Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

I banked again, losing altitude and gaining speed. I wanted to get back and down as quickly as possible. It wasn’t long before we came up to Olde Burnham again, and I could see movement. It was our vehicles and our people spreading out. One of the streets—the place where I usually landed—had already been cleared. I corrected my course until my front wheel was aimed right down the center of the street. Slowly, I brought us down, lower and lower. There was a slight bounce and then we touched back down, the road rumbling underneath the wheels. I had flown over hell. Now I was landing in it.

We slowed and came to a stop. I turned off the engine, and the motor gurgled and then the roar faded away. Herb and I both undid our buckles and climbed out of the plane. As Herb walked away, I went to the back of the plane. Gently I grabbed the tail and lifted it, walking around and turning the plane until it was aimed back down the runway. I wanted to be ready to take off.

I rushed after Herb, catching up just as he reached my mother.

“What can you tell me?” Herb asked.

“We’ve found a few survivors,” she answered.

“A few? But there were over three hundred people living here,” I said.

“We’ve already counted more than one hundred bodies,” she said.

“They had fewer than thirty people with weapons,” Herb said.

“It’s not just the guards who were cut down. There are women and children dead. They must have been caught in the crossfire.”

“Where are the survivors?” Herb asked.

“We’ve brought them to that house right there,” she said, pointing to one of the buildings that seemed to have escaped unscathed.

“Keep looking for other survivors,” Herb said. “There are probably more, but they’re hiding, afraid to come out. Be careful—they must be terrified, and terrified people with weapons might mistake you for somebody else. Were there any bodies that didn’t belong here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did any of the attackers get killed?” Herb asked.

“I’m not sure if we can initially identify a body as being one of the attackers,” my mother said.

“If it’s the people we flew past, they’re in darker clothing that almost looked like a uniform.”

“They might have taken their dead with them,” my mother said, “but we’ll look around.”

“And do any of the bodies have weapons?” Herb asked.

“None that I’ve seen. It looks like the dead have been picked over. Some of them don’t even have shoes. Those were taken, too.”

“That fits. They’ve probably taken everything of value they could find. What they couldn’t take they destroyed.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why destroy things?” my mother asked.

“If you attack an enemy, you are best to destroy that enemy. Now nobody here is in any position to pose a threat to them, to even try to enact any revenge. This sort of thing has been done by conquerors since the dawn of time. Right now I want you to search for the people you know, the leaders of this community. I need to know if they are dead or still alive or—”

Almost on cue, out of one of the buildings a group of people emerged. There was a man, three women, and a few children. The man was carrying a rifle. It was hanging down at his side. There was something about the way they were moving, as if they were drunk or drugged, and then I looked at their faces. Each held the same expression—empty, open eyes reflecting fear and shock and disbelief.

My mother identified herself and the rest of us.

One of the children started crying, and another was swept up into his mother’s arms.

“They’re gone,” my mother said. “You’re safe.”

She said that with no confidence.

“They just came so suddenly,” the man said. “We couldn’t stop them… we… we…” He started crying, large sobs from deep in his chest.

“There was just so much, so many,” one of the women said. “Bullets and rockets and—” She started crying as well, and that set off the child in her arms.

“My wife, have you seen my wife?” the man asked. “Is she okay?”

“We’re still getting all the survivors together,” Herb said.

“We’ll take you all back to our neighborhood, where you’re safe,” my mother said.

“Are you afraid they might return?” one of the women asked. Involuntarily she stepped back and looked all around. She looked terrified.

“They’re gone,” Herb said. “They’re not coming back, not now. We just want to take you to safety, provide medical treatment if it’s necessary.”

“Come with me,” my mother said. “It’ll all be okay.”

She led them away. They didn’t put up any opposition.

“Stay close,” Herb said.

I fell in beside him.

“The blast patterns on the walls indicate that they had multiple RPGs and weren’t afraid to use them,” Herb said. “I count dozens and dozens of explosions, which would mean they must have so many rounds that they don’t even need to count.”

“Maybe they just lost control.”

“No, this is very controlled and deliberate. There are multiple explosions but not multiple explosions on individual buildings. One hit per building. It’s the same with the external walls of the neighborhood. They were breached in a very specific pattern, right where the guards were posted along the wall.”

There were bodies along the crumbled sections of the wall.

“They simply launched an RPG at any section that was firing at them,” Herb said.

“How do you possibly defend against that?” I asked.

“You don’t.”

We continued to move, past more bodies scattered along the road. We walked along and Herb stopped, looking at each one. Not looking, studying . He turned a body over and I gasped. Herb looked at me.

“That’s Sam. I know him from school. Is he…”

I let the sentence trail off. It was so obvious there was no point in asking.

“Judging from the wounds it was fast,” Herb said. “Your friend didn’t suffer.”

“He wasn’t really my friend. I just knew him.”

“It’s harder when you know them. We’re going to know many of them. You don’t have to do this. You can wait by the plane.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll come. I’ve seen bodies before.”

Was that really me saying those words? What was I trying to prove to Herb or myself?

“Stay right by my side,” he ordered.

We started to walk again. I was aware of the bodies but tried not to look at them as we passed. Herb stopped and examined each one. With a few he reached down and felt for a pulse, searching for life where the wounds hadn’t obviously killed the person. Each time he stood up and walked away.

Up ahead there was a mass of bodies. Somehow there being more bodies made it less upsetting, like I couldn’t focus on an individual. I started counting to make them into a number instead of people. There were eleven men who had fallen so close together that they were practically intertwined, gaping holes visible in them. Already there were flies buzzing around.

“These men were executed.”

“What?”

“They were lined up against the wall of this house and shot. Look at the wall and you can see the bullet marks.”

There were marks, chips in the brick.

“Each man was shot in the chest, and then a second bullet was put into the back of the head. See?”

I did see, but I just couldn’t believe.

“Those bodies on the perimeter and on the street were killed in battle. These men had already been captured. The attackers weren’t interested in taking prisoners. They didn’t want to leave anybody behind. Do you notice that there are no wounded?”

I hadn’t noticed, but he was right.