The interstate held almost no traffic. Only government and military vehicles moved freely. Civilian traffic, had essentially ceased. In some urban areas, a few bus systems, underground mass transit systems haphazardly survived , bicycles, and foot traffic had become active after the chaos of the " event", an new normal introduced itself. When lockdowns , due to a variety of engineered bio agents permitted movement that is. Of course the general collapse of the power grid, and essential eradication of the great interconnected media, the internet, and central command and control also rendered things into a systemic chaos.
Michael , looked across the near deserted I75 in Atlanta. It was seriously weird to see the interstate so deserted. From the observation post overlooking down town Michael scanned the vacant streets. A lock down due to an airborne ebola outbreak was currently in effect. Only authorized government operatives were free to move about in public.
To say this created problems would be the understatement of the past few centuries.
The U.S. Economy had ceased existing months ago. Most urban regions, reduced to ashe covered ruins from the rioting, protests, and insanity that had swept the nation. In Atlanta, only the main downtown region around the state capitol and the suburban CDC complex, and Ft McPherson, had not burned. The national guard and regular army had managed to preserve that much at least, though, the signs of damage were clearly evident. The Golden rotunda of the Capitol did not shine so brightly at the moment.
Some freight traffic moved with military escort, interstate travel had become a rare thing. What mass supplies were transported interstate traveled on heavily armed and guarded rail roads. Some Diesel trains had been engineered to work again and carried sporadic service.
When the tracks were operable that is. The United States as an cohesive whole no longer existed, the world of the 1860s had been less chaotic.
In the burned out urban areas, there was no functioning order, except, the law of the jungle, a reign of terror dominated by gangs. The Chaos caused by the birth of the Caliphate, the Reborn Islamist Ottoman and Persian empires had brought the United States to ruin. The only free trade that flowed now was within the borders of the Caliphate and Communist China. The world was effectively under the rule of the proclaimed Madhi. Those nations outside of the Madhis iron grip primarily collapsed, choked into submission by the destroyed economic order, and the Caliphates control of the clear majority of the world's oil and gas supply. Across the planet, the Madhis agents funded insurrection and jihads, with their riches. Most places were governed, when governed, by the best government corruption and caliphate funds could buy.
Stories circulated, rumors of genocidal activities within the caliphate abounded. Miraculously, Israel had survived. Terribly wounded, isolated, but functional still due to their Gas and oil sources from the Golan and the Mediterranean sea, along with a mostly intact nuclear arsenal, What survived of the U.S. Navy, Great Britains, and a devastated French naval force had helped preserve Israels flow of oil and gas.
Without the desperate need for those resources, Israel would have long ago ceased to exist.
The nuclear deterrent worked to preserve Israel, Though not until after most of the old Arab capitals, and Terhan, had been nuked, along with Riyadh, Dubai, Mecca and Medina, Amman, and Alexandria.
Michael watched as a caravan of school busses, escorted by heavily armed military vehicles rolled past along I75, south bound. He counted one hundred buses. For a week now Michael had watched busses packed with people roll thru, all south bound. What few buses returned under escort heading north, were always empty. Rumors abounded, stories, whispers, dark hints. Michael had ignored that scuttlebutt until, his current post had put him in position to see the buses. Every couple of days, several hundred packed buses rolled through. This was making Michael highly uneasy.
When he had led a patrol of the freight yards, the blood stained freight cars, with empty shackles left within had disturbed him greatly, the past few days of bus traffic left a further sour taste in his mouth. Michael, glanced over at Ken, his Ranger buddy, sleeping , wrapped in a cammo woobbie, propped against a non functioning a.c. Unit on the roof top.
The two of them had expressed, dismay over the buses and empty train cars. Michael, feeling sick to his stomach, considered the implications. None of them were good.
Michael and Ken had already decided that they were going to bug out. It only remained for a clear opportunity to abandon their post without pursuit. Neither man could stomach being any part of what they had come to suspect was happening. First hand Tales of World War two, and nazi cattle cars, death camps, by his Grandfather kept playing out in his mind. Michael had been unable to sleep for days, looking at Ken, he marvelled that the former Green Beret could sleep at all.
This was clearly no longer the America, that Michael had volunteered to protect, serve and defend. What to do about it, he hadn't a clue. He only knew, he couldn't be a part of it any longer.
A rattle of automatic fire snapped his attention. On the street below, a ma Deuce, mounted on an old Humvee, hosed down the trailer behind a slow moving semi. There was no return fire from the truck, Michael watched confused, until the firing stopped along with the truck. Troops dismounted, two moving to the cab, dragging the limp body of the driver out to lay in the street, two opened the rear doors of the trailer.
Children flooded out of the bullet riddled trailer. Children that the troops opened fire on. Michael was stunned by what he saw. Sighting through his scope, he fired , and the M2 gunner slumped. Ken leapt awake in time to see Michael fire two more rounds dropping the two troops at the rear of the trailer.
" What the fuck are you doing? " Ken cried out, trying to wrestle the rifle from Michaels hands. They scuffled until Michael relented. "What the flying fuck man! " Ken screamed into Michaels face. Michael began telling Ken what he had seen. " No fucking way! " Ken declared as he moved to the spotting scope to survey the scene. Moments later, Ken was firing his rifle as well. Seconds had passed. There were now six dead troopers, below them, and crying children, the bleeding, wounded survivors scrambling out of the truck in full flight. Michael and Ken moved out, abandoning their observation post, moving down the stairs inside the building, to emerge on the street two city blocks from the bullet scarred semi and now still Humvee. Moving cover to cover, they approached the vehicles. The sounds of crying and screaming children haunting them. By the time they had approached, and cleared the Humvee, securing the weapons of the now dead troops. Those children that could run, had. Those that remained, were best left unseen. .50 caliber rounds tend to make a mess. No one left in the truck was alive. Michael and Ken climbed in moving through, checking body after body for survivors. There were none. Those that could, had fled. What remained was best left unsaid, unseen, unknown.
Ken moved to the Humvee, checking it over until he had found the gps tracking device and transponder and removed it. Michael manned the turrent, and they evacuated the scene. The when of their desertion, clearly if suddenly determined. The where and the what the fuck remained to be sorted out. As the humvee moved through the deserted streets, the men remained silent, each contemplating what had just occurred. They avoided the interstate taking surface streets, moving as covertly, as they could, until, three hours later, they were moving through what remained of Roswell. Shermans march had done far less damage than what currently remained. Driving thru the remnants of Roswell then north around Cumming, they followed old Hwy 9 north into Dawsonville.
The town, looked abandoned. It was not a burnt and wrecked ruin, it was intact, eerily empty. In fact, everything they had passed through along Hwy 9 had been empty, though Roswell and Cumming had been burned, trashed and destroyed, Dawsonville appeared abandoned, an empty town devoid of any sign of the presence of people. Michael and Ken continued searching the empty town. During the hours long journey they had discussed where they would go. As deserters, they had a rather bleak future if aprehended, they also knew that highway travel was supremely dangerous, problematic.
They stopped near the Nascar museum, in Dawsonville, where they ditched the humvee, which was nearly out of fuel anyway. between raiding local shops, devoid of people they managed to assemble a respectable kit. Tent, sleeping bags, back packs, canteens, even some veterinary antibiotics from a feed store. A variety of freeze dried foods, they skulked around town gathering supplies. In the museum parking lot, banners proclaimed a car show. Sure enough a variety of hot rods and classic cars were assembled. From the look of things, the people had abruptly left, leaving everything behind. Ken felt queasy as he guessed where, the people had gone. He and Michael had watched the convoys of guarded school busses headed through Atlanta. The people had been " relocated" into fema centers, put together in south Georgia and North Florida. Concentration camps by any other name.
After some time, looking, lightly bickering, they settled on a modified 4X4 suburban they spotted in the side lot. Then, procuring siphons, they gathered gasoline from every vehicle which had any. They managed to top off both tanks of the suburban. The question of where to go remained. They decided that the best option may well be, the Appalachian trail, which began at Amicolola falls state park which was not that far away. The trail, should be vacant, there were shelters along the trail, and hopefully, no people. North into the mountains was the obvious route. Traveling the trail would give them plenty of time to clear their minds and make viable plans, while moving covertly. Far simpler to vanish into the mountain forests than deal with the urban remains. Driving along hwy 52, west, they cruised in the darkness, creeping along slowly with no head lights or running lights on. Following the highway signs to Amicalola falls. It took them an entire night of travel, between creeping slowly in the dark, avoiding aerial patrols, to travel from Dawsonville to the State park.
The park was closed down. The main Pass gate closed chained and locked. There was no sign of people anywhere, which had made both men increasingly uneasy. After minor debate, Michael rammed the gateway with the suburban. They entered the abandoned park and campgrounds. Ken jumped out and jury rigged the pass gate , trying to make it look still closed and locked.
Luckily, theirs was not the only vehicle on site. So, it wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb.
Putting their kit together, they each carried one M-14 rifle slung and one M-4 carbine rifle at ready arms. Along with all of the ammunition they had secured from the Humvee and dead troopers , they plodded along beginning the ascent, along the trail.
Michael laughed as they paced along, " Well, I have always wanted to hike the trail. Just never imagined anything like this situation" Ken shook his head, chuckling in agreement.
Strange how ethereal the early morning mists made the well maintained trail. Setting a steady ground devouring pace, the two men moved out into the unknown.
†**********†
There was nothing unusual about that Sunday evening, aside from a late afternoon thunderstorm, The evening service held only a few diehards. The late summer thunderstorms that had rolled in had kept most members and their families home. Next weekend, the following sunday would be homecoming.
The yearly church social gathering. A veritable feast of home cooking and southern delights when the friends and extended families of the small mountain methodist church gathered in fellowship, joy and remembrance. Thank merciful GOD that the darkness descended before then.
The small church, just over a hundred years old, rough timbered , hand built , trembled, the windows rattled, The power had been out for awhile now, after the flash event and the windows were open wide to catch the cool evenings breeze.
What the few parishioners had mistaken for the rumblings of thunder, and the effects of the summer Storm, proved to be quite a different thing entirely.
It was a storm alright, a storm straight from hell.
The main doors, twin hand carved antique chestnut beauties, exploded into kindling that sprayed throughout the interior. Every member was hit with bits and pieces of the flying debris. Men in black military type uniforms, rushed in through the shattered doors, some crashing through the open windows. In seconds, the new comers had entered and began issuing instructions, barking orders to the terrified church members. One stalwart parishioner upon realizing the lack of any visible insignia, drew his concealed pistol and fired upon the armed men at the rear of the building. There was an abrupt cacophony of subdued return fire from the uniformed men. In seconds every church attendee lay dead, or dying from the focussed firepower of the uniformed men. A few more seconds and the men, were moving, checking the fallen for weapons. Firing short suppressed bursts into the survivors. triple taps, two to the chest, one to the head. Ensuring that there were no survivors, no witnesses. not that there had been a plan for their to be any witnesses. Some of the men sprayed painted slogans and symbols on the walls, and pastors podium. They left, exfiltrating as quickly as they had arrived. Five specially blacked out Blackhawks were reboarded and took flight. Less than five minutes had passed from the moment the doors had exploded until they were back inflight.
An even two dozen church members lay dead, along with the pastor and choir leader that had been playing the piano as the church had sang hymns, praising GOD.
The church, had fallen dark, and empty. One might even say, as silent as the grave.
Similar scenes played out across the Bible belt, over the coming days. surving, isolated small town churches were hit, parishioners murdered, the martyrs left where they had fallen. Only those small conservative churches which had resisted the evacuation and resettlement orders had been targeted to be made example of. At each target, left behind were slogans, leftist anarchist symbols, nazi and Islamist terror declarations. Though the actual perpetrators had been neither.
The following morning, national outrage ruled. The mourning and anger were as directed, nation wide. Precisely in accords with the objective. The frightened people demanded action! The authorities must do something! Just as had been planned.
The president, declared a new national emergency, martial law was imposed. Public gatherings more heavily restricted, extensive travel restrictions, lock downs. The vast majority of people, obeyed without question. An illusion of peace and safety, even though, there was no peace and certainly no safety.
Some however, did question. By the end of the week word had circulated that the terror scenes had played out across the nation in a coordinated action. This was regarded as rumors, labeled as false news and written off as conspiracy theories by the media mouth pieces.
A few, understood that it had been an organized operation, that Islamist terrorists and Marxist anarchists could not have possibly organized, let alone pulled off such a coordinated attack. The smart ones, kept their mouths shut, quietly they set about hiding firearms, ammo, food in hidden caches. Students of history, they recognized patterns, Most, Bible believers, took it as a warning of things to come. A few foolishly voiced doubts publicly, questioning the official narrative, challenging the obvious false flag operations. Those vocal few quickly vanished. Dissent was not to be tolerated, inconvenient questions were not to be asked, lest the lies be revealed.
Surprisingly, most Americans complied with the martial law orders, the lockdowns. The reborn internet, under central federal control, tolerated no questions, allowed no dissent. The few main stream media that had come back on all complied with the official narrative. Even so, it was astounding how quickly that narrative warped and changed.The U.S. Was left devastated and divided, essentially non functional as a society.
In an disingenuous act of charity The Caliphate forgave the great Satan, publicly at least. Money and emergency relief supplies trickled into the states. Most of the funds found their way into corrupt politicians, their lackeys, and their masters pockets. The media, uncle sams propaganda agency, greatly exaggerated the so called aid. making mountains of the mole hills. Meanwhile, The media and internet began being reborn , changing the narrative. At first, the " blame" had been lain at the feet of marxist anarchists and islamist terrorists. It didn't take long for the media sources to forget that story, replacing it with another boogey man. The true threat to the corrupt power mongers.
Racist, rightwing fanactics, closet fascists, were the new targets, the new enemy of the state. The new narrative named conservative Christians, right to lifers, constitutionalists, in reality, most of Small town America, enmasse was viewed as the targeted enemy. The warnings of last days, Gods wrath, played into the corrupts hands a ready made propaganda in and of itself. Warnings of Gods judgement and wrath were reframed as prayers for and acts of horror world wide.
Anyone that spoke out about constitutional violations or rights, was labeled an extremist. All who questioned the legitimacy of the state response, began to disappear. The true enemy had been revealed. Born again, Bible believers had been termed as the enemy, labeled fascist terrorists while being the innocent victims. Corrupt Governments tend to act in an narcissistic manner. Gaslighting, manipulating the masses. Following the classic leftist model, every heinous crime the corrupt operatives committed, they in turn publicly blamed their targeted victims of.
A new world order had rapidly emerged arising even as the fires still smoldered. The old world, broken and smashed had birthed an hideous beast to replace the former arrangement of powers.
Monday morning arrived, the gray dawn bore witness to cries of outrage, grief, dismay, and rage. There was no national coverage of the small town horrors per se , but, each local station did cover the local events. Not a word in any public forum, indicated the national extent of the murders. The local survivors, mourned, and buried their dead. Each community carefully isolated by travel bans and information controls, that were strictly enforced.
Some few, a remnant, quietly vanished over the next few nights. They simply up and walked away from the small towns and the urban disaster zones, disappearing into the wilds. In Florida, the thousand islands on the south western coastal region was a primary objective. Elsewhere, people simply walked away. Overall, those that fled into the mountains, swamps, and wilderness, were a tiny minority.
Those that delayed, were trapped, locked down, patrolled and watched closely. Firmly in the power of the new order.
Everywhere, Christians and Those that asked questions were targeted, blamed for the death destruction. Persecution had begun . It was a time of great, chaotic, tribulations.
†*******†
The late summer thunderstorms crashed amongst the mountains. Michael and Ken, sheltered in one of the hostel service shelters, established for those adventurous hikers on the trail.
This section of the trail wandered near a small mountain town, with specialty shops, shops that served the needs of hikers on the trail. Three days before they had crossed into North Carolina, moving north. There was no sign of the people that had once lived and played throughout the area. The shops, and vacant hostels were not looted. The people had seemingly abandoned the small town, shops, restaurants, diners, left unlocked. The goods untouched.
It was an eerie scene, like something out of post apocalypse horror movies only, no bodies, no zombies, as if the people had simply vanished. Both Mike and Ken felt sure they had more than a clue as to what had happened.
Taking care to leave no trace of their passing the two men gathered extensive supplies, Both ecstatic to find very nice examples, upscale versions of military jungle hammock/ shelters. No more crashing under the half shelters and ranger rolls they had been carrying. Ken eyed the bicycle shop, after some serious thought and discussion, they decided not to acquire bicycles.
Though, the camping trailer Ken had spied out, designed to be towed by a bicyclist, held some intriguing possibilities. They liberated it from the shop display, Ken set about adapting it to be easily rigged to his ,and or mikes LBE vests. Once secured, the trailer towed easily behind, the man, hands free and with the quick release buckles, easily dropped in a hurry if need be.
They could carry a great deal more supplies with this. Mike scrounged through the shops, securing freeze dried meals, snacks, all the food they could carry in their packs and on the trailer. Though, he was careful to leave no trace of his passing.
In no case were any shop shelves emptied. There was still no clear destination in mind, no agreed upon plan other than an unspoken plan to avoid people. They had traveled nearly a full week, in near silence. Neither man had spoken of what had led them to this situation.
There’s a type of bond, that forms between brothers, Ranger buddies, even more so than battle buddies, Ranger buddies that are also battle buddies, sometimes no words are needed, action is carried out almost instinctively, reflexively.
Both had been wrapped in their own thoughts. Ken, absorbing , digesting the events of the last months, observing his friend with concern. Mike never stayed withdrawn and silent.
This was new territory for him. Ken worried that things may have gotten somewhat unpredictable. Through all of the madness, Michael had been Kens rock, steady, stable, the only thing left in this world Ken held any faith or trust in while everything around them had been coming undone.
Michael had begun a running conversation in his head, talking with GOD, as if GOD was listening. A childhood of sunday school and Bible believing grandparents, had instilled a core belief, a distant hope, that had been left behind after his teen years.
He had enlisted on his 17th birthday. The next few years gave him an new world view and concept of reality. Michael had seen no evidence of a merciful God in Africa, or the Balkans. The only evidence he had seen, spoke of the evil and depravity of humans. Michael carried no conviction of heaven, but, he held a firm belief in hell, having walked there a few times in person.
Deep inside however, a still small voice spoke to him. Memories of sunday school, of the last days hysteria that had swept the churches in his childhood. Problem was, there had been no rapture, no sudden vanishings into the clouds, The Roman empire had not returned, no proclaimed antichrist, no one world government or religion, none of the various theories that had been popular themes were evident.
The end of the world, or, at the least, the collapse of civilization was either in progress or imminent. likely both! The Apocalypse, evidently had not began as of yet.
Not clearly knowing why, or consciously thinking about it, Michael had picked up an King James 1611 Bible from a abandoned Christian bookstore back in Dawsonville. By the third night on the trail, he had begun to read from it, nightly and when ever they stopped to rest or eat their scant provisions.
Growing up, his grandfather had repeatedly told him, the only light and truth, the only hope, was within that Book.
Michael was desperately searching for what his Grandpa had claimed was there. Some hope, to combat this empty aching despair that filled him. Remembering both his Father and Grandfathers examples, Michael had begun an silent inner conversation with GOD.
What began as a wtf! A list of angry complaints had, morphed into questions, and become a sort of habitual one sided conversation that kept his mind occupied as they traveled. Ken watched this, without comment, keeping his thoughts to himself.
Michael had worked his way through the pentatuech, the first five books of Moses and his way through the Psalms of David. Some of the laments he could deeply identify with. Lamentations, Ezekiel, Isaiah and Daniel, spoke to him though he honestly was not sure what it was they had to say.
Disturbing dreams had become a nightly normal. Dreams that left him unsettled, every morning. Dreams that became a large part of the subject matter of his ongoing inner monologue with GOD.
One theme had become clear. Suffering, pain, sacrifice, betrayal, had been at least as common in Biblical days as in current days. Job had been depressing, Michael found plenty of misery there, though he still held a faint hope, for the comfort, the peace, the hope his Grandfather had spoken of. That hope was fading as he read.
How had Noah, Joseph, Moses, Job, all held onto faith with the horrors their life had been? That had become a central question for Michael.
Plodding along, Michael had some faith in his grandfather even if he doubted GOD cared. So, he continued to read, and to talk to the God he was neither sure was there, or if he was, that he cared.
Despair tormented Michaels heart. He moved forward only by instinct.
†*********************†
The creek was bitter cold. John, watched out as the boys horsed around, while cleaning off the sweat and grime, washed their socks, and clothing amongst the tumbled rocks of the creek.
Six teenage boys, 15-18 yrs old, could be an unruly handful. Six badly frightened, exhausted, and beyond stressed teens, was a nightmare.
Thomas, pretentious jack ass that he was attempted to assert authority, barking demands at the boys, which, the boys promptly ignored. Now and again the youngest boys glanced towards John, for instruction, or directions.
The church camping group, had been on the Appalachian trail themselves when the fires had come. With no contact with the shambles of the outside world, the group, were unaware of what had happened to their world at large.
What they did know was, cel phones, tablets, gps, all simply shut down, they quit working entirely. The earth quakes had shook them a bit, and the nightly Auroras were spectacular.
When they had trekked back to the parking area, the situation was traumatic. None of the vehicles worked, everything was closed down, abandoned, and , there were the bodies of the Park service personnel and some fellow park visitors to tell the tale.
They gathered everything useful they could scrounge, blankets, water bottles etc that they could find, even breaking into the snack and soda machines, taking the various drinks and snacks they held, they then retreated back onto the trail.
John had decided that they would hike the trail, and hunker down in one of the trail shelters until they could think of what else to do or rescue arrived. Distant smoke on the horizon spoke of massive urban fires, John decided that their best course of action was to give it a day or two, he left a note for any rescue teams that may come along and led them back up the path to the trail.
The boys were quiet and subdued. Fear clearly shadowed their eyes. Thus they found themselves, a week later, hungry, filthy, frightened, cleaning up in the ice cold creek, some trying to tickle the small trout and Bream So they could eat. Some rinsing filthy clothing , all trying to stay cool in the muggy heat.
No one had been watching the trail itself. The appearance of two, uniformed, armed men, obviously some sort of soldiers startled them.
Whooping in relief the boys , thinking it a rescue team rushed the two men, who quickly dropped behind tree cover, pointing wicked looking rifles at the boys, and barking orders to back off or else.
The boys halted haphazardly, some throwing themselves to the ground, Thomas yelped, crying out loudly" Don't shoot! We're unarmed! We need help! " John took to cover amongst the over sized rocks and boulders that framed the creek, dragging those boys he could reach, roughly down with him.
__________________________
Ken called halt from his movement position on point, his right hand upraised, closed fist. He had moved to the edge of the cleared trail, taking a knee amongst the brush and branches along the edge. Silently, Mike, followed suit, moving to the opposite edge from Kens position.
Ken pointed to his eyes, then his ears, then gestured towards the sound of a distant stream down hill from the trail.
Mike then heard what had alerted Ken, laughter, distant sporadic laughter amongst the streams faint murmuring. Ken moved further into the brush, and began to slowly belly crawl towards the sounds after quietly wriggling out of his pack and the gear he carried. Rifle ready Ken crawled silently along the ground.
Mike, shrugging off his heavy load, leaving his pack and the trailer behind as he quickly moved into to an overwatch position on the opposite side of the trail from Ken, to try and provide covering fire should Ken have need, or quickly react to a possible ambush.
Rule one when ambushed, attack the ambush. Immediate violence of action in response was the best tactic. Eyes scanning, Mike scanned the clock, looking for tracks, any sign of movement. That was when the silence registered.
A cold chill flooded his stomach, nothing good ever happened when the forrest was silent. Controlling his breathing, Mike kept overwatch. Ken moved excruciatingly slowly, silently, until from beside a big hickory tree he found an observation position.
After a few minutes and an odd, confused head shake, Ken began moving back towards Mike. Using silent hand signals to report what he had observed. Mike was a bit confused and concerned by Kens report.
While Ken retrieved his pack and equipment, Mike moved and reacquired his as well, then Ken once more took point as they moved back up trail, along the direction they had come from.
A Good ten minutes travel, and stepping up hill, off the trail, the Two Rangers dropped their load, took a knee and softly discussed the situation.
A group of more than a dozen, apparently teen, boys, accompanied by two adult males, noisily moved, played, performing chores of a sort along the Creek bed below. No weapons in sight, no guards or overwatch posted.
The two Men contemplated what to do. Once they Reached a consensus, they began moving out. Now moving openly and a bit noisily moving back towards the boys along the trail. Fifteen minutes and they were looking down, directly from the trail, at the boys scattered, scampering along the creek bed below.
Up hill, to their right, a shelter showed signs of occupancy. Mike and Ken stood quietly in the open, waiting to be noticed. It was clear, these were not tangoes or bandits. Why exactly, along with who, what where etc. Would soon be addressed.
One boy looked up, eyes wide he cried out warning of the two silent heavily armed men. One of the adults, a tall black man swept the nearest boy to him up, and moved behind cover of the smooth worn river rocks of the shallow falls.
The other adult, a much shorter, thickly built man stood , frozen, staring up. Some of the boys copied the tall adults actions seeking cover among the large tumbled rocks, most however, froze in fear and stared.
Mike could see no weapons, no evidence of such in sight. He slowly unslung his rifle, placing it gently on the ground at his feet. Ken made no move, standing quietly rifle at ready arms.
Mike stood straight, extending empty hands, to show he meant no harm, that there was no threat speaking in a calm clear voice " Hello there" .
That triggered action amongst the boys who began to point and call out " John, John look! "
After a few moments John stood up, stepping out from the cover of the rocks. The other man stood still frozen in place staring in obvious fear.
One of the boys, noticed the uniforms, " look, its the army! We are rescued! " John warily studied the two men. A moment longer, " Hello, are you looking for us? We could use your help. " gesturing at the scattered boys.
Ken grunted, letting his hand drop away from his rifle, as Mike replied, " What are you doing up here? "
"We were camping and hiking, " John gestured at the boys, " We are a church youths group, then the sky went crazy and everything electronic quit working, we hiked back to our parking area, and it was a mess. None of the cars would start even though they had plenty of gas, and there were some bodies, people killed, we were scared and ran back to the shelter to wait for rangers, rescuers or y'all. " John gestured in the direction of the shelter , then at Mike and Ken as he finished. Around him, the boys gathered staring at the two soldiers.
Ken pursed his lips saying nothing as Mike absorbed the story. Covertly, Mike signaled Ken , using hand signals, Ken nodded once then backed away, turning to carefully approach and look over the shelter and camp site.
Mike remained standing, quietly assessing the scene below, the dynamics of the boys behavior, their interaction and the way the group looked to the man, John, marked him out as the groups leader.
"Hooahh, clear." Kens voice called from up hill. Mike gestured at John addressing him " Would you come up and talk with me? How long have you guys been up here? Have you seen anyone else? " John nodded, scrambling up the hill, telling his group to stay in place, keep together. And, to run, scatter if anything bad happens.
John figured he really didn't have a choice but to comply with Mikes, request. A feeling of cold apprehension caused his knees to feel weak, trembling as he hurried up the mountain side, to the cleared, leveled area of the trail. Mike slowly retrieved his rifle, shoulder slinging it as he stepped back onto the trail. Ken reappeared, silently making hand gestures while keeping in an overwatch position where he could see both, John, and the group, now huddled along the creek bank. The other adult, collapsed , taking seat on a mossy stone as the boys gathered around him at the creeks bank.
John cleared the top, moving onto the trail, hands open, kept away from his side. " Hello there, my name is John, " he declared, extending his right hand, Mike studied the man, scanning him up and down before extending his own hand, " Howdy, I am Mike, " pointing towards Ken with a bob of his head, " thats Ken. " "We were on patrol, when we heard y'all, and stopped to investigate."
John looked Mike over then grasped his outstretched hand, " Pleased to meet you. " they shook hands, Mike took a knee, waving at John to join him. " We have a lot to talk about. " Ken maintained his position, trying to watch everyone at once while Mike and John talked quietly for a moment, Then John called back to his waiting group, " It's okay come on up lets get to the shelter. "
The boys began a haphazard scramble with accompanied horse play as they moved towards the log shelter. Ken watched, a mildly amused smile as the group crossed the trail heading up the path to the shelter.
The other man, disappointed Ken with his hiding in the midst of the group of boys and refusal to openly even look towards Ken.
Mike and John had resumed their conversation, with nods, gestures, and an occasional " You have to be kidding! " exclamation from John. None of what Mike had to impart, was anything like anything that John had expected, as Mike explained the unreal nightmare aspects of recent events.
Mike filled John in on what had been going on in the outside world over the last two and a half weeks. John listened, with a stunned sense of doom settling in. Apocalyptic, barely described the nightmare that the world had become.
Ken returned , towing the trailer with both their packs secured to the trailer as Mike had finished his narrative. John was shook, the news of , no possible rescue, and the busses, and freight cars with shackles was nearly unbelievable.
