They did an impressive job on the car. Corrugated on top of a roll cage, heavier plate around sides, even if it wasn’t very well secured. Only a few points of welding holding it all together. It would hold for the journey, they assured me. There’s nothing like going headlong into known danger with such assurances, something like a duck and cover exercise in case of a nuclear explosion, it wouldn’t do you much good, and you all know it, but somehow dying in a group like that made it seem better. She’d spraypainted the group’s logo on each side, a dolphin on a wave, a crude rendition, but it would serve.

We set out a few hours after the sun rose. Pawel driving, Oleg with me in the back seat. Delacruz in the front passenger’s seat, but more  standing in the peak of the corrugated where he got the best visibility. Monica had made some small windows with flaps, about three inches high and with full 360 visibility. Of course, if anything got into one of those windows, a bullet would bounce around, anything more explosive, well, let’s hope they aren’t armed with grenade launchers. We each had a firearm, two rifles, three handguns between us.

Once out of the gate, we headed along our chosen path. We drove in silence until we were past the neighborhood. That’s when Delacruz looked down, despondent.

“I don’t like it. I didn’t see anyone.”

Oleg turned to me to explain.

“This is an active area, a community. There should have been people around, friendly people. They were always out, scavenging or tending crops. Now, you can see the weeds. Nobody has been around.”

“Not for a long time.”

“We’ll get answers.”

The drive turned out to be uneventful in itself, which was a good thing. That armor was a psychological thing, but impractical. I felt caged, knowing if death would come, I’d never see the attacker. It was also a little too Mad Max for my taste, but this was their choice, and I was along for the ride.

You could see signs of the Navy base from a mile away, not like you’d see guys in uniform out on leave, more like anchors placed at intersections, old deck top artillery used as statuary, a helicopter mounted outside what used to be a VFW hall. There were some people, they were out and looking like they were in good shape, clean and well-fed. A handful of people, not like a large community.

My chest was hurting. The roads weren’t exactly in great shape and I was already uncomfortable. No good position in this rattle-trap. I made do, breathed deep, meditated, squeezed my fist, but the pain was getting to me. Wasn’t this supposed to get better after a couple days?

The approach to the base was a different story. Building had been razed, the rubble cleared, an open field of vision. Nobody could get within a half mile of the place without being seen from the guard towers. The rubble had been pushed back at a consistent radius, a berm of concrete, brick and wood fifteen feet high and at least as much thick surrounded a scorched earth half circle, looking like a blast radius. They must have just driven bulldozers straight through every building in the area. There was one way through if you were a vehicle, one hole in the wall, a bottleneck.

As we passed through the gate, we slowed, and once we were 500 feet in, we stopped.

“Protocol,” Oleg said. “Far enough in that nobody’s going to ambush from behind, far enough away that we can’t make an effective attack. Let’s get out.”

Pawel opened the one functioning door to the vehicle, and got out, hands up. We all followed. Four Jeeps approached.

“Weapons,” Oleg said. He kept one arm up, and with the other pulled his gun out, laid it on the ground.

“Go on. Nobody’s going to attack us now.”

“Except them,” Pawel said.

They were already upon us when I drew mine. The Jeeps slammed on their breaks, grinding to a halt on the gravel road. A dozen Navy men were out of the vehicles and in firing position in a heartbeat, all guns aimed at me.

“Put the weapon down!” they yelled, but so many of them yelled other orders, information about us, how many, the vehicle, the other guns that had already been set down, telling all of us to get down, none of us understood a word of it, it was coming so fast.

“On the ground now!”

I didn’t know if they meant me, or the others or the gun, I should have, it’s obvious what I should have done, but I was still in shock, I was exhausted, I was dumb. One of them got around me, threw me to the ground. The wind went right out of me.

“She’s injured! Be careful!” Oleg said.

“Shut up!”

He put his knee on my back, two more had guns on my head. He stepped down hard.

“Take it easy! We’re from tidewater. She’s hurt.”

My vision went red, then black.

Lori Kim is written by Bryan Lee Peterson. Find more at The Mindofbryan

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