Desolation

His father, John, lay prone on top of a shed bordering a pig pen between him and the ridge, watching the area from the base of the ridge all the way to where Steve sat. Wilber, his wife, and five townies who had joined them over the past month watched the rest of the hilly compound from behind an old rock wall circling the top of the hill. Wilber’s son was perched near the top of the windmill tower, armed with a signal mirror and a .22 rifle with suppressor and ample scope. Since the blades of the wind turbine faced away from them, picking up breezes from the other side of the ridge, Buck had a perfect view of the valley and was partially protected by a steel plate Wilber had recently installed in preparation for this precise scenario.

Wilber said this was enough, but Steve wasn’t so sure. He was no soldier; he was a geek. Give him a computer and he could figure out anything, but out here, he was like a babe in the woods—a nerdy little babe in the woods. He had never shot anyone, much less killed someone. He just hoped that he would remain steady and not be too terrified. He had read lots of fiction and was always amazed how the hero of the story could do anything and everything at the right moment, with few consequences. But that was fiction. This was real life, and it was about to get as real as it could get.

So real, that he could swear he heard voices from down the hill. Blinking himself from his thoughts, he squinted through the scope of his AR-some-number, he forgot the name Wilber gave it. There! It was a woman and a man—no, two women, just beyond the fence line, at the bottom of the hill. They wore the same shirts and some band around their arms. He could hear them talking to each other. The woman with a ponytail was arguing with the other and abruptly stood up. Then they were quiet and unmoving, and then they hugged and walked away.

There was something so familiar about the woman with the ponytail. If only she weren’t obscured by the trees and leaves. She looked just like someone he knew, the way she held herself, her confidence, that brief glimpse of her smile—Oh my God, was it even possible?

~~~

Sam Snodgrass heard some movement ahead of him and decided to investigate. The fighting was about to begin and his job, as a Loyalty Officer, was to prevent anyone from leaving the fight, whether it be the family whose ranch home they were taking, their friends, or GA deserters. His orders, direct from John, were to detain them until the fighting began and shoot them as soon as he heard the signal to commence fighting.

He had already proven himself useful twice: once when they took a town (its name escaped him), and then at Fossil Ridge. In both cases, it had been the newer recruits. Once the shooting started, they ran. He hated those “sniveling scaredy-cats,” as he described them in his stories to his friends.

He was ready for this one.

He raised his rifle and gingerly hiked to where he heard the noise, until he came upon two women talking about something. Then, they both got up and hugged. And then, they turned and walked away. They were deserting! He would double back and cut them off before they made it to the highway.

Thompson Journal Entry

Continued…