James Hunt - GMO 24 - The Coalition

The blow sent a hollowing crack through Alex’s back. His grip on the sentry loosened a bit, but he countered the blow by gouging his finger into the sentry’s eye. Alex could feel the soft membrane of the pupil and the warm gush of organs and blood.

The two collapsed. Blood poured from the sentry’s eyes and splashed in spurts on the ground, blanketing the dirt in a crimson slush. Alex yanked the rifle from the sentry and fired a shot that split through the back of the sentry’s skull, ending the arduous cries.

The gunshot attracted the other sentries, and two of them sprinted around the corner. Alex dropped to his right knee and rapidly squeezed the trigger. Multiple .223 rounds ejected from the AR-15’s muzzle and struck the sentries’ Kevlar, knocking them on their backs.

More shouts sounded behind Alex. He jumped for the sentry’s dead body and propped it up in front of him for cover. The thump of bullets vibrated through the Kevlar and flesh of his human shield. Alex peeked over the top of the sentry’s bullet-ridden arm and saw three sentries converging on his position. He aimed and fired the rest of the clip into the approaching death squad. They scattered left and right, but one of them kept up the charge. Alex paused, took careful aim, then fired a bullet right through the attacker’s left eye.

Alex quickly turned back around and fired more rounds at the gasping sentries behind him. Even though the Kevlar stopped the bullets, the rifle still had enough kick to knock the wind out of them and possibly break a few ribs. He watched the two of them crawl around the corner for cover. The other two that attacked him from the rear retreated back to where they came from. Now was his chance.

Alex dashed for the front. He turned the corner, and the two sentries he’d shot had their backs to him. He stopped. Planted his feet. Aimed. Fired. Three down. He turned his attention to the next sentry. Aimed. Fired. Four down. As long as the two hiding at the rear of the building were the only ones left, he was in good shape. He didn’t remember seeing any radio or communication gear on them, so that meant they’d need to get inside to call for help.

Alex’s exhaustion had dissipated and was replaced by adrenaline. The rush brought his mind and body into focus. It would wear off soon though. And when it did, his body was going to collapse like a wet noodle. Two left.

Alex kept the butt of the rifle snug against his shoulder, with his finger itching over the trigger. The entrance to the camp was only ten feet away when he saw a bony shoulder reveal itself in the early light of sunrise. Alex quickly sidestepped to his left to get a better angle. “Don’t move!”

The body froze, and Alex saw the frail, naked body of an elderly man. His knees wobbled, and he squinted, his pupils unsure of the foreign sunlight peeking over the eastern horizon. When the old man saw Alex with the rifle, he stepped back into the darkness of the building.

Before Alex could lower his weapon, the two sentries that had hid at the rear of the building stormed the front. One of the bullets grazed Alex’s left arm, putting him off kilter. With his arm bleeding, Alex lined up the first sentry in his sight and fired into the sentry’s chest. Alex winced from the pain in his arm as he quickly swiveled right and fired at the second sentry. The first sentry fell; the other only stumbled. Alex brought the adamant sentry’s face into the crosshairs. He squeezed the trigger. The sentry collapsed into a pile of lifeless meat. He rushed over to the first sentry, who was gasping for breath from the stun of the bullets and seeking cover behind the corner of the building, but Alex fired a bullet into the back of the sentry’s skull, which sent a spray of brain matter onto the dirt in front of the sentry’s face.

With his arm still bleeding, Alex quickly turned around and took aim at the door. He stood there, waiting for any other sentries to rush outside. No one came. The old man took a few small steps until he completely emerged from the building’s entrance. Then, two others revealed themselves from the shadows with the same hesitation as the old man.

Alex lowered the tip of his rifle. If there were other sentries, they would have shown themselves by now. Alex rested the rifle on his shoulder and rolled up his shirtsleeve to examine his arm. He touched it gingerly, and blood wet his fingertips. The gash had cut his flesh open at least two inches across his arm. He’d need stitches.

The old man that had first stepped outside nudged the shoulders of the dead sentries with his foot. He looked back up to Alex and pointed at him. The old man’s finger shook; he no longer had the strength to keep it steady.

Slowly, the other workers emerged from the belly of the farm camp. One by one, they took their first steps outside in God only knew how long. Just like the old man, all of them were nude. Each of them was silent at first, but soon whispers rocketed through the group. It was as if they were all finding their voices for the first time. There was no talking in the farm camps. Only work. A young woman came to the front. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “You did this?”

“Yes,” Alex answered.

The woman dropped to her knees. The first few tears shed from her eyes and streamed down the smudges of dirt on her cheeks. She clasped her hands together and squeezed them so tight that her whole body shook. Her bones were so thin Alex thought her arms might break in half from the pressure. The woman keeled over on her side, still sobbing, still shaking. An elderly woman finally came up behind her and joined her. Alex wasn’t sure if the two women knew each other or not, but they just sat there in the dirt. Crying together. Holding each other. Trying to regain and remember any semblance of humanity they had left. Most of it had been stripped from them, but maybe there was enough to rebuild. All they needed was the slightest spark that could bring them out of the haze they’d been lost in.

As more and more workers poured outside into the morning sun, the old man came up to Alex and examined his arm. The old man’s face was covered in white whiskers and wrinkles. What was remarkable were the old man’s green eyes. Alex didn’t think eyes stayed that vibrant as you got older, but this man’s eyes did.

“There’s a first-aid station inside,” the old man said.

Alex let the old man guide him. The adrenaline had run its course. He was too tired to resist. As the old man took him inside, the workers divided and opened a small path that allowed him to pass. Then, one by one, each worker reached out their hand to touch him. Fingertips brushed his arms, neck, back, hand, leg, whatever they could reach. It wasn’t forceful, but simply a light tenderness of acknowledgement of what he’d just given them: freedom.

The hot wax dripped from the tilted candle onto Alex’s forearm. He had to keep the light close to the wound so the old man could see. After the old man threaded the needle, he heated it to the point of almost dropping it. Alex winced at the first prick, but once the old man got into a rhythm, it didn’t hurt as much. He just lay back in the chair, his arm jerking slightly from the old man’s motions, and closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep so badly. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he sat down. It was like every bone in his body collapsed, and he wasn’t sure if he’d have the power to reassemble them.

Most of the farm camp’s workers had taken off, but a few lingered behind to watch the old man sew Alex up. The workers that left had grabbed whatever rags they could cover themselves with and whatever food they could stuff into a bag and carry on their backs. Alex figured most of them would try and make it to one of the big cities, which afforded many places to hide. There wasn’t a major city in the United States left that wasn’t harboring some type of refugee who escaped the relocation efforts of the Soil Coalition. But most didn’t have the knowledge or resources to attempt the journey. And those who did usually died of exhaustion before they made it.