Reboot

“We have incoming,” said the walkie talkie.

“Where, how many?” asked Rourke. He was talking to Amber, a young girl of about fifteen who was sitting in a tree far out of the camp. Rourke knew that Amber was tough and wouldn’t panic under pressure.

“One mile out, two hundred. Unorganized. There are women and children Mr. Rourke,” she warned.

“Goddamn. Ok, stay where you are Amber. We need to know if another wave will come after this one. Do not engage. Keep hidden. Just let them go by you.”

“Ok. Staying put.” She was staring through the lens of her long-range rifle at the mass of people coming her way the whole time she spoke. Rourke turned to one of the men near him.

“Paul, go ring the bell immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

That would bring everyone to the meeting area immediately. It took two minutes. He waited as they got organized. The people in the camp had all been trained. Rourke had worked with all of them extensively, even the children, so that everyone knew what to do in case of any emergency.

“We are about to be attacked by other Americans, our friends and neighbors. Men, women and children. People who have every right to live, just like you. But let me be clear. They are already dead. Let me repeat this: you will be shooting dead people. If we let them in here, we will die too. There is no questioning this, we’ve discussed it at length; you all understand what has to be done. Those of you who don’t want to be part of this, who feel they can’t handle it, please go with the kids. It’s OK, believe me, someone has to be with them too.”

A few women went off and started rounding up the children.

“Everyone knows their place. Get to it,” he finished.

They all immediately and quietly sprinted to their place on the walls, and in various support positions. This had also been practiced many times before.

As soon as the rabble were within earshot, Rourke took to the speakerphone.

“Do not come any closer or we will open fire. Do not test us. We will not hesitate and

you will die. There is no other option. Turn around and go back. We cannot help you, we don’t have enough room or food for ourselves.“

As he’d suspected, it didn’t work. They were wretched and had no other place to go. Some had to be shot. Many. The others eventually got the message. But even when running away from the hail of bullets, they didn’t really put much effort into it. They were done. Rourke knew they’d be back within hours. They had no choice. Shooting them was an act of mercy. Anyway that’s what he’d tell himself to be able to sleep at night. It didn’t really work though.

He was closing his eyes and thinking forward to the next stage. When it would be safe again to go out and people could start having a life again. Living in a camp was fun as a hobby, but as a way of life, it was stifling. And now it was like living in a morgue.

“I see them!” Yelled one of the men on the wall. “Here they come again.”

“Everyone wait for my signal,” yelled Rourke. He did his best to sound strong. He didn’t feel it. This time, they wouldn’t turn back.

They came. And they were horrific. Dirty, hungry, sick. Some had terrible wounds caused by disease or infection or accidents. They were holding various tools and weapons. They were screaming. Their intent was clear, they were going to rush the fence and try to break it in three different spots. It was rash and desperate. And doomed. Rourke was prepared.

“Wait for my shot,” said Rourke. He tried not to sound as sad as he felt. He wanted to give his people strength. When the rabble was within fifty meters, he shot into it. Everyone let loose. It was a massacre.

This time, as he had known would happen, the attackers didn’t run off. They had nowhere to go so they kept coming. Two hundred and thirty people were gunned down like rats.

When it was finished, Rourke called Paul over. “Paul, organize a work detail of our toughest people and send them off to burn the dead. But first, they have to take the bodies further away OK? Use the tractor, understand?” Paul nodded unenthusiastically. Rourke then called over Amber’s mother who was a psychologist. “Margaret, I want you to think of a way to deal with the shock here in camp. Our people will be traumatized.”

Margaret organized “parties” where people would sit or lie in a group and just hug and cry and talk.

Bodies burned.

Even two miles away, the smell was absolutely disgusting.

That’s what you remember most.