by J. P. Castle
The four entered Old Claus’s home. War memorabilia laid everywhere, shell casings, gas masks, radio transmitters, even grenades. It resembled a scene from a military movie—the type of place that would harbor booby traps in every corner.
The old-timer, dressed in Army digs complete with the hard hat, hadn’t shaved in years. He sat on a stool with an open can of something. The metal lid was peeled back, exposing the grotesque contents inside.
“How’d you avoid the round-ups yesterday?” said Timmy.
“Simple, I know the General. Major General Girard Given. He’s in charge of this big top circus. Got several hundred soldiers jammed up in our town. I’m not exactly sure WHAT it is they’re up to here. BUT I KNOW THIS,”—he held one finger in the air, pursed his lips tight, and squinted one eye half-closed—“you kids better get the hell out of here lickety-split. And don’t look back! The devil himself has come to town, and HE’S BROUGHT HELL WITH HIM!
“I stayed active in the military for forty years. They can do whatever they want. This is some kind of isolated operation. I got a satellite phone call out to my brother in Oklahoma. All healthy everywhere else in the United States . . . except our town. I don’t think so, son. Isn’t even on the news anywhere.
“A virus this deadly would have top billing on every station. No sir, eee. You best hit them hills outback before they try to drag you all down there to those tents. This right here, this right here boys ‘n girls is a modern-day execution camp. I’m telling you right now, Old Claus didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday. Well, I did fall, but it weren’t off no turnip truck. Oh, never mind. You yahoos probly don’t even know what that means anyway.”
“This man, Girard, did you talk to him?” said Bastian.
“I went right down there to his precious tent. Him sittin’ there all high ‘n mighty, barking orders out playing KING OF THE WORLD. He said I’s lucky I’s former military. I had my hard hat on ‘n everything,” said Old Claus, slapping his helmet twice. “He said to keep my mouth shut ‘n the doors locked for a few days ‘n I’d be alright. He always was a cocky punk. Came into service about ten years before I retired,”—the old man’s mind shifted gears—"I tell you one time back in . . .”
Bastian cut him off before he could ramble on. “Are you sure that’s all you remember?”
“He said there’s too many, too many people, he said, breeders out of control. Muttered some crap about food shortages. But I’ve got plenty of beans. Told me to get out of his sight. So, I did. My best friend I had in the whole world next door died this morning. So, what do I care? Alone with my dog now. I’m an old man with one foot in the grave ‘n half of the other. That’s all I got kid.”
“Thanks, Claus,” said Bastian. “Let’s go, guys.”
A loud knock shook the front door. “Oh shit,” said Bastian, “we have to hide.”
“Chop-chop, two in the closet, back bedroom, two in the kitchen pantry,” said Old Claus in a low tone.
Timmy and Mazel hurried to the kitchen pantry. Bastian and Ledger bounded down the hall to the bedroom.
The impatient soldiers knocked a second time, harder.
Old Claus gimped toward the door. “Bloody hell, I’m comin’ already. That’s one of the problems with this world today. Ain’t nobody got no patience. Everybody’s always in a blasted ass hurry. Give an old man a minute.”
The tiny closet, filled to the brim, left Bastian and Ledger no choice but to huddle in tight. Old Claus must’ve been related to Old Man Thurman for sure—packrats, thought Bastian. His back pressed hard into Ledger’s chest.
“This is NOT how I imagined dying, snuggled up to the likes of you,” whispered Ledger in a hateful tone. “Is this how you used to snuggle with, Mary Beth?”
“No, but I will say if I had, I bet her breath would’ve smelled better,” snickered Bastian. “Either let me explain later, or let it go, man. It was a huge mistake on my part to not tell you the truth immediately. I’m really sorry—um . . . what’s that hard thing poking into my back,” said Bastian sarcastically.
“Don’t get too excited. I’m not that happy to be spooning in a standing position with you. It’s a gun I found at Henry’s. Hope it doesn’t accidentally go off ‘n shoot you in the foot or something.”
“Funny,” said Bastian. “Keep it handy, we might need it to get out of here. Our bag of guns is in the kitchen. All I’ve got is my iron mitts right now.”
“Yeah, well those won’t get us very far.”
The boys sparred with words until the front door opened.
“Have you seen these kids?” said the Private, holding up a picture of Bastian and Ledger.
“Nope, sure haven’t. Sick as hell in here . . . sick as hell. Stinks something awful, diarrhea all day,” said Old Claus, letting some vile odors escape his tailpipe. “Oooh, here it comes again. Wooo, Nelly.”
The Privates both wrinkled their noses and shook their heads in disgust at the old man’s behavior. “If you see them, please come down to the barricade and tell us at once. They may be in the area. We need to speak to them.”
“Will do,” said Old Claus. Rotten farts clear the room every time. Nothing better than a yummy can of brown Pinto beans. Brown in—brown out. He chuckled.
Pinto beans were Old Claus’ favorite cheap food staple. He’d grazed on them straight out of the metal can since breakfast.
“ALL CLEAR,” he yelled.
The four exited their hiding spots and came back into the room.
“What is that smell?” said Mazel.
Each person fanned their hand in front of their face.
“Old Blue’s got some gas . . . rotten ain’t it.” Old Claus laughed after blaming the poor old hound lying in the corner.
Bastian scanned the yard out Claus’ deck door. A short dash between the house and the pines. No drones. Not far to go now.
“Thanks for the information and hiding us. We’re gonna go now,” said Bastian.
“You kids stay safe out there,” said Old Claus, waving them off.
The gear slowed them down a bit, but they pushed on, sprinting halfway up the first hill with all their might. Finally, they were safe inside the dense cover of the mountain, away from the mayhem below.
“An hour ‘n half to Lake Dillon if we’re lucky,” said Bastian.
“Then what?” said Timmy.
“I’m not sure yet,” said Bastian.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Return
RANI WRIGGLED OUT of her tent door the next morning, eyes still weary. Chilled and irritated, she peered into Bastian’s tent. “Okay, their tents are still empty. Where are they?”
“Still no cell signals either,” said Troian, shaking her wrist back ‘n forth.
“What do we do? We should go for help. They’ve wrecked,” said Rani.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Troian. She stretched her arms, yawned, and reached across the picnic table for a donut.
“Okay, it’s car trouble then,” said Rani.
“Maybe something really happened . . . the choppers, the roadblocks. Could be they’re stuck on the other side,” said Bryce, Bastian’s sister.
“Okay, team—listen up. I didn’t want to mention this yesterday because I didn’t want to alarm anyone. Remember, cooler heads always prevail . . . but, I did receive a disturbing message from Mr. Seng last evening. The text said for us not to come back to town, right before the cells lost service,” said Mr. McCrady.
“WHAT?” said Rani, trying to warm herself by the fire.
“I’m not sure what the trouble is, but right now, I’m responsible for all of you. We will continue to stay put, but Caleb, can you and Bryce go back up the mountain top after breakfast? Make sure you remember the binoculars. We need to find out if the roadblocks are still there. It shouldn’t take that long. We’ll wait here. The camp store man said the outage is isolated to our area. Surely, it’ll be fixed soon.”
Caleb and Bryce, both cross-country runners at Summi
t, sprinted up the trail, swallowing their last bit of breakfast along the way. Their hearts thumped with excitement as the crisp morning air rushed in to fill their lungs. Once the group lost sight of them, they redirected their attention toward Mr. McCrady.
“Why would you wait to tell us that news? Simply curious,” said Troian.
“I’d hoped they’d make it back and it would be . . . some sort of misunderstanding. At this point, I have no idea what to make of the situation,” said Mr. McCrady. “I expected service to be restored by now. I assumed Mr. Seng and Bastian would have a wild tale to share with us around the campfire ‘n we’d all get a laugh.”
“Do you see this face?” Rani said, circling her face with her forefinger. “Not laughing. No laugh here. None.”
“Rani, you should’ve gone out for the Drama Club. You’ve completely missed your calling,” said Troian, shaking her head.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Caleb and Bryce reached the summit overlooking Highway 9. The pair laid shoulder to shoulder flat on their stomachs. The rocky mountain top hadn’t warmed yet. The fierce wind penetrated right through Bryce’s navy-blue sweatpants. Her legs were covered with goosebumps.
Caleb shook his chestnut brown hair out of the way. He eyed the binoculars first. “They’ve still got the barricade up.”
He handed Bryce the binoculars. She examined the soldiers with guns, two of them. “Yep, still there, okay, let’s go inform McC. Hey, wait, here comes a van.”
Caleb inspected again. “It’s a news van, maybe, there’s writing on the side, three or four letters, and a satellite dish on the top. A guy’s out of the van with a big camera perched on his shoulder. The soldier’s pointing a gun at the man. The dude set his camera down. I think they’re arresting him. He’s got his hands in the air.”
A flash left the soldier’s weapon. POP, POP, POP. The cameraman dropped to the pavement.
Caleb’s mouth fell open.
“Caleb, what is it? What was that noise?” said Bryce.
The driver of the van jumped out. POP, POP, POP. The sharp noise echoed through the canyon. He, too, joined his bloodied motionless friend down on the concrete.
“The soldiers shot the people in the van,” said Caleb.
Bryce took the specs. She spotted the bodies on the pavement. “Why would they do that? One of ‘em’s putting the bodies back in the van. The other one is sticking something under the hood . . . it’s smoking. Oh my gosh, they’re pushing it off the ravine. Now, I’m scared.”
The news van tumbled down the deep ravine. An explosion under the hood caused the vehicle to immediately burst into flames.
Caleb reviewed the situation one last time. “They murdered those guys. I mean, they really murdered them. If they had a legit reason, they wouldn’t have shoved the van over the cliff. Something major’s happening here, and we need to find out exactly what it is and where Bastian’s at.”
Neither Caleb nor Bryce needed binoculars to behold the blazing inferno. The soldiers went back to their business as if nothing had ever happened. Both knew it would be several days before anyone located the vehicle, and by then, they’d be long gone. Billows of black smoke filled the canyon from below.
“Let’s go, we have to warn the others,” said Caleb.
Cumbersome thoughts invaded their minds. In her haste to speed back down the mountain, Bryce smashed right into Caleb’s solid chest. Their foreheads collided. Caleb caught her instinctively by the waist to steady them both.
Bryce rubbed her forehead, trying to overcome the sudden jolt. The pair locked eyes. They’d spent many nights in the same house together but never had an encounter this close. Only a few inches separated their faces now. Time stalled, and for a split second, both forgot about the murders.
Bryce had looked into Caleb’s mahogany brown eyes thousands of times over the years—ever since he’d become friends with her big brother, Bastian. She never noticed how they sparkled though, not until this moment, right now. And no guy had ever touched her waist before, not even at a school dance. Caleb’s strong hands felt like baseball mitts on her hips. The awkwardness of the moment made her swallow. Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” said Caleb, “you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I should be the one apologizing.”
Caleb grinned. He bit his lower lip. “Are you . . . blushing?”
Bryce blanked out. In uncomfortable situations, she turned to her favorite defense mechanism, rudeness.
“Blushing,” she said, wrinkling her face. “Why would I be blushing. You wish.” She tore away from his half embrace and hastened away.
Their feet couldn’t move fast enough, Bryce struggled to keep up. Caleb noticed and slowed his pace. After all, he was a year older and much stronger.
“Sounds like Bryce ‘n Caleb are coming in at warp speed,” said Mr. McCrady.
Footsteps hammered down the trail. An eternity seemed to pass before they arrived back at camp. Bryce couldn’t organize her thoughts. She tried to blow off the tingle that flooded through her body when Caleb’s hands had touched her, ‘n focus on the fact that two people just got murdered. Other members noticed her scarlet red cheeks.
Why did he look at me like that? Did he see my cheeks turn red? I totally turned red. I felt it. What happened back there? Oh, stop being stupid. ‘N what are these people staring at? Idiots. She turned to Caleb, “You tell ‘em. I’ve gotta catch my breath.”
Everyone gathered to listen.
“The soldiers shot people, shot two dead. Stuffed their bodies in the van, the one they drove up in and shoved the whole thing right over the cliff. It exploded, burst into flames with them in it. I think they were news people,” said Caleb.
Mr. McCrady raised his eyebrows.
“Killed them?” said Troian. “You can’t be serious.”
“Yes, the smoke’s still in the air,” said Caleb, lifting his head to the sky. Black smoke lingered above the mountain. “Didn’t you hear the boom?”
“No,” said Mr. McCrady. “The mountain must’ve shielded the blast. Okay, I need to study for a minute.” He sat on the edge of the picnic table and rubbed the back of his neck. The others chatted amongst themselves, troubled by the news.
“Does this mean we can’t go home, Rani?” said Ollie.
“No, Ollie, we can’t. Not until we figure . . . HEY, IT’S BASTIAN!” Rani dashed off toward Bastian, Ledger, Timmy, and Mazel. She threw her arms around Bastian, but the embrace abruptly ended when he backed her away.
“Not right now, Rani,” said Bastian gently.
Rani squinted, not prone to this type of rejection, and erupted into a plethora of questions. “Where’ve you been? Why are you so dirty? Where’s the truck? And WHAT is that smell?”
Bastian didn’t have one ounce of energy left to respond to her interrogation. The four—overwhelmed, muddy, and hungry—leaned into the fire. Bastian dropped his head and sighed, thankful for the warmth. Grateful to be away from the turmoil they’d left behind. Their glum faces carried an unspoken tale of trouble.
Mr. McCrady rose from the picnic table, “Bastian, where’s Mr. Seng?”
“What I have to say is upsetting, and there’s no easy way to put it. Mr. Seng’s dead. He’s been killed.”
Everyone gasped.
“They killed him at school in the lab. Shot him for no reason because he wouldn’t go get a vaccine. When Mr. Seng saw them coming, he told me, Ledger, ‘n Carter to hide in the cleaning closet.
“Hiding saved our lives. Except when we tried to escape, they shot Carter in the leg, and we couldn’t get him out in time. I’m not sure what happened to him. They were shooting at us inside the school.”
“Yeah, I’ve got proof right here on my jacket where a bullet grazed it,” said Ledger.
“Who, Bastian, who killed Mr. Seng? Who fired the shots?” said Mr. McCrady.
“The soldiers that invaded our town. They’ve taken over. They also murdered Old Man Thurman in his house and a
re searching for us right now. They have mine ‘n Ledger’s pictures. They especially want us after what we saw.
“People are dying all over the place, dump trucks are everywhere full of dead bodies. Soldiers rounded people up like cattle and gave them a vaccination. Crazy Old Claus, the old army man, said the vaccines are lethal. Henry Gaines hinted at the same.
“Soldiers are dumping and burning the dead in mass graves at Thurman’s farm. And none of us are sick, even though we talked directly to Henry Gaines before he died. He got the vaccine, said it made him sick. Said his parents died after getting it, too.
“Ledger cut wrist bands off the dead to help us escape Wellington subdivision. He’s fine. The soldiers at the school didn’t know we were listening in the closet. They talked about killing off 70 percent of the population. We almost didn’t make it back.”
Bastian showed Mr. McCrady and the others the video they’d managed to capture.
“You had contact with the sick people, dead people,” Rani said, casually backing away.
People covered their mouths, nervous chatter flowed through the camp.
“QUIET PEOPLE, QUIET. I need to hear him to understand what’s going on,” said Mr. McCrady.
“I’m no doctor, but I’m not sure any of the people were sick at all before the soldiers arrived. From what I’ve gathered, it seems to me most of them got symptomatic right after they got the shot,” said Bastian.
Bastian told the group what Mr. Seng said about being at the pharmacy. He also mentioned how Carter saved their lives with news of the maintenance room tunnel.
Mr. McCrady feared their potential exposure and the fate that may lay ahead for the group. He also grieved the loss of his dear friend, Mr. Seng.
Students huddled around the campfire. Some remained silent. Others cried. The rest showed no real emotion at all and stared into the flames. The gruesomeness of the situation hadn’t sunk in.
This kind of stuff made for a killer Friday night movie. No one ever imagined anything of this nature happening in real life. A government turning against its own people—absurd.
