Chapter 1

THE BEGINING OF THE END

“Hey, Sergeant Walker, why are we going to this crappy little village again?” Asks Specialist James Jacobs, JJ for short.

Tim Walker glares at the blistering sun through his scratched up sunglasses and wipes a bead of sweat from his cheek. “To find this Imam named Mohamed bin Khalifa. Our informant said that he knows the location of some Al Qaeda assholes hiding in the area.”

JJ snickers and grins at the other soldiers. “There’s only one person named Khalifa that I want to see right now, and she’s definitely not here.”

Smiles from the others mean they knew exactly who JJ was talking about.

“Focus JJ. You can get back to your girlfriend Mia, as soon as we get back to camp.”

“Roger that!” JJ replies with a little jump in his step.

The sandy road leading to the village was dead quiet this morning. As they walk along, the only noise emanates from their combat boots hitting the dirt and the light jingle of their gear. The village was about two and a half miles from their combat outpost, so the they decided to take a walk today. As the squad hikes over the final hill, a small Iraqi village appears in the distance. Buildings made of cheap bricks surround a singular spire erected next to the village mosque. It might have been the heat of the sun or the mirage playing tricks on the ground, but something seemed out of place. The typically busy marketplace was devoid of its usual shoppers walking around.

Tim looks around cautiously and motions for his five-man team to proceed. “The place seems quiet today. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.”

As the squad reaches the edge of the village, the stench of burning plastic and rotting flesh fills the air. To the left is a butcher shop with a big piece of meat hanging on a hook in the window, and baskets of fruits and vegetables sitting on the ground. To Tim’s surprise, the vendor wasn’t standing at the window to greet them. To the right is a linen shop lined with colorful scarves and dresses swaying in the calm breeze. Again, without anyone begging them to buy their goods.

JJ leans in close to one of the shop’s dusty windows and laughs. “Oh look, a Folex. I wonder how much they want for that knockoff?”

The main street was about fifty yards long, with two-story buildings along either side. Each building has a store or restaurant on the lower floor and a small balcony extending from the upper residence. On a usual Wednesday afternoon, there would be children running back and forth in the street as vendors tried to pull you into their shops to buy their cheap stuff. The Imam they were looking for was in a mosque at the center of the village.

“I don’t like this,” nervously comments Private Chadwick from the back of the formation.

Tim pulls the butt of his rifle tight against his shoulder and looks around cautiously. “Me neither. Spread out and stay alert.”

All of a sudden, a single shot rings out from somewhere close by. Instinctively, the team spreads out, taking cover alongside the buildings with their rifles aimed in every direction. The echo from the buildings makes it sound like the shot came from all different directions around them.

“Where did that come from?” Tim yells out.

“Don’t know. Somewhere to the front, I think,” replies JJ from the other side of the street.

Tim points over at Chadwick and motions to his radio. “Get on the radio and call back to command. We need QRF to come out and help us clear this place.”

Just as Chad reaches for his radio and starts to make his call, Tim spots something moving out of the corner of his eye. He looks up to see an object tumbling end over end from the rooftop. A short piece of pipe spins slowly through the air as it falls toward the ground. He looks on in horror as it drops in slow motion, hitting the dirt street right in the middle of his men.

 

*          *          *

 

“GRENADE!” Tim yells as he sits up in bed. Breathing heavily, he frantically looks around the dark room as a bead of sweat drips from his forehead.

His wife Mary, who was sleeping next to him, wakes up and grabs his arm. Tim jumps as he looks at her and realizes that he’s back in his bedroom, and dreaming of this never-ending scenario again. The room slowly comes into focus as tiny beams of light shine through the window from the streetlamp outside.

Mary rubs his arm and speaks softly. “Was it the market again?”

She had been here many times before when Tim’s flashbacks woke him up in the middle of the night. She reaches for the nightstand and hands him a glass of water.

As his heartbeat begins to slow, Tim takes a sip and hands the glass back to her. “Yeah, I hate that place.”

He slowly spins and puts his feet on the cold hardwood floor. The little green light from the baby monitor on his nightstand blinks, so he leans in close to hear if Victoria was still sleeping. The only sound he can hear is some heavy breathing, followed by a little fart.

Tim smiles and thinks to himself, “Yup, still out. For a two-year-old, she could sleep through a hurricane.”

He slowly stands up and walks to the bathroom to clean the sweat from his face. The joints in his knees and ankles creak and pop from years of abuse. He turns on a small night light in the bathroom and splashes some cold water on his face.

Leaning in close to see his bloodshot eyes and two days of stubble on his face, he points at himself in the mirror. “Chill out, you psychopath.”

This dream often haunts him in the middle of the night, but there was he could do about his PTSD. Every time Mary forced him to see someone about it, the doctor would throw another bottle of pills at him and send him on his way. After serving in the Army for twenty-two years, he needed to retire and calm his nerves. They were now living in the suburbs of Dallas, in the great state of Texas. Mary was working as an English teacher at a local high school, and Tim was a stay-at-home dad battling the little monster of a toddler for a living. Not much “calming down” was being done, but it was better than fighting insurgents in Iraq. He didn’t have to clean up after the Al Qaeda as much as he did with this little Tasmanian Devil, though. All in all, it was a good life.

As he dries the water from his face, something catches his eye outside the window. It looked like someone was shooting off fireworks in the city. He pulls the blinds away and sees large balls of light, but not in the sky where fireworks should explode. It’s coming from the ground, silhouetting the buildings. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and takes a closer look. Following one of the explosions, what looks like stream of tracer rounds from a machine gun fly through the air.

“That can’t be good,” he thinks to himself.

He quickly leaves the bedroom and goes to the living room to turn on the TV. It’s rare to see something truthful on the news recently. Ever since the new president took over, things had been a mess.

He hits the power button, and the room lights up with the bright red glow from a banner scrolling across the screen reading, “BREAKING NEWS!!”

A reporter stands in the street in oversized tactical gear. Just as he tries to speak, he flinches and ducks down as another exposition erupts from behind him. “Downtown Dallas has turned into an all-out war zone as an armed group of men is attempting to take control of City Hall. All across the city, police are battling hundreds of people as they pour into the streets. We’re receiving multiple reports of rioting and looting of stores following the recent events at the Capital. The National Guard has been called to the scene to attempt to halt the violence.”

Another loud explosion goes off that shakes the plates in the cupboards, followed by Mary’s footsteps running down the hall.

She comes out into the living room and stops in front of the TV. “What was that!?”

Tim leads her over to the front window and pulls the curtain aside. “All hell is breaking loose downtown. Some kind of militia group is attacking City Hall. We need to leave the city now. We can go to my parents’ farm up north. It’s far enough away from the city that we’ll be safe until things calm down.”

Mary stares out the window with a look of shock on her face as another ball of light erupts from downtown. “Ok, I’ll get the baby,” she says, quickly leaving to get Victoria from her crib.

Tim turns and heads for the kitchen. Any prior serviceman is a prepper at heart, so he goes right for the go bag under the sink. It was already full of enough dried food and water for a day’s drive, and a first aid kit just in case. He knows that supplies are essential, but the most important thing for this journey was waiting back in the bedroom. He sets the go bag on the bed and kneels down, pulling a black lockbox out from under the bed. He punches the code into the keypad, and it pops open, revealing his custom Colt 1911 pistol.

It sparkles in the light with its polished stainless steel barrel and dark oak grip. Engraved in the wood is Tim’s old unit insignia with expert detail. Deeply etched is a black octagon with gold outlining. Over the center is a gold ink quill surrounded by four gold lightning bolts. On the bottom is a gold ribbon with black letters spelling out words in Latin. TRIUMPHUS PERSUASIONIS (Triumph of Persuasion.) It was a retirement gift from his good friend and commanding officer.

He carefully plucks it from its fitted case and pulls the slide back just enough to see the live round resting in the chamber. With half a smile, he releases the slide and inserts it into his holster then stuffs it into his bag, followed by two loaded magazines and an extra box of rounds.

Tim quickly zips up the bag and throws on some clothes. Within a matter of minutes, Mary is waiting next to the front door, holding the baby. They take one last look around and lock eyes in the doorway. Without saying a word, they leave the house and lock the door behind them.

Being a military family for so long, they had learned that things are just things. They learned not to get attached to anything because the military will have you move so often that it was common to lose many possessions and friends along the way. They leave the house without hesitating to think about the seventy-inch plasma TV on the wall or the box of jewelry left behind in the bedroom. They had what was important to them in their hands and were ready to do what was needed to keep their family safe.

Tim loads the bag into the back seat of his truck as Mary straps in the baby. After a quick check around the truck, Tim jumps in and starts it up. The fuel gauge shows less than a quarter tank, which was not enough to get to his family’s farm.

“We’ll need to stop somewhere and get gas once we get through the city. I hope we can make it that far.”

As they back out of the driveway, he notices that his neighbors had the same idea. This only meant one thing. Traffic jams through the city. Improvise, adapt, and overcome is something they teach you in the Army. From this moment forward, he knows that his military training will be the key to surviving this. He takes one last look at the house and speeds off down the road.

Heading out of the suburbs is an expected mess. People are stacking suitcases on top of their cars and filling them up with all sorts of useless crap. One man was even trying to stack his dining room furniture in the back of his truck.

Mary points out the window and shakes her head. “Really? Do you really need that chair, dumbass?”

Finally, they make it out of the suburbs and onto the highway leading North toward Oklahoma. After driving for fifteen minutes, the traffic on the highway comes to a dead stop. Cars are lined up as far as they can see. Tim rolls down his window and crawls out, standing up on the seat to get a better look. Off in the distance, he can make out an overturned semi-trailer blocking the entire road, with cars backed up for miles in both directions. He sits back down and looks nervously at the fuel gauge. This is the deciding moment that would make or break the entire journey. Wait here and run out of gas, or take their chances going through the downtown area.

He looks over at Mary sitting next to him, and sees the fear on her face as she stares back. “You trust me, right?”

She looks back at the baby sleeping in her car seat, then turns to him, nodding her head.

Tim turns the wheel sharply to the right and hits the gas. “Here we go. Hold on.”

The truck slides off the main road and onto the grass embankment, heading for the off-ramp. Mary holds tightly onto the roll-over bar with one hand and the baby’s car seat with the other as Victoria peacefully sleeps in her seat. This was just another innocent car ride for her. They make it to the off-ramp and follow it down to the inner-city streets.

The streets are quiet and look normal for a few blocks. Things soon begin to evolve from typical inner-city slums to post-apocalyptic chaos as they pass shops with smashed-in windows. Trash cans and cars are spewing flames ten feet high. When he thinks they’re past the worst of it, they turn a corner and find themselves face to face with a mob of rioters. Colorful ones, holding skateboards and metal pipes. Some have bright red and blue hair, trying to look tough with gasmasks and helmets on.

“Bunch of hippies,” he says, watching at them marching around like entitled children. He turns to Mary and points at the bag in the back seat. “Reach back and grab the pistol out of my bag. I might need it to scare some of these crazies out of the way.”

She hands him the pistol, and he lays it on his lap as they slowly make their way around the crowd of yelling rioters. They seem preoccupied with breaking windows to steal TVs, until one rioter stops and looks up at them. He had just finished smashing in a glass door with a metal pipe and is now staring at them, breathing heavily. He points his pipe at the truck and jogs into the street. Before Tim has time to react, the rioter jumps out, waving his pipe above his head and yelling something incomprehensible.

He looks like he was enjoying the chaos as he flaunts a rainbow-colored t-shirt under a black tactical vest with BLM in white letters across the front. Tim is forced to stop the truck, and they stare at each other through the windshield for a second. The little punk doesn’t look any older than sixteen as he stares blankly through his gas mask with a cracked lens.

Tim honks the horn and waves for the punk to get out of the way, but the kid raises his pipe and brings it down on top of the truck’s hood, leaving a sizable dent. As the kid rears back to swing again, Tim cuts the wheel hard and hits the gas. The front bumper grazes the kids hip, sending him falling backward into a pile of trash. Before he has a chance to get back up, they speed down the road away from the crowd. Tim looks back through the rearview mirror to see the kid jump to his feet and run toward them, but gives up after a few steps.

Tim reaches over and grabs Mary’s hand. “What is wrong with these people?”

“I don’t know,” she replies with fear in her voice.

They make it about a block past the angry horde, but are halted by line of police officers heading toward the rioters. They’re all geared up for a fight with riot shields and batons at the ready. Behind the officers is a massive truck with a high-pressure water cannon on top.

Tim looks over at Mary with an evil smile on his face and points. “I’ve seen one of those in action before. They can spray you right off your feet if you’re not ready for it.”

“Good. Those crazy people need to cool off.” She replies.

An officer notices their truck trying to pass, so he walks up to Mary’s window.

He motions for her to roll it down and lifts his face shield. “What are you doing inside the city? You need to go east of here to avoid any more dangerous areas. Follow this road and don’t stop for anyone except police personnel.”

Mary nods her head and waves back. “Thank you, officer.”

He waves them past and slams his face shield back down in anticipation of the mob they were heading into. The officer’s information must have been wrong because two blocks away, they come face to face with something even more terrifying than rioters.

Up ahead stands a wall of fifty men dressed in all-black tactical gear, surrounded by trucks and motorcycles. There’s no other way to go except through them. If they turned and started to run, the men might fire at the truck.

Tim grips his pistol tightly and looks at Mary. “This must be the militia that the news was talking about. Keep calm and let me do the talking.”

From this angle, they definitely look like a formidable fighting force. Machine guns are mounted on the back of pickups, and everyone has an assault rifle in their hands. Tim knows that this could go very badly if he doesn’t play it right. Lucky for him, he had a couple Special Operations stickers on his truck’s windows and his old maroon beret sitting on the dashboard.

As he attempts to slide past their line, one of the men approaches his window and motions for him to roll it down. Tim slowly rolls down his window as the man walks closer and waves. He has on a dirty black collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing tattoos covering his arms. His black tactical vest is full of pouches, but instead of extra magazines, he has a few beers stored in the front. His face is tanned with a long black beard. As he chews on a wooden toothpick, Tim can see dark holes where teeth were missing in his smile. On his head sits a brown, ragged, and faded cowboy hat with an American flag sewn on the front.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Tim says, pointing forward. “We just need to get through.”

“What’s your name and rank, soldier?” He grumbles with a deep, raspy voice. He sounds like he smokes five packs of cigarettes a day, but smells like it’s closer to ten.

“My rank’s retired. We’re just passing through.”

He reaches up and strokes his long, tangled beard. “Looks like you still have some fight in ya. You sure you don’t wanna piece of this? It’s about to start getting good. We got those lazy bureaucrats on the run.”

Tim can’t help but smile at the man. “No thanks, maybe another time. I just want to get my family out of the city and to a safer place.”

“Suit yourself. Go through to the right and out the rear. The streets should be clear from here on.” He reaches up and grabs the tip of his hat, tilting it while looking at Mary, then turns away.

As they pass, the man slaps the back of the truck like an old western lawman would have slapped the back of your horse to get it moving faster. Passing the line of militiamen, most of them look the same as the first guy. They look like they just came from a ZZ Top concert at a biker bar. The rest of the way out of the city is surprisingly clear. The police must have evacuated this area before the major fighting started.

Finally out of the city, it’s time for them to find a place to rest and get some gas for the rest of the journey north. On the side of the road, sits a gas station with a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop attached. Tim had always been a sucker for doughnuts, so this was obviously the best option.

As they drive closer, Mary rolls her eyes and says, “Okay,” before Tim even has a chance to ask.

“Winning!” He says proudly as they pull into the gas station.

While filling up the truck, Tim hears a familiar sound coming from the highway. The all-familiar roar of diesel engines over-revving, banging metal chains, and squeaky brakes slowly approaches. Sure enough, when he turns around, a convoy of tan and green National Guard trucks cruise by heading for the city. Most active military had some type of disdain towards National Guard soldiers, but they don’t really know why. It’s disappointing to see someone who wants to be a professional soldier, but still wants to flip burgers at McDonald’s for a living. Now, looking at these “Part-timers” mobilizing with live ammo was kind of scary.

Tim watches as the sloppy convoy slowly passes. “Good luck, boys. You’re gonna need it.”

After filling up the tank and letting Victoria walk around a little after her glorious night’s sleep, they get back in the truck and wait for Mary to return from the doughnut shop. Soon after, she comes out of the shop carrying a big box of doughnuts and a couple of coffees. She almost drops it all when she looks up and sees Tim through the window licking his lips and rubbing his hands together. She jumps into the truck with a smile, and Tim immediately digs into the doughnuts and continues their journey north.

Not even five miles down the road, a National Guard Humvee sits on the embankment, looking like a wheel had fallen off while driving.

Tim waves at the poor soldiers as they drive past. “Smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave.”

Tim’s parents’ farm is usually a three-hour drive from Dallas, but today there was a lot more traffic than on a typical Wednesday morning leaving the city, for obvious reasons. All sorts of people were trying to get away from the madness. As the sun rises, the landscape turns from urban city to country grass fields, which was a reassuring feeling. No one’s going to be rioting out here. There was nothing to loot, and if they tried, they would quickly get shot and sent back home to the city. Carrying a handgun at all times in this part of Texas is standard practice. Mainly to protect yourself from snakes, coyotes, and the occasional wild boar, which are exceptionally ferocious.

Soon, the pavement turns to gravel, then to dirt, which means the farm wasn’t much farther. They pull into the driveway, and Tim instantly feels safer being at the house he grew up in. Mary called ahead to let them know they were coming, so Tim’s parents were waiting on the front porch as they pull in.

As they park, Tim’s mom, Nancy, comes walking toward the truck with her arms open. “Thank God y’all got out of the city safely.”

Followed closely by Tim’s dad, Marco. “Dallas is getting worse by the minute. The National Guard is making a real mess of things down there.”

“Yeah, we saw a bunch of them attempting to make their way into the city.” Tim says, looking at him with a smile.

“Come here, my little bug,” Nancy says as she takes Victoria from the back seat. She’s still half asleep with powdered sugar all over her face.

“Good to see ya, Son. Come inside and get comfortable. You might be here for a while.”

Tim grabs the bag from the back seat and follows them to the house. “Good to see you too, Dad.”