The Resilient: Into the Forgotten

By Adam K. Ogden

Everyone is the hero of their own story.

Victim or villain is only a matter of perspective...

What if the Mandela Effect was real? Not caused by parallel universes or time travel or such. But through the willful distortion reality by altering the chemicals in someon

• Language: English
• Publisher: Breakpoint Publishing LLC
• Release date: Nov 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781732921641

Adam K. Ogden

dam K. Ogden is an independent author of fiction novels. His works span multiple genres, including science fiction, action adventure, thrillers, and more. He began his writing career after a dream spawned the creation of his debut series The Resilient. Penning the series ignited a passion for storytelling. As an Engineering graduate from Louisiana Tech, his background centers not on writing but on research. This is applied to his works of fiction, weaving real life in to even the most wildest fantasies.Fans of Adam K. Ogden range from all ages and backgrounds. With universal themes and true-to-life characters, there is something for everyone in his works. With elements of suspense worked through seamlessly into his stories, they are a fun thrill ride from start to finish that are hard stop.You can follow Adam K. Ogden on Facebook at (www.facebook.com/AdamKOgden) or at his website (www.adamkogden.com) for the latest news and updates for his upcoming books and events.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events contained therein are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to any events, places, or persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

© 2018 by Adam K. Ogden

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, including the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher. Such is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Prior written permission must be obtained.

Published by Breakpoint Publishing, LLC,

www.breakpointpublishing.com

Breakpoint Publishing and associated logos are trademarks of

Breakpoint Publishing, LLC

Front Cover Design by Adam K. Ogden

© 2018 by Adam K. Ogden

www.adamkogden.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-7329216-1-0

ISBN-10: 1-7329216-1-0

Everyone is the hero of their own story. Victim or villain is only a matter of perspective…

1

SAFE? How did he think they could ever be safe? Michael urged his wife and daughter into a small crawl space beneath the stairs of an old brick duplex. The patter of gunfire sounded like rain, pounding against the concrete steps above. Marauders were firing at them from somewhere down the street. Michael wished he had more allies going up against the dangers of the west. After the fall of Defiant, they were on their own. Only Maps, Watch, and Damien had been able to escape with his family.

Michael stayed behind the steps, using them as cover. He tried to return their fire with his rifle, but they were pinned down. Maps crouched beside him, firing his own. It was no use. There were too many outlanders, and they were ruthless. It had been such a long journey over the mountains. Watch had promised them civilization on the other side. Civilized was not how Michael would have described them. For a moment, he thought he would have been better off taking his chances with the Federal Police. His friends, Wesley and Tobias, had.

He knew all too well why Wesley chose to stay behind. He had to avenge his wife’s death. Michael knew that feeling. He thought he had lost Rebecca forever. He was beyond thankful that he had been wrong. He would never forget that day. When it seemed hatred had consumed him, she walked through the door to him as if nothing had ever happened. Of all the days of his life, that was one of his favorites. It was the day he got back not only the daughter he had searched so hard for but the love of his life.

He glanced under the stairwell. Rebecca’s motherly instinct had taken over. Not only was she shielding Allie but Watch also. He couldn’t imagine the fear they felt. For him, it had become commonplace. He had stood up to the Federal Police and came out alive. The adrenaline gave him a high. If he could take on the United State Federation’s national police force with their sheer number and all their resources, he could take on a band of outlanders.

A few more bullets ricocheted off the hard surface of the steps, sending specks of dust into the air. Michael was irritated. Three weeks they had travelled, finding next to nothing along the way. The west was just as dangerous as the Federation. Considering that all the people they came across tended to be hostile, sometimes Michael wondered if it was actually worse. Whether it was from the outlanders’ attacks, the fact that Damien had disappeared during the night, or just the growing rumble in his stomach from lack of food, he didn’t know, but he had had enough.

Watch over them, Maps! Michael yelled, throwing his rifle over his shoulder.

Where are you going? Maps asked.

Up, he said, pointing to the roof of the duplex. Michael had become an excellent marksman with his time spent as a sniper in the war. He was determined he wasn’t going to let them keep his family pinned down.

He crept low, staying as close to the wall as he could to avoid the barrage of bullets. He didn’t want the outlanders to see him and give away his advantage. The town, like the rest of the west, was mostly vacant. The buildings within it had boards covering their windows. The owners of the duplex had chosen to go with another option. They had metal bars fixed to the outsides of their windows. Michael used them to help climb onto the roof.

He stretched out on the flat, tarred surface and steadied himself, taking aim with his rifle. He hesitated, trying to figure out the best thing he could do. He was a fugitive from the USF, and they desperately needed the resources of that town. He couldn’t risk alienating himself from the outlanders by killing one of them. He ripped off part of his sleeve and tied it to a pipe sticking up from the roof. He watched it blow in the breeze as he gauged his wind direction.

The shot had to be perfect. It had to force them to surrender without killing them. He looked through his scope, pressing the rifle tight against his shoulder. Five outlanders were perched on top of the roof of an abandoned convenient store, using it as a vantage point. Four were shooting. One was giving orders. There was his mark. He licked his fingers and tested the wind once more. He shot.

The recoil pushed him back, but he didn’t take his eyes off the leader. The bullet pierced through the air, finding its target. The thin line of red forming. The outlander dropped to his knees as his hands reached up to grasp his ear. The battle was over. The other outlanders scampered off the rooftop. Only the leader remained, clutching his wounded head.

Nice shot, Maps said as Michael climbed down from his perch. Michael nodded, but his focus was on the outlander. From the ground, he could barely make out the top of his bald head. He didn’t want to give him a chance to regroup.

Do you want to take another shot at me? Michael shouted as he walked down the road.

You are trespassing, the leader shouted back. This is my turf.

We’re just looking for a boy who wandered into this town during the night.

That boy was trying to steal from us. We’re going to give him what he deserves.

The thought of these merciless outlanders kidnapping Damien flashed through Michael’s mind. They all thought Damien’s injuries had gotten the best of him. That he was trapped in one of the buildings. But these outlanders had kidnapped him.

Michael sprinted toward the convenient store. He couldn’t believe Damien was foolish enough to venture into that town during the night. He knew it wasn’t safe. Michael should have known he would try something. The town was all he had talked about yesterday. He spent most of the day with Watch on the mountainside, looking at it through a set of binoculars. It was the first town they had come across in days, and they had exhausted their food supply. Not even Rebecca’s culinary skills could help them. After they ran out of fuel and were left stranded, the town was a miraculous discovery.

The man’s head disappeared from Michael’s view. He wasn’t deterred. He kept running for it. Damien couldn’t be far. They had found him a set of crutches at their last stop, but he was still slow to get around. He had to be close to that convenient store.

Michael crawled his way up onto a dumpster, then onto the roof to confront the outlander. Vacant. Dirt slung against the side of the building as the outlanders made their getaway in a dune buggy. Michael drew his rifle. He went to fire, trying to shoot out the tires, but he couldn’t get a shot. Through the heavy dust cloud behind them, he couldn’t see, and if Damien was with them, he couldn’t take the chance of hitting him.

His eyes followed the streaking dirt as it made its way through the dusty valley. The convenient store was at the edge of the town. Where they were going, there were no buildings left that he could see. Nothing was in front of him but a blackened forest off in the distance and the mountain range that curled around the town. Charred lumber and electrical lines blocked the paths of the roadways leading into the area. A narrow trail ran through the mountains to his right. An offshoot of the trail he and his family had followed to get to the town. The plume of dust rising from it told him that was where the marauders were going. The dune buggy was climbing up to it.

Michael knew that was where he had to get to. If they got to the main trail, they could disappear anywhere. He climbed down from the roof and rejoined the others.

What happened? Rebecca asked when Michael returned to them. Watch clung tightly to her.

I told Damien not to go. I told him we would all scope it out this morning when there was light. But did he listen? We find him a decent set of crutches, and then... Michael had grown agitated. He was hungry. He was tired. He had slept too many nights cramped in that torro. That four seated tank of a machine that offered nothing in the way of comfort. His body ached.

If that convenient store has gas, maybe we can refuel the torro, Maps offered.

Even if it does, we don’t have time to carry any back to it. And since the outlanders have vehicles, I’m willing to bet they drained it, Michael said.

Maps shrugged and went to check on the pumps anyway. Michael’s suspicions had proved true. The fuel tank was completely empty.

How are we going to get Damien back? Watch asked, her arms still wrapped around Rebecca. Michael could see the hurt in her eyes. It was clear that she cared a lot about him.

I’m going to go get him, Michael sighed. I saw where they went. I’m hoping they’ve stopped somewhere along the way. Maps, take the girls and go back to the torro. Shoot anything that moves. I am not losing anyone else today.

You can’t go after them alone, Rebecca said.

I’d rather go alone, than put any more of you in danger. Maps will keep you safe.

Michael kissed Rebecca and Allie and began his long jog to the mountains. Hungry and tired, it took all the effort he could muster to keep pace. He trekked along the dirt and sand, following the tracks of the dune buggy. This was not how this was supposed to go. When Myers told him to go west, he expected to find allies—people like Defiant. Instead, all he had come across was callous outlanders in a barren wasteland.

He was supposed to be making a cure. One that would restore Rebecca’s memories. The compound he had given her stopped it from progressing, but still, she would have moments of confusion. She had no memory of their time together in the Forbidden Zone, but somehow still recognized Allie as her daughter. Myers had been right to try to stop it. The virus was deadly. It had the power to warp someone’s very reality by affecting the memories in their mind.

There was no time to waste chasing down an uncivilized group of thieves and scavengers. If that virus was unleashed on Metropolian or any other large city in the USF, the results would be catastrophic. Michael was disappointed in Damien. He was a genius with computers and technology to only be nineteen, but he could also make some of the strangest decisions. Often times, Michael would forget how old he was when they would talk, but it was times like these that reminded him of his immaturity. Michael was sure it had something to do with Watch.

When Michael reached the end of the small valley, he began to climb the sloped face of the mountains. They weren’t as steep there as they were where they had parked the torro. The climb up wasn’t too treacherous. The low, prickly shrubbery that grew along it kept snagging his clothing, but they did reveal the path of the marauders. They were flattened where the dune buggy had travelled over them. That also helped reveal more of the burnt timber scattered among it. Just above the shrubbery, next to a wall of stone, was the yellow roll bars of the dune buggy.

Michael crept low and approached it cautiously, keeping a firm grip on his rifle. He glanced around at the cliff edges surrounding him. There were no signs of life, but there was a small cave directly above him. He climbed the steep incline carefully, trying not to disturb the rocks and give himself away. At the top, he pulled a small flashlight from his back pocket. He had grown tired of exploring dark tunnels. To his surprise, the cave wasn’t dark. A strand of Christmas lights lined the mouth of the cave, disappearing through a hole above a metal door a few feet inward. Michael wondered how they had electricity when the power lines were scattered on the ground below.

He stepped toward the door that had been set in the stone. It was a flat rectangle that looked to be made of iron. There was no handle, and all of its edges had been joined with large rivets. Since there was no way for Michael to open it, he rapped against it with the butt of his rifle. The sound echoed in the short tunnel. The small window at the top slid open, and two eyes appeared.

Help you? the man behind the door asked.

You have someone I’m looking for, Michael said.

Don’t know you. The man looked Michael over and closed the window.

Frustrated, Michael resumed his assault on the door. He continued to pound on it until the rubber recoil pad of his rifle began to wear. He was hoping if nothing else, he would annoy them into submission.

Stop it, the man said, reappearing in the window. I have customers. Unless you have something of interest to trade, I suggest you leave.

Michael thought for a moment about what he could trade for Damien. All that he knew he had of value was his rifle, and the man didn’t seem too interested in that. He reached into his pockets, but there was nothing. Then he felt something hanging off his belt. A canteen.

I have fresh water, Michael said, holding up his canteen. Not river water. Not rainwater. Purified fresh water from Metropolian.

It was Damien who had found the canteens stowed away in a compartment in the torro. It had been a precious find. Their travels had taken them so close to the desert, water had been scarce. It seemed only fitting that Michael trade it for Damien’s life.

The door swung open to reveal a large, hairy man tending to it. It had been a while since Michael had shaved, but this man looked to have been born with a beard. The man held out his hand for the canteen. Michael untied it from his belt and gave it to him. The man continued to block Michael’s path until he took a large swig of the water.

Welcome to Sajak’s Bazaar, the man said after gulping down the water. He stretched out his arm, ushering Michael inside as if they were old friends. The finest outpost in the west. What can I get you? Toilet paper? Soap? If you have more of this, we can talk more expensive items. Perishable foods perhaps?

I’m looking for a boy who was kidnapped, Michael said.

I’m offended. I do not deal in children here. The man thrust the canteen back to Michael.

The owner of the dune buggy outside says differently.

Ah, I see. I don’t normally rat out my customers. What kind of reputation would I have if I did? But this delectable water will buy you a conversation. But there’s no killing here. The man patted the rifle Michael kept clutched in his hands. He then pointed to a tunnel on Michael’s right and beckoned him to go on.

The tunnel led to a cavernous area that had been turned into a type of stockpile room. Heaps of random objects lined the walls. Each was sorted by type. Electronics, weapons, paper goods, canned food. Pile after pile of different objects, ranging from almost new condition to broken beyond repair, filled the space. Several men were digging through them. A few were standing by, watching them. Michael recognized three of the diggers as the outlanders. Their leader was stretched out on pieces of an old sofa, tending to his now-bandaged ear. All of them had their backs to Michael, oblivious to him.

Who was at the door Sajak? the leader asked.

Me, Michael said, readying his rifle. The room froze and turned to face him. I told you I wanted the boy back.

I’m sorry, you’ll have to talk to this side. It seems someone has shot off my ear, the leader laughed. He was too relaxed. He barely turned his head to face Michael. The others in the room chuckled at the leader’s words. He silenced them with his hand.

Unless you want to lose them both, I’d suggest you start talking. Michael stepped forward, his rifle trained on the leader. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to shoot them, but he had no qualms against intimidating them.

When Michael got closer, he realized why the leader was so nonchalant. The ones that were watching the others had drawn pistols. They were all around Michael. He held onto his rifle, keeping it steady. He couldn’t let them know he was afraid. He went there to get Damien. He wasn’t going to leave without him.

Hey! What did I tell you? Sajak asked as he pulled Michael back. No killing in my establishment.

Don’t worry, Sajak, the leader said. I guarantee he’s empty.

Are you willing to count on that? Michael pushed toward the man still on the couch. He tried to keep a straight face, but the leader did make him think. He never checked how many bullets he had before he ventured off to confront them. For all he knew, he was empty.

Stop it, everyone, Sajak said. You all know the rules here. If you want to keep doing business here, I’d suggest you take it outside.

When Michael didn’t move, Sajak snatched his rifle away. Michael clenched his fists ready to fight, but Sajak just shook his head. He looked the rifle over in his hands and popped out the clip. It was empty. Sajak chuckled at the revelation and threw Michael’s rifle over his shoulder. He then lifted up Michael’s canteen and shook it.

I said this buys a conversation, he said. So, conversate.

I just want to know what you did with the boy, Michael said as he turned back to glare at the leader.

The leader just laughed hysterically. Michael’s emotions boiled to the surface. He may have lost his rifle, but he wasn’t weaponless. He swung his still clenched fist at the man, connecting it with his missing ear. The man screeched and fell back against the sofa. The others stepped back away from Michael. The watchers and their weapons didn’t flinch. Michael was thankful.

Okay. Okay. Okay, the outlander cried, clutching his face with both hands. He’s gone. Janyx’s crew took him from us as soon as we found him. They have a problem with boys becoming bandits. I tried to tell them he was already a thief, but they took him anyway.

Where do I find this Janyx? Michael asked.

You don’t want to find him! I promise you.

Where? Michael asked again, taking another step toward the man.

He runs Orthanton. It’s a city about twenty miles west of here. Just past the mountain range. Please don’t kill me, man!

Michael gripped the outlander with both hands and threw him back against the sofa. His head bounced off the cushioned armrest beneath him. Fearful eyes watched Michael as he searched through the man’s tattered vest and found the keys to the dune buggy.

This is a trading post, right? Keep the rifle. I’ll take these, Michael said, rattling the keys. Have a nice day, guys.

2

DIRT FILLED THE AIR like a tan cloud drifting off into the atmosphere. Michael brought the dune buggy to a screeching halt at the edge of a small ridge. The torro was parked on a narrow ledge about midway up it. It was right where he had left it, on a dead-end ledge nestled between an incline and the valley below.

The journey up to the torro was steep but was made climbable by the large rocks protruding from its surface. As Michael made his way up to the torro, he couldn’t help but think about what could have driven Damien to climb down it in his condition. The bruising and swelling in his leg had healed, but he would still wince when trying to walk. Why he thought he would be well enough to search a town after the hike down baffled Michael.

Michael pulled himself up onto the flat plain where the torro was parked. As he approached, he waved his hand in the air in view of the torro’s window to signal Maps that it was safe. Michael keyed in the code on the door, but to his surprise, the door was still locked. Maps pushed the door open from the inside to let him in.

What’s wrong with the door? Michael asked once he was inside.

We have a little bit of a problem, Watch said with both hands holding wires. She sat on the floor of the torro in front of an open access hatch, with her feet crossed beneath her. Inside the hatch was a series of wires and fuses.

Did the locks blow a fuse?

I wish. That would be simple. You see...

The battery’s dead on the torro, Maps said, interrupting Watch.

The torro had been their biggest asset and a parting gift from Wesley, along with their rifles. He had stolen it from the Federal Police and gave it to Michael, so they could get out of the United State Federation. It had been two days since it had run out of fuel, leaving them stranded. Even without fuel, it still offered them a safe shelter at night. Without the battery, all of the torro’s electrical systems were down. Those included the locks, the computers, and most importantly, the weapons system. They were left completely defenseless.

What about Damien? Maps asked.

Michael looked at Watch, trying to figure out why she hadn’t asked. Considering the amount of focus she was putting into her work with the wires, it was obvious she didn’t want to know the answer to that. The only token of him that she kept near her was a crumpled charcoal drawing of him. It was hanging on the side of the torro above her, but she wouldn’t even glance up at it. Michael really didn’t want to bring her the bad news.

The outlanders don’t have him, Michael said. Some guy named Janyx took him to a city called Orthanton. Ever heard of it?

Maps paled. Oh, sure. It’s only one of the west coast’s mega-cities, he said. The USF doesn’t have anything to do with the cities out here anymore, so thankfully no Federal Police. But considering the rest of our journey, can you imagine how many outlanders are there?

Fear and concern were the first two thoughts that entered Michael’s mind. The same crept over everyone in the torro at Maps’ words. Watch had retreated deeper into her work. Her hands were busy pulling and twisting wires, but Michael could tell her thoughts were on Damien.

All Michael could think about was the last city they had attempted to pass through. They had ventured into it looking for food and supplies. Michael was hoping to find a hospital to gather what he needed to start working on his cure. There was no hospital. That city was just like the other towns they had visited. There was nothing but ash in the place where a hospital once stood. Instead, all they found was hostility. If it hadn’t been for the torro, Michael wasn’t sure if they would have made it out. It took most of their ammunition to escape from it. After that, they made a decision to only visit the smaller areas.

There were very few people out west, but all the ones they found were antagonistic toward outsiders. It was as if they had claimed the land they were on and all of its resources. Michael could understand that. They were doing what they had to do to survive. That was why he warned Damien not to venture into the little town before they found a way to defend themselves.

That experience with their last city made Michael even more anxious about going to Orthanton. It was a mega-city, which meant an even greater threat of danger. It also seemed no more civilized than the rest of the area, making it likely to be hostile as well. This man, Janyx, concerned Michael the most. The outlanders had seemed to be afraid of him. They bore no hesitation in kidnapping Damien or firing on him and Maps, but they were troubled by Janyx. The man also supposedly ran with a crew. Without the torro, Michael wasn’t sure if they would be able to hold out for long if Janyx had several others with him.

Please, bring him back, Watch said softly, still fidgeting with the wires.

Hearing the sadness in Watch’s voice, Michael knew what he had to do. There was no time to waste in being afraid. He couldn’t leave Damien in their hands.

Maps, I could use some help this time, Michael said. Maps nodded in agreement, though Michael could see the fear on his face. Ladies, stay here and keep the torro locked tight. With the battery dead, I know no one can break in on you. Watch, can I borrow this? Michael pointed to the drawing.

I guess. For what? she asked.

We have no photos of him, so having it may help us prove our story.

Watch handed Michael the drawing. He folded it and put it in his pocket, before saying his goodbyes to Rebecca, Allie, and Watch. He and Maps climbed back down to the dune buggy.

Michael wasn’t sure what awaited them in Orthanton. Nothing had been remotely similar to the USF since they reached the mountains. The area was vacant. They had passed very few houses and even fewer cities. Most of what they did find was just signs of a former life. Frames of buildings and burnt out vehicles. Everywhere they went, vast areas had been incinerated by fire. The few remaining cities that stood among the ash was filled with buildings that looked as if they hadn’t been touched in ages. They had vegetation growing along and through buildings.

The west was like a massive ghost town. They had been lucky in a few of their encounters. The empty houses they came upon, they searched for anything they could use. A few places had fuel for the torro, keeping them going. Whatever happened to the people, it seemed that stockpiling things like fuel had become the norm. The last house was where they managed to find Damien’s crutches. He had grown tired of being bound to his wheelchair, attempting to convince everyone that he was well enough to walk. When he found the crutches, his stubbornness only increased.

They weren’t always as lucky in their finds. More places than not had been raided. Stripped of anything worthwhile. They were left as skeletons of civilization. If Orthanton was a mega-city, it was likely the place where everyone migrated to, making it worse than they had ever encountered. Michael looked across the dune buggy at Maps. He seemed to share in his anxiousness.

Michael was thankful that he and Maps had spent some time getting familiar with guns. To have been a member of Defiant, Maps was sorely without practice. The first time Michael had handed him a rifle, he held it like a child holding a wild animal. He acted as if it were going to begin firing itself at any moment. He blamed it on his experience being with smaller pistols, but Michael doubted the extensiveness of that experience. Once Michael was able to teach him how to hold the weapon, his aim was atrocious. Michael stood just behind Maps’ shoulder during his first shot, and yet, he still felt the need to duck.

As he looked over at him, he saw Maps holding their last rifle tightly. He could see the progress they had made over the last few weeks. Michael was hoping they wouldn’t have to use it. Not only did they have to use most of the ammo in the torro, the extra clips for the rifles were depleted as well. The only bullets they had left were the few in that rifle.

A strong smell filled the air, stealing Michael’s focus. It was a very stout smell that he couldn’t quite place, but it made the air feel thick. He took a deep breath. It was like he could taste the wind as it passed over his tongue. Salt. As the dune buggy neared the ridge of the hill, he saw its source. The ocean spread for miles in front of him. The blues and grays of the sky mixed with their counterparts of the water at a thin line formed at its surface. The horizon was broken by buildings, like concrete pillars springing forth from the ground. The massive city sat at the water’s edge. Three sides of it encased by it. It stood like a peninsula spewing forth its urban contents onto the mainland. The roads around it were destroyed, but the one leading to its center seemed to still be intact enough to drive.

That has to be it, Michael said as he began driving the dune buggy down the ravine toward the road.

I was afraid you might say that, Maps said, gripping the rifle a little tighter.

The lightweight off-road vehicle bounced and shook as it crossed over the rough terrain. The ride finally smoothed out once Michael reached the road. At ground level, the city seemed to grow ten times over. The buildings stood as giants, blocking out the afternoon sun. A large blue sign sat just beside the road.

Welcome to Orthanton. Founded as part of the West Coast Metropolian Project.

Looks like Myers’ Metropolian Project really did go national. His mega-cities are from coast to coast, Michael said after reading the sign.

He approached the city slowly and cautiously. The fabric top of the dune buggy provided them no cover if there were gunmen in the buildings next to the city. As he got closer to it, he noticed the road had been blockaded by old rusted vehicles, making the entrance impassable by the dune buggy. Michael surveyed the area. The cars formed a solid barrier all across the front of the city, four to five cars wide. He wished the torro would have been in operation. With it, he could have pushed the vehicles out of the way and entered the city unscathed. If they were to go on foot, they would be exposed and defenseless.

What do you think, Maps? Michael asked, slowing the dune buggy down while they were still a safe distance away from the city.

Someone’s up there with a gun. I don’t see one, but I know it. Maps leaned forward, examining the closest towers. Someone’s up there with a gun, and you’re about to tell me we’re going to go walking in.

We don’t have much choice.

See? I told you. Yep. This is it. This is the day I get shot.

Michael parked the dune buggy just behind the line of cars. Maps sighed as it came to a stop. Michael lifted both hands in the air, sticking them out of the door as he slowly stood up. He told Maps to leave his gun in the vehicle. It was his hope that if they didn’t see them as a threat, they wouldn’t attack.

So far so good, he thought. Standing outside of the dune buggy with his hands raised, he looked the buildings over thoroughly. Maps did the same. Neither of them could see any outlanders. Michael dropped his arms and walked toward a rusted car. Maps followed, although he kept his hands jutted straight in the air. Michael pressed his palms onto the car to push himself up onto it.

A light ping echoed off its hood, followed by a loud crack resonating through the air.

Was that what I think it was? Maps asked, standing frozen in his position.

Yes, it was, Maps. Yes, it was.

The two of them dove behind the car to take cover. With only a single shot, Michael assumed it had been only a warning. He inched his way toward the back of the car, peeking around it. It was his hope to see where the shot came from. Instead, all he found was shards of red plastic as the tail light shattered from a second shot.

I think they’re watching you, Maps said.

Thank you, Maps. I appreciate the heads-up, Michael said.

I’m just saying. We’re here. Our ride is over there. And they’re shooting at us.

Actually, they’re only shooting at me. On the count of three, duck your head out the front, and I’ll duck out the back. If it’s just one shooter, he can’t shoot at us both.

That’s comforting, Maps said, but he still got himself into position.

Michael hoped one of them could distract the shooter while the other made a break for another car. If they could move out of his line of sight, they might have a chance to run into the city. It was a long shot, but Michael couldn’t think of any other way. He gave Maps the signal. A third shot ricocheted off the car’s bumper as Michael pulled back behind the car. Maps was hunkered down with his face in the dirt. Both hands were up around his head.

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