CW2, D.R. SMITH [little readers .TXT] 📗

Chapter One A

It felt as though he was blinking incessantly.

It’s the desert, he thought, the dry air.

His eyelid spasms subsided for the few moments he became caught in a stare at his feet. The tips of his hiking boots vanished as his mind drifted into reminiscent images that seemed near…real. The back of his sunburned hand appeared black in the dimly lit night air. It rose into view as he unconsciously reached out to touch the mirage of Rachels fingers sensually caressing his. An eye-scrunching blink, accompanied by a head shake and a hot dusty deep breath, brought him back to the present.

Impure darkness stretched before him. A nighttime with well-defined shadows cast from the light of an incredibly bright full moon. The adjustment of his formerly white, sweat stained ‘Rocky Mountain National Park’ cap on his bald head, released a flood of perspiration that had been trapped behind its band, some of which trickled into his left eye with a burning sting. A hard squint was followed by Shane’s resisting the urge to rub it out. It would only knead the drop of perspiration and some sand into his eye anyway, he reminded himself. Normally, sweat was non-existent in an Arizona desert. But reservoirs of it collected in clothing gaps and beneath hats and doo rags. He slipped a red bandana from his right rear pocket and mopped the entire circumference of his cranium. When cap and scarf were returned to their proper locations, he removed his eyeglasses and brought the binoculars up beneath his brow.

Shane Collins could survey the landscape for miles from this vantage point. He had spotted this niche in the butte from down below and was pleasantly surprised when he discovered a trail leading up to it. Made to order, he had snipped. It was right where the rugged face met the gravely sloped scree and would go unnoticed to most people. Although nothing could be called ‘home’ anymore, the cave-like alcove was now providing shelter and security… at least for a few days.

Glancing downward, Shane’s eyes once again fell upon his shoes protruding from the edge of the thin cheap hotel bed sheet that swaddled his entire frame. He had a sleeping bag. A good one. But it took a very cold night for its thermal rating to become advantageous, rendering it a hot-box otherwise. That was only part of the problem with using it though. It was its confinement that placed it on the ‘rarely used’ list in Shanes mind. Being zipped inside its ‘mummy-like’ form made it a hazard if someone would discover him while he was sleeping. Granted, it was highly unlikely anyone knew where he was or that anyone cared anymore. But everyone did care at one point. And that tidbit of information was what kept him on his toes.

Shane Benjamin Collins was unquestioningly the most sought-after human being in the whole of the United States a mere four months ago. The more current events of his life bled into the daydreams of his wife and children and jumbled those pleasant reflections into a misty and self-condemning guilty indulgence. Nowadays, he rarely allowed himself to juxtapose these histories. There was no point. One seemed like a fairy tale or a wonderous story a grandparent would attempt to paint a verbal picture of to their grandchildren. The other was a harsh and cruel reality that stared all mankind in the face daily.

It had been nearly five years since cancer had claimed Rachel and Shane seemed to be struggling with her death more now than he had when it actually occurred. The two of them had felt the tension that was escalating between friends, neighbors, and even family members and saw clearly the imminent implosion of American society as they knew it. Shane had decided to do something about it. As painful as Rachels death was, Shane felt a sudden ‘release’, as though any ties that had restrained him had vanished with her passing. She was always the ‘voice of reason’, conservative action, and ‘steady as she goes’ influence in his life. With their children scattered to the wind and Rachel buried and watching from above, Shane was free to act on his dreams for the sake of the nation he loved so much.

After sharing his plans to retreat into hiding with his friend Rob, Shane decided to attempt to pull others like him together and form a militia. He then authored a letter that was passed to carefully selected individuals, began the establishment of MICA… Militia for an Ideal Constitutional America, and attempted to organize all who expressed interest. Shane knew there were still those who felt the U.S. had a chance to continue on. Had a future as it once was. Could still foster freedom, growth, creativity, and God-fearing religious ideals. This eventually hit the media and his name became a household item. Unfortunately, it also became an item at FBI headquarters. Shane had no choice but to plunge into obscurity, go off grid, and disappear.

He did so only weeks before all hell had broken loose nationwide. Right vs Left skirmishes began to be reported in random locations. But it was the rigged presidential election along with the open border policy that became the tipping point. With valid evidence of voting fraud instances popping up by the minute and, in spite of the obvious scam that had been perpetrated upon the right wing conservative voters of the United States, the Leftists chose to go forward with the inauguration of their implanted phony president-elect. This was uncomfortably received by those on the right and many began buying up weapons and ammo by the case. Once the illicit president took office and then opened the borders, right-wing conservatives began rising up. In the end, Shane decided to simply survive, separating himself from left and right wing factions.

Now roaming the Bureau of Land Management areas of Arizona, Shane stood hypnotized by the ghostly night scene before him. His head began a nearly undetectable shake as the disbelief of the events of the past 3 years once again pierced his soul. He, along with millions of others, were now running from the calamity the human race had deteriorated into. Political factions, in their efforts to jockey for power, had annihilated the functioning society that had taken centuries to develop. Fear mongering in the form of fake viral pandemics, oil flow disruptions, and even increased UFO activity were all bolstered by the Leftist propaganda outlets in an effort to bring the United States to its knees. Soon, clear and well defined ‘sides’ became established and easily recognizable lines were drawn. Leftists occupied the urban areas… Right wing conservatives secured most of the outlying and rural areas.

Before long, it morphed into an ‘every man and woman for themselves’ based war. As there were no “uniforms” to distinguish who was fighting for who, the possibility of shooting one of your own had become very real. This individual survival based Civil War slowly proved to be difficult to monitor and storage areas containing food supplies and other necessities were under constant attack. One’s struggle to acquire sustenance was generally vicious.   

Shane moved to the other side of his rocky cove and sat down. The black silvery edged images of boulders and cacti moved through the field glass’ circular scene as he panned across the vista. His spine was uncomfortably mushed against his lumpy backpack that had for months now doubled as an even less accommodating pillow. Gravel and sand were oozing into everything and made any movement sound and feel gritty. Wiping the front of his teeth with his tongue reduced, but didn’t quite eliminate, the grinding of lip and enamel that always increased as the day wore on.

He silently thanked God for the slight breeze that offered an infinitesimal amount of relief from the heat. Although desert night air was generally cooler, the terrain and most geological features absorbed the sweltering inferno of day and retained it through much of the period from sundown to sunup. Putting oneself in direct contact with rock and desert floor brought this to your discovery.

One objectionable feature of his dwelling was the direction it faced. Southwest. The temperature inside climbed to intolerable by mid-afternoon, forcing Shane to scrunch himself behind a small, curved lip of the opening… a somewhat shaded area. Additionally, it was rather shallow. If it would rain, and that was a very big ‘IF’, he’d most likely be drenched along with all that he was carting around.

His scanning did a sudden jerky backtrack as he spied movement. The front of the binoculars locked onto a coyote running at full gallop while occasionally trotting sideways to look behind itself at whatever had spooked it. Shane retraced its path, eventually spotting two more freshly frightened animals mimicking the gait of the first. He carefully scrutinized any possible rocks or scrub that could provide refuge for an intruder or hunter. Remaining intensely focused  was critical as any loss of concentration might cause him to displace where the animal had been, an error that could prove fatal.

Wait just a second here, Shane thought as he squinted tighter, jumped to attention, and allowed his blanket wrap to slip off onto the sandy ground. What appeared to be a baseball cap much like his own, was dipping and bobbing just above the upper edge of a rock cluster. Its owner was busying about doing something just out of Shane’s view. Keeping the binoculars trained on the potential nemesis with one hand, Shane hoisted himself to a standing position, his back now planted firmly against the rock wall. The lunar lit magnified picture that was in fact quite tiny to begin with, prevented him from making out any discernable features of this individual. But there was no doubt that he now had unexpected company. The big questions were… how many of them are there and had they already spotted him? Whether or not they were armed and dangerous simply came with the territory.

The hat spun around to where the bill faced directly at Shane. He could’ve sworn he saw arms and elbows propped out to either side of the hat, as if they were looking right back at Shane with binoculars as well. But then the hat tilted slightly to one side in an all too familiar attitude. Through months of experience with this scenario, he could now accurately identify this as a person looking through a scope on a gun.

A flash of light confirmed Shane’s assessment as a ricochet sounded off nearby stone, followed shortly by the distant report of gunfire. He had quickly rolled back, tucking as deeply into the recess as was humanly possible. This afforded him the opportunity to switch from binoculars to rifle.

“How did they spot me at night?” Shane pondered in an audible whisper. This evaluation spun quickly in his mind and concluded that this guy had seen him during the day and considered Shane’s high ground position to be too advantageous to attempt a daylight attack. This brought an immediate feeling of gratitude that he had been scanning the desert just moments before that shot was fired at him.

God, please let this person go on their way, Shane prayed to himself. Killing had become a somewhat common occurrence, unfortunately. But he remained firm in his resolve to only kill when protecting his own life or the innocent and helpless. If there wasn’t an obvious threat, he would turn the proverbial other cheek. One thing was clear regarding this current engagement… considering how close that bullet had just struck… they knew where he was and firing back would only validate that.

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As he once again faced another human like himself, struggling to survive, he felt deep in his very soul the insanity people can be driven to