The Wrong Guy - 1. Chapter 1

I just killed my best friend.

Yes, you heard me right, I just killed Dorian, my best friend.

Only a few weeks ago, or is it months? I really don’t know. Hell, I don’t even know what day of the week it is. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does, not anymore.

But yeah, anyway, I don’t know how any of this started. All I know is after Covid, after lockdowns, and not being able to see friends other than a few secret sleepovers arranged by my parents and a few close friends, life was back to normal. I was in school. No masks. I could see, hear, and understand the teachers. We worked in groups, talked, and roughhoused. It was great.

But somewhere, somehow, a darkness crept in. I took limited notice. But others started taking sides. It was probably early September when two close buddies of me and Dorian got into a fight. No, wrong word. Insult exchange contest. The one-upmanship was good. At least at first. Dorian and I actually kept score. Me, I thought Chandler won by a smidge. Dorian leaned toward Benson.

Regardless, what started out as words took a meaner turn. The next day Dorian and I sat at our normal lunch table. For some reason, I remember he grabbed pizza, and I took hotdogs. Such a strange thought to have as I hold onto Dorian’s lifeless form. But yeah, like always I think Dorian made the right decision. The buns on the hotdogs were stale… What I wouldn’t give for a hotdog on a stale bun now.

Crud, sorry, doing it again. Back to lunch. Chandler sat down. We exchanged fist-bumps. Somehow this was the new greeting after Covid. Safer than a handshake, I guess, but still some physical contact. I like the fist-bump thing. But off to the side, Benson, who was making his way to our little corner of the cafeteria, stopped. He eyed us. Shot Chandler a dirty eye, and sat with a couple of other guys.

Pretty sure Dorian did the same thing I did. I remember looking over at Benson while I moved my hands out. All this got me was a shake of his head as he took a bite of Pizza and focused on those he was sitting with.

It is then I heard the words for the first time. They came out of Chandler. Not sure of the exact words but it went something like this. Chandler sighed. “My mom and Ben’s dad ain’t letting us see each other till after the election. Mom says his family is going for the wrong guy.” Wrong guy. It was words I would hear hundreds, maybe thousands of times after that. But yeah, the words first came to my notice from either my second or third best friend. It was close between Chandler and Benson. I wonder what happened to them.

But at least Chandler had the right attitude. He made sure to say he wouldn’t hold it against us if we wanted to hang with Benson. But he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to get into trouble with his mom.

Dorian and me caught up to Benson after Social Studies. He was in the hall talking to the two kids he sat with at lunch. The other two turned on us. One of them said something along the lines of “Weren’t you two sitting with jackass supporting the wrong guy?”

There it was again. The wrong guy. The second time in less than a few hours. Benson quickly came to our defense, though. He made it clear that he was our friend, and didn’t want us getting hassled for sitting with a longtime friend.

One of the kids asked who we supported, who our families supported. It was Dorian who realized what it was about. The upcoming election. Again, I am guessing at the words, but this is close, “Abercrombie and me don’t care about who wins. Neither do my folks. They don’t vote.”

“Same here,” I remember saying. “And why should any of us care what guy any mom or dad votes for? The world cup starts in just a couple of weeks. That’s what matters!”

The two kids hanging with Benson grinned at this. One said England was going to take it all, the other Spain. Benson shook his head and said Mexico. Dorian went with Brazil and me, I said I had hopes it would be the Netherlands. Benson shook his head and said Mexico again. You see I am and always have been a Tottenham fan, and I really like a couple of the players. Both are, or at least were, on the Netherlands team, so… Yeah. I was hoping they’d do great, as always. Looking back, it was stupid. But on the plus side, all five of us exchanged friendly words and there were no more problems. At least not with them.

A few days later, however, we were at our table. This time with Benson. A couple of girls went by. Crystal spoke just loud enough for us to hear. “Amy, you’re right. Their hanging with Benson. I hear his folks support the bigot.”

Amy responded even louder, “Must all be bigots. Why would anyone support that jerk?”

I looked over at Benson. He had his fists clenched, but said nothing.

While I didn’t know what to say, Dorian sure did. He responded loudly, “Look there, guys, two idiots talking about voting when I doubt either could read the ballot.”

The whole thing came to a quick end thanks to Mr. Blanchard, one of the deans. He gave Dorian, Crystal, and Amy all detentions. I said just enough so I could join them. I wanted to walk home with Dorain after all.

Things calmed, at least for me and Dorian. Word seemed to get around. We didn’t care about some stupid upcoming election. Our parents had no allegiance. We were among the many who were the Swiss of our school. We kept the peace. Not forcefully, but by not talking sides. But as the election grew close there were fewer and fewer of us. We saw longtime friends become distant. There were a few fights.

We even saw some cracks in our teachers. In particular, our Science teacher was at odds with both our English and Social Studies teachers. A couple of weeks before the election our Math class had a substitute. Word circulated someone had thrown rocks through his window because he supported the wrong guy. He didn’t return.

At home, the TV was full of ads. Most said horrible things about the other guy. Dorian and me couldn’t even watch a soccer or football game without ads. We talked about it a few times, but it was shut down by our folks. It didn’t matter whose house we were at. I do remember a day we were at Dorian’s house and an ad against one of the guys came on. It called him a racist. Dorian’s dad stepped in front of the TV as we started to talk.

“Boys,” he said with a shake of his head. “The next time that dumbass ad comes on, do me a favor. Look at who sponsored it. It isn’t even put out by the other guy. It is some stupid organization who just wants that guy to lose. Look at who puts the ads out for the other guy. It’s the same. Ignore the garbage and enjoy the game. If you can’t, go out and play.”

It was later the same day, we were tossing a football. Dorian threw the ball long. I ran for it. Tripped over a sign in the yard of the duplex across the street. I fell hard. Skinned my knee. The old man came out shouting. He was certain I had broken the sign on purpose. I’ve never been screamed at like that.

Dorian’s dad had to come out. While his mom squirted some hydrogen peroxide on my knee and put a glob of antibiotic cream and a bandage over the bleeding, Dorian’s dad agreed to fix the stupid wood post. I bet it only took five minutes to cut a new post and stick the sign back up. The guy stared daggers at me the whole time. He flipped me off even as Dorian’s dad took us out for ice cream sundaes.

The weekend before the election neither my folks nor Dorian’s let us watch TV. The news and ads were wretched. Both pointed fingers at the other. News reported attacks on politicians on both sides. Each side blamed the other for the incidents. The guy across the street from Dorian flipped me off as I walked up to the door. It was then I saw it. The jerk had a gun in his hand.

He didn’t point it at me, but the look on his face told me he wanted to. I thought about telling Dorian’s parents. But saying nothing worked at school so I figured it would be the same now. The stupid election was only a few days away. Then it would be over. At least that is what Mom said. Me, I just wanted things back to normal, as in no more bad blood over who was the wrong guy. I was certain Dorian, Benson, and Chandler would be back at ‘our’ lunch table. We would talk about the upcoming school dance. We’d exchange good-natured jabs about who we wished we were brave enough to ask to dance and joke about the fact none of us had a clue on how to dance.

Well, not true. We could do the Just Dance games. Chandler always beat us. I miss that now.

I really thought things were calmer the day before and the day of the election. There were the two sides and a few of us in the middle. Everyone kept to their ‘sides’. There were a few insults and accusations exchanged, but no fights. At least none that I saw. There were rumors though. But it was school; there were always rumors.

The day after the vote was something I will never forget. The vote was too close to call. Tensions were in the air. From the way it sounded, the same held true all across the country. Both sides were saying the election was rigged. Almost no one accepted defeat. Only a few places, where results were so overwhelming to one side or other was victory a thing.

Then that evening word come across of a truck loaded with ballots. It was on every TV, over the radio, everywhere. Honestly, I don’t even know if it was for our election here. But the truck had flipped, burned, and scattered burning ballots all over. There was no hiding it. Helicopters took pics. People held up half-burned unreadable ballots. People on both sides claimed foul.

Moods turned ugly in our neighborhood. That night signs of everyone from the local school board to the national office were burned. Some signs were taken and thrown through windows. A few signs were thrown, burning, through windows. By morning smoke hung in the air. Mom didn’t want me to go to school, but after Covid and finally being free, I wanted to go. She reluctantly agreed.

I went to Dorian’s. I couldn’t get there. The fire department had blocked the street. The duplex across the street, the one with the sign I tripped over, was on fire. Both sides. Police had tape up. Dorian appeared from behind me. He was badly shaken up. “Can we go back to your house?”

I responded. “Let’s just go to school.”

“Dad says I shouldn’t but it’s up to me, so yeah…” Dorian let out an uneasy breath. “As long as I’m away from home.”

“Why?” I remember asking.

His answer was something like this. “The old guy across the street went nuts last night. He caught the other duplex owner pulling up his sign. He shot her. Her husband shot back. A couple of others came out and picked sides. I bet there were a couple of dozen shots. Maybe more. A couple of shots hit dad’s truck. Another came in my sister’s window. Broke the mirror. Glad she wasn’t home.”

Dorian was breathing hard, shaking. I put my arm around him. He had tears on his cheeks but wasn’t crying. Not really. Just some tears.

He calmed as we walked across the field toward the school. Firetrucks screamed by. Sirens were seemingly everywhere.

Both of us noticed there were few cars in the lot. Police had the access to the gym blocked. The drop-off box for ballots was off to the side, mangled. A car with a badly bent bumper and a crumpled hood was not far away. As we got closer, we could see the main doors to the gym were hanging open. The left was dangling by a single hinge. We tried for a closer look, but a female police officer showed us and several others away, toward the main door of the school.

We entered looking at others. There weren’t many of us. My first class had six other kids and no teacher. We combined classes. It turned into a study hall, but one of the English teachers allowed us to talk under the condition it was not about the election. The next class was the same. This time I sat next to Dorian. We both noted neither Chandler nor Benson was there. They should have been since we all had the same class. It was at this point we noticed a couple of girls looking down at their cell phones. We glanced at ours. There were no bars. No one had reception. No one.

It was during second period the cops took off with sirens blaring. We moved to the window and watched. The damaged car and ballot box were taped off. We could barely make out that the door to the gym was covered with plywood, but there were no police left. The teachers moved us to the auditorium where there were no windows. Everyone in the school was moved there. They started out keeping us divided by grade, but that ended just before lunch as older brothers and sisters sought out younger ones.

Questions started to be asked. There were no answers at first.

We moved to the cafeteria as a group. A few kids took off. No one stopped them. Lunch was makeshift. Most of the cooking people didn’t come in. I think the Home Economics teacher and Band teacher helped, cause they were both on the serving line. It was hamburgers and fries. Odd, since it wasn’t the day for them and there was not a no-meat option.

Someone broke out the Friday chocolate cake and fruit cup alternatives. We were allowed to come back for seconds. There was no cashier. Everything was free. It caused more questions.

Finally, as we sat and talked, getting more and more nervous over being confined to the cafeteria, Mr. Blanchard came in with a TV.

Again, the words are not exact, but close. “We’re officially under lockdown kids,” He announced with a scrunched brow. “No one goes home. The election is over and out of our hands, so I expect things to remain civil as I put this up. Any fighting, even verbal will be dealt with harshly.”

The TV came on. Downtown appeared on the screen. The feed was clearly from a helicopter. Buildings were on fire. Lines of police cars had blocked access to areas. Many of the cars were also on fire. The camera panned around. It showed bodies lying on the street. The reporter’s voice was distorted, but it was a woman and she was panicked.

The angle changed. It showed the interstate. I recognized it. It was the overpass exit where we turned off to take the bridge over to go to the stadium. There were military vehicles, only military vehicles on the interstate. None were moving. The reason was clear. The big bridge to the stadium was down, lying across the entire interstate. Some of the military vehicles poked out from under the ruins.

The camera panned further back. A second bridge, I think it was the exit off the north-south interstate to the east-west. It was also down. It had the bulk of the military vehicles trapped between. While the camera didn’t zoom in, it was obvious several buildings burned close to the stadium.

The camera continued to scroll over the skyline. The view switched to another helicopter. I recognized the local community college. It was only a mile from my house and even closer to the school. Several buildings were on fire. I know there were gasps all around. I was one of them. Several kids bolted for the doors.

“Kids, stay here!” Mr. Blanchard’s voice boomed. “You are safe here!”

Some listened. Others didn’t. No one moved to stop those who fled.

“I’ll keep this going so you all know what is going on, but there is no need to panic. I have been in contact with the mayor. She is sending some protection and we have plenty of food here. I have also talked to the staff. A few of us are going to stay until this emergency is over, no matter how long.”

Not sure how long. Three women and two men came in. All had uniforms, badges, and guns. But they weren’t from our police. Two of the women made their way around to the eighty or so of us left. They got our names, phone numbers of our parents, and our addresses. They said they would let our folks know we were safe. The whole time the TV continued to show horrible images.

Neighborhoods were on fire. There were scenes of people shooting at each other. One of the news helicopters was even shot at. Another meal was served. By nightfall, there were less than fifty of us left. Sounds of gunfire could be heard outside even though we had no windows. The power went out. Emergency lighting took over.

My phone read 3:16. I know because I looked at it the second the fire alarm sounded. We were rushed out of the building. We emerged into a biblical description of hell. The main building was on fire. The gym was fully engulfed. Across the street, two houses were ablaze, and flames flickered on the roofs of a couple of others. I looked over at Dorian, “I got to check on Mom, Dad, and Jinx!”

Dorian nodded, “Me too! We’ll meet at the park, the back side of the lake!”

Both of us took off. I think I heard Mr. Blanchard telling everyone to stay together. Something about help coming. I didn’t care. Looking back, I don’t think I believed him. I doubt he believed himself.

I got to my street but stopped cold. And I mean it, my blood seemed to freeze. I could see my dad’s truck ablaze. Someone was hanging out of the passenger door. I heard gunshots. At least I think I did. But I did nothing. I was frozen in place.

Without warning, I was taken off my feet. I hit the ground hard. I think I shouted and pushed, but it did no good. Someone much bigger, stronger, and tougher was on top of me. I didn’t stand a chance. A deep voice told me to stop fighting. I didn’t listen. Something hit me on the side of the head hard. I saw bright white, then nothing.

I woke. It was daylight. My head throbbed. It was cold. Stupid cold. I tried to touch my head, but couldn’t. It took me a while to realize my hands were secured behind my back. I struggled for a bit. It got colder as a blanket I didn’t realize was covering me fell from around my shoulders.

A man came into my line of sight. He had a military uniform on. He held up a hand with a bloody bandage wrapped around his pinky and index fingers. “Chill, kid. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

I blinked as he pulled the blanket back over me. It wasn’t until then I realized I was shivering. He gave me a drink out of his canteen and patted me on the shoulder. I was terrified, but there was something in his eyes. A kindness. Caring. It allowed me to calm down. I know it was me, my voice, but it sounded hollow, empty. And my jaw hurt as I talked. I had a loose tooth way off to the right side of my mouth. It wiggled and hurt when I pushed on it with my tongue.

The guy noticed. Must have been a flash of pain across my face. He called over another guy, Sergeant Murphy. Can’t make that one up. Murphy. Wasn’t long before I was calling him Murph like all the others. Anyway, he came over and took a look. With a quick yank of needle nose plyers, my tooth came free. It was a molar, the last baby tooth in my head. I was assured it was probably already loose, but if it wasn’t it would have come out soon. Regardless, it hurt.

Murph made sure I wasn’t going to fight or run, then cut the strings on my hands. Shoestrings I realized as I rubbed my wrists.

He handed me a brown plastic pouch with MRE written on the front. Basically, it was a full meal in a pack. I had to eat it with the left side of my mouth. It was dry, kind of nasty, but I was hungry. As I ate my head cleared. A look around told me I was in a makeshift shelter. A medic area. There were over a dozen men and women lying on sleeping bags with bandages on. I also realized for the first time the back of my right shoulder hurt. I tried to look but couldn’t see what the problem was. A reach over with my left hand allowed me to feel a bandage.

Murph took note. Told me to leave it alone. Said he thought I got grazed by a bullet.

I tried to go out from under the huge green tarp stretched over some fallen trees but was stopped by one of the women who had her arm and side bandaged. “Got snipers in the area, son. Stay put.”

I checked my back pocket. My cell was gone. I asked. No one knew anything about it. But was told phones were down so I couldn’t call anyone.

I was in the shelter for two maybe three days. I got a couple of the MREs a day, but I was hungry. I started to help as new injured arrived. I had no idea what I was doing, but Murph showed me some basics. It wasn’t long before I could tie a decent bandage. That night there was a huge fight. I worked all night putting on bandages. I saw things I don’t think I will ever get out of my head that night. A missing arm and holes all the way through a leg. A badly torn-up face from what I was told was a nearby grenade. I puked a couple of times.

I think it was sometime during the seventh day a couple more kids were brought in. Both were close to my age. They were filthy, nearly starved, and frozen. I didn’t know either of them. Pretty sure they didn’t go to my school. I did what I could to help them, but could tell food was running low. There was talk. Never to me, but I heard enough to know many supplies were running low. I heard a few mumblings about more useless mouths to feed.

The next morning, I went to talk to Murph. He assured me I was doing my part. The soldiers in his platoon were grateful for my help in the med area, but he said if I wanted to do more there was a way. It was dangerous and I was young. Too young in his opinion. I kept on him, so as night fell he finally took me to a tall thin guy with a silver bar on his collar. Everyone called him Ell Tee, His nametag read Rhinothermon. I remember instantly, yet silently, agreeing Ell Tee sounded a whole lot better.

Murph told Ell Tee I was too young and was a great help in the med tent. Ell Tee gave a nod and dismissed Murph with a flip of the wrist. He then asked me all sorts of questions. Much was about how well I knew the area. But he also wanted to know which guy I supported, and which guy my mom and dad supported in the election. It took a while to satisfy him that I didn’t care and never did. He seemed annoyed to hear my mom and dad didn’t vote, but finally, he let out a sigh and shrugged it off. He wasn’t done with the questions, though. They went back to how well I knew the area.

He also wanted to know if I knew how to fight, shoot, and sneak. I told the truth. I lived in the same house my whole life. I rode my bike miles and knew all the stores, parks, alleys, name it. Dorian and I explored every place we could get away with. Many we shouldn’t have which included an adult store… or two. As far as fighting, no, but my granddad taught me to shoot a .22 and 410. I could also shoot a bow. I loved bow shooting.

This made me think of Dorian for the first time in a few days. Our first meeting was at an archery range. He took first. I took second in the under-eight age group. When we found out we lived only blocks from each other. A friendship was cemented. When middle school started, we finally got to go to the same school. We signed up for the exact same classes hoping to have them all together. Didn’t work, but we had three together. But I am back off into left field again, huh?

So to get back on track, Ell Tee said I was going to be the youngest to go out. He thought I could help. We made our way across the tree line to another area. We had to duck a few times as we heard gunshots, but they were distant. We spent another two hours in a trench with five men and two women as machinegun fire was exchanged between a pair of military trucks and a bunch of men. As daylight broke, the two sides withdrew. Those in the trench with us were told to go scrounge.

This was the first time I could see outside the woods. The early morning light allowed me to see. I realized it was the west side of the park. I could see the lake I was supposed to meet Dorian at. There was the wreckage of a helicopter half in the water and a pair of mostly burned military trucks not far from the road. I could also see the grocery store complex. Or at least what was left of it. The whole place looked like it had been crunched by a giant’s foot. Only a single sign stood. It was Burrito Castle. The lower half of a burrito-man with a toothy smile was missing. The left eye was also missing.

It made me wonder about old man Martinez who owned the place. He was a nice man, and his place had the best breakfast burritos.

I was taken to the hill overlooking what used to be a dock for peddle boat rentals. The dock was gone. The concession stand still stood, but didn’t have a window left. The walls had dozens of bullet holes. I was taken by surprise. There were bags filled with dirt and sand on the backside of the hill. A cave had been dug out. It looked like railroad ties had been put in place to brace up the door and ceiling. Honestly, it was a good place for a fort since the entrance could only be seen from part of the lake. I also discovered what had happened to most, if not all of the peddle boats. They had been dragged up the hill and filled with dirt to make a series of walls the soldiers could take cover behind.

I guess this is when it dawned on me the entire world I knew was now a battlefield. Inside the main cave, I found scores of signs and bumper stickers for one of the people talked about in all the commercials only a precious few days ago. I also realized all of those in uniforms had one of his pins somewhere on their uniforms. I didn’t have to ask. I could tell these were his supporters.

Supplies, mostly used stuff, in a back area were dug through. A light grayish camouflaged uniform with JROTC over the left pocket of the shirt was held up to me. A patch on the right shoulder said East Highschool. I never heard of it, so it wasn’t close to my house. I knew both the local ones and a few on the outskirts of my bicycle range. None were East High.

The woman gave a nod and had me change. They even found some undershorts and brown teeshirts for me. It was embarrassing, but I changed right there in front of like six men and women. Next came a pack of three crew socks and tan military-like boots. Made me glad my feet were big since I was given the smallest size they had and they fit, with a bit of room to spare. An extra pack of three socks was handed over so I could double up and have changes. This worked with the slightly too-large boots.

Next, I was given a belt with a canteen, a small pouch with a small first aid kit, a belt knife, and another pouch with three small ten-shot magazines for a collapsible .22 rifle and a full box of fifty .22 bullets. The rifle came next. It came straight out of a sealed box with the logo of a local sporting and fishing store on the outside and had two more magazines with it.

The Ell Tee had a woman, Corporal Genzel, take me back out to one of the trenches. She talked me through assembling, cleaning, oiling, and basic care. She then had me shoot all the bullets they gave me. She talked over safety, and finally nodded approval. We went back into the cave place. I was given a pin, a cadet private pin, they replaced all the bullets and gave me an extra box of fifty shots. Last was a backpack with some gun oil, cleaning rods, patches, and a couple of MREs. I was told to put another pin on my right breast pocket. It was a pin showing I supported the same guy as the rest of them. I tied to wave it off, but the men and women gave me a stern look. I pinned it on without another word.

I was taken over the hill to another small trench covered with a drab green tarp with lots of leaves on it. I didn’t even notice what it was until Corporal Genzel pulled on one corner before I realized it was even there. Inside were nine other kids. All were older than me and wore East High JROTC uniforms. One even had the start of a mustache.

Corporal Genzel introduced me to the kid who probably was a high school linebacker or something, Brett. She told Brett I knew the area and I was his fifth. He didn’t look happy. I then got a quick talking to about rank. Brett was the highest. A lieutenant. I was the lowest. A private. She then told us to get some rest. They needed us out as soon as it got dark.

I could tell I was the odd one out. No one wanted me on the team. Everyone had at least two years on me, probably more. The other group of five talked about me getting one or all of them dead. It was a miserable day. I was told over and over if I got any of them killed the others would shoot me.

As daylight faded, the other nine got nervous. They checked guns. Most had .22s like me, but only I had a collapsible one. A few had bigger guns. Brett had a pistol and a shotgun. Genzel came in the moment the sun fully faded from sight. “OK pack-ratters, get ready. Team two you know the far side of the store complex and what you’ve covered. It’s yours. Team one, you lost Stacy. With her gone, none of you know this area other than what you’ve covered. Abercrombie, here, says he knows the area. Let him lead to where there may be goodies. He’s new. Keep him alive or I’ll send your butts out during the day next time!”

At this Brett’s eyes went wide. I think he even whimpered. He moved up and looked down. Much of the meanness was gone. He took a deep breath and told me we were pack-ratters. It was our job to go out into the surrounding area and find anything of use and bring it back. Food, guns, and ammo were primary targets. Warm clothing, medicine, and bandages were also high on the list. But anything we thought might be useful was better than nothing. He pulled out a map with lines through some close-in areas.

It showed where they had searched. He went on to say stores were empty. It was down to searching houses, cars, other businesses, whatever we could think of. He then pointed. “OK, local boy, where too?”

I looked at it. They hadn’t gotten remotely close to my house. But was closer to Dorian’s. Then the thought hit me. I pointed to a public storage complex only three blocks from Dorian’s. “Have you checked here?”

There was an uneasy silence. One of the girls, Patty, shook her head. “That like a mile and a half, kid.”

I nodded, “I know but a couple of my friends’ parents store stuff there including camping gear….”

“Probably been looted,” Brett stated. “But if we want to stay as a priority for the food we need to do better, so we give it a shot. But it’s a long way and there’s no easy way…”

I pointed to a spot on the back side of the park lake. “If we can get flashlights, it’ll be easy. There is a ditch here. It empties into the lake. Just up from it, there is a long tunnel. I know the turns to get us up right here. I pointed to a bridge over a street a block away from the storage place. “Can’t do it for hours or even days after a rain, but it’s been dry…”

Brett looked me square in the eyes. “You sure?”

“Uh-huh!” I nodded. “You and…” I pointed to a kid found out was named Granger, “him will probably have to duck or crouch a few times, but the rest of us can walk standing up. There’s a few rats and lots of roaches down there though.”

“Two weeks ago I’d be grossed out,” Patty snickered. “I’ll grab us some light.”

An hour in, I got shot again. I heard the cracks, the echoes in the tunnel, and the bullets smack into the concrete above and to the right side. Patty pushed me down. Behind me, Brett went flat on his stomach and fired. The roar of his shotgun was nearly deafening. Granger cursed about getting rock chips in his face, but also returned fire as he dropped to a knee.

Behind us, a girl by the name of Katie moved around the corner to get out of the line of fire. She called out “I got our backs!”

I was too scared to do anything other than curl up. My ears rang as multiple shots were fired. I heard a cry of pain from up in front of us. Then a second and third. “OK! OK! You win!” a girl’s voice called out. I think she said something else or maybe it was her second time shouting about giving up. My ears rang too badly to know for sure.

Brett and Patty moved up cautiously. Granger stayed down on a knee with his rifle up. Brett ordered the girl to turn on her light, and play it over the area, but not point it at him. She must have done as instructed. There was no more fighting. Brett called out an all-clear.

Granger pulled me to my feet and wiped tears and snot from my face with his sleeve. “Same thing I did the first time. “But you got a gun for a reason. You need to use it. Now pull yourself together before Brett sees you.”

I nodded understanding with shaking knees. I didn’t trust myself to say anything.

We moved up. Three teens were not moving. A fourth was writhing around in pain. Two others, A girl and a kid from my school by the name of Richard were down on their knees, hands up. Both had pins on their right breast pockets with the name of the guy who ran against the name on the pin on my pocket. They were dressed almost the same as us, but patches said they were from Oakfield High. It was another school I had never heard of.

Brett ripped the pins off their shirts and stomped on them while Patty took everything they had… everything. At least Granger moved up to the teen rolling back and forth on the ground and put a bandage on his right hip.

We divided their weapons, ammo, and a couple of dozen cans of canned food they had with them between us.

At some point, Richard looked directly at me, “You lied. You support the wrong guy…”

He didn’t get out more. The butt of Brett’s rifle smashed into his back he fell face first screaming. Brett kicked Richard in the side, “NO! You support the wrong guy, dickweed!”

He started to kick Richard again but was pulled back by Granger. “Dude, he’s a little kid.”

“Who shot at us!” Brett snarled but backed off. “Take their boot laces and tie ‘em.”

As I begrudgingly did as I was told, purposefully tying Richard's hands loose enough to where I hoped he could slip his wrists out with some work, Brett panned his shotgun over the three still living. He warned them next time he would kill them. We left them. Stranded with no packs, no guns, deep in the sewer tunnel, with no lights. I still wonder if they made it out.

Brett was basically right about the self-storage place. It had been looted. But we found more than enough to fill our packs. We came across a flipped over car as we circled back to the tunnel. It was still smoking. A trio of men moved on it from the far side of the road.

Brett had us fire at the group from behind a mangled bus stop. They fired back but were in the open. A couple of bullets pinged off the bench and posts around us. It was then I shot at someone for the first time. The figure I fired at dropped a rifle, grabbed the left shoulder, and back peddled. Whoever it was didn’t stay up long. He, at least I think it was a he, was knocked back. I bet from Brett’s shotgun. The second one fell a moment later.

The third fled while shooting at us. There was a crack from Katie’s rifle. The figure fell and started to crawl. Granger fired. The figure went limp.

We stayed put for what seemed like forever. My hands trembled. Brett patted me on the back. He said something about a good shot, and I got one. He told me to move up with Granger and check the car while he and Patty cleared the three lying on the street.

There was a body in the car. Granger had me keep watch while he checked it out. He came back with a police belt including a gun, club, taser, handcuffs, and full magazines for the gun. We all went back to the car to really go over it. The trunk had a backpack with lots of survival stuff, and a couple of cases of soup. Even though our packs were full we managed to take it all. We went back through the tunnel. The three dead bodies from the fight earlier were still there, but there was no sign of Richard or the other two.

Brett had us stop once we saw the exit to the ditch. He had us each drink a can of soup and we shared a box of snake cakes while we each drank a can of soda we found inside the storage place.

It was then Brett gave me a real grin. “You know your stuff. Bet they make a pack-ratter squad leader out of you. If they do, remember to stop. Always let your squad eat some of what you find, even if you eat everything you find before you get back. We are in a meal priority line, but not at the top.

And so it went. Night after night. I lost count. We went out, always through the tunnels. Thanks to Dorian, Benson, and Chandler, I knew them far better than my mom and dad would have ever wished. The other good thing was the tunnels were warm, at least warm compared to the nighttime temps.

Most nights we came back with odds and ends. A few nights we hit ‘pay dirt’ and had good meals before we came back to the camp. We got shot at and shot back at least ten times. Most of the time it was random people, but twice we ended up in fights with opposing pack-ratters. Brett, Katie, and Granger were good at the fighting stuff, so we won both times. Like the first, we took all their stuff, tied up the living, and left them. At some point, I started thinking of them as being for the wrong guy.

Patty took a bullet a couple of weeks in. She was replaced by Morgan, a girl slightly older than me. Brett turned eighteen a week or two after. He was brought into the military as an adult. Granger took over. It was shortly after when all of squad two vanished. Probably killed, maybe captured, or possibly even ran. No one knows. Probably never will.

The next morning seven new kids, a few my age, were brought to the camp. All had JROT uniforms and guns. Most .22 rifles. Ell Tee gave Granger his pick of one of us. He picked Katie. He put me in charge of squad two, over Morgan. She wasn’t happy. Granger got four of the new kids. I got three my age. Nick, Bobby, and Sandy. All had been Pack-ratters for a military company to the south that got overrun. None knew the area.

I kept the tunnels as mine. Granger took over the area on the far side of where the grocery store had been and all the way down to the train yards.

The new kids had not been treated as good as I had been. They were also like I was the first time I went out. Scared. As they talked, I realized why. Well, probably not everything, but I figured out at least part of the reason. They had been going into houses. It was something we did, but tried to do as little as possible. Houses were dangerous. Some were still lived in. Those inside knew them. We didn’t. It was how Patty got shot.

The problem was we were running out of other targets. Making matters worse, our guy’s side was losing ground. At least close to the city. Word had it, we were doing way better to the north, but we had been cut off from any outside supplies. There was going to be an attempt to break us out so we could link up with the main force, but bad weather, snow, and ice were holding the ‘attack’ up.

A few days with little to no food was enough to convince me to go into the houses. I decided to start out with those I knew. Benson’s and Dorian’s were both close. So was mine, but the mental picture of someone hanging out of my dad’s burning truck prevented me from going back. Someday, I told myself. But not today, or tomorrow… just someday.

We got jumped four houses from Benson’s house. It was my fault. I got eager. There was the stupid hope my friend would somehow be there. I walked us right into an ambush. Nick got hit and fell. I fired at someone as they shot at Morgan. Morgan ran. I tossed my almost full pack back to Bobby and told him and Sandy to fall back. I shot at gun flashes to buy them time.

I worked myself over to Nick. Dead eyes stared up at me. Blood ran down from a bullet just above the right temple. Headshot. He died before he knew he’d been hit. It made me mad. I grabbed his gun and bullets. It took a few minutes to crawl around to the side of the house two away from Benson’s.

Three figures stood and darted to box-in where I had last shot from. I fired. One fell. One dove back behind the house. The third froze. I lined up an easy shot and fired again. The head snapped back. The body folded. “For Nick,” I snarled.

I rolled behind the house. A couple of bullets tried to follow. They both hit the frozen ground just behind my boots. A third came so close I felt it. It nicked the heal of my right boot

At this point, I had the house for cover, so I sprinted and scrambled over the chain link fence that led to Benson’s house. I didn’t stop. I charged into the and through the already shattered back sliding glass door. Regardless of the cold, I was sweating. However, now I had the advantage. I was in a house I knew almost as well as I knew my own.

“In there!” I heard a voice shout.

“Screw this, sergeant, a voice I took as an older teen boy shouted back. He took down at least three of us!”

“Which means he is a danger to all our pack-ratter teams! Take what’s left of your team in the front. We’ve got the back and windows on the east side!”

Letting me know the plan was horrible. I half wondered if it was a code to do something else. But I was alone, so I went with option one, the man shouting orders was an idiot who didn’t care about the kids under him. I scrambled up the stairs.

The master bedroom and bathroom window on the east side were to my left. There was only one place I could think of someone could cover the window and have anything to hide behind. The shed. I put my belly on the sink, my rifle pointed out and down. There was enough moonlight for me to see breath. It came from right where I expected. I lined up and waited. It was only a few seconds before a head poked out from behind the shed to get a better look. I didn’t even have to adjust aim, I fired. The figure spun and let out a howl. He was completely in the open. I left him there and readied another shot. A second figure ran up to grab him. I fired again.

Both men fell. I put another bullet into each and darted back down the steps. A figure fired at me from the front door. I fired back. We both missed. Another person entered the house. It was a perfect silhouette in the moonlight. I took the easy shot. The person stumbled back, hands to the chest. The other person in the house fired at me. I felt the bullet tear through my coat sleeve, but there was no pain. I continued down the steps and rolled behind the stove island in the kitchen. A bullet hit a pan hanging above. I heard it bounce off at least two other pans or maybe the refrigerator.

I rolled from behind the kitchen island and fired where I thought the bullet came from. I hit the couch. A bullet smacked the floor beside me and sent bits of tile into my hand.

I rolled in the other direction, but I had an advantage. I knew the refrigerator door opened out and would give me something to hide behind. Whoever was ready for me to roll. A bullet sliced across my side. It burned like crazy, but I got to the door of the fridge and yanked it open. Two more shots hit the fridge. One went through the door but missed me.

I dropped and fired as another bullet smacked into the door above me. The flash let me see where the bullet came from, I fired back. The person recoiled and let out a cry of pain. My blood went cold. I knew the voice.

“Dorian?” I called out hoping, praying I was wrong. A pain-filled voice responded. “Abercrombie?”

I dropped the rifle and ran to Dorian he had both hands on his chest. I cradled his head. “No! NO! I Didn’t know! Oh god, NO!”

Dorian reached up with a bloody hand and wiped at my tears. He forced a smile even as blood leaked out of the side of his mouth. Coughed, but managed to speak. “Good shot. Should… should have known it was someone who knew the house as good… as me…” Another cough sent blood splatter across my cheek. “Love ya, buddy.”

I cradled his head and kissed him on the forehead. “Love you too! I do. I’m so sorry!”

“Not… Not your fault.” His hand tapped my pin, then his. He wore the other pin. “It’s… it’s not on you… It’s on them… I guess…” He forced another breath, his last, and managed to gasp out. “Both are the wrong guy.”