“I’ve missed you so much Martin,” she said, gazing up at Casey. She didn’t seem to be looking into Casey’s eyes so much as through them. She reached up and touched Casey’s chin. Before he knew what was happening she leaned back and kissed him softly on the lips.
Casey was shocked and didn’t know how to respond. She was obviously delirious and thought he was someone else. For a brief moment, Casey desperately wanted to be the mystery man named Martin and return her kiss with all his passion, but instead he pulled his lips away from hers and closed the curtain. He didn’t want the children to see the kiss and misunderstand.
“I’m not Martin,” he said, “but if Martin were here, he’d want you to take your medicine.” The woman nodded and Casey placed a pill on her outstretched tongue. He held the water bottle to her mouth and helped her take a drink. When he was sure the pill was swallowed, he leaned her back down on the bed and covered her with a blanket.
As he gazed down at the sleeping beauty resting in his bed, all sorts of questions began to creep into his head. What’s her name? Who’s this Martin fellow? Would she remember the kiss in the morning? Casey desperately wanted to know more about the woman, but he knew that what she needed most was sleep, and he intended to give it to her.
As quietly as possible so as not to wake her, Casey retracted the curtain and climbed back into the front seat with the children. He poured himself a bowl of the hot, delicious soup, scooped a spoonful of the broth and gently blew on it, before taking a sip. It was good, very good. Casey suddenly realized how hungry he was, as he shoveled spoonful after spoonful into his mouth.
When they were finished eating he looked down at the children and realized how tired they must be. Their eyes were heavy with exhaustion and they both kept yawning. It was only a matter of time before they passed out. “How was it?” he asked, referring to the soup.
“Yummy,” said Sandy.
“Thank you,” added Sam, nodding his head in agreement.
“Sure,” replied Casey, smiling down at the children. “What about your goat and chickens? Do they need to be fed something too?”
“We already fed them,” answered Sandy, proudly.
“Wonderful,” said Casey, glad that the task didn’t fall to him. “Then let’s get some sleep,” he added, reaching up and closing the curtains to the cab. Sam curled up on the passenger seat with a blanket wrapped around him, while Sandy snuggled in next to Casey.
Casey wasn’t used to taking care of children or having one snuggled up against his body, but as he reached for another blanket, he realized how much he liked it. Pulling the blanket over them, he tucked the edge under Sandy’s chin. He left the engine running so as to keep a constant flow of heat inside the cab, despite the extra fuel cost. The last thing that Casey thought of before drifting off to sleep, were the animals in the back of his truck and all of the excrement that he’d find in the morning. He wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up the mess.
World War III – Day Three
San Diego, California
Beth awoke with a start. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up on the cot, as a yawn escaped from her lips. Duke was curled up in a ball on the floor next to her. When she moved he lifted his head and gazed up at her. From outside she could hear the rumbling of vehicles as they passed by.
“Do you hear that?”
Duke yawned and stretched his paws out in front of him. He licked his lips and then curled into a tighter ball, once again resting his head on his paws.
Beth stood up and slowly walked over to one of the windows. The concrete floor beneath her bare feet felt cold and sent shivers down her spine.
I should have brought my slippers down here with me.
She pushed one of the storage boxes under the window and climbed on top of it. Gazing out the window from ground level she watched, as one truck after another passed by. A man’s voice on a loud speaker was shouting instructions.
“I’ll be right back,” Beth told Duke, as she climbed down from the box. “You stay here and guard our supplies.” She slid the .357 Magnum into her pocket and slowly climbed the steps towards the kitchen.
Duke yipped playfully before sitting down on the rug at the foot of the steps. He wagged his tail joyfully. Whatever game they were playing, Duke was having a blast.
Beth opened the door leading from the basement to the kitchen and peered out. She wheezed and immediately covered her nose, as the stench of rotten eggs filled her nostrils. She and Duke had taken shelter so quickly that she’d completely forgotten about her meal left uneaten.
The food was still laid out on the TV tray in the living room, right where she’d left it. Several flies were resting on the half eaten toast with a dozen more swarming above. The bowl of oatmeal had hardened and turned from golden-brown to bluish-grey. A few more flies crawled across the small pile of scrambled eggs, which stank to high heaven.
“Oh dear,” gasped Beth, disgusted by the foul odor.
Pinching her nose shut Beth chased away the flies and picked up the remainder of food, tossing it into the trash can. She then made her way around the house opening some windows to let in fresh air. A small gasp escaped from her mouth when she reached the kitchen window and found it already open.
“I must have forgotten to close this one,” she murmured to herself, realizing it was probably how the flies had gotten inside the house.
Standing in front of the window, Beth gazed out at the Pacific Ocean. A flock of seagulls glided above the foamy surf, searching for their next meal. The systematic sound of waves crashing against the rocky cliffs was both mesmerizing and peaceful. She filled her lungs with a deep breath of fresh air and watched as the sea rolled in and out, caressing the sandy beach. The salty air brought a smile to her face. Further out to sea Beth could see a thick mist approaching the coast, as wind carried in the marine layer.
For just an instant Beth thought that she saw something in the fog, but then it disappeared. She continued to gaze into the mist and after a moment saw a brief flicker of movement. Once again the image disappeared into the fog. It seemed as though something was approaching the shoreline using the mist for cover.
Beth quickly retrieved a pair of binoculars and peered out towards the sea. She slowly scanned the horizon from left to right and then back again. After a few minutes of searching, Beth found the image that she’d glimpsed. The closer the fog came to the coast, the more it began to break up and dissolve. From out of the mist, hundreds of ships began to appear. There were so many they couldn’t be counted. Using the binoculars Beth tried to zoom in on them, searching for any type of marking that might clarify their country of origin.
She continued to scan the ocean for a moment before turning her attention to the beachhead. Beth was so startled by what she saw that she almost dropped the binoculars. Located on the sandy beach were thousands of American soldiers. They frantically dug foxholes and bunkers, preparing the beach for an assault. Hundreds of tanks and armored vehicles dotted the shoreline, as soldiers scurried about taking up defensive positions.
“Oh my God!” cried out Beth, horrified by what was happening only a few miles from her house.
The sky above was suddenly filled with the roar of aircraft, as a squadron of F-35 fighter jets flew by. They were headed out to sea in combat formation. Beth quickly focused the binoculars on the fighters and was pleased to see an American flag painted to the side of each jet. While she watched from the safety of her kitchen the fighter jets immediately dove and engaged the enemy, targeting the transport ships approaching the coast.
It didn’t take long before the Americans were joined in the sky by Russian and Chinese fighters, launched from nearby aircraft carriers. The sky became illuminated with bursts of fire as one jet after another exploded and fell into the sea below. While some of the American fighters continued to attack the incoming troop transports, others broke off and went after the larger ships. The dog fighting in the sky above was so intense it blotted out part of the sun.
“Go get ‘em boys!” shouted Beth from her kitchen window. “This is better than television,” she added, as she watched the battle unfold before her eyes.
Beth’s attention was drawn away from the spectacle above by the blaring sound of a man’s voice speaking through a loud speaker in front of her house. She set the binoculars down on the kitchen table and hurried through her living room to the front door. Opening the door, Beth peered out and saw an armored Humvee with a loud speaker attached to its roof. Following behind the Humvee was a convoy of a dozen or so large military trucks and several city buses.
With the exception of the city buses the vehicles were all of a military make and model. However instead of green or camouflage, each of them was painted black. The American flag was also missing and in its place was the black footprint of a bear. The footprint of the bear had a red circle around it with two horizontal lines on either side. Underneath the emblem were the words, Blackwater Security Consulting.
“Mercenaries,” mumbled Beth, as goose bumps appeared all over her body.
Men dressed in body armor and carrying machine guns walked alongside the vehicles. The mercenaries wore black and tan uniforms, each with a patch sewn into the sleeve matching the bear print emblem on the armored vehicles. Unlike the typical American soldier, these men were not clean cut or shaven. Many of them had facial hair and appeared unruly and disheveled.
“Attention all citizens,” announced a man riding in the passenger seat of the Humvee, “the city of San Diego is being evacuated. Please grab only what you can carry and climb on board one of the trucks or buses. It’s not safe to stay in your homes. I repeat, it is not safe to stay here. We will take you to food and shelter,” promised the man, before repeating the message.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Beth as one of the mercenaries approached her, walking across her front lawn and stomping through her bed of roses. Without a word of explanation or warning, the man forcibly began to push Beth towards one of the buses.
“Stop pushing me!” exclaimed Beth. “What would your mother think about the way you’re treating an old woman?”
Beth glanced up and down the street as she was escorted towards the convoy of vehicles. She was appalled by the sight of her neighbors being forced from their homes and herded like cattle into the trucks and buses. Many of the civilians objected, wanting instead to stay in their homes. But their protests fell on deaf ears and the Blackwater mercenaries continued to funnel them into the trucks and buses. Like Beth, many of the people hadn’t even been given the opportunity to pack an overnight bag or bring anything with them.
“Get on the bus ma’am,” instructed one of the hired soldiers.
“I can’t,” argued Beth. “I left my dog Duke down in the basement.”
“Sorry ma’am,” replied the soldier without compassion, as he forced Beth into the bus. “No pets allowed, just people.” The soldier then turned abruptly and joined his comrades in herding more people onto the bus.
Beth was pushed into an empty seat near the front of the bus where she curled up against the window. She watched helplessly, as her neighbors were systematically herded together and forced into one of the vehicles. The sight brought back flashbacks of video footage she’d seen from World War II. Footage of the Nazis’ loading Jews into rail cars and then shipping them off to concentration camps.
Beth watched as the newlywed couple from down the street were forced from their home. The young woman screamed in horror, as mercenaries dragged her from the house and across her front yard. Her husband suddenly appeared in the doorway, his face full of rage. In his hands he held a 12 gauge, pump shotgun.
“Let her go!” he demanded, pointing the shotgun directly at the men who held his wife captive.
Suddenly and without warning violence erupted all around them as the enemy’s fleet of destroyers began targeting the coast with their large cannons. Shell after shell exploded throughout the neighborhood causing chaos and panic. The sound of gunfire abruptly filled the air, as several Blackwater mercenaries opened fire on the husband with automatic machine guns. The shotgun slid from his hands, as his bullet riddled body fell to the ground, landing in a pool of his own blood.
Beth gasped and covered her gaping mouth in disbelief. An ear shattering scream escaped from the man’s wife and she began to cry hysterically. Before she could run to her husband’s aid, one of the mercenaries restraining the young woman picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He carried the sobbing woman kicking and screaming towards the bus, while two more mercenaries cautiously approached the husband’s lifeless body. When the man carrying the woman reached the bus he set her down and forced her inside, before turning to round up more civilians.
Beth immediately stood up from her seat and began to try and console the young woman. “Here honey, sit by me,” she offered, guiding the young woman to her seat. “There, there child, everything is going to be alright.”
The young woman buried her face into Beth’s shoulder and continued to cry uncontrollably. After a few minutes the bus’s engine roared to life and the convoy of vehicles began to move. Beth closed her eyes and prayed for Duke, asking the good Lord to protect and care for him until she was able to return.
The sound of explosions grew fainter as the convoy drove off, headed east and away from the fighting. Staring out the window, Beth noticed another group of Blackwater mercenaries pillaging houses and loading empty trucks with the loot.
“Their stealing from our houses!” she screamed in shock, half rising from her seat.
“Sit down and shut up!” said one of the mercenaries onboard the bus.
The cold and deadly glare in the man’s eyes was more than enough to send Beth slinking back down into her seat. She wrapped her arm around the young woman’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze.
In the distance, Beth could hear the roar of cannon fire, as the floating armada of enemy ships continued their bombardment on the city of San Diego and the American soldiers defending the coast. It was only a matter of time before the constant barrage would soften the American defenses, enabling the enemy’s landing forces to take the beachhead.