by JJ Holden
Before stepping out of the shrubs at the edge of the parking lot, a thought flashed through his mind. Doubt.
In a small corner of his mind, a sliver of his old self still existed, the same little Tommy Sanders that considered murder an act of evil. Taking the life of another was immoral and wrong. But then he thought of his training. Those he slaughtered were themselves immoral. And they most certainly were evil. Though he had joined the Youth Scouts only four years prior, he had learned how to justify his recent actions. How can I be evil if I’m doing good? he thought. Killing the devil is most certainly a good thing to do, is it not? Killing wickedness is not wicked itself. And so if there were an army of wicked devils lurking about, ready to suppress the poor members of the Youth Scouts and force their ideals upon the innocent, why then isn’t their slaughter considered the ultimate good?
It is, he thought. Most certainly it is and indeed, our Grand Leader was right in all that he preached.
Though he justified the killings, both past and future, questions still clung onto the edge of his impressionable mind, like leeches against the tender skin of a child.
With each question, he had an immediate answer:
Why now?
Why not now? Should have been done years ago if you ask me.
If all adults are evil, then won’t I be evil when I eventually become an adult?
Not if I do my duty to fight against the non-believers and their backwards customs, their flawed ideals, their so-called morals. Our prophets are adults, of course, but they continually fight against the evils perpetrated by those not affiliated with the Youth Scouts.
If we lose the war, annihilated by the lustful adults, then who will continue to populate the planet?
With many active members of the United States military counted as our members (all joining during their youth), and with our beliefs held dear to them (not to mention their deadlier weapons), we will be victorious. Those of us who perish in the process will die martyrs and go straight to Paradise.
And with his mind reconciled for the moment, innocent-looking Tommy Sanders emerged from his hiding spot wearing the most sinister smile a boy could carry on his face. Stepping into the parking lot, he couldn’t wait to continue the fight against evil.
* * *
With keys in hand, she stepped towards the corpse that lay near her car. Even facedown, she recognized the dress shirt of a man she worked with who had left the building a mere five minutes before her.
“Oh my God,” she said, in shock. “Bill…”
Staring at her acquaintance, she barely noticed the figure move in her peripherals. A quick glance to her right was all it took for her to see the boy, baseball bat gripped tightly, rushing towards her like a cheetah pursuing a gazelle. But little did the cheetah know the gazelle was packing on this particular morning.
Reaching for her holstered pistol, she drew it in haste and aimed at the boy.
He did not flinch nor did he slow his advances.
Kelly’s voice fell from her mouth as her jaw dropped. “…the hell?”
In one instant, she was flabbergasted and silent, and in the next her voice boomed out, echoing between the buildings. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
The boy did not heed her warning, though she wasn’t sure she would even act on her threat. Trigger finger itchy, mind hesitant, she rushed towards her car, mashing her thumb madly into the key fob, unlocking the car while running.
But her plan for escape was thwarted by the metal bat that slammed into her shoulder blade. Her gun fell to the ground seconds before she did. Writhing in pain, she reached for her pistol and out of the corner of her eye, saw the boy ready to strike again, this time likely hitting his initial target: her skull.
The gun was only a few feet away but might as well been a mile. In what she knew would be her last seconds alive, she braced for the final impact, snapping her eyes shut like a Venus fly trap. But instead of being struck, she heard a loud crack, like that of a pistol. Instead of the bat slamming into her head, the boy tumbled into her, blood gushing from his fatal wound.
Pushing him away from her, she saw a woman standing over her, pistol in hand and stern look on her face.
“They are all over the place,” the woman said, her voice tired and worn. “This is the tenth one I got in the past hour.”
Kelly nodded for lack of anything else her flustered mind could fathom. Then she said, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” the woman said. “Let’s get out of here before—”
The woman’s voice was cut off as her eyes practically bulged out of her head. The head of the arrow that struck the back of her neck pierced all the way through and stuck about a half foot out her jugular. Kelly lunged towards her pistol and snatched it as the woman fell to the ground, silent in a pool of her blood. Looking past the fallen woman, Kelly saw her assailant: a young girl, no more than fourteen years old, who readied her compound bow.
Without hesitation, Kelly aimed her pistol at the girl and squeezed off a shot. The bullet slammed into the girl’s shoulder causing her to fall back. Kelly felt her muscles ache as she rose and stumbled towards the girl. Aiming at the struggling girl’s head, she hesitated to pull the trigger.
“Please,” the girl said, her voice weak. “I’m sorry.”
“Why did you—”
“I had to,” the girl said, her face displaying pure dread at the sight of the pistol that aimed at her face. “It’s my duty.”
Kelly’s voice raised as her face grew red. “Murder is your duty?”
Back and forth in her mind, she deliberated over whether or not she should shoot the girl. If she didn’t put an end to the girl, then perhaps she would harm someone else.
“Please,” the girl cried.
Kelly slammed her pistol into the girl’s head and watched as she fell backward, her eyes rolling back into her head. She picked up the compound bow and stepped towards her car, anxious to reach her parents’ house. Looking back at the unconscious murderer who lay motionless in the parking lot, she said, “Just because you’re a murderer doesn’t mean I have to be one.”
Once in her car, she turned the ignition and sighed. It wasn’t until she looked in her rear view mirror and saw the hoards of teens rushing towards her that she realized the trip to safety was going to be anything but easy. Shifting into drive, she heard the squeal of the tires as she cruised away from the mob of murderers who wanted nothing more than to have a hand in her demise.
* * *
After checking through the house and discovering that it was empty, Edward returned to the basement. Locking the door before descending the steps into their bunker, Edward thought of his daughter and hoped she received his message. He wanted to make the trek to her apartment, but didn’t want to leave Dorene on her own. Since Kelly was highly trained with a menagerie of weapons, he was certain she would be fine. But then a little bit of uncertainly spilled into his mind, like a piece of mud dropped into a glass of spring water. Clouding his mind, the uncertainty manifested until he thought of every possible scenario she could endure.
By the time he reached the bottom of the steps, his mind was plagued with more what-if’s than he could handle.
“Kelly didn’t pick up,” Edward said, his voice quiet.
Dorene rubbed her eyes. “Did it go straight to voice mail or did it ring?”
“Rang a few times.”
Dorene rose from her resting spot and took a few hesitant steps as she gained her equilibrium. “So then her phone is on silent.”
Edward nodded. Unless she’s dead, he thought. But he kept such thoughts to himself. “She might still be working,” he said, though he knew that was unlikely. He knew how much she disliked her job.
“Or maybe she forgot to turn the ringer on,” Dorene said.
“Yeah,” Edward said, stepping closer to Dorene and giving her a hug. “Or that.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“Of course. I told her to not even go back t
o her apartment…to come here instead.”
Dorene sighed. “So now what?”
“We wait for her.”
“What if she doesn’t come?” Dorene asked.
Edward inhaled, smelling yesterday’s perfume on Dorene. Exhaling slowly, he said, “Then I’ll go get her.”
* * *
Kelly sped down the street and saw the burning houses flank the roads. It was like she entered a literal war zone. She knew from her shift that all hell had broken loose, but as she jockeyed to avoid one disabled car after another, she witnessed scene after scene of unimaginable terror. Children slaughtering their parents on the front lawn. Teens congregating around the limp body of an elderly woman, hung from the branch of a large oak tree, staring up at it like art enthusiasts admiring a Picasso painting.
This is the kinds of stuff from horror movies, she thought, blinking profusely, hoping that everything around her was a part of a terrible dream. But it was all real.
As she avoided a car that was engulfed in flames, she reached over to the console and turned on the radio in an attempt to figure out why all of this was happening.
A man’s voice, somber in its tone, poured out of the speakers, filling the cabin with his dread. “…and I’d say, with the military split, it’s obvious to see the connection to the Youth Scouts…almost like a line in the sand had been drawn by the age of the dissenters and—”
A woman’s voice interrupted the man. “You said everyone under age twenty-seven—”
“Yes,” the man continued. “Anyone who had been a part of that organization in some way in the past ten years, when James Dark took over as the National Youth Scouts President…as far we know, they have all shown signs of extreme violence. Those in the military, of course, are causing complete chaos, but also those who are under the age of eighteen…there have even been reports of child killers.”
“All the violence is towards adults?”
“Yes. If someone is obviously an adult, they are at risk.”
“And you mentioned a certain tattoo before…”
“Yes,” the man said. “The tattoo is one way they can tell that someone who appears older than eighteen has pledged their allegiance to Mr. Dark. They tend to have them in places that aren’t hidden: on their forearm, neck, and so forth.”
The woman cleared her throat. “Do the children have tattoos?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I’m certain only the adults who have a history with Mr. Dark’s organization have tattoos at this time.”
“And how many members would you say there are in America?”
The man hesitated. “Well…we don’t have definite numbers yet—we are still trying to gain access to the Youth Scout’s records—but our estimates, based off of last year’s consensus information, is roughly seventy-five million.”
“Did you say seventy-five million?”
Kelly’s eyes widened at the estimated size of the threat as she rounded a corner, viewing even more carnage.
“Yes,” the man said. “Membership begins around age six or seven and most are active into adulthood. As I mentioned before, membership rose a decade ago when Mr. Dark took over and their ranks have grown dramatically since, making it the largest private organization on the planet.”
“But that accounts for nearly a fifth of the entire population of this country.”
The man’s voice was shaky. “Well, yes…that’s correct. That’s almost everyone between the ages six and twenty-seven…that’s why this is a more severe problem than most ever imagined. And with most of the members, their brains are still in a developmental stage, which makes this even more frightening. For the younger members—those under twenty—their prefrontal cortex is still developing, which means their emotions are still unable to be controlled and they are more prone to things like brainwashing. They are also more prone to being impulsive and taking unnecessary risks…couple that with the brainwashing, hormones, and peer pressure and we have…”
“Disaster,” the woman said.
“My God,” Kelly said, rounding another corner, watching a man being chased down by two teenage boys wielding axes.
The man’s voice was more emotional than ever now. “That’s an understatement,” he said. “This is an event that could upend our entire civilization. But the warning signs emerged not more than a year after Dark took control: the cult-like meetings, the rallies and protests, the erratic behavior…we had warning signs that this organization was turning fanatical…”
Kelly heard a loud bang, and in seconds, she lost control of her car. She turned the steering wheel in order to regain control, her knuckles turning white as she slammed on the brakes. Hitting the curb, her car came to a dead stop. Looking around, she didn’t see a single living soul, though there were many bodies, some hanging from trees, some laying on lawns, but nothing living existed near her. When she glanced up and peered into the rear view mirror, she saw something living: a boy standing in the road about one hundred yards back. Marching closer and closer, with a pistol by his side, he didn’t look very much like a boy. To her, he was a weapon of Mr. Dark’s war against all that was good in the world. Once an innocent boy, he was now a single unit in an army of youths, ready to do the work of a madman.
As she unlatched her safety belt, ready to escape her wrecked car and run for her life, she heard the man on the radio say one final line before the radio went dead: “…and now we will pay the ultimate price for our complacency.”
# # #
TO BE CONTINUED…
IN EPISODE TWO
Other Stories by JJ Holden:
Life After (A Serial Novel)
(FIRST EPISODE FREE!)
About the author:
JJ Holden lives in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere. He spends his days studying the past, enjoying the present, and pondering the future.
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Contact JJ Holden at [email protected]
For more information, go to jjholdenbooks.blogspot.com
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Thank you for reading Badge of Darkness: Episode 1. You’ve already made your way to the top of my Favorite People list, along with George, Paul, John, Ringo, Dean Koontz, Kurt Vonnegut, Stephen King, and Stephen Colbert.
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Thank you,
JJ Holden
