Visions of a medieval inquisition flashed before Noah’s eyes. Hooded demons feeding on the anguish and horror emulating from their victims as they pushed their cruelty to levels beyond imagination.
Better to die fighting, he thought, slipping the AR-15 down from his shoulder. He could feel the other two huddled against him. Kayla facing the jackals in the Church, Bowie doing his best to disappear between his friends, his pitiful sobs unsettling them.
“What are we going to do?” Bowie asked, his voice shaking as the black clad figures moved confidently towards them.
“You wrote us into this,” said Kayla, angrily “write us out.”
“Oh, God. Oh God.” He replied
Noah cocked the AR-15. “We have to kill as many as possible” he he said.
“I’m with you, Bro,” Kayla replied tensely.
Noah raised the rifle. I must be going insane, he thought. I just keep thinking of that Vietnam movie, the music. It was the music from an old war move. He must be imagining it.
“What’s that music? “Asked Kayla, “It’s coming from the air.”
It was real and becoming increasingly louder, mixed now with the whup whup whup of helicopter blades. The jackals seemed to hear it too, they were starting to look around, stirring uneasily, as if they could sense a predator approaching.
“Look, a helicopter. The army,” said Kayla, as, a military Blackhawk appeared over the tops of the buildings, Vagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ blaring from loudspeakers.
It was real and becoming increasingly louder, mixed now with the whup whup whup of helicopter blades. The jackals seemed to hear it too, they were starting to look around, stirring uneasily, as if they could sense a predator approaching.
It circled the church, as everybody watched it like deer caught in the headlights. The three trapped victims and the surrounding predators all forgetting their roles. Just standing there, mesmerized. The chopper circled them, like an eagle selecting its prey, then suddenly dropped down, coming in low toward the black clad jackals on the far end of the clearing. The machine gun shattered the silence and Anti Fascists literally began to explode, with blood and body parts flying everywhere. After initially freezing, the group began to mull around in confusion, with those on the edges peeling off in different directions, screaming.
The Blackhawk put down hard, between Noah’s group and the the mass of bodies, the door opened and a strange man casually jumped out holding a flame thrower, the tank slung over his shoulder. He approached the dead and wounded and began engulfing them in flames. Screams of agony rose up as injured black clad figures writhed in the fire, struggling to get to their feet as the searing pain began to bite into them. The flame died out after a few minutes and the lunatic shrugged, threw the back pack off and let it fall the ground. He studied his handiwork for a moment, then turned to Noah’s group, and began motioning with his arm.
“Come on. Let’s go,” He shouted.
They stood frozen. Noah struggled to process what he was seeing . It was not that he didn’t want to leave, he’d give anything to get away from the threat of the jackals. From the stench of death. It’s just that he wasn’t sure if it were all even real. The scene resembled something out of a really twisted computer game. We are in some sicko game, he told himself. The casual brutality with which this strange character had incinerated wounded people and the way he dressed. It was like a mix between Grand Theft Auto and Call of Duty. A beach-bum gangster in an army Blackhawk. Sporting a Hawaiian shirt, hung over a pair of board shorts, with boat shoes and a dark pair of wraparound sunglasses. A thick cigar hung out of one side of his mouth, which had spread to a wide grin as he took in the horror on their faces. He was vaguely familiar, though Noah, couldn’t remember where he’d seen him. He must be one of the Grand Theft Auto characters Noah guessed.
A shove in the back snapped Noah out of his trance. “Why are we waiting?” Asked Kayla anxiously.
They moved forward together, crouching low as they got near the chopper, sensing huge blades arcing to decapitate them. The beach-bum gangster strolled over casually and opened the door, ushering them into the back seat, then he followed, closing the door.
As they grappled for seat belts, the gangster opened a large icebox and began distributing cans of beer. He handed one to the pilot who took it willingly.
“Who else wants a beer?” he shouted over the engine noise.”
They all accepted. Anything to calm the nerves, thought Noah. The engine and rotor noise grew louder as the pilot began to lift off. The gangster leaned over and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “Wait Vlad, have a line first,” he shouted, pulling out a plastic bag of white powder and tipping a small amount onto what looked like a helicopter manual. He passed it to the front, with a rolled up hundred dollar note.and the pilot turned around and putting the note to his nose, sniffed up some of the white powder.
“Yeah, Man. That’s Goooood” he cried with exhilaration, handing the note back to the gangster.
The gangster then took the hundred dollar bill and sniffed his own line of the powder. Shaking his head vigorously, he said “Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” He held the cocaine out, “you guys better have some.” Bowie grasped the rolled up money with the desperation of a deprived addict and began snorting while Noah looked on inquisitively. It seemed to be the right thing to do, but he couldn’t remember any games where you’d snorted coke, even Grand Theft Auto. Besides, one look at Kayla and he quickly abandoned any intention of joining in. She sat there seething, her knuckles white on her Smith & Wesson.
“Wheeehooo” shouted the pilot as the chopper lifted off and veered recklessly from one side to the other. A burst of automatic fire came from the church, the metallic clanging of bullets ripping into the chopper.
“Put a rocket up their asses,” shouted the gangster. Noah looked to the front of the chopper in disbelief. He held up his hands in protest,
“It’s a Church.”
It was too late. The pilot, hit a button on the joystick, the church door caved in and the building shook with an explosion. The chopper lifted as the shockwave caught them.
“Yeeehaaa” yelled the gangster and the Blackhawk banked and rose above the destruction.
The gangster motioned for them to put on the headsets on clips overhead. They complied and could hear the conversation.
“Press the button on your headset when you want to speak,” he instructed them. “Who are you?”
“Noah, And that’s Bowie and Kayla”
“But who are you? Army, rebels, who?”
“We’re writers,” lied Noah. It was partly true.
The gangster seemed happy with that answer, or he didn’t care anyway.
“That’s Vladislav, the pilot,” he said as the pilot raised a hand in recognition,
“You can call him Vlad. And I’m the First Son.”
They were silent for a moment, then Noah replied, “Me too. I’m the eldest in my family.”
He felt a jolt in his ribs from Kayla. She was mouthing something to him, wide eyed. She seemed to know this man.
“Not a First Son, I’m THE first son.” The gangster said, agitation in his voice.
Noah looked back at Kayla, who was mouthing a name. Then it hit him. The First Lady was the President’s wife, this weird gangster like guy was the son.
The one in the news. Something about the Ukraine? He remembered his dad cursing him as a traitor, a criminal. But the news announcer said he was just framed by the Russians.
“Nice to meet you, Sir,” said Bowie diplomatically. Kayla glared at him from behind the stainless barrel.
Noah looked from Kayla to the First Son, trying to understand her agitation Could this be what she calls “white privilege?” he wondered.
The First Son settled down and began looking intently out of the window, scanning the cityscape. Noah followed his gaze. The jagged edges of bombed out buildings struggled to emerge through the smokey haze. The destruction was not city-wide, but confined to a strip where the battle had taken place, leading from the south up to about a mile from the Capital building, where the Militia been turned back. Surrounding areas appeared to have escaped largely untouched.
“Vere are ve going, dude?” Asked Vlad in a heavily accented English .
The First Son peered out of the window for a minute then suddenly became exited. “Look, Vlad. Chicks.” He grabbed Noah’s shoulder snd pointed out of the window.
“Vere, man?” said the pilot, banking the chopper in the direction the First Son was looking. Noah peered out through the perspex and saw the shapes of three young teenage girls on the grassy lawn of a park. They were gazing up at the chopper, their mouths open in horror.
“Cut the music, Vlad, you’re scaring them,” said the First Son.
Vlad flicked a switch and banked the chopper in an arc towards the ground where the girls stood, huddled together. It was a very tight manoeuvre and everybody grabbed hold of something, holding on for dear life.
The girls on the ground started running toward the end of the park. But Vlad manoeuvred the Blackhawk in front of them, then dropped it on the skids, with a bone crunching jolt,
“Hey, easy there, Man.” complained the First Son. Then he composed himself, opened the door and casually strode outside and toward the girls. They looked around desperately as he spoke to them, then holding hands, they reluctantly allowed him to usher them to the chopper.
“You better get in the front,” he said to Noah, “I’ll need your seat for the girls.
Noah dutifully grabbed his gun and backpack and transferred to the front seat as the First Son seated the nervous girls in the back.
Noah looked at the instruments that surrounded him. This was a dream come true, he’d flown the Black Hawk in Flight Simulator X and always wanted to fly a real one. He looked over at the pilot, who was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Not military? Wondered Noah. The pilot grinned at him, his eyes glazed over as he savoured the cocaine high.
“Let’s go, Vlad,” shouted the First Son and the chopper began to lift off again. Noah looked out over the scenery below as he listened to the girls being introduced through the headset. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see two cans of beer being passed between the seats.
“Here, one for you and give one to Vlad” said the First Son. Vlad gleefully accepted it, cracked the can and gulped a large quantity down.
“Are you an army pilot?” Asked Noah, watching him in fascination. He’d never seen a pilot drink booze or snorted coke, even in the craziest movie.
“I vas back in the Ukraine,” said Vlad. “Ve had this kind of helicopter, this Blackhawk.”
The First Son’s voice cut in, “Thanks to my Dad.”
“How did you get this chopper?” Asked Noah. “Did the US army just let you take it?”
“My Dad’s the Fucking Commander in Chief,” snapped the First Son.
“What did he say when you asked him?”
“I’m proud of you, Son,” said the First Son, breaking into hysterical laughter. The pilot joined in. Noah thought he could hear the whir of Kayla spinning the chamber of her Smith & Wesson. He really hoped she wasn’t going to blow the First Son away – partly because he worried the slug would go through the seats and take him out as well.
“Let’s go party,” said the First Son.
As they flew away from the Capital, the destruction became scarcer and were it not for the convoy of vehicles and refugees packing the freeway north, it would have looked like America on a normal lockdown day with a scattering of “nearly peaceful protests”.
Noah thought back to the impunity with which the Antifascists had operated back then. No wonder they just stood there when the chopper came in, he thought. They never expected anybody would try and stop them.
“Ve going to Delavare or Virginia Beach?” Asked Vlad.
“Where do you girls want to go?” Asked the First Son.
There was a faint giggling and some whispering.
“I think they’ll like Virginia Beach,” said the First Son, decisively.
“What music do we have?” He tapped Noah on the shoulder. What music do kids like today? Justin Bieber?”
“Justin Bieber is Good.” Said Vlad. The First Son pushed a CD to Noah.
“Can you put that in the CD player? You’ll see it there, to your left. Yeah, that’s it.”
Noah finished his business and turned to see a buck naked First Son, running from a trail of discarded clothing, followed by two of the girls, now in their underwear.
The youthful crooning voice of Justin Bieber, started rising up around the aircraft and Noah snorted with laughter, imagining what it must be like for people huddled on the ground.
Noah cracked the beer can and downed some more of the amber fluid. He was starting to loosen up a bit. He thought of the girls, huddled together, eyes wide, like wild animals that had just been pulled out of the forest. He wondered what had happened to their families, their parents. How did they come to be wandering around alone? Prey for the Jackals, or almost as bad, the First Son. Noah thought back to what he’d heard about him. They’d claimed he was a pedophile, but then there had been so many rumours kicking around back then, you didn’t know what to believe. And yet, here he was, large as life, preying on some teenage girls. They must be fifteen, thought Noah, feeling a in his stomach. They were the age of his younger sister.
Noah looked out of the window, trying to remember if this had been the route the militia had taken on their push to Washington. It looked familiar, but then everything had seemed different then, so much hope. They expected to be camped in Washington right now, victorious. He wondered where they were now. Were they even alive?
The helicopter began to descend and Noah could see an empty beach in front of him. Vast, clean and void of people. Offshore, he could see the grey hulking shapes of US Navy vessels, sitting there, lost and impotent. Who’s side were they even on? Maybe there’s a battle going on right now aboard each ship, he thought
The chopper dropped heavily onto the sand and the engines began winding down. Noah looked over to Vlad, who seemed relieved to have made it. He opened the door and stepped down onto the sand, then turned his back on it and began to take a leak. He could hear the First Son’s cries of joy behind him.
“Yaaay, race you to the water!” He cried, to the accompaniment of excited teenage shrieks and laughter.
Noah finished his business and turned to see a buck naked First Son, running from a trail of discarded clothing, followed by two of the girls, now in their underwear.
He turned back to the chopper to see Kayla in serious conversation with the remaining girl and Bowie looking around, dazed.
Kayla seemed to have made a decision. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said.
Noah began following Kayla, Bowie and the girl toward a concrete barrier at the edge of the sand. Empty hotel buildings dominated the landscape beyond it. A hoarse shout stopped them in their tracks
“Hey. Vere are you going?”
They turned to see the pilot, staring at them. Hands on hips. But no weapon.
Kayla drew the .44 magnum and levelled it at him.
He raised his hands in the air, “It’s okay, I vas just thinking of…”
“Fuck the first son,” said Kayla. They turned and continued toward the concrete barrier.
“He’s unarmed,” said Noah
“So?”
“Why don’t we take the chopper? Get him to fly us somewhere?”
“We want to take a pee,” said Kayla, motioning to the other girl. Bowie mumbled something and moved to follow them.
“I’ll go tell him while you do that,” said Noah, turning to walk back to the pilot. Suddenly the sand started rising into a dust storm. Noah shielded his face and heard the whup whup whup of another chopper. Through his fingers and the sand, he could make out the shape of something else, maybe an Apache on the sand nearby and some figures emerging, men in suits, dark glasses. One was walking their way.
Vlad walked toward the man, then suddenly collapsed on the sand. Noah lowered his hand to see a black suited spook with a silenced hand gun, similar to the Glock in Noah’s belt. He froze, his mind racing. The spook gave him a blank look and raised the gun.
