Devon Ford - The Fall

The first wave of the invasion was underway. Dozens of planes headed for Texas, New Mexico, and Colorado. There they would seize control of the military assets which had been softened, if not crippled, by the aerial bombardment which had been raining destruction on the United States almost constantly since the fuse had been lit.

Other units were sent further north to seize control of sensitive infrastructure the leadership felt was necessary for their plans, as well as to shut major transport links and control the movement of anyone who survived the aerial campaign and the nuclear attacks. The plan was to drive the surviving occupants to the center of the continent, and there to control them.

“It is the duty of the citizen’s militias to protect and defend the unalienable rights of all members of their communities. The members of the Appalachian Militia shall ever stand accountable, as have our forefathers before us. First to God, from whom we acknowledge the authority of all rights, and then unto our fellow citizens of our native sovereign states,” Reverend Jackson Charles Harris said proudly to his congregation. His militia was sometimes more of a church than a people’s army, and he tried hard to keep the focus of his flock on the righteous path.

“We attest that all power is inherent in the people, that governments, being instituted for the common benefit, the doctrine of non-resistance against arbitrary power is absurd, slavish, and destructive of the good and happiness of mankind.” That part was less popular, as a number of his people were anti-government.

“We pledge to promote and defend the unalienable God-given rights of all citizens” —he raised his voice as he shook a fist toward the rafters and received a rolling growl of agreement from his assembly— “regardless of race, sex or national origin, as is expressed in the United States Constitution and the Bill of Rights.” He dropped his hand, scanned the room, and made eye contact with as many as he could to build the tension in the room.

“We pledge to repel foreign aggression and invasions.” He had to pause as the growl became a roar of agreement punctuated by shouts of ‘Amen. “By preparing and training for defense and by our encouraging and showing reason why all citizens should stand stoutly against all forms of tyranny.”

Reverend Harris leaned back, his hands gripping tightly to the altar from where he preached his sermon. The people before him, men, women, and children, roared their support and approval for his words. He suspected that so many of his militia had been praying for such an occurrence for many years. The second amendment was their God-given right for exactly this reason. They had watched on screens, learning of the fate of the rest of the United States, though the amount of news channels that were still broadcasting was getting fewer by the hour. He had called everyone to attend when he had seen footage of parachutes—hundreds of them—opening high over the mountains and hills of his native east Kentucky. They had yet to find out who was invading their blessed United States of America, but they sure as hell weren’t going to wait to find out.

They were going to war.

After another tense stop to try and buy fuel from a gas station, the four occupants of the dark Ford pickup decided against contact with other people unless they couldn’t avoid it. They drove on, leaving the carnage and the fights behind, and stopped to siphon gas from parked cars. The traffic had eased off to only the occasional car after they had abandoned the major roads to head across country, and the tension rose every time a car drove up on them fast and passed them. Loaded cars were heading the other way, and one station wagon with possessions tied to the roof flashed its lights at them frantically. Slowing on instinct, Jake asked the others what he should do.

“Pull up, see what they want,” Louise said. Jake looked to Cal who nodded agreement but drew the Glock just in case. He slowed and wound down the electric window as Cal leaned over ready to bring the weapon to bear.

“Don’t go that way!” the driver of the station wagon yelled before he’d even stopped. “There’s roadblocks on the highway.”

“Law enforcement?” Jake asked, confused and hopeful at the same time.

“No idea, man,” yelled back the driver, waving at the woman in the passenger seat beside him to keep back from his window. “Army, but not ours. They’re shooting at people, man, turn around!” With that, he gunned the engine and the car surged away.

The four of them looked at each other until Ricky broke the silence.

“He sounded crazy,” he said carefully, “but that doesn’t mean he isn’t right.”

“Roadblocks seem right,” Jake said, “but neither army or law enforcement would fire on people unless they had to. I say we check it out.”

There was neither agreement nor disagreement in the car, so Jake rolled forward and picked up speed. They sat in silence for the few minutes it took for the next town to come into view. Jake avoided the ramp to join the highway and cruised into the town. All eyes were scanning, the faint noises of disorder coming in vague waves through the windows.

“JAKE!” Louise screamed, pointing her finger frantically ahead. Jake’s eyes shot back to the front, reacting instinctively as his foot automatically switched from the gas pedal to the brake. His brain only registered the appearance of two human shapes ahead in the road, and the cognitive process hadn’t yet registered that those two shapes were pointing weapons at them. The cognitive process hadn’t yet assimilated and deciphered the meaning of the two shapes wearing uniform, hadn’t yet understood the demeanor and stance, couldn’t yet explain to him what it all meant when put together.

He may not have fully understood it, nor could he have put into words what made him respond differently, but the same subconscious process which had made him react to Louise’s shout now kicked in and overrode his body’s response by slamming his foot back down hard on the gas pedal. The competing noise of shouts and screams from inside the cab of their truck merged into one cacophonous din of pure panic, punctuated only by the sound of the two shapes slamming into the truck’s grille and bouncing away. The truck was too high and the shapes too short to be thrown up into the windshield to roll over them but were instead pummeled down to the tarmac where they were both crushed by the big wheels; the truck bouncing horrifically over the broken bodies.

The screams and shouts didn’t abate as they carried on forwards, Jake himself yelling out loud as he gripped the wheel in terror and shock at what he just done. The back window of the cab burst inwards with a wickedly sharp crack as the windshield instantly starburst around the large hole showing between Cal and Jake. The sound of the bullet passing through left their ears ringing but remarkably left their bodies unhurt. Jake kept his foot down hard, covering three blocks in a straight line before he had to slow to negotiate the wreckage of a burning car. Bodies littered the road and the sounds of gunfire could be heard from an alarmingly short distance away. Jake’s eyes were wild, trying to see in every direction at once as the ungodly surge of adrenaline he had just had dumped into his bloodstream dialed up his senses and reactions to previously unknown levels. It didn’t last long as, although his eyes were scanning wildly for threats, he failed to see the truck of a similar size coming from his right as he blasted through the last small intersection before the Ohio River came into view.