Overrun (19 page)

The director waited for the
guard that had been hit by the rock to stand and gather his weapon before
walking irritably to the front of the group. The cries and whimpers had
stopped. The air was still and quiet allowing him now to easily speak.

"Now as I said, I am not
able to keep you here for long," he spit out.

Dozens of additional soldiers
rushed from the building to join the others surrounding the crowd. With assault
weapons raised, they moved inward and forced the group even closer together.

"But the reason you are
here and not already dead, dead because your country has ordered this to be, is
because we are serious and we are thorough. We are serious about winning this
war as fast as humanly possible. To spare as much as possible the future loss
of life. To do this, we must be thorough. We have you here to see what you
know. To see if you know anything that might help us unseat this country’s
government more quickly.

“Do you possess information that
has been carelessly discarded and thrown away? We need to know for sure.”

Fearful quiet sobs again mixed
in with the sound of his words. The soldiers moved in closer with weapons
raised towards the outside of the group forcing them all more tightly into its
center.

"What I want you to
remember is this. It was your country that did this to you. It was your country
that openly allowed acquisition of prisoners. To be honest, they nearly invited
us to enter your towns. They sacrificed you to spring an ambush.

“I am here to tell you those
that lead this country have most utmostly failed. Those that have caused this
to occur must atone for what they have done. For all their crimes and sins. It
is why we are here. In this camp. The opportunity is here for you to ensure
this is done.”

Closely flanked by his two
personal guards and recently joined by a third, the director walked around the
perimeter of the crowd. This time he did not enter inside.

Almost halfway around, he
stopped in front of a young male prisoner who did not lower his eyes when he
approached. With his head still raised, he stared straight ahead with a hateful
glare.

The director planted his feet
firmly in the dirt in front of him and pulled his sidearm slowly from its
holster at his hip.

He watched the boy's eyes follow
it as he raised it slowly up the length of his body and pressed it firmly
against his head. The young teen, still wearing the high school football jersey
he was wearing when soldiers jumped from trucks and stormed his team’s practice
field, faced him tall and defiantly.

A thin trail of blood trickled
down his chin. His legs shuddered slightly from a wound just above his knee.

The director moved his face in
closer until their noses almost touched. One of his guards stepped up from
behind and lowered his assault weapon across the director’s shoulder. The
director's lips stretched into an expressionless thin line when he did.

With a loud clack that seemed to
thunder throughout the compound, the guard pulled its arming mechanism back and
aimed it at the center of the boy's face.

The teen pulled back slightly.
But, he didn’t lower his head.

"Son, I'm allowing you a
chance to vent that hate," the director spoke to him softly. "Don't
die before utilizing this opportunity. It would be a disappointment for a world
at war to lose something so fierce."

The young man's eyes burned
between the muzzles of both weapons. His chest heaved as his breathing came in
short gasps. But his unyielding gaze did not drop.

"Please, don't take it with
you."

With a quick twitch of his
wrist, the director cocked his own weapon. He pushed its tip tighter against
the boy's forehead making him cringe slightly from the pressure.

The director took in a deep
breath and moved his eyes even closer to those of his captive. His mouth
remained expressionless as he started to pull slightly across its trigger.

The boy did not look away. He
stared straight into the director’s face.

“Use that hate for what is
right," the director’s voice whispered in the heat.

The guard at his side pressed in
closer against the director and forced the muzzle of his weapon into the boy's
mouth. Its metal jammed forcefully against his teeth. The boy gagged fiercely
when its tip pressed against the back of his throat, but he didn't lower the
intensity of his eyes or pretend to conceal the hate.

"What you offer, what you
say…it’s not better…," a quiet but strong voice rose tiredly from the back
of the group. "You’re not what you say. Neither are your ideals or the
reasons you’re here. You’re almost exactly the same."

The director gazed over the
teen’s shoulder towards a man near the back of the group. He dropped his weapon
from the his forehead and stepped away. His guard also slowly moved a few steps
back and removed his own weapon from the boy’s mouth.

"If you were here to do as
you claim, these camps would not exist," the man to whom the voice
belonged made his way further up.

He stumbled twice trying to step
through those tightly wedged together in the crowd as well as the dead lying at
their feet.

"You would save all this
for those that caused this war. And you would spare the innocent...and our
youth.”

The man finally reached the
front of the group and stood in front of the director. His face was speckled
with splatters of blood from those that were shot and had fallen around him.

He placed a hand on the
trembling shoulders of the defiant teenager and raised his eyes to look at the
director. The director studied him closely and lowered his weapon lazily down
to his side. The boy did not move back even when the newcomer tried to pull him
gently away.

"You understand, I must
offer you debate," the director said coolly. He ran his eyes the length of
the boy one last time and then turned to face the newcomer.

"It’s o.k., Tom," the
newcomer said and pulled back again on his rigid shoulder. "You’ve done
enough. You’ve inspired us all to not succumb to our fear.”

The boy finally dropped his eyes
and hobbled backward into the crowd. The newcomer stood alone with his back
towards the group and calmly faced the stern glare of the director.

"From what I’ve seen happen
here, I don’t believe I need to hear your debate," the newcomer said.
"But I do offer to speak with you, not for hate or vengeance, but to stop
what is happening. Right here in this war today."

"You’re an outsider,” the
director replied coolly. “Do you still consider yourself a patriot? After all
that has been put upon you by your country?”

"I consider myself
compassionate," the newcomer said quietly. “I care only about what is
happening right here.”

"Tell me what you wish to
share, encourage others by example to do the same, and I promise this all will
end."

"I will not speak of any of
it here," the newcomer replied. "What I have to share, you will find
it of interest. For example, troop movements I have observed not far from where
we stand. I assure you, you will want to know what I know…and what I’ve seen.
But this all must stop first. "

For the moment the director fell
silent. He stared past the newcomer into the faces of the terrified crowd and
the dead scattered on the bloody sandy ground around them.

He then turned his head toward
the three guards behind him.

Two of them rushed around and
seized the newcomer by his arms. They pulled him from the crowd and whisked him
up the stairs to the doors of the compound. The third guard followed with his
assault weapon raised.

When they had entered the
building and the doors had slammed heavily shut behind them, the director
turned back to the crowd.

"Is there anyone else?” he
asked his voice carrying over them through the still air. “I offer a chance to
make peace with yourselves before the end. Join the man that has just left you
by helping us mend this horrid world."

The prisoners were silent. The
stench of death rose from about their feet smothering the entire courtyard.
Only the small clinks of the guards’ military gear brushing together filled the
void of the open air.

"Very well," the
director said when no one else offered to come forward.

He turned and walked stiffly
away followed closely by his two personal guards. He climbed the heavy stairs
to the compound and entered within.

When he was inside, he stopped
for a moment and let the coolness of the inside air refresh his tortured lungs.
He waited there until the thick outside doors slammed completely shut behind
him. When they did, he walked a few steps and pulled a small transmitter from a
pouch at his side.

“Gather them into the
chambers," he spoke curtly into it. "Leave a couple of them on the
ground for when the next group comes in.”

He picked up his pace into the
darkness leading further into the compound. The footsteps of the guards
following him echoed eerily against the metallic walls. He stopped in front of
a small door barely visible in the dim light. When it opened silently, he
stepped quickly through.

"The compassionate
one," the director addressed the newcomer. Secured by thick wire to the
back of a small metal chair, the newcomer sat in the center of the dark
windowless room.

Across from the newcomer and
directly to the side of the director, two men were seated behind a long
mahogany table.

One sorted through a collection
of military maps strewn about the table, while the other adjusted the controls
of the holovid units positioned on either side of the room.

The newcomer rocked slowly back
and forth in his seat. His body was only able to move slightly in either
direction against the tight bind of the wire.

The director walked briskly over
to the newcomer. When he reached him, he slammed his gloved hand hard against
the side of his jaw.

With only the loud sound of a
bone cracking, the newcomer fell backwards. The smash of his head against the
floor echoed throughout the room. Blood seeped from his body where the wire dug
against his bare skin.

The newcomer stayed silent. The
pain and force of the blow didn’t register across his eyes. He looked up at the
director with a thin expression of defiant yet resigned defeat.

"Where are they?" the
director screamed standing over him. Saliva spewed from his lips and dripped
from his mouth.

The newcomer struggled to lift his
head. The men at the table behind the director listened intensely close.

The newcomer moved weakly about
on the back of the overturned chair while the director loomed menacingly over
him.

Behind the director, a soldier
pulled the table closer to the center of the room. One of the men at the table
stood and placed a holovid recorder near the newcomer on the floor.

The newcomer raised his head as
if to speak. The director leaned in closer to hear. When he did, the newcomer
lowered his eyes and spit a mouthful of bloody saliva across the tips of his
shoes.

"Tell me now, or I will
kill you right here," the director hissed quietly. He raised the heel of
his boot and pressed it menacingly against the side of the newcomer's head. He
applied just enough pressure to pin it uncomfortably against the floor.
"Your skull will crack right here if you do not tell me what you claim to
know."

The newcomer rubbed his cheek
across the metal floor leaving a thin trail of spit and blood.

"I can only tell you what
I’ve seen,” the newcomer’s voice was weak but steady.

“And what is that?” the director
sneered before pulling his foot away and walking to sit behind the large table.

“Troop movements mostly. Some
come right through town. They say they’ve been dispatched by the administration
to protect us from some of the rogue groups that roam around out here. Those
that don’t live within the civilizations we’ve built. Most of the time the
groups just come in and steal our food. But they’ve never been violent. And their
actions have never warranted, not ever, the intervention of troops. Especially
from the central administration.

“We’ve always known where these
troops have come from. And the real reason why they’re here walking amongst us.
We know about the domes. We always have. Troops are out here in some of our
towns, because they are close. They patrol to ensure that their secrets are
safe and that we stay away. They’re here to make sure the domes are left
alone.”

Two of the soldiers stepped from
the shadows against the walls and picked the newcomer off the ground. They
righted his overturned chair so that he sat directly across from the director.

The men on his either side
listened intently. One stood to pick up the holovid from the floor. The other
carefully studied electronic holovid maps of the area projected across the back
wall.

After repositioning his chair,
the guards backed up again against the wall holding their weapons tautly in
front of them.

“What do you know about specific
sites?” the director leaned forward. “I need locations.”

The soft hum of the recording
holovid at the table behind the director was the only sound in the room.

The director stood up and pulled
the newcomer's chair closer to the table. Another guard stepped over and
loosened the wire binding him on one of his sides.

“I don’t know specific
locations,” the newcomer said pointing weakly to various points on the map.
“These are the general areas I suspect they may be found. Based on when and
where odd groupings of soldiers have been observed. No one that I’m aware has
discovered one for sure.”

The director pushed himself
slowly away from the table while the newcomer looked at him blankly. Behind
him, the men plotting points along the maps stood. Without a word or look at
the director, they pushed past the guards and left the room.