Part II: Freedom
Part II: Freedom
Armageddon+6hrs
“Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn't pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same.”-Ronald Regan 1961
The fires had died out, the winds had died down, and the dead lined the streets. And all was quiet. So began the First Day.
As we bumped into the new dawn, we cared little about the continuation of the so-called “United States.” Rather we cared about our families, our children, and survival. There was food somewhere, and we would fight, we would kill to get it. In this country where freedom reigned supreme, freedom is what killed us. There was no truly organized local post-strike planning; the War would never break out of course. There were no food distribution programs, no county commissioners, in fact the vestiges of the old government is all that we were left with, and those local governments were little help to anyone. In most areas there was anarchy, the United States of Anarchy.
* “Son we just don’t have enough room in the car. You can’t come. I’m sorry.” They weren’t giving him a ride. The Son stared at Mr. Jones. They wouldn’t give him a fucking ride. Mr. Jones started the car and drove off. The Son stared at the taillights as they faded into the distance. He watched for a long time. He was truly alone now. The Joneses were close family friends, and they had left him. The Son had known the Joneses since his family had moved to the Suburbs in kindergarten so many years ago. They were good friends. He stared at the little-red-wagon precariously topped with what meager supplies he could forage and grasped the handle. Turning north toward the City, the Son trudged off. He was on his own. He was afraid.
*The Fireman was charging down the street in full gear. The store they had left to burn a couple of hours ago had lit the stores to its sides on fire. Now the whole district, and the whole city were in danger. And it was technically all his crew’s fault. He grabbed a hose and ran toward the inferno, just as a burning, screaming figure burst out of one of the doors. The figure fell to the pavement. The Fireman looked up; everyone else on the crew was staring. Whoever the burning man was, they were beyond the Firecrew’s help. When the rest of the crew turned back to fighting the flames, the Fireman grabbed an axe and swung it. The screaming stopped.
*The Singer and the Ice-cream man had taken refuge in a meat locker in the butcher shop of the local supermarket. It was empty and the power was out. It was as good as any shelter, they had thought. Now, they were afraid of what was beyond the door. “I’ll do it.” The Ice-cream man finally said. He turned the handle and pushed it open. From the doorway The Singer stared into the maw of sheer anarchy. The Ice-cream man seized a butcher’s knife in one hand, and The Singer’s hand in the other. They stumbled together into the street.
*The Farmer was driving the Secretary into town. As the old truck bumped and rattled its way down the streets and back routes, the Secretary grew more nervous. “Where in god’s green earth are we going?” The Secretary barked. “Rome” the Farmer drawled,” it’s the biggest town near nuf’ to here. I reckon I’ll be droppin y’all off so you can continue to rule the country from there. That’s just hopin Rome ain’t a radioactive hole in the ground.” He smiled. “We’re close now, just a few more minutes.” The Secretary sighed and rested his head against the window; it was going to be a long drive. As he stared out the window he saw exactly why they were going in this ridiculously roundabout way to a town that was less than an hour’s drive down the highway. The highway was now a riot. Off in the distance burning cars, screaming and panicked people, mingled with gunfire and bloodshed. He stared transfixed at the carnage. It’s my job to prevent that. My job…
*The Cadet was standing attention in the basketball stadium. Enveloping him were the 1,400 other members of the Corps of Cadets all dressed in the Uniform of the Day: BDUs. A quiet tension filled the room. Most of the students looked like they hadn’t been affected by the bombs, but the Cadet knew they were just hiding it. His insides coiling and churning, he knew he was just hiding it. The Commandant of Cadets walked to the front of the formation. “ALRIGHT LISTEN UP I AM ONLY GOING TO SAY THIS ONCE” he bellowed. “Due to recent events the Corps has volunteered to help the emergency services. You will all be given assignments and are to carry them out in full. Listen to your squad leaders, they have further orders. Good luck. DISMISSED.” The Squad Leader coughed up his order “Follow me, no stragglers!” They ran at double time behind the Squad Leader, the Cadet taking up the rear. They came to an empty room, and the Squad Leader rushed them in and closed the door. “For now the college is on lockdown, we are to enforce lockdown in these Dorms.” The Squad Leader opened a map and began to read verbatim from the order sheet. He never read from the order sheet, the Cadet thought, and we have a shit load to do. “Enforce Lockdown… Establish contact with heads of each dorm…Help reconnaissance food options…Fight Fires…Enforce Public Laws with college police…Fight hostile parties…Manage influx of refugees…”
*The FEMA bunker had become a hotbed of anger. “GOD damn it!” shouted the Scientist (an atheist) “Cleveland is our best option, Large Airport, middle of food country, connections to Mississippi river, and MARS has already made contact. There is a government there!” The Director looked better than he was yesterday, and he proved it. “No, Cleveland will be a breeding ground for refugees and every problem that comes with them. Every person that can make it to Cleveland will, and not all of them will be good, happy, healthy citizens. How do you propose to feed all those people? Radioactive cows and corn? Bodies? It’s also in the center of the countries two biggest Black Zones, the East Coast and the Missile Bases in the north. How much radiation will be seeping into there? Far too much. No somewhere in Washington is our best bet, we can’t control the whole country it’s just far too big, but we can work with what we have.” He looked to the Radioman. “Tell the MARS people to see if they can get a message across to every Congressman, every Secretary, and every military unit left. Send them to Wala-Wala. We can work from there.” The Assistant was happy to see the Director taking charge. The first couple of minutes had her worried about his mental health, and she still was, the poor man had too much pressure on him.
Author's note: This is the second to last of the super disjointed telling where I follow every character. From there on out I will be following one character (storyline) an update.
