Overrun Read online

  Like a runaway wave, panic swept through the prisoners. They pushed and fell against each other trying to distance themselves from the bloody bodies at their feet.

  The director took an uninterested step back while his two guards stepped between him and the frenzied crowd.

  He again took the cloth from his uniform pocket and mopped apathetically at the sweat running down his neck. He covered his eyes protectively against the sun's glare and stared away from the growing riot up towards the guard towers.

  He dropped his eyes back to the ground when the rifle shots finally came.

  The shots ripped into the prisoner group kicking dirt up along the ground. The director’s guards raised their own weapons and fired into what had now become a hysterical mob.

  More bloody and torn bodies fell to the earth. Some ran for the barbed wire fences and were quickly shot by the guards in the watchtowers.

  The grotesque stink of blood and spent ammunition filled the air. The sound of weapons fire made it impossible for anything else to be heard other than the terrified screams.

  The director returned the cloth he had been holding back to his pocket and took a step in closer to his personal guards. They had begun to press him back towards the nearest watchtower and the cover offered by the thick walls of its base.

  One of the prisoners broke from the crowd and swung a large rock at the director’s face. It grazed across the skin of his right cheek and smashed across the face shield of the guard in front of him. The blow knocked the guard from his feet face down into the sand.

  Trying to exude more composure and calmness than he actually felt, the director stepped backwards as the second guard wrestled the prisoner brutally to the ground.

  With his hand still wrapped firmly around the rock, the flailing prisoner brought it down hard again across the second guard's shoulder and stood quickly up.

  A single shot rang from the tower overhead.

  The prisoner’s head snapped violently back towards the director. The director stepped around the guard closest to him and moved in front of the prisoner. He stared into the man’s dying eyes while he sank slowly to his knees.

  The soldiers stepped away while the prisoner clutched desperately at the giant wound that had opened in his chest. He looked up sorrowfully into the director’s cold dark eyes and grabbed him by the wrist to keep from falling completely across the ground.

  A second shot ripped through air, and his body dropped motionless at the director’s feet. The camp again fell quiet. More than half of the prisoner group was now lying dead or bleeding in the blazing sand.

  Those that were still alive tripped and fell across each other to avoid the bodies.

  The director waited for the guard that had been hit by the rock to stand and gather his weapon before walking irritably to the front of the group. The cries and whimpers had stopped. The air was still and quiet allowing him now to easily speak.

  "Now as I said, I am not able to keep you here for long," he spit out.

  Dozens of additional soldiers rushed from the building to join the others surrounding the crowd. With assault weapons raised, they moved inward and forced the group even closer together.

  "But the reason you are here and not already dead, dead because your country has ordered this to be, is because we are serious and we are thorough. We are serious about winning this war as fast as humanly possible. To spare as much as possible the future loss of life. To do this, we must be thorough. We have you here to see what you know. To see if you know anything that might help us unseat this country’s government more quickly.

  “Do you possess information that has been carelessly discarded and thrown away? We need to know for sure.”

  Fearful quiet sobs again mixed in with the sound of his words. The soldiers moved in closer with weapons raised towards the outside of the group forcing them all more tightly into its center.

  "What I want you to remember is this. It was your country that did this to you. It was your country that openly allowed acquisition of prisoners. To be honest, they nearly invited us to enter your towns. They sacrificed you to spring an ambush.

  “I am here to tell you those that lead this country have most utmostly failed. Those that have caused this to occur must atone for what they have done. For all their crimes and sins. It is why we are here. In this camp. The opportunity is here for you to ensure this is done.”

  Closely flanked by his two personal guards and recently joined by a third, the director walked around the perimeter of the crowd. This time he did not enter inside.

  Almost halfway around, he stopped in front of a young male prisoner who did not lower his eyes when he approached. With his head still raised, he stared straight ahead with a hateful glare.

  The director planted his feet firmly in the dirt in front of him and pulled his sidearm slowly from its holster at his hip.

  He watched the boy's eyes follow it as he raised it slowly up the length of his body and pressed it firmly against his head. The young teen, still wearing the high school football jersey he was wearing when soldiers jumped from trucks and stormed his team’s practice field, faced him tall and defiantly.

  A thin trail of blood trickled down his chin. His legs shuddered slightly from a wound just above his knee.

  The director moved his face in closer until their noses almost touched. One of his guards stepped up from behind and lowered his assault weapon across the director’s shoulder. The director's lips stretched into an expressionless thin line when he did.

  With a loud clack that seemed to thunder throughout the compound, the guard pulled its arming mechanism back and aimed it at the center of the boy's face.

  The teen pulled back slightly. But, he didn’t lower his head.

  "Son, I'm allowing you a chance to vent that hate," the director spoke to him softly. "Don't die before utilizing this opportunity. It would be a disappointment for a world at war to lose something so fierce."

  The young man's eyes burned between the muzzles of both weapons. His chest heaved as his breathing came in short gasps. But his unyielding gaze did not drop.

  "Please, don't take it with you."

  With a quick twitch of his wrist, the director cocked his own weapon. He pushed its tip tighter against the boy's forehead making him cringe slightly from the pressure.

  The director took in a deep breath and moved his eyes even closer to those of his captive. His mouth remained expressionless as he started to pull slightly across its trigger.

  The boy did not look away. He stared straight into the director’s face.

  “Use that hate for what is right," the director’s voice whispered in the heat.

  The guard at his side pressed in closer against the director and forced the muzzle of his weapon into the boy's mouth. Its metal jammed forcefully against his teeth. The boy gagged fiercely when its tip pressed against the back of his throat, but he didn't lower the intensity of his eyes or pretend to conceal the hate.

  "What you offer, what you say…it’s not better…," a quiet but strong voice rose tiredly from the back of the group. "You’re not what you say. Neither are your ideals or the reasons you’re here. You’re almost exactly the same."

  The director gazed over the teen’s shoulder towards a man near the back of the group. He dropped his weapon from the his forehead and stepped away. His guard also slowly moved a few steps back and removed his own weapon from the boy’s mouth.

  "If you were here to do as you claim, these camps would not exist," the man to whom the voice belonged made his way further up.

  He stumbled twice trying to step through those tightly wedged together in the crowd as well as the dead lying at their feet.

  "You would save all this for those that caused this war. And you would spare the innocent...and our youth.”

  The man finally reached the front of the group and stood in front of the director. His face was speckled with splatters of blood from those that were shot and had fallen around him.

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sp; He placed a hand on the trembling shoulders of the defiant teenager and raised his eyes to look at the director. The director studied him closely and lowered his weapon lazily down to his side. The boy did not move back even when the newcomer tried to pull him gently away.

  "You understand, I must offer you debate," the director said coolly. He ran his eyes the length of the boy one last time and then turned to face the newcomer.

  "It’s o.k., Tom," the newcomer said and pulled back again on his rigid shoulder. "You’ve done enough. You’ve inspired us all to not succumb to our fear.”

  The boy finally dropped his eyes and hobbled backward into the crowd. The newcomer stood alone with his back towards the group and calmly faced the stern glare of the director.

  "From what I’ve seen happen here, I don’t believe I need to hear your debate," the newcomer said. "But I do offer to speak with you, not for hate or vengeance, but to stop what is happening. Right here in this war today."

  "You’re an outsider,” the director replied coolly. “Do you still consider yourself a patriot? After all that has been put upon you by your country?”

  "I consider myself compassionate," the newcomer said quietly. “I care only about what is happening right here.”

  "Tell me what you wish to share, encourage others by example to do the same, and I promise this all will end."

  "I will not speak of any of it here," the newcomer replied. "What I have to share, you will find it of interest. For example, troop movements I have observed not far from where we stand. I assure you, you will want to know what I know…and what I’ve seen. But this all must stop first. "

  For the moment the director fell silent. He stared past the newcomer into the faces of the terrified crowd and the dead scattered on the bloody sandy ground around them.

  He then turned his head toward the three guards behind him.

  Two of them rushed around and seized the newcomer by his arms. They pulled him from the crowd and whisked him up the stairs to the doors of the compound. The third guard followed with his assault weapon raised.

  When they had entered the building and the doors had slammed heavily shut behind them, the director turned back to the crowd.

  "Is there anyone else?” he asked his voice carrying over them through the still air. “I offer a chance to make peace with yourselves before the end. Join the man that has just left you by helping us mend this horrid world."

  The prisoners were silent. The stench of death rose from about their feet smothering the entire courtyard. Only the small clinks of the guards’ military gear brushing together filled the void of the open air.

  "Very well," the director said when no one else offered to come forward.

  He turned and walked stiffly away followed closely by his two personal guards. He climbed the heavy stairs to the compound and entered within.

  When he was inside, he stopped for a moment and let the coolness of the inside air refresh his tortured lungs. He waited there until the thick outside doors slammed completely shut behind him. When they did, he walked a few steps and pulled a small transmitter from a pouch at his side.

  “Gather them into the chambers," he spoke curtly into it. "Leave a couple of them on the ground for when the next group comes in.”

  He picked up his pace into the darkness leading further into the compound. The footsteps of the guards following him echoed eerily against the metallic walls. He stopped in front of a small door barely visible in the dim light. When it opened silently, he stepped quickly through.

  "The compassionate one," the director addressed the newcomer. Secured by thick wire to the back of a small metal chair, the newcomer sat in the center of the dark windowless room.

  Across from the newcomer and directly to the side of the director, two men were seated behind a long mahogany table.

  One sorted through a collection of military maps strewn about the table, while the other adjusted the controls of the holovid units positioned on either side of the room.

  The newcomer rocked slowly back and forth in his seat. His body was only able to move slightly in either direction against the tight bind of the wire.

  The director walked briskly over to the newcomer. When he reached him, he slammed his gloved hand hard against the side of his jaw.

  With only the loud sound of a bone cracking, the newcomer fell backwards. The smash of his head against the floor echoed throughout the room. Blood seeped from his body where the wire dug against his bare skin.

  The newcomer stayed silent. The pain and force of the blow didn’t register across his eyes. He looked up at the director with a thin expression of defiant yet resigned defeat.

  "Where are they?" the director screamed standing over him. Saliva spewed from his lips and dripped from his mouth.

  The newcomer struggled to lift his head. The men at the table behind the director listened intensely close.

  The newcomer moved weakly about on the back of the overturned chair while the director loomed menacingly over him.

  Behind the director, a soldier pulled the table closer to the center of the room. One of the men at the table stood and placed a holovid recorder near the newcomer on the floor.

  The newcomer raised his head as if to speak. The director leaned in closer to hear. When he did, the newcomer lowered his eyes and spit a mouthful of bloody saliva across the tips of his shoes.

  "Tell me now, or I will kill you right here," the director hissed quietly. He raised the heel of his boot and pressed it menacingly against the side of the newcomer's head. He applied just enough pressure to pin it uncomfortably against the floor. "Your skull will crack right here if you do not tell me what you claim to know."

  The newcomer rubbed his cheek across the metal floor leaving a thin trail of spit and blood.

  "I can only tell you what I’ve seen,” the newcomer’s voice was weak but steady.

  “And what is that?” the director sneered before pulling his foot away and walking to sit behind the large table.

  “Troop movements mostly. Some come right through town. They say they’ve been dispatched by the administration to protect us from some of the rogue groups that roam around out here. Those that don’t live within the civilizations we’ve built. Most of the time the groups just come in and steal our food. But they’ve never been violent. And their actions have never warranted, not ever, the intervention of troops. Especially from the central administration.

  “We’ve always known where these troops have come from. And the real reason why they’re here walking amongst us. We know about the domes. We always have. Troops are out here in some of our towns, because they are close. They patrol to ensure that their secrets are safe and that we stay away. They’re here to make sure the domes are left alone.”

  Two of the soldiers stepped from the shadows against the walls and picked the newcomer off the ground. They righted his overturned chair so that he sat directly across from the director.

  The men on his either side listened intently. One stood to pick up the holovid from the floor. The other carefully studied electronic holovid maps of the area projected across the back wall.

  After repositioning his chair, the guards backed up again against the wall holding their weapons tautly in front of them.

  “What do you know about specific sites?” the director leaned forward. “I need locations.”

  The soft hum of the recording holovid at the table behind the director was the only sound in the room.

  The director stood up and pulled the newcomer's chair closer to the table. Another guard stepped over and loosened the wire binding him on one of his sides.

  “I don’t know specific locations,” the newcomer said pointing weakly to various points on the map. “These are the general areas I suspect they may be found. Based on when and where odd groupings of soldiers have been observed. No one that I’m aware has discovered one for sure.”

  The director pushed himself slowly away from the table while the newcomer looked at him blankly. B
ehind him, the men plotting points along the maps stood. Without a word or look at the director, they pushed past the guards and left the room.

  The director stood at the same time and walked purposefully towards the newcomer. The newcomer shifted against the wire still holding him to the seat.

  "No one really knows anything more specific than what I’ve just shown you.”

  Like a snake flaring out to strike, the director's hand swooped into his holster and seized the large weapon inside. He smashed its tip against the newcomer's knee and fired twice into his bone and skin.

  The newcomer reeled over backwards shrieking in sudden horrible pain. Tears and sweat ran freely down his face as his body writhed grotesquely across the floor. The wire still held him securely against the back of the chair. Pools of blood collected alongside both his ears.

  The director lowered his weapon to his side and stood ominously over the newcomer stretched out across his feet.

  "I don’t think what you’re saying is completely true. I think you, and many more of you that are out there, do know specific location information. That is why we are in these camps. To get that information. Find out where they are…and end this war.”

  "I swear I don’t know anything more than what I’ve already said,” the newcomer said softly.

  The newcomer looked away towards the ceiling and rested his head back. Blood poured from the tattered mess that had once been his knee. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  When he did, the director raised his weapon again and fired four more rounds into the newcomer’s chest. Gaping bloody holes opened just above his waist. The newcomer’s eyes froze back open in stunned fright.

  The director turned away while the soldiers moved again from the shadows and cut the newcomer’s body from the overturned chair. He opened the door and entered the hallway while they dragged it through another door out of the room.

  Outside in the corridor, he reached deep into the pouches of his uniform and fumbled for a fresh pack of cigarettes. The men monitoring the equipment and holovid maps brushed past him as they reentered the interrogation room.