Silent Interruption Page 6

  Carl then slowly climbed to his feet. “I think we should get going. We don’t know how long this quiet’s going to last. We’ll travel through here, use the trees for cover. Move like I tell you to.”

  Preston also got up. “Sure, sure. I hope we find a gas station soon because I really have to pee.”

  Carl turned to the trees in front of them. “Hey, nothing’s stopping you now.”

  “What? You mean you want me to go here?” Preston asked.

  Carl looked over his shoulder. “It’s not like the toilets in a gas station are going to flush. It’s a new world, man.” He took a few steps forward, then turned around. “I won’t look.”

  Preston looked at the leafy ground beneath his feet. “Shit,” he whispered.

  Carl pushed the branch high enough so it would not obscure his view. The street beyond looked clear of people, at least so far. Carl dared to push the cover a little higher, allowing him to poke his head out to gaze left and right. There was no movement on this block, but Carl did hear faint shouts in the distance.

  “So, what’s the story?” Preston, crouched behind him, asked.

  “No immediate threat, but it sounds like we got trouble nearby, maybe the next street over. We still got to move. If the mob is moving this way, we’ll get boxed in,” Carl replied.

  Carl emerged into the open but kept close to the line of stalled vehicles on the road. Each one they came across was empty. The motorists and passengers likely figured out their vehicles would not work and bailed, or they heard the commotion nearby and decided they’d be better off elsewhere.

  Sickeningly, the pair came across a vehicle that had driven into a tree. The driver, a young male, was draped over his steering wheel. Dried blood coated part of his arms.

  The sad part is that he might end up being one of the lucky ones, Carl thought. If the driver didn’t possess any survival skills or ran afoul of a violent mob, he would die either violently or agonizingly slowly from starvation or dehydration or exposure.

  “Hey!” Preston pointed to a street sign at an upcoming intersection. “This is 36th Street. My hotel is off of 38th. I think we can pass by there after all!”

  “Assuming it’s not overrun by a mob. Maybe we can get some supplies, a drink of water, something to keep us going,” Carl said.

  “And my gun,” Preston added.

  Carl’s eyes widened a little. “You have a gun?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t think I’d need it at the rally. I probably should have brought the damn thing. I didn’t expect the world to fall to pieces all around me while I was gone.”

  Carl nodded. “So, why do you have a gun? It’s smart to own one, but you always go on about toxic masculinity and aggression and how anti-gun control types are responsible for mass shootings.”

  Preston frowned. “Yeah, well, I never said I was against all gun ownership.”

  “No, of course not.” Carl wanted to spout something sarcastic, to point out that Carl was reserving a right that he seemed willing to curtail for others, but he remembered his own desire not to tear open ideological wounds. The fact that Preston possessed a gun was actually great news. At least there was a weapon potentially accessible to them. It might be the difference between life and death.

  Unfortunately, the issue of life and death suddenly reared its head once again. As they walked past an old, beat-up van, they discovered a car that had careened off the road that burning in someone’s front yard. A gang of young men were having a grand time, tossing branches and debris into the flames. Carl’s stomach turned as he wondered if anyone had been inside the vehicle when it had burst into flames. Did these youths help anyone out, or had they just come across the car afterward and decided to goof off?

  Then, one of them took a very large branch, dipped it into the flames, hoisted it out, and waving it in the air. Then he turned and brushed the fire against the side of the house. Some of the siding began burning.

  “Shit,” Carl whispered.

  These youngsters were feeling the pleasure of destroying someone else’s property, assuming none of them lived there. He wanted to go in there and knock some heads together, but he couldn’t be sure they weren’t armed. Even so, there were four of them against him and Preston, and Preston was no fighter. Sadly, he could not stick his nose into this situation.

  “We’d better give these guys a wide berth,” Carl said as he looked across the street. If they crossed over and kept their heads down past the line of stalled cars, the arsonists might not pay them any mind.

  Carl led Preston across the street, but Carl’s plan to go unnoticed did not work. “Hey!” A bald youth pointed at Carl and Preston. “Who’s that over there?”

  “Hey, it’s a rich dude! See that dude by the other guy?” A skinner kid pointed at Preston.

  “Damn.” Carl picked up the pace. “Get it in gear.”

  “Hey, where you two going?” the bald youth shouted. He reached down and picked up a landscaping rock from next to a tree. He threw it hard and fast. The rock soared right across Carl’s and Preston’s path.

  “Run!” Carl shouted.

  Preston complied. Carl cursed under his breath. The violence was spreading fast. He wasn’t sure there would be any safe place in this city much longer.

  “That looks like fun, dawg!” shouted a bare-chested youth covered in tattoos. He and all of his friends quickly scooped up rocks and gave chase, pelting Carl and Preston with the rocks.

  The pair made it pretty far ahead, but not far enough. One of the rocks slammed into the back of Carl’s head. He quickly stumbled, and the world around him grew dizzy. His vision blurred.

  “Holy shit!” Preston shouted, but even his companion’s voice sounded as if it was coming from a world away.

  Carl tried righting himself, so he could keep running, but his legs were buckling fast. He fell against the driver’s side window of an SUV. He tripped and fell to his knees.

  He felt Preston grab onto his shoulders and shake him. “Carl! Carl!” Preston shouted.

  And then he heard nothing. The world closed itself to him, and Carl Mathers fell into darkness.

  Chapter Eight

  Michael slammed the trunk of his car shut, having emptied it of everything that could be useful. Tara, now fully decked out in her hunting gear, looked at her lover. “Ready?”

  “Ready for what?” Michael swallowed. “The apocalypse?”

  Tara gazed down at the rifle in her hands. “Hey, it had to come sometime.” But any trace of humor was leached from her voice. She sounded as if she had expected it, or at least was not surprised by it.

  Michael was similarly fully dressed in his hunting gear and wore all his armaments. Both of them also sported their wilderness backpacks. When it became clear their phones were not going to bail them out, and that no police or emergency personnel were headed their way, the pair decided to arm up and abandon their vehicle.

  Tara gazed around them. Although the smoke and fire were worse ahead of them, particularly where the jet had crashed, trails of smoke were rising from the city all around them. “You can see it, smell it, and hear it. Believe me, I don’t think this is a dream,” she said. “They must actually have done it.”

  “Done what?” Michael approached Tara closely.

  “A war. Nukes.” Tara looked up. “You blow up one of them high enough and it zaps the atmosphere. Kills all the electronics. It’s called an EMP, an electromagnetic pulse. Means you can forget about driving anywhere now. We’re going to have to hike out. If we’re lucky, maybe we can find some bikes and pedal our asses out of here.”

  Michael cringed. “This stuff’s only supposed to happen in movies. I can’t believe that nothing works, not even our phones!”

  “Trust me, it’s for real. I’ve read all about it.” Tara’s fingers grasped Michael’s left arm. “Figures the idiots in Washington wouldn’t listen. The bastards in Iran probably launched a sneak attack with their secret nuclear arsenal.”

  “But the government�
��s okay? I mean, they got to have bunkers and secret plans to handle all this?” Michael tried to banish the fear from his voice, but he was having a hard time sounding convincing.

  Tara just looked at him sadly. The dark possibilities of this disaster only now were starting to dawn on them.

  Michael and Tara started their journey in the same direction they just had come. The immediate area around them had cleared of people as they all realized their cars and trucks weren’t going to start up any time soon.

  However, once they arrived near an overpass the story changed quickly. A small crowd of people encircled a pharmacy just a short distance from an on-ramp, but they were not entering. As Michael and Tara approached, they soon discovered why. A group of young men surrounded the glass doors. Some held firearms. Two of them swung metal pipes back and forth. At the moment, a middle-aged man was arguing with a skinny kid who appeared to be an older teenager. The teen was dressed in a ripped-up white shirt that sported an ugly red smear that seemed as if it could be fresh blood.

  The middle-aged man looked like an ordinary office worker, with his blue button-down shirt and brown dress pants. Michael and Tara now quite clearly could hear the man arguing.

  “…there are people with real needs here,” the middle-aged man protested. “For God’s sake, just let us in! We’ll pay whatever we need!”

  “God’s sake?” The teen grinned. “Well, you’re talking to him. I’m God. I’m Jesus. And these are my apostles.” Some of the youngsters chuckled, while a couple just frowned and looked away.

  “This isn’t a joke! Something horrible has happened here! We need to stock up on supplies while we can so we can get through this!” the middle-aged man said. Some of the people behind him repeated “Yeah.”

  “Sorry, dude, but we claim this fine location as our own little country. We call it Awesomeville. This store and everything in it is our property. So, if you want in, you gotta pay a tax,” the teen said.

  Michael whispered to Tara. “What the hell is this punk doing?”

  “If these little bastards realize the police ain’t coming, it’s going to get ugly,” Tara said.

  One of the teens with a pipe shouted, “Yeah, and if any of you guys have some fine daughters or sisters, that’s the fee right there! Large titties!” A few of his friends hollered and made obscene gestures with their hands.

  “Hey!” An Asian man, probably in his forties, shouted to the teen from near the back of the crowd. “I have a girl with asthma and I need to get in there!”

  “Screw off, dawg!” The teen chuckled. “Unless you want to come up here and kiss our feet!”

  “How old is your girl, man?” asked the teen with a pipe who had shouted earlier.

  “Shut it, you little bastard!” the Asian man shouted back, shaking his fist. “I’m getting sick of your bullshit!”

  The scene degenerated into shouting and profanities between the crowd and the mob of teens. Michael leaned next to Tara’s ear and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Tara agreed, but just as she was about to turn and walk away, a shot rang out. She and Michael turned to see what had happened. The teen claiming to be God was shot in the chest. He fell backward and slammed against the glass before slumping over onto the ground.

  Someone from the crowd of adults just had shot the teen dead. Neither Tara nor Michael had seen who pulled the trigger. Tragically, he would not be the last.

  The teens in front of the crowd pointed their guns into the crowd and opened fire. At about the same time, some in the crowd fired their own handguns at the teens. Michael and Tara ran away from the store quickly, heads down, along the sidewalk. The two didn’t have to tell each other what they were thinking. In tandem, they took cover behind an abandoned car.

  Once safe, they peered over the hood. Eight, no, nine dead bodies were scattered in front of the store. A few people limped away onto the street, some retreating under the underpass. One, chillingly, collapsed face down. A couple of the teens stood up against the glass of the pharmacy, clutching their sides, likely due to gunshot wounds. This was a fight neither side had won.

  “Fools. Stupid damn fools,” Michael muttered.

  Tara shook her head. “Mike, we have to get out of the city. It’s going to be a shooting gallery soon.”

  Michael cringed. “No kidding.”

  Before either Michael or Tara could speak up again, the scene near the pharmacy quickly changed for the worse. A mob of young men marched out from under the overpass. They were carrying guns, clubs, pieces of wood, anything that could bludgeon or impale a human being. Their clothes were dirty and torn.

  “Shit,” Michael said, “They’re coming this way!”

  Tara’s heart raced. Michael turned and retreated back down the street. Tara followed. Forget escaping from the city. Now she had to wonder if she’d survive the next hour.

  Gunshots. Fire. Explosions. Fallen soldiers. Carl was surrounded by it all. The streets of Mosul were on fire, and Carl felt he was certain to be the next to fall. They were on a mission to pursue the leaders of the Martyr’s Army, but they had dug in far more deeply than the U.S. military commanders had anticipated and had sprung a few surprises.

  Carl clutched his head. His ears still rang from the RPG explosion just outside the alley where Carl had taken cover. His chest stung. The blast had slammed him up against the brick wall of this building. He just hoped he wasn’t bleeding internally.

  “Mathers!” The voice of his commander rang in his earpiece. “Do you copy?”

  “Copy…” He coughed. “I copy.”

  “Head down the alley, away from the blast. Prepare for extraction.”

  “Copy.” The thought of running away was a punch in the gut, but he had no choice. They were not going to press on in the face of heavy losses.

  And so, Carl Mathers dashed through the smoky alley, keeping close to the buildings. But he didn’t get too far before another hooded man sprang from between two buildings. Carl still was rattled from the blast, but he acted first. He squeezed off three rounds, and the man was dead.

  Or rather the teenager. His hood blew open, revealing a thin, boyish face with a smooth complexion. He looked as old as a junior high school student, at least one in the United States.

  Carl boiled with rage. These assholes were recruiting young teens for their army. And Carl just had been forced to kill one.

  “Carl! Carl!”

  Looking up, Carl Mathers discovered Eli motioning to him from up the street. Two more Marines stood behind him with rifles drawn to aim over Carl’s head. A Humvee lay behind them.

  Carl rushed to meet them. Eli helped Carl into the Humvee. As Eli drove off, he spoke into his mic. “Got him. We’re all clear. Take them down.”

  Above, the sky suddenly seemed to rumble. Sand blew over their heads. Two Marine helicopters roared across the sky.

  Before Carl even could ask, the copters flew over their heads and pelted the two tall buildings with rocket fire. The first few stories blew apart, with stone and brick flying everywhere. The copters laid down more fire, taking out the rest of the two structures and collapsing them into rubble.

  “Orders from the top,” Eli said, panting in the hot air. “Take out the rat’s nest. There was just no way we could take prisoners.” He coughed. “Or save the civilians who were caught in there.”

  Carl lay against his seat. Like a limb that was shredded by a bomb’s shrapnel, there was no way to save it. It had to be cut off for the greater good. Perhaps they should have bombed the area first and not risked the men’s lives. It would have made a bigger impression on anyone who thought following in the footsteps of the Martyr’s Army. Perhaps Carl wouldn’t have had to see the face of that teen he had to kill.

  And then Carl woke up, thrashing the air in front of him.

  Preston screamed. “Whoa!” Carl’s traveling companion raised his hands. “Easy, easy! It’s just me!”

  Carl’s heart raced. “Where?” A stinging pain seized the
back of his head.

  “Damn!” He grabbed his head and massaged it. A tinge of dizziness also plagued him, as well as some nausea. “Where are we—ow!” He stood up quickly and slammed his head against the SUV’s ceiling.

  “We’re in an SUV.” Preston grabbed Carl and pushed him back down. “Duck! We’re hiding from the mob outside!”

  “Mob?”

  Despite his disorientation, Carl ducked down to the bottom of the seat, with Preston squirming near the opposite seat. He took stock of his surroundings. The two of them were holed up inside a dingy sport utility vehicle. Every window was cracked in some way, from small holes in the back window to a spider web crack in the front windshield.

  “You got nailed with a rock. We were close to this SUV. The window was broken, so I could open the door. I hauled you inside and took cover.” Preston cringed. “I didn’t know if you’d wake up. I thought they nailed you good, put you in a coma.”

  Carl kept rubbing his head. “Thanks. You saved my ass.” Indeed, it was probably the only thing Preston could have done. Carl was far too heavy for Preston to carry down the street. They’d be sitting ducks before long.

  Preston nodded. He even seemed surprised by what he had pulled off. “Yeah. Thanks.” He fell back against the seat. “Wasn’t even thinking about it. I just did it.”

  “Adrenaline. You were running off it. It has a strange way of focusing your mind.”

  Preston laughed. “I mean, damn. I’m still scared shitless and I still manage to save a Marine.”

  “Fear never fully goes away. We actually kind of need it. It keeps us from doing stupid things.” He coughed. “Damn. They must be burning a lot of stuff outside.” He climbed up to the window, but only raised his head far enough to peer through the window.

  A car was burning not far down the street. A small mob was walking up and down the street, throwing stones, bottles, anything they could get their hands on at the stalled vehicles.

  “It’s been like this ever since I got you out. They’ll march up and down the street and throw things. I guess they didn’t see us come in or they’d just break through the glass to get us,” Preston said.