Silent Interruption (Book 1): Silent Interruption Page 11

  Carl rushed to the man’s aid, but it was too late. The individual, a short man with thick hair and a scruffy face, literally was trampled and kicked to death. The display of savagery enraged Carl, and he had to call upon his many years of discipline to restrain himself from doing something that might get him court marshaled.

  It was days later that Carl was able to pour that anger into killing three of Martyr’s Army members in a raid on one of their safe houses. Five men poured out of the building, wearing their dark hoods, armed with rifles and rocket launchers. They stood no chance against Carl and his men.

  However, not all of the Martyr’s Army complement in the building came out to fight. As it turned out, there were more than a few cowards who hid inside when they learned the fearsome Americans were at their door. They surrendered. Hell, they begged to surrender. Despite terrorist propaganda that painted American treatment of terrorists as barbaric and cruel, the men believed they would get cushy treatment. Certainly, they faced more merciful treatment than they would have in an Iraqi prison.

  Carl had stormed into the safe house with others of his unit. He watched the men taken into the custody, no longer wearing their hoods. None of them held a weapon. He was disgusted. They planted bombs in houses of worship, stirred up the masses to turn on fellow human beings, and now expected to be housed and fed without expectation of harsh punishment?

  After a while, Carl’s anger cooled. As the months progressed, the U.S. and allied forces continued making progress against the Martyr’s Army. Stories of reprisals against Sunni Muslims died out.

  But now Carl realized that brief moment of anger and fury he witnessed would not come and go. It was going to be the natural state of things, at least in the heavily populated parts of this country. Civility would not be the norm, it would be something to fight for constantly.

  Carl then opened his eyes, breaking the vision of hooded men and carnage filled streets. However, to his surprise, breaking the dream did not mean he was alone.

  A lone figure was aiming a handgun at his head. The person was wearing camouflage pants, although the right leg was tied up with a dark rag as if the individual had suffered a leg wound. The person also wore a jacket with a hood that obscured nearly all of the person’s face, although the jaw protruding from the hood looked small and soft enough to be that of a woman.

  “Hold it right there,” the person said, her voice giving her away as a female. “Don’t move one step toward that little girl. If you do, I’ll spill your guts all over the grass.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Carl did his best to remain calm. If it was just him dealing with this mystery assailant, tranquility would be simple, but he had a civilian man and a little girl with him and he did not know this woman’s intentions. “Take it easy! I’m a U.S. Marine.”

  “Yeah, sure. Where’s the uniform, soldier?” the woman asked with a chuckle, “In fact, where’s half of your clothes?”

  Carl gazed at his bare chest with some sheepishness. “Well, it’s kind of a funny story. I used my shirt to blow up an SUV.”

  The female snorted. “Blew up an SUV with your shirt? God, at least you’re creative. Sorry pal, but when I see a half-naked man lying on the ground with a little girl, I kinda think something a little more seedy’s going on here.”

  “Oh for shit’s sake,” Preston muttered, disdain coating his words.

  The woman turned to Preston. “You think this is a joke?”

  “I think you’re a joke,” Preston said. “Have you thought to ask us who we are, how we got here, you know, standard civilized stuff before you start pointing a gun like Lady Rambo?”

  “When I see that you’re not a bunch of perverts looking to take advantage of a sweet little girl, I’ll be happy to believe you. In case you haven’t noticed, the world around us has fallen to pieces and people are pretty much doing as they please. So, no, I don’t think it’s too much to think that you might be a bunch of sickos. Now, weapons. If you got them, I want to see them.”

  Preston turned to Carl. “Carl…”

  “Show her the gun,” Carl said.

  “You’re serious?” Preston asked.

  “Do it. I’d rather try making friends.” Carl glanced from Preston to the woman. “Besides, she hasn’t killed us. The way these roving mobs are operating, they kill first and talk later. I think she could be different.”

  “Lady, I’m not in trouble,” Shyanne protested. “Mister Carl is good. Mister Preston is, too.”

  “I’m sure you think so, sweetie, but I need to be the judge of that. Now let’s see the weapons,” the woman replied.

  With a grumble, Preston fished out his weapon and laid it on the ground next to the woman. She gave it a nod, then turned to the two men. “All right. Let’s start with you, Marine. What’s your name and what are you doing with this child?”

  “Carl Mathers. I’m retired Sergeant from the United States Marine Corps. I was in town speaking at the Rally for Rights when everything went to hell. I picked up Preston and we later found Shyanne hiding in a drugstore.”

  “Wait, you were speaking at the Rally for Rights?” the woman quickly interjected.

  “That’s right,” Carl replied.

  “But I didn’t see you speaking during the livestream. Oh, that’s right. I wouldn’t have seen you because…” The female suddenly blushed, as if remembering something horribly embarrassing. “Never mind. Go on.”

  “Like I said, everything went to hell,” Carl continued. “I took Preston with me and got the hell out of there. We fled through the city…”

  The armed female interrupted him. “Preston, Preston, why the hell does that sound so familiar?” Her eyes suddenly opened wide. “Holy shit, are you Preston Wilson?”

  Preston smiled but didn’t quite laugh. “The one and only.”

  “Right. That pansy-assed leftie who talks at the Rally for Rights. I should have put that together.”

  Preston’s smile turned into a scowl. “Well, thanks. I really appreciate that.”

  “Don’t mention it,” the woman replied before turning back to Carl. “But you, I don’t know you at all. What the hell is a Marine doing at those commie-fests? You’re not one of those anti-war military types, are you?”

  “I spoke there because I had a message to deliver, about being ready for the worst, but sadly my message was way too late for all of us,” Carl replied.

  “And no, I’m not an ‘anti-war military type’. I’m an anti-stupidity military type. And right now, I think it’s stupid to keep a gun on us when it’s clear we’re not a threat, especially with a scared little girl with us. Now if you want to talk, you can do it from a distance.” Carl pointed to a small raised part of the ground a few paces from an overpass support pillar. “Right there. At least you’ll have good reaction time if we do turn out to be bad guys.”

  The female blew a loud huff up to the bottom of her hood. “Anti-stupidity military type. I like that.” She let her gun fall to her side, although she kept holding on to it.

  “I should have figured that a leftie like Preston Wilson wasn’t really going to be a part of a band of child molesters. In this hellhole they’d be too busy hiding indoors praying that they don’t get killed.”

  Preston scowled at first, but then his expression pulled into a sly smile. “I guess if you figure liberals can’t molest children, then that must mean child molesters are all aggressive right-wingers.”

  “Oh please. I meant when the world goes to pieces that spineless wimps like you aren’t going to join in the mayhem. You’re going to cower in fear, wishing you had a gun at your side,” the female replied.

  “Have you considered the fact that maybe we’re in this hell because our government decided to use really big guns, as in nuclear weapons, to solve their problems instead of using rational negotiation, or maybe we provoked someone to use them to stop us from using ours first?”

  “Wow, Blame America First still exists after a nuclear disaster. What a shocker!
” the female said with mock outrage.

  “Alright.” Carl tried not to yell. “Can we please cork the political debate? The only thing we need to be worried about is trying to clear all this up.” Then he turned fully to the woman. “Let’s start with some introductions. I didn’t get your name.”

  The woman chuckled. “Right. I’m Tara Rowe.”

  “Local?” Carl asked.

  “Native Virginian. Born in the little town of Woodstock.”

  “Really? That’s not far from when I was born,” Carl said. “We’re practically neighbors.”

  Carl wondered if he perhaps had run into any Rowes during his childhood or teen years. The last name did sound familiar. Perhaps he had ran into one of Tara’s relatives over the years.

  “Great. Perfect,” Preston quipped. “Now are you satisfied that we’re not out to hurt children or anybody? If anyone around here is scary, it’s you.”

  Carl quickly spoke up to prevent another round of arguing. “Your clothes, and that rifle. You were out hunting?”

  “Right.” Tara looked at her right leg. “I was on my way out of the city with my boyfriend, Mike. Then everything shut down and we got stuck on the road. We took our gear and left…” Tara trailed off. “…Well, after that we got separated, you could say.”

  Carl looked back at Tara’s bandaged leg. He guessed this lady had been through something pretty awful recently. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.

  Tara bit her lower lip. “Yeah, me too.” The comment cooled further talk for a while.

  Finally, Carl piped up. “Look, if you want to stick around, go ahead. I wouldn’t want anybody to be wandering around out there at night alone.”

  “And are you finally satisfied that we’re not a bunch of creeps, and I can have my gun back?” Preston asked.

  Carl frowned. He had hoped Preston wouldn’t advocate for his getting his gun back. But Tara didn’t seem to mind. “Take it, but go sleep over there.” She pointed to the nearest overpass support. It was a good five paces away. “I’ll keep an eye on little Shyanne until morning.”

  Preston picked up his firearm. “Thanks.” He slowly walked over to a spot by the support and sat down. “Be careful Carl! She’s a regular rattlesnake.”

  “Preston, go to sleep. Nothing’s going to happen. I don’t feel much like sleeping anyway,” Carl replied.

  Preston complied. In fact, he fell asleep rather quickly considering the ruckus that just had occurred.

  Carl stepped a little closer to the edge of the overpass. No doubt about it. The dark starry sky had been replaced by a pale blue that gradually was lighting up. Dawn was breaking. Additionally, the screams and gunshots had ceased. It was as if the early morning was bringing calm with it. Perhaps the vast majority of vandals and rioters had spent their rage during the night. With luck, the second day of America’s great disaster would go a little easier for Carl and his growing party.

  Shyanne laid asleep on the grass. She had drifted back to sleep not too long ago, once the whole situation with Tara had been defused. He despised the idea of waking her again so soon, but they had to move.

  “We should get moving.” Carl turned to Preston, who rose from the grass. Tara, meanwhile, sat directly opposite Shyanne. She didn’t move even as Preston paced around her.

  “You sure you want to move her now?” Tara asked in a soft tone. “She looks so peaceful.”

  “I wish I didn’t.” Carl looked at his new ward. “But with daybreak, we can be spotted even under here. Plus, we need all the daylight we can get to help us make it out of the city.” He turned his gaze to Tara. “I didn’t ask, but do you have a place around here?”

  Tara shook her head. “I got nothing here. My boyfriend Mike, he…” Tara winced briefly, interrupting her train of thought. “He has a place here, but it’s way, way on the other side of town.”

  “Oh.” Carl hesitated before asking his next question. “I take it you don’t expect him to show up there, to try finding you?”

  Tara frowned. “No.” She stood up, huffed slightly, then looked at Carl and said, “So, I guess if you’ll have me, I’ll tag along. It’s very stupid for anybody to walk around here alone.” She looked back at Shyanne. “Besides, I bet you could use a hand with her.” Tara smiled. “I’m sure she could use some female company as opposed to all the dudes with her.”

  Carl grinned. “Glad to have you. With you wearing those camo pants, I feel like I have a soldier with me again.”

  Tara chuckled. “So what’s your rank? Captain?”

  “No, Sergeant.” Carl knelt down beside Shyanne. “First level higher than Corporal. Could have gone higher to Staff Sergeant if I didn’t feel like it was time to come home.” He gently shook Shyanne’s right arm. “Hey! Rise and shine!”

  Shyanne rolled over. “Don’t want go to school,” she mumbled.

  Carl chuckled, though he immediately felt a little sad. She still was reacting in her dreams as if the world around her was normal. How much he wished that this mess around here was the dream. “Hey.” He shook her a little more. “Time to get up. We’ve got some exploring to do.”

  This time Shyanne opened her eyes. “Mister Carl?” She yawned. “Is it…time to go?”

  “It is. It’s going to be a long walk today, but the longer we walk, the closer we’re going to get to a safe place,” Carl replied.

  Shyanne rubbed her stomach. “I’m hungry.”

  “I can take care of that!” Tara reached for her side pocket. “How do you feel about some trail mix?” She pulled out a zippered plastic bag filled with small nuts and fruits. “They are super, super yummy and make you want to run a hundred miles.”

  Shyanne quickly rushed up to her. “Yes! Yes!”

  The girl was the happiest Carl had seen her. Tara was proving to be a godsend.

  Preston, however, seemed surly, about as much as he was last night while he was verbally sparring with Tara. Carl asked him, “Feeling okay?”

  Preston rubbed his back. “I think I know why I never asked Mom and Dad to go camping.” He walked up to Tara, whose attention was fixed on Shyanne happily chomping down her nuts and fruits. “Hey, you got any more of those to spare? It’s going to be a long walk.”

  “Well, if you get as adorable as little Shyanne, I’ll be happy to feed you,” Tara said without turning her head.

  “Very funny.” Preston folded his arms. “I’m serious. I feel like my stomach’s going to cave into a black hole.”

  Tara turned to him, her eyes slightly narrowing. “Say the magic word.”

  “Please?” Preston asked, half mockingly.

  “Actually, it’s ‘peace through superior firepower,’ but I’ll take ‘please’ for today. Open your hand.” Tara dumped a small pile of trail mix into Preston’s hand.

  The young man cringed as he took the trail mix. “Can we please can the jingoistic crap, at least until I’ve eaten?”

  “It’s a joke, okay? Lighten up. God knows there’s enough to be depressed about.” Tara turned to Shyanne and giggled. “He’s such a grumpy person, isn’t he?”

  “Forgive me for caring about the world around me.” Preston shoveled the trail mix into his mouth. “I don’t think it’s very funny to joke about firepower, especially since firepower is what got us into this fix.”

  “Really?” Tara turned to Preston. “And how’s that?”

  “I saw the news before the power went out. There was a news anchor lady and she looked terrified out of her wits. Something big was happening on the West Coast. They couldn’t tell what was going on, but it sounded to me like the beginning of a nuclear attack, and it wasn’t us who fired the first shot. So, I say somebody got a little too tired of us poking around in their part of the world and decided to do something about it. And now we’re all paying the price for it. So yeah, I don’t care for jokes about firepower or guns or anything.”

  “Oh, get over it.” Tara’s hand fell to her hip. “You’re really going to keep pulling the Blame America Firs
t garbage, even now? This…” She waved her hands at the city around them. “…all of this, this is what happens when you grovel for your enemies to like you. They didn’t nuke us because we were big and bad, they did it because they saw us as suckers. They thought they could hit us and we wouldn’t hit them back. You’re not on your podium being cheered by brain-dead lefties. This is the real world…”

  Preston cut in. “Let me give you a history lesson. Negotiation works. Talking works. If it didn’t, the Soviet Union would have nuked us long ago. They had hundreds of nuclear weapons aimed at us and they didn’t shoot them. Why? Because we showed we were civil and could talk out our differences.”

  “We stopped the Soviet Union because Ronald Reagan wouldn’t continue negotiating with the Soviets in Iceland and promoted missile defense. The Soviets spent themselves bankrupt trying to counter us. Do you liberals even read a book?”

  “I certainly do, and if you were half as familiar with Reagan as you claim to be, you would have realized the Reykjavík breakdown still led to a successful nuclear arms treaty the next year,” Preston said with a smile, “So you just proved my point that negotiated solutions do work.”

  Tara retorted, something about Preston conveniently praising Reagan now when before he had been trashing him in his speeches, but Carl didn’t care to pay attention. Instead, he noticed Shyanne was down by his leg, looking up at him in confusion. “Why are Mister Preston and Tara fighting?”

  The world has collapsed around them and they still want to bicker like talking heads on cable news, Carl thought. But he held his tongue. Shyanne wouldn’t comprehend a sarcastic response to the unproductive back and forth going on before her. Instead, he knelt down and replied, “Mister Preston and Miss Tara have very, very strong opinions about the world, about history, probably about everything. And when you get two people like that together, sometimes they want to argue.”

  The constant arguing was starting to grate on Carl’s nerves. “And after a while it gets real annoying. Even irritating.”