Doomsday By Design -- [STORY THREAD]

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CHAPTER 1 Dawn

September 2, 2027

No one in the North American Union was aware of the struggles overseas. They weren't the type of issues any sensible government would plaster on the news, and most of the citizens in North America were entirely blissful, oblivious to the invisible wheels around them already set in motion, slowly unraveling their economy in ways they couldn't yet perceive.

The North American Union's luck was finally beginning to run dry, quite literally... and although their oil was no longer being distributed around the continent, no one noticed the shortage just yet. The news kept vigilant regarding individual homicides, new stores opening, and the ongoing controversy surrounding gay marriage.

Prices on gas began to rise, but the media gave it little coverage. Today, a few people noticed that the gas prices had risen by about 50 cents, though they all dismissed it as a simple, annoying burden God had placed in their lives to ruin their day. And as they sped off to work, sipping their coffee and fighting the morning traffic, clerks and managers at the gas stations were hearing whispers and rumors from their superiors, indicating that they would not be getting their gas pumps refilled any time soon.

September 4, 2027

Gas prices had sky rocketed in only two short days, and while the media gave this issue a small amount of calm coverage, the people were outraged. It seemed the local news stations were paying more attention to the spreading red flu, rather than the horribly damaging gas prices. Many folks found it peculiar that a new flu had surfaced from seemingly nowhere--especially because flu season was months away--and conspiracy forums flooded with speculative and mildly paranoid possibilities surrounding the gas prices and the new flu.

The red flu, as described on the news, was a strange new flu circulating around the world, which had all the symptoms of an ordinary flu, with the exception of coughing blood. Naturally, the strong suggestions given by the media to take the new flu vaccine was also overwhelmingly covered by conspiracy news forums and the alternative media, accusing the government of manually manifesting an unnatural flu and an unsafe vaccine to kill off the over populated world so that it might be more easily controlled. Of course, these ludacris accusations were given little attention by mainstream outlets, and what little coverage was given to them was nothing short of mocking and laughable.

September 9, 2027

Because many people were hiding in their homes, due to the gas prices having reached an alarmingly unaffordable level, and the red flu filling the hospitals with victims of the flu and its vaccine, many jobs were lost, and the economy was, slowly and horribly, beginning to crumble. Some schools temporarily shut down, while others struggled to continue their daily routines. Only students who walked or rode the bus were attending school anymore.

The red flu was infecting large cities, but most of the smaller towns in the entire North American Union hadn't even heard of the flu. The gas shortage, however, was everywhere, and everyone was suffering because of it.

September 11, 2027

As the government and the media were answering less and less questions, the largest cities were beginning to experience protests and riots. Small towns hadn't yet felt the impact of the dying economy, and continued their daily lives best they could, but it was only a matter of time before the ripple effects would meet with every corner of the world.

One of the many tiny towns was a place called La Nueva Era, which was located just outside of the Mojave Desert. The inhabitants of this little conglomeration were small in numbers, but plentiful in variety. Some of them were old Texan families, a few of them had migrated from the southern east coast, and a handful of them had come from California to escape the state wide gun ban. Unlike most places in this day and age, most folks in Las Nueva Era were survivalists, who practiced gardening (as much as the climate would allow, anyway), hunting, food preservation, and water purifying. While they were moderately independent in some aspects, you couldn't rightfully call them doomsday preppers... because none of them were prepared for a day like this.

As the youngsters of Las Nueva Era headed to school, none of them could have possibly anticipated what drastic changes their lives would soon endure, and that the world around them would cease in its tracks.


-----------------------

September 11, 2027, 7:21 am


"Sandra!" A gruff, excited voice called from down the hill.

Sandra, stopping mid-center of the driveway, halted when she heard her uncle hollering from her left. Their house sat atop a lonely hill, and Sandra was hoping to tip-toe out of the house, down the rocky driveway, and off to school without drawing her insane uncle's attention.

Now, here she stood, sighing, staring down the hill vacantly. Her short, crimson-red hair shone underneath the weak morning sun as her oceanic blue eyes gazed downwards coldly, her hand wrapping tightly around the strap of her backpack.

"Sandra, com'ere!" Her uncle, Dorian, yelled again, staring up the hill and waving frantically. "Com'ere!"

"Why?" Sandra responded. "I gotta get to school."

"No ya' don't! Just com'ere!" Dorian gestured for her to come downwards. "You can be a couple minutes late, it'll be fine! Come on!"

"I don't want to." Sandra moaned, growing irritated.

"It'll just take a minute!" Dorian told her.

After her sleepless night, Sandra wanted more than anything to coast through the day without talking to anyone, then return home, crawl into her covers, and hide from the world until her anxieties would finally die down and allow her to rest.

Still, Sandra strolled lazily down the tiny dirt trail, then approached Dorian, who was standing beside a huge, metal door.

The door, as she knew, lead to the bunker underneath her uncle's house. Dorian stood before the door, smiling, looking as aloof and careless as usual; his wild silver hair was flowing backwards, almost as though he'd tried to comb it back and failed. His button-up shirt was stained with a mysterious crimson liquid, and it wasn't tucked into his faded old jeans. His thin black overcoat was draped over his body, concealing him from the chilly autumn air, and his shining hazel eyes were glistening from behind his transparent glasses, staring at Sandra happily.

"I got it to work." Dorian informed her, staring at the small, wheel-shaped contraption on the door's rectangular hatch. "Look here... password...

"I don't care." Sandra told him bluntly. "Just tell me later."

When Sandra tried to turn away, Dorian grasped her wrist, stopping her.

"Don't go! Look here." Dorian pointed at the four numbers on the lock. "1834. Remember that number, okay? Remember--"

-(Continued)-

"I don't care right now." Sandra repeated, wishing she could break away from her uncle so she might have time to buy an iced coffee before school.

"Sandra..." Dorian exhaled, giving her a softened look. "Just listen for a minute, alright? You need to know this number in case you need the bunker... and what if I'm not here? Just--"

"How many years have you been doing this?" Sandra interrupted, now intolerably impatient. "What the hell do you think is gonna happen? Huh?"

"Sandra, anything can happen--"

"When's the last time anything happened in America?" Sandra snapped. "We've been around for over two hundred years, and still no doomsday. We're not--"

"Its not America now, its the North American Union. You know that." Dorian said. "Things are changing. Anything can happen, Sandra. I hope I'm wrong, but... you can never be too safe. I told you before--"

"Enough, alright?" Sandra broke him off. "I don't give a damn about prepping for doomsday... just... leave me out of it."

And at that, she stormed off, expecting her uncle to stop her, to yell after her, or to object in some way.

Dorian stood motionlessly in the dry dirt, staring up the hill, watching his niece until she was out of sight, wearing a defeated expression as he did.

***

The only truly favorable thing about this day so far was the wonderful, refreshing iced coffee in Sandra's hand. She hadn't arrived at school in time to grab breakfast, so, after reaching the third floor and plopping down in Mr. Knowles's class, her home room, she downed the rest of her cold coffee in two massive gulps, then tossed the bottle in the trash.

Gazing around, she examined her classmates. By now, she knew all of their faces very well, and almost all of their names... their home room class was a special class. Not for the mentally handicapped, but rather, intended for teens with mild emotional issues. It was meant for highschool kids with IEP's, Individual Education Programs, with therapists, and some of them, even with a criminal record.

Sandra had been in classes like this all her life, even before moving to Las Nueva Era. Back in Knoxville Tennessee, she lived in the middle of the city--and quite frequently encountered unfriendly foes, peers, and street walkers. But now, she'd lived in Las Nueva Era for about two years, and she was now comfortable knowing she was hundreds of miles from her previous, unhappy home.

Mr. Knowles entered the room a couple minutes late, but no one in the class seemed to notice. After the bell, everyone continued to talk, laugh, and horse-play, except Sandra, who sat quietly in her seat, scribbling drawings on her clipboard.

"D'you really have to wear those to school?" Knowles's voice came.

Sandra glanced up, realizing that Knowles was standing over her, staring at her. Small slivers of his stringy brown hair dangled in front of his thin, egg-shaped glasses, and his brown eyes were focused intently on her wrist.

It took a moment for Sandra to determine what he was talking about. The spiked bracelet on her left wrist was probably the most noticeable thing about her punk-themed attire.

"Are you serious?" Sandra mumbled. "I'm not gonna hurt anybody with 'em."

"Its still a violation of the dress code, you know that. How many times have we been over this...?" Knowles replied.

"Yeah, so tell me, what exactly is the point of a dress code?" Sandra asked. "So everybody conforms to the way the school board wants us to look like good little sheep? What difference does it make what we wear?"

"None." Knowles answered. "Honestly, me personally, I couldn't care less what you wear. But I have to enforce the rules, or I'd lose my job, Sandra. Those things are dangerous." He gestured to her spikes.

Not half as dangerous as the switchblade in my pocket, Sandra thought bitterly.

"I'm not gonna take them from you, just... just put them away. Alright?" Knowles said.

Sandra, exhaling heavily, removed the spiked bracelet from her wrist and slid it into her backpack. As much as she detested the rules in her school, she usually avoided arguing with Mr. Knowles. He was the most understanding, comfortable, and friendly teacher Sandra ever had.

When class began, Knowles managed to silence the students, then started on a lecture about Kennedy's assassination. Class dragged on, and as the sunlight grew the slightest bit stronger from the windows, illuminating the room, Sandra lost herself completely in her drawings, as she did every day. The lecture continued, and a few other students asked questions and contributed facts, but Sandra barely heard any of them.

"Sandra." Knowles said out of nowhere.

Sandra blinked, glimpsing up from her drawings.

"What?"

"You listening?" Knowles asked.

Sandra nodded.

Knowles smirked. "Then answer the question."

Sandra stared blankly at him for a moment.

"I can't. I wasn't listening." She said.

Everyone laughed.

"The question was, do you believe in the magic bullet theory?" Knowles elaborated once the laughs died down. "You're all gonna be writing an essay about this... your thoughts on the magic bullet theory."

"The single bullet theory." Sandra corrected.

"I thought you'd prefer the critic's version." Knowles told her, smiling.

"I think... the government probably has weapons we don't know about." Sandra said. "They probably have bullets that can leave virtually no evidence."

"You think bullets like that existed back then?" Knowles asked. "And the government... why would they have anything to do with it?"

Sandra squinted at him. "I dunno, maybe because he was bashing government secret societies in his speech a week before his assassination."

Knowles raised his brows, turning away, still wearing a smile.

"You knew what I was gonna say. Why'd you ask?" Sandra said, half-jokingly.

Knowles began to speak once again, then trailed off.

Sandra, realizing he'd stopped speaking mid-sentence, looked up again.

Knowles's eyes were narrowed as he gazed out the window. He stepped towards it, peering down, staring at the roads.

Sandra, although she had no idea what had drawn his attention, suddenly felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Knowles didn't move from the window; he continued studying the streets outside, making a confused face.
He scratched the stubble on his chin, placing a hand on the glass, looking perplexed.

Sandra, along with everyone else in the room, wanted to ask what he was staring at, but none of them spoke up.

Then, gulping, Sandra reached her feet and approached Knowles from behind, hoping to steal a glance outside before he'd order her back to her seat.

Strangely, he didn't object to her moving up and about. Sandra stood beside Knowles, both of them overlooking the outside.

It was bizarre; at least ten monstrous black truck-like vehicles were rolling down the small street in front of the school.

Maybe they're just passing through town, Sandra thought.

-(Continued)-

Then, a few of the trucks came to a stop just down the main road. Hatches opened from the sides of the huge trucks, and men wearing black clothing and transparent face protection poured out of the vehicles, spreading up and down the street, all marching with a pep in their step, and all carrying large firearms.

Sandra's heart began to throb as she glared at the scene in disbelief. She squinted at the armed men outside, wondering if her eyes were perceiving it properly. To her despair, about five of the men rushed up to the school, towards the front doors...

"Go sit down." Knowles told her darkly, grasping her shoulder and ushering her back.

"What're they doing here? Who are they?" Sandra asked. "Is it a drill or something?"

"Sit down." Knowles demanded.

"But they're coming inside--"

"Just sit down."

"They look like Navy SEALs--"

"Sit down, Sandra."

"No! I'm not staying here."

Sandra slipped her clipboard into her bag, zipped it shut, and strapped it to her back. The other students looked around, confused, and a few of them rose from their chairs to take a look outside.

To all of their surprise, horrible, ear-splitting gunshots rang from two floors below, startling everyone. They were followed by shrill, terrified screams echoing throughout the bottom floor.

The entire class froze, all gazing at one another, wide-eyed and petrified, wondering what their next move ought to be, and Sandra glanced between them all, forcing her breath to slow as a million paranoid delusions began to flood her mind.

This isn't happening.




~~~~~

Meanwhile, about three blocks away, Jackson had been trying to gracefully exit his home to make his first period class on time, but his mother would make it almost impossible.

"Jacksssson please stop!" His mother shouted.

"What mother!?! I'm Late! Don't you understand?! I need to at least show up to school in order to stay on the team, what is wrong with you??" Jackson exclaimed.

"But I'm just shooo saaad darling! I wish. I wishhh we could spur..sprueend the day togethhher! Your dad.. you know he will be... *hicup* home soooooon??" She drunkenly spouted.

Jackson's mother had a problem. She drank too much. Jackson's father Gene, is a trucker and away on another road trip, he was supposed to be home two nights ago. It wasn't uncommon for Gene to take longer than expected to return from an assignment, so Jack wasn't too worried. His mother Carol, had a different way of dealing with the loneliness she felt while he was gone. She had developed an addiction to alcohol while using it as a way to cope with her husbands lack of presence.

"Fine! Go away! Leave me alone like you alwash do, I don't neeeed you!!!" Carol said, in her early morning drunken state of rage.

Jack just rolled his eyes and said "Ok Mom! Whatever!"

He quickly slammed the door and ran to school.

On his way, Jack noticed a peculiar thing. About 10 black, un-marked vehicles were racing down the street right toward La Nueva Era High School.

Man, Mr. Knowles is going to rip me a new one this time , Jackson thought.

He was already 10 minutes late for class. Knowing this, Jack was afraid he may have racked up enough points for another suspension from school. This wouldn't sit well with his wrestling coach, Mr. Miller who already warned Jack that if he screws up one more time, he's off the team.

Jack targeted his sights on the school's side entrance. As soon as most of the vehicles pulled around to the front, Jack bolted for the side door. Almost as soon as Jack lept for the door, he heard the sound of gun-fire, rapid fire in fact. As soon as something buzzed past his ear, Jack realized he had been seen, and was being shot at!

"Holy #!" Jack exclaimed while hiding behind a small, one foot wall of concrete. "AAHHH!! I'm just a student here!!!" Jack realized his life was in danger.

Huffing and puffing, Jackson had made it through the side entrance and into Mr. Knowle's classroom. Surprisingly, no-one noticed Jack had even shown up, as if almost all of his school mates were hypnotized by what was going on outside.

Jack, noticing his friend Sandra was in a paralyzed state of disbelief, said "Sandra, what the hell is going on?? Why was I just shot at!??"

"Sh-shot at?" Sandra gasped, trading eyes with Mr. Knowles, who looked equally bewildered and horrified. "Okay... oh God... we need to get the hell out of here..."

"No." Knowles said. "No one is leaving this classroom, its not safe."

"Its not safe to stay either!" Sandra exclaimed, rounding on him. "There's shots going off downstairs, man! You can't honestly think we should just SIT HERE! Jackson was ****ing shot at--!"

"Enough!" Knowles hissed, holding up a hand. "Just... stay calm. Okay?"

More shots erupted from downstairs, making everyone jump.

"Stay calm?" Sandra grumbled anxiously. "Stay calm?!"

~~~~~

"With all due respect, Mr. Knowles, I was just SHOT at! How the hell is staying here going to do us any good? Whoever these people are, they are STORMING this school, sir!" Jack stated.

While not wanting to disobey Mr. Knowles, and In somewhat of a panic, Jackson paced around the classroom nervously, trying to make sense of the situation. He then heard several heavy footsteps racing up the stairway, which eventually lead directly across from the classroom.

Gunshots could still be heard outside and downstairs. They didn't seem to be letting up.

"I'm leaving." Sandra told them, then turned towards the door.

"No you're not." Knowles grasped her wrist with a vice-like grip. "You're not going anywhere."

Sandra glared at him intensely, then met eyes with her other classmates, all looking positively terrified.

"Come with me." The words escaped her mouth before she could think.

Knowles stared at her.

"I have a place we can go. Come with me." Sandra said, silently hoping her uncle wouldn't be furious with her for bringing a class room full of people to their secret bunker. "My uncle's got a bunker--"

It was awful.

None of them could have prepared for it--gunshots exploded again, but this time, they were much louder. The armed men were storming through the hallway of the third floor, bursting doors open, and opening fire on the students and teachers.

Everyone in the class seemed to panic. Most of the students ducked under their desks or hit the floor, and Knowles pushed Sandra aside, away from the door, standing stiffly, his stance solid, expecting at any moment to encounter danger...

More shots rang through the air, and the window on the class room's door shattered completely, glass raining into the room. Seconds seemed to last for hours as everyone nervously waited for the armed men to enter their class, but oddly, none of them did. Shots continued firing rapidly in the hallway, and students and teachers were both scrambling around outside of the class, trying desperately to escape their assassins...

Some of the students ran out the secondary entrance to the class room--the door at the back of the room--vanishing in the hallway and into the sea of chaos, while the others tucked themselves under their desks and appeared to be playing dead.

When the gunshots faded away, everyone assumed that the armed men had made their way out of the hallway, and by some miracle, they passed Mr. Knowles's class without noticing.

It seemed like an eternity passed them by.

Sandra's eyes were switching from person to person, then, her gaze fixed on Mr. Knowles.

Knowles, standing crookedly, his back facing the window (which was now riddled with bullet holes), was making an odd, twisted expression. He easefully placed a hand over his chest, and Sandra barely realized that he was trembling...

A rushing, dreading feeling began to spread throughout Sandra's body like a wildfire as she stared at Knowles, her heart pounding. She bit her lip, watching him closely.

Knowles's balance began to sway, and Sandra stepped closer to him, forcing down the sudden panic growing inside her.

Sandra inched nearer to her teacher, one of her hands extended, her face beginning to reveal her fear and concern.

Blood was oozing between his fingers as he coiled his hand around his shirt.

Knowles's knee buckled, and Sandra lept forward, grabbing him by the shoulders before he could hit the ground. Now, Mr. Knowles was lying on his back, staring up at her as she cradled his head, his eyes trying to drift closed without his permission.

"Get up." Sandra told him in a forcibly empty tone, a massive amount of frantic emotions bombarding her now.

Knowles loosened his grip on his chest, and Sandra spotted the blood, which was splotching his clothes now. He attempted to meet eyes with Sandra, but his consciousness was trying to abandon him, and he gazed upwards groggily, his breath shaking.

Sandra's hands curled shut, giving a slight tremor as she held Knowles, staring into him, wishing, hoping, and praying dearly that he'd move, stand, and begin giving orders again... he was the teacher, after all... he was their leader... it was his job to be... to give them bland assignments based on boring, misleading history books... to enforce a completely ridiculous dress code... to counter every conspiracy theory Sandra would blurt out in class... she'd be okay with that from now on... if he'd get up... she'd be perfectly fine with writing those empty, baseless assignments, and she'd never argue with him again... if he just...

"Get up." Sandra's voice cracked, giving him a small shake.

"S'alright." Knowles croaked softly, using his last ounce of strength to make a small, weak smile as he began to nod off. "Its okay... run.."

He released a final, thin breath, peering into Sandra's glistening blue eyes... that pale, stony face of her's, always so blank... or angry... but for the first time, he wasn't seeing any disgruntled frustration in her... it was not a vacant, uncaring front, and it was not an angry, unsettled expression... it was sadness... true, pure, raw despair... she was a good kid... I always knew...

Time slowed itself to a stop, and the distant gunshots echoing throughout the building were millions of miles away now. Sandra sat on her knees, holding her motionless teacher, unable to tear her eyes from him as the late dawn's sunlight was casting a bright glare over them both.

Everything drained out of her... every fear, care, or thought... Sandra stared into Mr. Knowles's body, and the world around her vanished from her perception.

Somehow... now... everything was melting away... and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

It was as if time itself had been compromised. It was some kind of sick joke or a twisted nightmare. Jackson could not comprehend what had just happened to Mr. Knowles.

When was he shot? Where was he standing when he got shot? Who did this to him? Why?? Mr. Knowles had no enemies, he was the nicest guy I've ever known! Jack's mind was racing out of control, this was a situation he had never even dreamed of being in.

I was JUST talking to him! How is this possible? He's......gone? Just like that? No more Mr. Knowles?!? How could this BE!!! Why didn't I stop it? Did I contribute to this somehow?? Jack pondered frantically, while sweat poured down his face.

Mr Knowles belonged to a rare breed of teachers. He was more than a teacher, he was well respected by all of the students at La Nueva Era for his understanding and caring disposition.

He had a way about him, a certain...welcoming demeanor. He had always accepted even the most troubled of students no matter their history of mischief and mayhem. Mr Knowles had become something of a second father to Jackson, who really lacked true parenting from both his mother and father. Jackson could scream in his face and he didn't mind, just as long as Jack was communicating in some capacity.

Already, memories of Mr. Knowles and the times Jackson spent with him had begun flowing into Jack's mind like an endless waterfall of thoughts and memories. So many thoughts, so many emotions all converging together in this one little moment.

While Jackson was bathed in a deep, almost surreal trance, a young girl began to scream off in the distance, the shriek could be heard through the school ventilation system. It was the high-pitched shriek that brought Jack back to reality.

He looked around, while everything still seemed to be in slow-motion. Many students had already fled, and the ones who stayed were all seemingly in the same state of disbelief and shock at the horror they just witnessed, just as Jackson was. He looked to his left and saw Sandra there, weeping, kneeling on the ground, her hand still clutched with Mr. Knowle's lifeless hand.

There was no choice for Jackson but to pull himself together.

"We've got to get out of here." Jack Said.

"We've got to get out of here right NOW. All of you need to go with Sandra to her bunker, there's just no other choice right now."

"I have to go get my mother!" Jackson exclaimed.

Jack had just realized that his mother was only three blocks away, she could be suffering the same fate as Mr. Knowles!

"I will check on the bunker later, and if there is room, I will stay with you guys then." Explained Jack.

Sandra was still dazed and mesmerized with horror, it was as if no-one in the room even existed to her.

Jack gave her a nudge.

"Sandra! You've got to get them to the bunker!" "I will meet you there later, do you have enough room for all of us?"

Sandra still didn't budge, so Jack attempted once more to get her attention.

He gave her a little poke, not wanting to disturb her too much. "Sandra?"

Sue-Lin was squatting in a corner coming to terms with the fact that life just threw them a curved ball and all she had to do now was survive. She was more than able to do that, still, she was not at all happy at fate. She had spent her childhood surrounded by death and destruction. Now she would have to go back to live in that nightmare. Still, she had to survive and she had to get back to Dad, before he came looking for her because she knew that Dad would get a bit upset and her Dad, as ex SAS, got upset in a sort of 'Death is my Friend' sort of way. If he was looking for her, he would just take on all of the hostiles and that was dangerous even for him.

She moved to where Jack was trying to get some response from Sandra.

She knelt next to them and said, "Sorry Sandra, but I choose to live and I choose the same for you." With that she slapped Sandra twice, took her head between her hands and continued, "Live now! Grieve later or you will be standing at the gates of your heaven with Mr. Knowles glaring at you in disappointment."

Sandra nodded as she wiped one lonely tear from her face. Jack was looking at Sue-Lin with dawning respect. He had never seen the Little Mouse, as they all called Sue-Lin, take anything like initiative. He watched as Sue-Lin went over to Mr. Knowles, whispered something about God and took his keys.

She scooted around to his desk, unlocked a drawer and took out a large steel box. She needed another key to open the box. She withdrew a Colt 1911 and handed it and a spare magazine to Jack. She took the 9mm Ruger and its spare magazine herself.

She seemed to pause for a moment and then spent a few moments manipulating the box before she came away with more spare magazines and a silencer.

She said to no one in particular, "He was one of the designated Teachers allowed to be armed at school. My Dad was not supposed to tell me, but then, he rarely listens to people who are toeing a Government line. Sandra, you're behind me, Jack, bring up the rear, watch behind, cover your butt."

With that, Sue-Lin went to the room's back door.

As Jackson watched Sue-Lin, he couldn't help but be somewhat taken back with surprise. Sue-Lin? "Mouse" taking initiative? What's all this stuff about God? She was always so quiet. He thought.

Jack knew very little of her, she didn't speak much, not even when Jackson tried to gain audience by playing class-clown, when Mr. Knowles' class became boring...at times..

Impressed, Jack gladly took the Colt and magazine from Sue-Lin. Jack had knowledge of firearms, but he had been out of practice since last month, when his father had taken him to the range to shoot off some practice rounds.

Jack replied to Sue-Lin - "Thanks Mouse...Er... Sue-Lin! Cover the rear you say? Got it. I will cover your rear until Maple Street. After that, I need to take a left. A detour home real quick."

Jack was becoming more and more worried about his mother. The last time they spoke, she was in a desperate drunken state, begging for his attention. He could only hope she was passed out, safe and sound in her bed.

Still unsure if Sandra snapped back into reality, Jack once again tried to get her attention.

"You ready to roll out, Sandra?"

With Sue-Lin leading they went out the door. The other end of this corridor was littered with bodies. She went down the stairs followed by the other students. They were trying to be quiet but they were not successful.

Sue-Lin was a little ahead as she poked her head out of the side door at the bottom of the stairs. She could now hear gunfire but it seemed to be coming from the other side of the school. From across the street she saw someone indicating it was clear. She stepped aside and pointed to Sandra the direction to head in.

Sandra nodded as they all moved out. Sue-Lin went to the corner of the school building and peered around. Those 'Troops' whoever they were, were being kept busy by a combination of the few Police that the town had and a few armed citizens. Sue-Lin had a wry smile, this was not a town you could just waltz into and start shooting up the school!

She followed the other students until they stopped while they considered what to do next.

She looked at Sandra and Jack and said, "I am going now, I will catch up with you after I let Dad know I am safe." With that she moved left and made good speed even though she was crouching.

In any situation--as she'd proven countless times before--Sandra wouldn't allow anyone to lay a hand on her. But now, for the first time in her life, she couldn't care less. Sue-Lin could have flipped the switchblade from Sandra's pocket, flicked it open, and shoved it into her stomach... Sandra would have barely felt a thing...

"She doesn't even know where I live, does she?" Sandra muttered to Jackson, glimpsing over her shoulder in the general direction where Sue-Lin had headed. "Tough."

At that, Sandra unzipped her bag, wrapped her spiked bracelet around her wrist once again, then strapped the backpack back onto her shoulders.

Sandra began down the hall, then halted mid-step, a sudden, uncomfortable feeling squirming inside her.

"Right off Williams Street!" Sandra hollered down the hall, hoping Sue-Lin had heard. "We're going to my bunker. You can come, or you can stay with your family, whatever the hell you want. Seeya' later."

As Sandra turned the corner with Jackson, she rubbed her cheek, which was beginning to fade into a deep red color.

"God dammit... why smack me?"

Sandra turned to her other comrade, the one standing opposite of Jackson.

It was her friend, Alan.

Alan was an inch of so shorter than Sandra, but not noticeably so... his short black hair was combed neatly into almost a bowl shape, and he adjusted his glasses, watching her expectantly, his usually stoic, feelingless disposition tainted with shock and nervousness.

"Well?" Alan said, waiting for her next move.

Although Sandra thought of Alan as a friend, she never much cared for his attitude. He was, in all honesty, Sandra's opposite; very clean cut, straight-laced, and never broke the rules. He was also very adamant about making good grades, and never held his tongue when he had the chance to pass judgment on someone else.

Still, Sandra and Alan had one aspect in common, one thing that kept Sandra from disowning Alan completely--they were both treated like garbage by most of the other people in the school. Although Sandra herself was nothing like Alan, she understood the feelings of rejection and isolation their peers often forced upon him all too well. This school wasn't so bad, but her old school back east was complete hell...

"Hello?" Alan snapped his fingers in front of her face. "What the hell do we do now?"

Sandra smacked his hand away.

"You wanna keep your fingers?" She snarled at him. "We're going to my bunker. Stay behind me, and avoid everyone's eyes. Let's get the hell outta here."

And so, Sandra lead her companions out of the hall, and they tip-toed down the stairs, pretending not to notice the lifeless bodies they passed, or occasionally had to step over. Luckily, they didn't meet with any other armed assassins along the way, and eventually, they slipped out the back door, snuck around the building, and peered around the corner at the main street.

About half of the black vehicles had vanished, but some of them sat still and vigilant. Sandra couldn't tell if anyone was inside them.

"Come on." Sandra said quietly. "Follow me."

Sandra crouched, zig-zagging out of the sight of the vehicles, and with her friends following close behind, they reached the opposite end of the street, and Sandra headed straight for the back yard of the closest little house. They all rushed through the yards of Las Nueva Era, and after about ten minutes, they emerged at the bottom of the hill... Sandra's hill... they'd made it...

Up the hill, Sandra spotted her home, releasing a cloud of breath.

Assuming her uncle would be in the bunker already, Sandra marched towards the dirt hill's top, then began down the trail. She followed it until reaching the gigantic metal door of her uncle's doomsday bunker.

Her friends exchanged expressions when they laid eyes on the door. It was rather odd to approach a thick metal door protruding from a dirt hill... but nevertheless, now probably wasn't the time to question it.

Sandra, after fiddling with the door, grimaced.

The circular lock hadn't been tampered with at all since Sandra had left earlier in the morning.

No one was in the bunker.

"Password..." Sandra muttered. "Dammit... the password... what was the password? Crap! He... he told me this morning... eight... eighteen..."

Then, she stopped, her breath beginning to slow.

Yes, she knew. 1834. Of course.

"Our ages..." Sandra mumbled.

"What?" Alan said.

"It was our ages. Mine and my uncle's. Eighteen and thirty-four."

At once, Sandra turned the knobs until the number read 1834.

A thick, loud metal noise came from the door, and Sandra was able to feel the vibrations of it unhitching its own lock. She pushed the door open, stepped inside, and allowed her friends to follow suit.

"I'll be right back." Sandra told them. "I have to go check the house. Stay here."

As she pulled the door shut behind her, she headed back up the hill, towards her home, in the hopes she'd find her lunatic doomsday-prepping uncle, who, now, oddly, seemed like the most sane human being in the world.

As Sandra lead the way to her bunker, Jackson hesitated for a second, turned around to gesture at Sue-Lin and yelled - "Good luck Mouse, and get to the bunker if you can!" Then Jack whispered to himself - "There's a strange kinda intelligent vibe about her.."

As they all headed out of the school, there was an eerie and cynical feeling. Gunshots could still be heard, but they were somewhere way off in the distance now. It sounded like a war zone happening all around them, perhaps a few miles away.

"Wow, things are never going to be the same...This is Mad Max stuff right here.." Jack mumbled quietly as he carefully avoided stepping on a dead body.

As he looked around, he saw some cars piled up on each other, bloody and torn clothes just randomly lying in the street, trash littering sidewalks, small fires here and there with smoke billowing in the distance from several directions. It was complete mayhem, and Jack had a feeling this was just the tip of the iceberg.

When the group arrived at Maple street, Jackson said - "Ok guys, this is where I part ways, for now. I'll try my best to meet up with you later. You'll know it's me by my knock. I'll knock once, then pause and knock 2 times fast."

Jack then took off down the street in the other direction.

Unsure if whether or not his mother could come with him to the bunker, Jackson had not yet decided what he was actually going to do next. Sandra knew his mother's history (along with most of Las Nueva Era) and Jack didn't want to bring it up, it was an understandably embarrassing topic for him.

When he arrived at his home, he unlocked the door then fiddled with the light switch for a minute, realizing the power was out.

"Hello? Mom? Are you here?" Jack yelled.

His mother, Carol, huddled up in the back room immediately replied - "Jackson! Oh Jackson I'm so glad you are back home, I have been trying to call your cell, but all I kept getting was a fast busy signal!! I'm so glad you're ok! I...I...Just couldn't leave the house, there was so much gunfire everywhere!"

"Mom, something happened at our school, people are dead, I have no idea what is going on.." Jack exclaimed.

"I know son, and it's not just your school... Before things got really crazy, I think something about it came on T.V. just as I fell asleep.(passed out) When I woke up, the power was off and all hell was breaking lose! There were people trying to break in, so all I could do was hide myself in the backroom, luckily no-one made it inside. I'm glad you made sure the doors were locked! Jackson, I have to get a hold of your father! Where is he???" She said.

Then she started to cry. Jackson did his best to comfort her, but he was now feeling the same things, uneasy not knowing why his dad wasn't home yet, or where he was. There were a lot of possibilities and Jack didn't want to put any bad ideas in her head, so he chose not to speak of it.

"Mom, I think we have to go. I don't think it's safe here and I don't feel that this is over yet, whatever this is.." Said Jack.

The small, run-down white house atop the hill shone in a light Sandra had never seen it before. It was her uncle's home, the home she adopted when he took her under her wing two years ago, the home where she'd lived almost peacefully the last couple of years... she'd lived in this house longer than anywhere else she'd lived in her life.

Sandra climbed up the hill, her heart thumping anxiously again, and she stepped inside.

Her home contained an unsettling, eerie silence. Sandra briskly searched every room, but to no avail. Her uncle was nowhere to be found.

"Dorian, God dammit..." Sandra muttered, peering up the stairs to the attic--her room.

What would he be doing in my room?

She knew he probably wasn't there, but alas, she stepped up the creaking wooden stairs and entered her bedroom. The room looked no different than it had when she left for school... her bed unmade, her tiny television still on, her game system powered down, clothes piled and scattered in the corner, and an assortment of spikes and alternative make-up on her desk.

Sandra gazed around the room sadly, and a slow, uneasy sensation began to settle in the pit of her gut. It felt as though this room--her room, the room in which she'd spent countless hours drawing, writing, playing video games and pretending the world outside didn't exist--was no longer her safe haven... was no longer her home, her nest, the place where she could crawl under the covers and conceal herself from everyone.

Now, it was just a room full of clutter, and the little lock on the bedroom door probably wasn't enough to keep her safe from whatever mysterious military forces were swarming the town and killing people.

No longer would she be rising from this bed, pondering on her day as she dressed herself, thinking of Alan, her peers, her crazy uncle, Mr. Knowles... in fact, she was sure she wouldn't be returning to this little room again for quite some time.. if at all...

No, she scolded herself. I'm not having this. I'm not breaking down now.

Sandra ran a hand over her pocket, making sure her blade was still in its rightful place. Then, she pulled off her backpack, opened it, and shoved all of her spiked accessories and other random items into the bag.

This is it.

Sandra pulled a few choice outfits out of her messy pile of clothes, then quickly folded them and stuffed them neatly in the bag, attempting to take up as little space as possible.

This is the last time I'm gonna be home.

Just as she was about to head for the door, Sandra froze, then turned, eyeing her dresser.

Dammit, she thought. I almost forgot.

Sandra pulled the top drawer open, which was filled with various small items. After rifling through it, she located a large, golden watch.

Yes.

It took a moment for Sandra to wrap the clunky watch around her wrist. After she did, she studied herself in the mirror, examining the watch, watching it sparkle in the window's sunlight. She then slipped on her leather fingerless gloves, then held both of her arms out, smirking, fully satisfied with her untouchable appearance.

Sandra took one last glance at her room, then yanked the door shut, leaving the attic forever.

Before returning to the bunker, Sandra located one of her uncle's empty hiking bags, then proceeded to empty the fridge and the cabinets of their food. She filled the bag with food, then made her way back down the hill and into the bunker.

Sandra eased the big metal door shut, then locked it.

Alan was standing feet away, watching her.

"Well?" He said. "Where is your uncle?"

Sandra didn't answer right away.

"Stay here." She mumbled a moment later. "I'll be back later. Here's some food."

Sandra slung the gigantic hiking bag off her shoulder, allowing it to flump onto the metal floor.

Alan glared at her questioningly.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Jackson and Sue-Lin."

They both paused, staring at one another.

"Why?" Alan asked. "They're supposed to meet us here, right? Why go after them?"

"Because they have no idea where I live. I never brought anyone to my house before. Not even you." Sandra told him.

"You told them it was right off Williams Street." Alan argued. "They'll find us."

"They'll find a bunker hidden underneath a gigantic hill? You sure about that?" Sandra said. "My uncle built this thing specifically so people wouldn't be able to find it."

"Listen, its not like you can save everyone here, Sandra." Alan said, his face seeming to darken.

Sandra squinted at him. "What."

"I mean... they obviously have families to worry about. What makes you think they're gonna come back anyway?" Alan added. "Don't worry so much. You barely even know them."

"So I'm just not supposed to care at all then, huh." Sandra replied, her tone deepening.

"You just need to be more realistic--"

"Alan, shut up." Sandra snapped. "When the hell have you done anything outside of school? Huh? Have you ever experienced anything apart from getting perfect grades and kissing the teacher's asses? Huh? THEN SHUT UP ABOUT BEING REALISTIC--YOU HAVE NO IDEA--"

Sandra broke off mid sentence, trembling, only just realizing that she'd grabbed Alan's collar and was shaking him almost violently.

Alan, surprisingly, didn't react at all. He simply stood there, waiting for her to release him, his face retaining its cold, calm expression.

"Sorry." Sandra whispered, removing her hands from his shirt.

"Don't worry." Alan said blankly.

"I'll be back. Stay here." Sandra headed for the door again.

"Sandra, they're not--"

"I'm not going after them."

Alan blinked. "Then where are you going?"

Sandra gulped, taking a deep, heavy breath.

"To find my uncle."

Sue-Lin had traveled fast until she was truly out of town. She kept to the shallow ravine she was in. Her bag beeped so she stopped and un-shouldered it. She dug deep, right to the bottom, under the false bottom, to retrieve her radio. It was not a normal radio.

She checked the messages. Their was only one there.

It said, "Thank god you are OK sweetie. You have a Guardian Angel. Continue for 1K and turn left, follow the signs after that. Stay in the ravines and stay low! Love ya sweetie! Well done!"

Well, that meant that Dad was out there watching. He would be covered with his dessert gillie suit and probably had his .50 Cal Sniper Rifle with him if he could over watch her at this distance. She felt a lot better knowing that she did not have to rely on the little 9mm she had as her only weapon.

She followed his directions and eventually came to the dune buggy covered by its camo netting. It wasn't red anymore. He had painted it camo and driven it with the paint still wet. It was certainly the same color as the dessert now. In the back tray were her things.

She smiled and stripped down to just panties and changed to her camo clothes from her go bag. She put her school clothes in the bag. She picked up her long barreled Steyr and its ammo belt. She strapped on her own holster and 9mm pistol. In her pack she found her own small Gilles suit and she wormed into it. She smiled, for some reason she felt safe or at least a lot safer than she had felt getting out of town.

She knew the Colt 45 1911 was a better man stopping weapon but she was just too tiny to use one for more than a couple of rounds. She had practiced with one, but it was quite capable of spraining her wrists. The weapons she had now were like family to her. She loved them, was comfy with them and she relied on them.

She closed her eyes and relaxed. She put her Mouse persona aside and replaced it with her black panther persona. As she always did when changing personas, she acknowledged the terrified child with the expectation of death. She had to acknowledge her past but she also had to be able to put it aside.

Feeling much more powerful and in charge of her own destiny, she went to the top of the small hill and dropped next to her father saying, "Hi Dad, thanks for the cover!"

Her Dad answered and it was obvious he was under enormous emotional stress. "Just glad you made it out sweetie, I am so so proud of you, I was worried to death."

Sue-Lin wormed her way closer and gave her dad a cuddle until he calmed down. She knew he was one of the most dangerous people for a hundred miles in any direction but where she was concerned, he was a way over protective father who would die a thousand deaths to keep her safe, and if anything ever happened to her, he would turn into a blubbering mess.

She asked, "Do you know what the hell is going on? We only just made it out alive! Who the hell shoots up a school like that!"

He answered, "Taking the school out has caused all of the armed townies to rush to the rescue. The bad guys have retreated. Now everyone will gather at the school, they will all be armed. They will try and work out what happened. They will look for the dead to identify them. They will mourn. Then, the school will be hit again, this time with a much larger force and in one fell swoop, all of the armed citizens can be eliminated. I was going to have a look but that is what everyone else is doing. I decided to cover you assuming you got out."

Sue-Lin considered the information as monstrous as it was. She could not get her head around the savagery ensconced in such a plan. She asked, "What now?"

Her Dad answered, "I am moving to cover the town and do what I do best. I would prefer if you headed home! Before I move, I will let the Sheriff know that he is in one big trap. He might even listen for a change."

She answered, "I am going to Sandra's place, her Uncle Dorian has a bunker, I need to see if they all made it."

Her Dad took a deep breath before he answered, "OK, stay safe, I will set up a semi permanent over watch to cover that area and the town. Dorian is at map reference g.5, 14.3. The bunker is at 14.5, I watched at long range as Dorian dug it. I think it is a nice bunker. Didn't see him digging a back door so check that out if you can. I want our bolt hole to be used as a last resort. In the mean time, we stay alive and do what we can to help. One more body in the wash will not make much difference even with my training but one person with the reach of an Archangel can make a great deal of difference. I will stay on over watch, come towards me if you need help."

Sue-Lin found it hard to believe that her Dad was going to just let her go. She said, "What changed Dad?"

He answered, "The world just changed Sweetie. I have taught you everything I know. We live or we die. I have faith in your abilities. If you love someone, you have to set them free. It is time. Being over protective will not help you now, you need to practice the arts you have learnt, both mine and the others. So practice. If they kill you, expect me in heaven with you .... after I have made them pay. If I die, mourn later and remember I would want you to live, don't make them pay, you have your whole life in front of you."

Sue-Lin gave her Dad a big and very long cuddle before moving off the hill. She checked her tablet, making sure to enter the right password. There were two, one for the maps and the other that showed other useless maps and sent a burst signal to show the device was compromised. All of their radios worked on burst transmission of encrypted text. There was encrypted voice but that was never to be used.

Sue-Lin headed out, it would take a good couple of hours to make the journey.

“No, no, no...” Church bellowed loudly from his knees.

Something had happened in town. Church could hear gunfire popping off in all directions. The snap, crack and pop of lives being cut short. In a way he was glad he played hooky today. A lot of the gunfire was coming from the direction of the school.

His dad woke him in a frenzy, Church could smell the liquor on his breath already... It was past noon. Dad said he had to hide and he did, scared beyond words, Church shuffled stiffly to the laundry room pushed along by his overbearing father, all the while cussing under his breath. Just as his dad threw him into the laundry room he heard what sounded like a freight train crashing through a lumber mill. The door to the laundry slammed shut.

“Dammit,” his father said through the flimsy hollowcore laundry room door. “keep quiet Churchy. This will be over in a flash. I'll just tell them we don't...” another crash this time it sounded like glass shattering. Footsteps running off toward the den.

“What the hell is going on” Church whispered to himself, feeling the hot salty tears welling in his eyes. “No... don't cry you wuss,” he said, violently wiping the tears from his lightly freckled cheeks, “not now...”

KRAKOOM

That was less than five minutes ago. Back before his world went down the drain. Back when things were simple, when all he had to do was get mediocre grades and not piss off dad. Dad...

“Dammit dad, don't, just don't! You can't die on me, I need you dad! I don't care anymore, you can hit me, dad! Hit me!” Church was pressing hard on his dads chest but the wound was terrible and sucking, hot blood gushed from between his tightly clenched fingers. “I don't know what to do dad!”

“Ch... Churchy, I,” His dad coughed and misted Church's face with a fine bloody mist, “Churchy, I'm s s s...” Now he was spasming the blood seemed to be slowing down, he was bleeding out church knew. Exanguinating, it was called. He knew from the “true crime” novels his grandfather gave him before he died, three years ago.

“NO! Dad, no...” He began to sob as he felt, literally felt, the life leave his father. A delicate fleeting ghost on the doomed mists of human mortality. The end. “Dad, no.”He collapsed on his fathers chest not truly realizing he was lying in a pool of rapidly coagulating blood. “No,” He screamed, his temper rising, “no, you don't get to die! You assh##e! I hate you, no, no.” He stood, blood matting his sandy blonde hair, and feeling light headed, and kicked his father's newly made corpse. Over and over he kicked it, until he heard the ribs snap. Adrenaline rushing through his head like the buzz of a finely tuned sports car, he once again collapsed to his knees.

“I'm, alone,” The tears were streaming down his face, mingling with his fathers blood. “what do I do now dad?” His dad didn't answer.

Meanwhile, back a Jack's place, he sat there with his mother, contemplating if he should take his mother and go to the bunker or stay put and face the music. He would be protecting his mother from whatever may be coming, all by himself.

Armed with only a Colt 45 1911 and a pair of brass knuckles, still sitting in his upper dresser drawer, Jackson wasn't sure if he could hack it all by himself. The house had some valuable things, so it was a tempting thought to just hunker down in place and hope for the best. No, they weren't preppers but a lot of things they possessed could be useful at some point.

Jack's father, being a truck driver, had a very passionate hobby. When Jack was a boy, his father became obsessed with CB radio and HAM radio technology. Not being trained in the use of this old technology, Jack himself wasn't keen on how to use it. He only knew the equipment his father owned could end up being a life-saving element. Did anyone else in town have communication with the outside world?

Jack knew that the "man cave" designated just for his father, in a secure room downstairs, contained a HAM radio which was connected to a six foot outdoor antenna that had been mounted on the roof. The power at Jack's house was out, there's no saying if the rest of town was experiencing the same thing. Only a generator could help in a situation where an attempt to use the HAM radio could be utilized. With this in mind, Jackson began to brainstorm.

"Mom, I have an idea. We need to grab only the things we need to survive and pack up. We need all the food we can carry, clothes for a week or so and anything that could help us live comfortably and safely in a crowded bunker.." Jack explained.

His mother reluctantly responded - "I don't know Jackson, why can't we just stay here and wait this thing out? We don't even know what's going on!"

Jack responded - " Mom, I just...I have a bad feeling about staying here. We can take everything valuable and lock it in dad's "man cave". The door is thick and the lock is solid. I've never been able to budge it when it's locked and I've tried MANY times! If looters come, at least that room has a chance of being untouched, but WE aren't safe here!

His mother sighed. It was almost as if she knew Jack was right, but just couldn't let go. "What about your father, Jackson? We can't just pack up and leave..."

"Mom, dad would want us to live through this. We'll leave him a note in his HAM radio room, with general directions to the bunker in case he comes home, ok?" He's the only one besides you with the key, I know it's the first place he would expect us to be." Jack said.

His mother remained silent on the suggestion but gave a slight nod and started packing a duffel bag with canned food and clothes.

Jack did the same. He grabbed all the valuable China and silverware his father took pride in working hard for and stocked them in the room downstairs, where the HAM radio was. Everything else of high value was quickly moved to that room as well.

He remembered his dad's locked gun case and grabbed a hunting rifle and a 9MM handgun along with a couple boxes of ammo. All that remained went into the HAM radio room.

Jack secured the "man cave" and ran back upstairs. He then ran into his bedroom and grabbed his brass knuckles.

"Never know when I might need these!" Thought Jack. He took a quick look around the room and without delay left the room and closed the door behind him.

"Ok Mom, we can't carry any more than this. Can you carry the rifle?" He asked.

His mother responded- " *sigh* I suppose. Where is this "bunker" we are going to anyway?"

"It's...umm, well.. it's at Sandra's house." Jack stated.

"Sandra's house? So you know where we are going then, right?" She asked.

" Well..sorta" he said.

Somewhat concerned and confused, his mother asked - "Well, sorta? What does that mean? Haven't you ever been there?"

"No, she's kinda anti-social, and I haven't known her that long. I know generally where it is though.." he said.

Not impressed, his mother responded - " That's just great Jackson, you don't even know where we are going!"

His mother grumbled under her breath, frustrated. "Fine, Jackson. You just better know what you are doing."

"Mom? There's one more thing..." Jack said hesitantly.

"What now?" She replied.

He continued - "No alcohol, ok? I truthfully don't even know if we will be allowed in.. But we've got to try. You can't drink there.."

His mother didn't say a word, but a nerve had been struck. She immediately went to the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of Xanax behind the mirror. Jack knew she heard what he said and he actually felt bad, he knew she was ashamed. Jack had never once brought this up to her before.

With the house secured as best as they could secure it, the two were ready to head out.

"Should we take the car then?" His mother asked.

Swiftly and without any reluctance Jack responded - "No way! Those guys at the school had military grade weapons, and they weren't afraid to use them. A car is just a huge moving target! We will take the back roads on foot, don't worry Mom, I know how to get around the neighborhood, I'll get us there!"

Jack reached into his pocket confirming his Brass knuckles were in place, just in case. He then secured his Colt revolver to his hip and asked his mother if her rifle was locked and loaded.

"Don't patronize me, Jackson. I taught you how to shoot this thing." She responded.

With that, the two of them were now on their way to Sandra's bunker.

It was insane.

It looked as though the entire town had silenced; most of the black trucks were gone, and there was no traffic whatsoever. And, as Sandra headed back into town, examining the empty stores in the town square, a horrid, sickening feeling began to settle in her.

They're all either dead, or they ran away, Sandra thought disgustedly.

She couldn't entirely piece together everything that was happening... why the special ops had attacked the town, or why everyone had to die... Sandra always knew that the government had some wicked secrets and dirty laundry, but this was absolutely baffling; she never thought they'd take it so far. Slaughtering random civilians?

Why?

Why go through so much trouble, and waste so much ammunition, on ordinary, nameless citizens of America? What had they done to anyone else? What exactly sparked such a massacre...?

As Sandra strolled through the empty town, she began to rack her brain.

More of Dorian's paranoid rambling entered her mind.

"Government's a racket, kiddo." He had once said. "They won't step out of place unless they think its going to benefit them somehow. They come first, we come second."

Sandra nodded, sighing.

"I know you don't care." Dorian said, noticing her bored expression. "But you should. More people should."

"Why?" Sandra asked. "We can't do anything about it. Why the hell should we care?"

Dorian blinked at her, raising his brows, running his fingers through his maniac silver hair.

"Because... if you didn't... you'd be just like them." He explained, seeming to be in thought. "Here's what you do."

Dorian set down the rifle he was tinkering with, then faced her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"When you can't just sit back and do nothing... but there's nothing you can do..." He began. "You do what you can."

Sandra stared emptily at him.

"I know how that sounds. Doesn't sound like it makes any sense." Dorian added, glimpsing upwards at the posters. The biggest poster on the bunker wall looked like some kind of 40's war propaganda; it featured an oldschool drawing of a man with a shovel, pointing forward, staring intently at whoever may be looking at the poster, captioned with large letters at the top, which read; WHERE WILL YOU BE WHEN THE HOLOCAUST COMES?

"It'd make a lot more sense if you lived in a different age." Dorian told her. "If you planted things, and hunted things.. had some survival skills, you know? You just get by... do what you can. But nowadays... we live too comfortably to have any sort of perspective anymore."

Sandra looked away, only halfway understanding.

Dorian eyed her.

"No one escaped when freedom fails, and the best men rot in filthy jails. And those who cried 'appease, appease,' were hung by those they tried to please." He said.

Sandra stared oddly at him.

"Its a quote... from a long time ago." Dorian explained, smiling. "See kiddo, if you pay attention to history... all big successful countries have one big downfall in their past. One gigantic collapse that devastates their economy, and their people... and most other countries have had their downfall already. And now, they know their limits. They know better than to get drunk with power, and they learn from their mistakes. But America... I mean, the North American Union... we're the newest country on the map. We haven't had our downfall yet. Our country is still young, and she's got a lot to learn... and she won't learn without having those downfalls. Its only a matter of time before its our turn."

Dorian's voice echoed through her skull.

Sandra stopped, examining the town.

Traffic was never terribly busy in Las Nueva Era, but usually, cars would pass by, and people would walk from store to store, and to their homes. Everything had always seemed so bright, lively, and simple... but now, what few cars remained sat on the side of the road, abandoned and empty. No one was in the burger joint, the laundry place, or the gas station on the intersection, and the silence engulfing the town was so deep it was almost maddening.

"You were right." Sandra mumbled softly, gazing into the town, her home, which was now almost completely unrecognizable. "You... you were right."

Not knowing what else to do, Church headed back to his bedroom. Grabbing his backpack, he upturns its contents on his bed and takes the bag to the kitchen. There, he begins rifling through the pantry, grabbing several packs of Ramen noodles and some canned chef boyardee. He then goes to the basement door and descends the stairs pulling the cord attached to the light above the stairwell but nothing happens. He had been so consumed with the death of his father that he had not realized that the power had gone out.

Dammit, where did dad keep the flashlight again?

Returning to the kitchen he begins shuffling through the family “junk drawer” and after a minute or two fishes out a yellow plastic flashlight. Flicking it on and off he realizes the batteries are in bad shape but should hold long enough for him to search the basement. Once he reaches the stairs he turns on the flashlight sweeping it back and forth. In the corner he sees a pile of junk and moves toward it. Searching through the stuff he finds a canteen and an old survival knife that belonged to his grandfather. He unslings the backpack and secures the items inside, wishing his dad had not supported the anti-gun movement that had been sweeping across the NAU.

He returns to the kitchen and fills the canteen as well as taking a couple bottles of water from the fridge.

I need to get out of town, God knows who is alive out there. Not to mention everyone hates me. If they are alive I doubt they would want to help a freak like me, thanks dad.

With that last rueful thought, Church glances unbidden at his fathers cooling corpse and peeks out through the living room blinds. Aside from a few wafts of gray and black smoke he doesn't see any threats in the immediate area so he moves to the door, opens it and glances around. More smoke but no people and more importantly no people with guns trying to kill him but he knows they are out there. His dead father is more than a testament to that.

As he takes his first tentative steps into this bloody new world church thinks to himself: I am so screwed.