Bobby Akart - Armageddon

“Do I have your attention now? Listen to me!” he continued to shout.

Peter slipped around the plastic and eased along the wall between the destroyed display cabinets until he reached the front entrance. There were a few people standing in front of the store, but their attention was directed toward the center of the mall. Peter couldn’t see past several obstacles, but he could certainly hear better now.

“Everybody needs to leave. This is our mall, and you’re being evicted. Got it?”

“We have no place to go,” a man complained.

A shot rang out, and a chorus of screams filled the entire mall. The people standing in front of the store fell to the floor and covered their heads. Peter didn’t have to step into the open to find out what had happened.

“Anybody else want to argue?” the gunman asked. He fired off several rounds into the air, drawing more screams. “Good. I think we understand each other. Now get off your asses and get out of here!”

“Where will we go?” asked a woman.

No shots were fired this time. “Well, you can go back to DC if you want. Or you can stay here and play with us. Or I don’t give a damn. Your choice. If you argue, you’ll end up like him!” This time, he fired off a round to act as an exclamation point on his statement.

At that point, people began racing for the exits. Peter did the same although he had no intention of carrying his gear through the front door. He rushed in the dark back to the storeroom. He frantically crammed everything he’d acquired into the backpack and duffels. He inwardly chastised himself for not being ready to escape the space on a moment’s notice. Now he had to find a way out of the mall without being seen with his supplies and weapons.

Once packed, Peter made his way in the dark to the rear emergency exit. He expected it to lead into an alley or even the parking lot. With a deep breath, he slowly leaned his hip against the steel plate attached to the alarmed exit device. He assumed the EMP had disabled the alarm.

He was wrong.

Once the push bar opened the lock mechanism, the hundred-decibel alarm began to wail, piercing the silence at his end of the mall.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” he cursed without trying to lower his voice, not that anybody could hear him. In the relative silence of the eight-hundred-thousand-square-foot shopping complex, the alarm filled the air and echoed off the concrete corridor he’d entered.

He moved carefully in the darkened hallway normally used by mall employees to access the dumpsters and to accept deliveries. Allowing his left elbow rubbing along the painted block wall to guide him, he tried to avoid stumbling over empty boxes that had been left out the night before. After tripping over a folding chair that caused him to lose his balance slightly, Peter gave up on stealth in favor of speed. He powered up his flashlight and picked up the pace.

Suddenly, a door in front of him flung open. Peter’s weapons were stowed away in his sling pack. In his hasty exit, he hadn’t armed himself. If the gunmen fired on him, he’d be dead. He had to make the first move in order to defend himself, taking a page out of the gun battle in Abu Dhabi.

He ran toward the door and body-slammed it in an attempt to knock down the person who’d opened it. The person on the other side was smacked in the back and knocked into the steel and concrete doorjamb.

A woman moaned in pain and fell to the ground. She was unrelated to the gunmen.

Peter felt terrible. He set his bags down and knelt down next to her. “Dammit! I’m so sorry.”

“My head,” she groaned as she held her hand up to her forehead. Blood dripped between her fingers.

Peter heard shouting coming from the front of the store where the woman emerged. He shined his flashlight ahead and saw an exit door.

“Come on!” He reached down and ran his hand through her armpit. He forcefully lifted her up without regard to her pain. If they didn’t leave, they’d both be dead soon.

She gathered herself and stood on her own. “Okay,” she mumbled.

Peter grabbed his gear, and they began to run down the corridor until they reached another push-bar entrance, only this one didn’t have an alarm. Seconds later, they emerged from the mall into the cool, smoky air, gasping for breath.

The young woman didn’t hesitate. She rushed off into the darkness without Peter. Despite the blood gushing out of her forehead, she was able to run on her own and easily outpaced Peter as he lugged the duffel bags along with his backpacks. They stayed close to the wall of Dick’s Sporting Goods and then found themselves in the middle of the parking lot. Peter didn’t like the lack of cover, but the pitch blackness that surrounded him prevented their pursuers from seeing them standing in the middle of the predominantly empty space.

“Follow me,” she said in a loud whisper, followed by a coughing fit. Some of her blood sprayed on Peter’s shirt and arms. The young woman took the lead, and he scrambled to match her pace. Behind him, he heard excited voices shouting to one another near the mall entrance. There was no time to ask questions. He simply hustled to keep up.

Despite her head injury, she was much faster. Within a minute, she’d crossed the ring road around the mall and disappeared into a stand of leafless trees that two days prior had been filled with beautiful fall colors of orange, yellow, and red. Now they were symbolic of the dead landscape that surrounded them.

Saturday, October 26

Placer High School

Auburn, California

The nearly two hundred inhabitants of the bunker beneath Placer High School erupted into a chaotic shit storm. The chivalrous concept of women and children first that dated back to the sinking of the HMS Birkenhead in 1852 had been abandoned in modern times. Chivalry was dead, resulting in the women and children to be the first people knocked down as the occupants of the bunker rushed for the only exit.

Screams of panic and agony barely covered the sounds of bodies being trampled. Fingers and hands were broken as the heavy feet of the mostly male refugees stomped their way toward the front of the bunker.

The crush of humanity forced Lacey against the wall, causing her to call out for her husband, who was barely three feet away. Owen tried to reach her, but he was shoved off in another direction.

“Mom! I’m coming!”

Tucker became enraged, as he thought his mom would be hurt. He forced his way past two large men by elbowing one in the chin and grabbing another by the shoulder to pull him backwards.

People were clawing and tugging at one another in an effort to be the first near the door. Somewhere in the back of the bunker, the police officer was furiously blowing his whistle to regain order, to no avail.

Expletives were hurled and fights broke out as loved ones tried to help those who’d been knocked down, only to be shoved to the concrete floor with them. It was humankind at its worst.

“Open the door!”

“They can’t, moron! Everybody’s in the way!”

The whistle wailed continuously as the tall coach led the officer along the wall toward the front. Men’s voices were heard shouting instructions and threats. Women plead for help. The elderly begged for air. Children cried. A broad range of emotions permeated the air.

And the smoky odor continued to enter the space. Soon, the occupants’ eyes began to water, and many coughed reflexively as the scant amount of oxygen became mixed with the impure carbon particles resulting from soot.

Finally, Owen was able to wedge himself between two men who pressed their burly bodies toward the door, effectively crushing Lacey against the wall. Tucker was using his arms and upper body strength to hold them away from his slightly built mom. He’d calmed down after he was able to shield her from the initial crush of bodies.