"What is to come?"


(submitted to Authonomy - FFF - Apocalypse!!!! - Final week in horror month, October 28, 2011)

‘If only that truck driver had paid attention, I wouldn’t be stuck in this . . . this God awful contraption for the rest of my life . . .’ “I’m only 43 and dead from my waist down . . . DAMN HIM,” pushing myself backwards from my cluttered computer desk. Staring back at it, the piles of papers, scribbled notes, empty coffee cup and pill vials looked back at me. The house was a wreck, the roof leaked and the septic didn’t work, I couldn’t fix it, I had no money; even if I did, I couldn’t do the repairs anyway. My disability kept me in this place with no way out.

The computer was my life after that truck broad-sided me. I shouldn’t have survived…I wish I hadn’t. But, I did and here I sit, watching the world fall apart around me. “Buzz . . . Buzz . . . ,” signaling another text message. It was from my son, ‘Mom . . . I Love You!!!’ was all it said. We hadn’t finished our conversation, but something was wrong, terribly wrong. Wheeling myself back to my laptop quickly, I ‘surfed the web’, opened my online TV and read the headlines. It had begun. Why didn’t anyone listen? Sheep to slaughter, that’s all it was; history repeating itself.

THUD . . . THUD . . . CRASH . . . “Find anyone here, hurry, we don’t have all night” came a voice from the front of the house. ‘I can’t hide . . . why are they here . . . I’ve done nothing wrong!!!’ Fumbling and destroying each room, the intruders quickly found me. Staring into my monitor, my cell buzzing away, I said nothing. A firm, strong hand grabbed my shoulder and forcibly turned me around to face them. “You are coming with us, Miss Weiss. It has been determined you are an enemy of the state,” the tallest mercenary stated. Dressed in all black, from his patent leather brimmed hat to his shiny boots, the one thing that stood out . . . a small pin proudly displayed on his lapel. “Lift her up, I’ll get what’s here . . . MOVE IT!!” another shouted. I slapped my own face, thinking this was all a dream, only to open my eyes to M16’s pointed at my head.

Snatched up, I was carried through what was left of my home and out into the yard. Idling in the street, a converted school bus, painted black, a whirling yellow light broke the darkness. One of the men opened the emergency door and two more grabbed me and hoisted my limp body into the vehicle. The seats were changed; they lined the sides of the bus now. Cramped together were others, scooped up by these madmen. “Do NOT talk to anyone!!” I was instructed firmly. ‘I knew these people, my neighbors . . . my friends . . . but WHY?’

Revving up the engine, the driver swiftly sped down the street out of the neighborhood. The interstate was crowded, but not with the usual traffic . . . only buses . . . THESE BUSES!!! At every exit, more would depart the caravan. Mine pressed on. For miles we travelled in silence and fear. Some turned to see where they were; could they tell in the pitch dark?

Up ahead, another exit and the bus slowed and came to a stop at the end of the ramp. “Chris . . . do you know what’s going on?” I whispered to my next-door neighbor sitting beside me. He didn’t reply, only shrugged his shoulders. I looked into his eyes, the happy-go-lucky man I knew had vanished. I looked around at the others; they all had the same look.

Riding on a few more miles, a well-lit complex appeared. Surrounded by eight-foot high cinderblock walls, barbed-wire and razor-ribbon the buildings were strangely familiar. ‘FEMA trailers . . . it was true . . . ALL OF IT!!!’ Pulling up to the entrance the driver stopped for inspection. Opening the side door, he handed the guard a clipboard filled to the max with paperwork. “OK, pass through, stop at the first building,” the guard instructed. Slowly the bus moved forward and stopped. Now the silence had turned into a low moaning. “Stand and prepare for unloading!!” the driver shouted. All but one did. Had I rose as instructed, I wouldn’t have been a target. “I said STAND, bitch!!” he shouted, glaring right at me.

“Sir, I can’t, I’m disabled, paralyzed from my waist down,” I replied. Suddenly I was shoved to stand and fell off the seat to the floor. “I CAN’T STAND. YOU ALREADY KNEW THAT . . . WHY DIDN’T YOU BELIEVE ME???” I screamed, my eyes filling with tears.

“Get her up . . . NOW” the driver replied, the disgust showing in his face. “She’ll be the last to go, get the others out of here and process them.” Everyone moved forward except me. ‘My heart is racing . . . my meds . . . I only have a few days worth in my pocket   . . .’

The bus was now vacant and I watched my friends through the window being led away. I looked at the buildings; they stretched out as far as the eye could see. The area was well lit and deserted but the buildings were dark. The driver slammed the side door shut and hit the gas. Quickly we passed the white aluminum structures, one by one, I lost track at fifty. The bus stopped, the door swung open and two men entered. “She’s back there, says she’s paralyzed. She wouldn’t stand when ordered. Take her, she’s ALL YOURS!” he stated with a vicious grin. They strode down the aisle, their boots clicking as they walked. “What’s your name?”

“Margaret Weiss, sir,” I softly replied. “What am I doing here, have I no rights??” more firmly stated.

The men laughed fanatically. “NO!! None at all and because of your ‘opposing’ voice, you never shall again. All those you have contact with will be confined as well, for your own good. Your cell phone and laptop have been confiscated for information to put you on trial . . . as a civilian TERRORIST!”

“BUT I’M NOT! This country was once the greatest on earth. Don’t you remember?? We had rights and liberties granted by the Constitution and Bill of Rights . . . ”

“Those days are gone . . . your precious country has fallen!” he said brusquely.

‘All my pink pills at once . . . YES . . . heart STOPS . . . this nightmare is OVER . . .’


© 2011 Gretchen Steen

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This is being submitted for the "Alliance of Worldbuilders" anthology