during the war when it was most effective. However, FedAPS regulations prohibited him from using such methods. As long as he was dealing with motivated agents, willing to learn and improve, he had not found the need for hard discipline. Blige, however, was not a motivated agent, nor did she exercise a desire to improve at her profession. To Gunn’s frustration, she exhibited a level of apathetic entitlement he’d never encountered during the war.

  Initially, Gunn’s response was to have a calm, but very blunt conversation with her about her lack of initiative and commitment. This earned Gunn a letter of reprimand from the department’s FedAPS Human Resources officer, after Blige complained of him “implementing a masculine perspective into an employment atmosphere.” Immediately, he appealed the letter through his union representation, but that would take months to be resolved. In the meantime, his lieutenant told him it was still Gunn’s responsibility to make her a good agent and ordered him to avoid conflicts with her.