Defending Camp

20

“What’s going on, Joey?” whispered Dan, lying still. He wasn’t moving, just like he’d been told.

“They’re coming,” said Joey, who didn’t make any effort to lower his voice.

Shouldn’t he have been whispering?

“Who?”

“Who knows,” said Joey. “They come in, kill you, take you away. Depends on the day. Depends who you are. Who knows.”

“Why are we lying back here behind the counter?”

“I’ve seen them drive by and simply shoot up the buildings. I was hiding in the hardware store and they drove by with some kind of machine gun and just shot up the place. Nearly died.”

The noise outside was intensifying. A deep rumbling. Sounded like big trucks. Were they the same ones who had driven by his grandparents’ house?

“Who are they?” said Dan again.

For some reason, it was important for Dan to try to make sense of what was happening. It wouldn’t do him any practical good. He knew that. But everything seemed so chaotic. So confusing. If he just had some definite information that he could wrap his head around… Maybe it would make it easier to cope. He didn’t know.

“There’s someone in here!” It was someone shouting from outside.

“I saw someone go in!”

They were deep voices. Sounded like they were standing right outside the door.

Dan hoped Joey had locked it.

Joey certainly hadn’t been the best employee at the hardware store. Even though he was young and short and small, Dan habitually outworked Joey at almost everything he did. He’d sold more than he had, and he unloaded more from the trucks when they came in.

Joey wasn’t the kind of guy Dan wanted to bet his life on.

“Shit,” muttered Joey. “They know we’re here.”

“Did you lock the door?”

“Yeah.”

“At least they’re not just shooting,” muttered Dan.

It wasn’t much of a consolation. And the words sounded hollow as soon as he’d spoken them.

“Is there a back way out?” said Dan.

“There’s no point. They’ll have the back covered.”

“How do you know?”

“They almost got me at the hardware store.”

“Are they soldiers or something?”

“Seems like it. Not US soldiers though.”

That didn’t make Dan feel any better.

“What do you mean? They’re from somewhere else?”

“No, I think they’re Americans. Just not regular soldiers. Maybe they’re rogue guys. Who the hell knows. The point is, they’re going to kill us.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Get to them before they get to us,” said Joey.

“I don’t hear them. Maybe they went away.”

“No,” said Joey. “They’re there.”

Glass shattered. Probably the door. They’d probably hit it with the butt of a rifle.

Dan clutched his kitchen knife. He wished he’d had a gun.

There wasn’t much time left. There weren’t any footsteps yet. But soon the men would be coming in.

“Listen, kid,” said Joey, turning to Dan for the first time. Joey’s eyes locked onto Dan’s. They looked wild and intense. Sweat was on his brow. His hair was dirty and his beard was long and unkempt. His face was gaunt and lean, his eyes bulging slightly. “I gave you a hard time at the hardware store. I’m not going to say I’m sorry. But I’m going to make it up to you.”

“What are you talking about? You never gave me a hard time.”

“I was making fun of you every time you turned your back.”

“Oh,” said Dan.

“I’m going to rush them. You go out the back. They’ll be there, but do the best you can. It’s the best I can do. And if you make it, I want you to remember what I did.”

“Joey,” said Dan. “Wait…”

But Joey wasn’t listening. He stood up, holding his shotgun with both hands, finger on the trigger.

Joey shook his head, his long grey hair moving wildly. He let out a noise, half-scream, half-roar.

“Go!” he shouted.

Dan couldn’t move. He felt frozen with shock and fear.

Another noise at the door. Sounded like they were breaking more glass.

Something was slamming into the door.

Joey dashed over the counter, rushing forward towards the front exit. He charged them, shotgun first.

He fired. The shotgun blast rang through the store.

Dan stood behind the counter now, as if he was a barista working at the café.

Another gunshot. A different sort of sound.

Joey’s head snapped back, blood bursting forth into the air, his hair swinging wildly.

Dan finally broke free from his frozen pose. He needed to move. Now.

The pack was weighing him down, but he couldn’t ditch it. He needed it to survive.

Dan dashed through the back of the store, leaving the counter behind, looking wildly for the exit.

He passed a large industrial sink that was still full of dirty dishes. A broom closet with the door open, a yellow plastic mop bucket still filled with dirty water, the mop lying on the ground.

There was a heavy steel door.

Dan slammed against it, pressing the long horizontal bar that served as a handle.

He didn’t look behind him. He dashed outside into the sunlight that almost blinded his darkness-adjusted eyes.

Dan looked up and down the paved alley, his heart pounding and his head moving jerkily back and forth. There was a dumpster off to his right, full of trash. The smell was intense, almost completely overwhelming.

There was no one there.

Dan dashed down the alley, not knowing which was he was heading.

Behind him, he heard the steel door burst open, slamming against the brick wall.

Dan had no way to fight them. His knife wasn’t a match for their guns.

Maybe they wouldn’t shoot him since he was a kid. Probably not, though.

Dan got around the corner of a brick building just in time.

A burst of gunfire rang out, dispelling any illusions of juvenile safety.

He had to ditch the backpack. Somehow, he got it off his shoulders, throwing it off him with too much force. He needed his energy to run.

Dan ran straight and fast, his arms pumping intensely like pistons, his feet slamming into the pavement, his knees rebounding high towards his chest, towards the sky.

He could probably outrun them. But he was headed right back to Dwight Street.

He reached Dwight.

A large military truck, painted in a camo pattern, sat there, rumbling.

Dan didn’t stop running. As hard as he could. Maybe he could make it to the other side of the road, crossing right in front of the truck.

There was someone there, right in his path.

Dan didn’t think. He didn’t stop.

It was some type of soldier. A rogue one. A big gun.

Flashes of scattered impressions came into Dan’s brain. Fragmented.

Without stopping, he jammed the knife forward, right into the man’s stomach.

The man screamed, swinging his rifle around. It wasn’t in position to fire. But the hard metal of the muzzle collided with Dan’s head.

Pain kicked through him. Hard, harsh pain.

Dan’s vision went blurry.

Someone was grabbing him. Strong arms. Rough hands. Seizing him, pulling him backwards away from the man he’d stabbed, who lay there now on the ground, the kitchen knife jutting up into the air.

The man he’d stabbed wore no military uniform. He had long, wild hair that flowed out from beneath a blue baseball cap.

Whoever these people were, they definitely weren’t the US military. Joey had been right. They were probably just some guys who’d gotten a hold of some military gear, like trucks and guns.

“What do we do with him?” said a voice behind Dan.

“Detention center.”

Dan felt something on his wrists. Plastic.

Were they zip tying him?

The plastic around his wrists tightened. It was extremely tight, to the point of being painful.

Someone kicked him in the back. Hard.

Dan’s arms fastened together behind him, he fell hard face-first onto the pavement. He tried to fall on his shoulder, but it was only partly successful.

His face collided with the pavement. Another blow to the head.

He didn’t black out.

He lay there, pain kicking through him, listening to the gruff adult voices of the men above him.

Dan thought of Joey, and the way he’d looked when he’d been shot. Had he gotten one of them himself?