by J. P. Castle
The door creaked as he slid it open. Inside, stained padding poked through the worn leather seats. Cobwebs draped from the rearview mirror down to the steering wheel, shimmering against the backdrop of the moon. The roughness of the beast confirmed its age.
Keys, I need keys . . . what are the odds? I can’t believe it. Does everyone hide keys underneath the floor mat? Besides, who’d come along and steal this thing . . .
He exited the relic in a hurry to examine the tires. A little dry rotted, but they should make it to Vedauwoo. Heart racing, he put the key into the ignition. The R.V. sputtered, coughed, and groaned before waking from its sleepy hibernation.
Mr. McCrady wheeled up to the front of the country store. Grand theft auto, mark that off the bucket list. Check. Soon, they’ll accuse me of kidnapping, too. Double-check on that. Lord, I really need your guidance here. You and I both know crime isn’t my specialty.
He attached a rubber band from the glove box around eight thousand dollars before sliding the funds through the mail slot with a small note. The note read:
THE GROUP STILL needed mileage allotment tickets. In 2040, the government forced people to buy these tickets to account for personal mileage use. Between regular tolls, allotment tickets, and other taxes, fewer people owned vehicles.
Congress claimed the extra revenue kept the roads in repair. Which failed to explain why most still remained riddled with potholes. Regular folks knew the reason behind the tickets had little to do with road improvements.
The money generated bought food from already starving countries overseas to support food programs here. The broken government could no longer output enough to feed the overgrown population.
Mr. McCrady pulled the R.V. back into the camp.
“What did the man say?” said Bastian.
“Not a word, the owner had already left. The store closed two hours ago . . .” said Mr. McCrady.
“You mean, you stole it?” said Bastian.
“Not exactly, it’s, generously, worth about four thousand bucks or less. I left eight thousand inside the door. I hope that makes him happy, and he doesn’t report it missing. She’s gonna need a battery charge and mileage tickets. I need a hat, I’m a thief now, sort of . . . and soon to be kidnapper, it would appear.”
“Bastian,” said Caleb with concern.
“Not now, Caleb.”
“But the . . .”
“NOT now, Caleb,” said Bastian in an even firmer tone.
“Yo, Bastian, what he means to say is . . . the soldiers, you know the ones in the truck, soldiers bound and gagged on the floor . . . ring any bells? What are we gonna do with them?” said Ledger.
The entire group redirected their focus. They all turned to make sense of this frightening news.
Bastian sighed, “Man, I can NOT get a break today.”
Mr. McCrady’s brow raised. Unease filled his widened eyes. “Bastian, you don’t seriously have . . .”
“Yeah, we do. Get them over here. I’m out of time ‘n even lower on patience,” said Bastian.
Caleb and Ledger got the soldiers out of the truck.
Mr. McCrady—remained speechless.
Everyone gawked at the strange men in sweatsuits. No one uttered a single word except Bryce. “Big brother, is there any law you haven’t broken today?”
“Not one I can think of right now.” He turned his attention to the soldiers. “Kneel, or take one in the leg ‘n you of all people know I’ll do it.”
The soldiers kneeled by the fire, aware that this trio’s capabilities included murdering one of their own. Everyone gathered, eager to visualize two of the faces that invaded their town, killed their families, and left them orphaned.
“Talk,” said Bastian. “Why are you here? Why did you come to our town?”
The soldiers refused to speak, eyeing around instead for an escape route. In the face of death, they continued to maintain strict military protocol.
“Man,” said Bastian, touching the butt of the gun to his forehead, “I’m not in the mood for games. Somebody owes us an explanation, so what’s the word?”
“Let’s cut one of their fingers off,” said Ledger. He grabbed a wooden block and threw it down in front of the soldiers.
Caleb pulled out the jagged-edged army knife he’d taken from them earlier and stepped toward the men. Silence filled the crisp night air.
Bryce had never seen this type of behavior from Caleb or her brother before.
Rani stood on the opposite side of the fire, beside Troian. Both of the girl’s mouths hung open. This wasn’t the gentle Bastian she’d experienced over the summer.
One of the soldiers laughed at what he considered an attempt to be tough by some immature teens. “Kid, do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in right now? You point-blank murdered a United States soldier in cold blood, shot another one—left him for dead—which they’ll call attempted murder. You stole a military vehicle, kidnapped two other soldiers, and hard to say what else.”
“You murdered someone, Bastian?” said Bryce.
“No, I didn’t. It was self-defense. The guy tried to kill me. He almost succeeded.”
“They will hunt you down like an escaped convict. A rabid dog. You have no idea the shit storm about to rain down on your head, boy,” said the soldier.
The cocky soldier broke free from the zip tie cuffs and rolled hard into an upright stance before anyone could process his movements. He seized Youlie into a chokehold, enabling him to snap her fragile neck with one twist. A simple maneuver, everyone knew he could easily pull off.
Rani and Troian gasped.
“BASTIAN,” said Youlie in a panicked voice.
“Untie my friend, and we’ll be on our way—in our jeep,” said the soldier.
“Shoot him,” said Caleb in a steady tone, one without remorse or fear.
“I can’t, and he knows it,” said Bastian. “Shots will draw attention in here, in the park. We can’t risk it.”
Bastian kept his weapon pointed at the man’s head. Ledger pressed his gun hard against the side of the other soldier’s temple, still on his knees.
The soldier backed away step by step from the group with Youlie still in his clutches. She could hardly keep her footing. Bastian walked toward him, keeping pace.
Can I make the shot? How much time will we have before they’re on us if I fire? “Don’t be afraid, Youlie,” he said. What if I miss and hit her? I can’t let him take her.
The man’s grip slowly loosened from Youlie’s neck. She stumbled forward, coughing. The soldier’s eyes rolled back into his head. He staggered slightly to the left, falling face-first into the dirt—motionless.
Youlie jumped up, ran to Amir, and sobbed into his chest. Amir wrapped his arms around her to comfort. Chills tingled through his body, part from the incident unfolding before him, the other part from holding onto Youlie. He’d never been this close to a girl in his whole life. The moment didn’t play out as it had many times in his imagination—without guns and violence.
Bastian, Caleb, and Ledger looked at each other, confused. No one dared to approach the soldier, fearing this may be a ruse. They all theorized the same. What happened here? Did he have a heart attack? Is he faking?
Out of the darkness, a slim figured silhouette approached. Bastian and Caleb pointed their weapons in the direction of the shadow. Tracker emerged in a long confident stride, with her sleek black hair flowing behind her.
“I KNEW you would do that,” said Tracker’s younger sister, Sinew. She didn’t seem surprised at all.
Tracker and Sinew, trained by their Native American families, knew well the vital skills one needed to survive outside of regular civilization. They carried their hunting knives everywhere, except inside of school. Tracker’s father forced her, along with her sister, to master the art of knife throwing at an incredibly early age.
Tracker didn’t say a word. She calmly retrieved the knife from the man’s back. The six-inch blade had pierced his heart. He died instantl
y. Tracker wiped the blood off in the leaves next to the man’s still body and put her knife away.
“Do you think she’ll take his scalp?” Rani whispered to Troian—with her hand cupped over her mouth. The whites of her eyes could span no further with excitement.
Troian glared back at her strangely, pressed her brow into a wrinkled state, and gave her the ‘SHUT UP’ look of all time.
Besides those that came from town earlier, no one else in the group had seen a dead body outside of a funeral home. None comprehended the real horror engulfing their world—until now. No one spoke, not even Mr. McCrady . . . usually full of incredible wisdom. Words escaped him at present.
Before anyone could move their tensed muscles, Bastian started in on the kneeling soldier again. “So talk, or you’re next,” he said.
Ledger shoved the man’s head sideways with his gun even harder than before.
The soldier, alone now, decided to break his silence. “Okay, okay, the information I have goes as far as the orders we received and the rumors I heard. Our orders were to barricade the town, vaccinate people, ‘n keep our mouth shut or die. No media allowed. Anyone leaking info faces a court-martial, then death. Said they’d kill our families, too.”
“But why?” said Bastian.
“The country is burning through its emergency reserve stores of grain right now. Massive food shortages will occur in a few more months. The government fears the anarchy and crime that’ll happen when widespread famine hits. They can’t control millions of desperate, starving people.
“It ain’t just us, man. This is global. Rumor is seven global leaders of some hidden group, uh, the PCG . . . stands for Population Control Group . . . They’re in charge. No one would ever reach them or ever find out who they really are. They call the shots. They decided how many to exterminate.”
“Exterminate?” said Bastian.
“Yeah, exterminate. Worst orders anyone’s ever had to face in the history of mankind. First up, your town, don’t ask me why. I’m not that high on the pay scale. A beta test, I figured. Remote. Next week it’ll be another town, then the nation . . . the same scenario is playing out all over the world.”
“How many?” said Mr. McCrady. “How many are they going to kill?”
“Exterminate 70 percent and sterilize 30 percent of the survivors. They said that’ll give the planet time to heal or some shit. No one can stop it. You’re dead, I’m dead, we’re all dead. NO ONE can help any of us. There ain’t no one to call. Best you can do is hide. The minute you stick any of your heads up or get that so-called vaccine, boom you’re done. They’re probably on their way here right now.”
“So, the vaccine is . . .” said Mr. McCrady.
“It’s poison, man, poison. A deadly cocktail some yuppie put together down in Atlanta at the CDC. Comes on similar to a virus—shuts you down a few hours later. Now I am telling you, that’s the only Intel I have.”
“We’ve gotta MOVE people. If it didn’t seem real to you before, it is now,” said Bastian.
“What are we gonna do with him?” said Ledger.
“Put him in the R.V. We’re gonna keep him for now,” said Bastian. “Bryce, Caleb, put the stiff in the truck. Drive it in the lake, SAVE the satellite phone.”
“Hey kid,” said the soldier as Ledger marched him toward the R.V., “there’s a rocket launcher in the rear floor compartment of that Hummer. It has two heads with it in the case. You’re gonna need it.”
Caleb eyed Bastian, both agreed in silence to add this weapon to their collection. They all understood how high the stakes were—them, or us—no way out. In the flash of a couple days, any dreams of the future had been immediately redirected onto the sole path of survival. Nothing remained to turn back to, life could never be the same, especially without their families.
High school—ended.
Prom, football, sports, college aspirations—gone.
Childhood—over.
Trent loaded his group onto the bus. One by one, sad, shocked faces climbed the steps to an uncertain destiny. Each person glimpsed back one last time at the teacher they loved, and friends they may never speak to again.
“Trent, wait,” said Youlie, quickly boarding the bus. “TRACKER . . .”
Tracker turned her head to meet the voice.
“Thank you for saving my life,” said Youlie.
Tracker acknowledged without words, and Youlie left the bus to join her group.
“Trent, be careful,” said Mr. McCrady.
“I will,” he said, casting his eyes over at Tracker. “Maybe together, we’ll have a chance.”
“We’ll be in touch, good luck,” said Bastian. He and Trent shared a fast bro-hug.
Trent pulled out in the big yellow bus, now southbound toward the Ute Reservation. This half of the groups only present hope for a safe haven.
“BRYCE, COME WITH me,” said Caleb, dragging the dead soldier to the Hummer. Caleb hoisted the man into the backseat. “Get in.”
Bryce hopped in the passenger seat and eyed around the vehicle. “Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?”
“Trust me, you’re safe with me.”
Caleb pulled away, heading toward the camp store.
“I’m waiting for him to jump up here and kill us,” she said, glancing into the back seat.
“He’s not gonna be jumping anywhere. Don’t worry about him. Look over there,” he said, “I think that’s the golf cart McC rented. Follow me on it, or we’re gonna have a long walk back.”
Bryce white-knuckled the steering wheel on the golf cart. Unease filled her stomach.
Caleb continued to the boat ramp, keeping an eye on Bryce right behind him. He chose the ramp over by the lake’s dam, the section containing the deepest water.
At the top of the ramp, Caleb surveyed in the rearview mirror and all around. No other campers were in sight. The darkness offered plenty of cover, along with the large trees lining both sides of the ramp. He set the emergency brake and walked around to secure the body.
“Are you sure about this?” said Bryce.
“We’ll leave the windows down partway to sink it faster. I don’t think there’s any way his body can get out of here, but just in case, this seatbelt should keep him from floating to the top of the lake. At least long enough for us to escape.”
Bryce watched in amazement. Is this really happening? I’m gonna wake up any minute, I just know it.
Caleb popped the hood latch.
“What are you doing?” said Bryce.
“Disconnecting the battery cables in case any auxiliary lights come on when it hits the water. It’s deep, but I’m not sure how deep exactly. Don’t need any lights shining from the bottom of the lake. Just a precaution,” he said, ripping the connector cables from the terminals. “Okay, that’s it. Watch yourself. Stand behind me.”
Caleb put the vehicle in neutral. He handed the sat phone to Bryce, as Bastian requested, and released the emergency brake. The heavy vehicle wasted no time rolling straight down the steep ramp into the murky water below. Both stood in silence, hoping no one heard the splash or noticed the sudden wave of the water. The vehicle disappeared entirely out of sight.
“Okay, let’s get out of here,” said Caleb. He sped back toward camp as fast as the golf cart could transport them.
Nearing camp, Bryce mustered up some courage. “What did you mean earlier when you said you’re not my brother?”
Caleb peeked over at Bryce but didn’t say anything. Hardly able to meditate on such things, he wheeled the golf cart beneath some large pines, jumped out, and rushed to meet Bryce on the other side.
Caleb towered over Bryce by five solid inches, he’d grown in every direction over the past summer. Though time didn’t allow, he decided not to let this question go unanswered.
“Just because I stay at your house all the time, doesn’t mean I envision you as a sister. I haven’t thought of you as a family member for a while now.”
“I always thought of
you that way, Caleb, a second big brother,” she replied in a soft, sincere tone, gazing intently at him.
“You need to change your way of thinking, and we’ve gotta get out of here,” he said, giving her a neutral expression.
Before Bryce could continue, Bastian beckoned. “Caleb, Bryce, come on, let’s go.”
With no time left, Caleb walked toward the R.V. Bryce followed in confusion. If they didn’t leave right now, they’d never get the chance to finish the conversation. Caleb knew that much. The evacuation window would soon close permanently.
Bryce threw her last bag into the R.V. and sat down. He must be off his rocker. We eat dinner together almost every night. How could he say such a hateful thing to me? What did I ever do to him? Weren’t we closer than that?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Reflection
BASTIAN’S GROUP PEELED out behind Trent’s group. Not one square foot of floor space remained in the R.V. Bastian rode upfront with Mr. McCrady, who began driving toward Vedauwoo.
They passed a small military convoy headed toward the reservoir. Mr. McCrady and Bastian traded eyes. Both knew full well they’d escaped certain death.
People sat around with the corners of their mouths turned down, devastated. Rani joined Troian on the old bed in the back.
“He hasn’t said one word to me, not one word,” said Rani in a pouty whisper.
“Uh, he’s been sort of busy saving us all from a bullet or poison. Cut him some slack already,” said Troian.
“Why are you so mean?” said Rani in a testy tone.
“I’m not mean. Rani, has it ever occurred to you once in your pom-pom, hair bow filled life that other people are important?”
“Um, no, Miss Brain. No, it hasn’t. Do you want to know why? No need to answer, I’ll tell you anyway. People are all mean to me, they ignore me . . . they hate me because I’m pretty or whatever reasons they have balled up in their sordid little brains.
“So, I watch out for Rani. I’m all I got except, Bash. My parents are always gone working, and when they’re home, it’s all Ollie this, Ollie that, Ollie, Ollie, Ollie. You have no idea what it’s like to be me.”
