Richard Stephenson - Resistance

“What is?”

“Damage has been done that I doubt can be reversed. The Pulse Zone is becoming a wasteland in more ways than one. The only way people feel safe is to band together in fortified communities. Even if we could wave a magic wand and put the broken pieces of The Pulse Zone back together, the people are far too frightened to consider themselves part of something larger than their own communities. The idea of contributing anything outside their own strongholds has become foreign to them. They simply don’t trust in anything. If they venture outside their own walls, they face being kidnapped by slavers or murdered for the clothes on their backs, or even worse — for sport.”

“Even when we restore their utilities? Electricity and clean water don’t make a difference?”

“Not really. They’re still starving and dying from commonplace diseases that weren’t even a threat before The Pulse. It might sound silly, but I also think they’re still getting over Internet addiction.”

“That does sound silly.”

“It might, but it’s true. We lived in a connected society that was used to having the world at its fingertips.”

“We lived in a spoiled society is more like it.”

“I agree.”

“Thank you for your frankness. I trust everything went according to plan?”

“Perfectly, Mr. President.”

“Does Jim suspect anything?”

“Not a thing, sir. He trusts me implicitly. I told him I would do everything in my power to ensure that what happened to his grandchildren would never occur again.”

“Good. You were right, young man. This fiasco proved the perfect opportunity to discover where loyalties reside amongst the eight people I’ve chosen to help me run this country.”

“What did you think of the outcome, Mr. President?”

“I wasn’t surprised by the three that refused to go along with the idea.”

“What do you want me to do about Jim?”

“Kill him; make it look like an accident. Then we’ll see how the others react.

Christina Dupree awoke in the back of an eighteen-wheeler. She assumed it was the middle of the night because light wasn’t peeking through the tiny air holes in the roof of the fifty-four-foot-long container. The ten-year-old had given up trying to keep track of the days. If they were lucky, the thugs would let them out once a day to move around and go to the bathroom. Every time they opened the doors, someone would scream, begging to be set free. My father will give you money! My son is in the military; he’s a very important man! My children need me! The answer was always the same — a bullet in the head. Chrissy and the other children would cry at the sight of it; no child should bear witness to the atrocities taking place within that sweltering metal prison cell. Angry glances from the armed men prompted the adults to calm and silence the children.

It had been a long time since the last break, and Chrissy needed to use the bathroom. She knew the other people around her weren’t waiting to stop and had been relieving themselves on the truck floor. She could smell it and occasionally had to shift her body away from the warm streams of urine trickling past. She had curled up in the arms of an elderly woman and eventually fell asleep. The kindhearted woman stroked Chrissy’s hair and sang soothingly to her until she drifted off to sleep. Chrissy wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn the old woman called her Angela several times during the night. It seemed strange, but Chrissy was too exhausted to correct her.

Chrissy had been separated from her brother and grandparents two summers ago on a camping trip to Yellowstone. She’d met a younger girl in an RV park along the way, and they became the best of friends. April had a baby sister, and Chrissy loved playing with her. Her mother’s boyfriend, Chad, had befriended April’s dad, and they agreed to let Chrissy stay with April’s family for the rest of the trip into Yellowstone. Chrissy tried to go back to her RV to say goodbye to her brother and grandparents but for some reason Chad wouldn’t let her. He and April’s dad told her that April’s family was leaving right away and she wouldn’t have time to say goodbye. Chrissy thought it was odd but was happy to hang out with her new friend’s family.

Chrissy began to worry when April’s dad said he would spank her if she asked anyone about when they were going to get to Yellowstone. Chrissy was scared of April’s dad and made it a point to stay close to April whenever he was around. When everyone laid down in bed at night, April’s dad would look at her funny. One afternoon when they were eating lunch at a rest stop, April’s dad caught Chrissy alone in the RV and began tickling her. Chrissy kept telling him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. As Chrissy began to cry, April’s mom came into the RV. April’s dad swore he was just tickling her and apologized to Chrissy for not stopping. April’s mom got really mad at April’s dad and said something about him being sick and how he had promised the last time that he would get better.

The next day, April’s parents got into a big fight. He left with some guys and never came back. When Chrissy tried to be nice to April’s mom to help her calm down, April’s mom starting screaming at her and saying it was all her fault. Chrissy tried her best to not make her mad, but April’s mom starting slapping and kicking her. Chrissy ran away as fast as she could and didn’t stop until she couldn’t hear April’s mom screaming at her.

Chrissy was lost. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. She didn’t know where she was or how to get back to her grandparents. She walked for hours and eventually made her way into a small town and started knocking on doors, desperately hoping someone would help her. Eventually, someone let her in and drove her to a nearby church that had been converted into a homeless shelter. Chrissy was welcomed in, and the church staff took care of her. She bounced back and forth between three church families and lived moderately well for the better part of a year.

Chrissy had taken a liking to the church staff and enjoyed helping out with the smaller children at the homeless shelter. One day while she was playing with a little three-year-old girl, a bunch of men with guns came into the church gymnasium and started firing at the ceiling. They kept screaming, “Get your hands up! Nobody move!” The preacher obeyed and slowly walked over to the men, trying to reason with them. One of the men with guns shot him in the chest, and the preacher fell to the gym floor. Although the sight of so much blood frightened her, Chrissy wisely snatched up her little playmate to protect her

A fearful silence hung over the gym. Those who had witnessed the death of their beloved preacher knew they had no choice but to cooperate or be killed themselves. The kidnappers forced them all to walk outside and line up in two lines. The slavers sized all of them up. Any people who were sick, weak, or disabled were shot in the head. Chrissy hugged the little girl to her chest to keep her quiet, raising her gaze from the ground only once in an attempt to make eye contact with the child’s parents for reassurance.

Fifty men, women, and children were loaded into the back of the semi and locked in muted darkness, the bullet holes in the roof providing an eerie star-like illumination. Chrissy returned the little girl to her desperate parents, found a place to sit, and began to cry. She missed her mother and her older brother, Timmy. She missed her grandparents most of all. They weren’t really her grandparents; they were the parents of her mom’s boyfriend. They insisted on being called Grammy and Pappaw. They were the closest thing Chrissy had to loving caretakers. She tried her hardest not to think about the evil men and what they would do when they opened the door to let them out. She had no idea where she was going or what was going to happen to her.