Eliot Strange and the Prince of the Apocalypse

49) Game Time

 I am at my assigned position. A typical place to be on a Friday night for a teenager except there is no game, and I am not in the stands cheering on my team. I am hiding. I am hiding up on the hill behind the concession stand on the visitors side. The place is lit up like it should be on a Friday night of the big game. The light has drawn others to watch to see what is going to happen. They have heard about it, but they do not believe it.

So many people do not believe their fate even when the rumors have a ring of truth. We deny, but there is a rule my dad taught me - Listen. There is always a hint of the truth in even the wildest rumor.

I watch and wait for the signal to begin the surprise attack. I am alone. I am patience. And I am breaking one of dad's rules.

This rule says no praying. Praying, like crying, will get you killed. No waiting on someone or something to rescue you. Help yourself. But, I can't help myself because I have another set of rules, and my new rules are the opposite of help only yourself: Rule one - Help others. Rule two - Leave no man behind. Rule three - Save the prince.

But, where is Torin? I look everywhere below me, but he is not here.

There is finally some activity in the end zone. A make-shift stage on wheels is rolled out. A sound system squeals on. How do these assholes always have power? It must be why they are winning. Everyone loves electricity. Everyone likes the power on. Control it, and you control the world.

"Testing, one, two, three."

Seriously, did the asshole really just say that? It feels like someone is getting ready to belt out the national anthem and then flip the coin. It almost seems normal. Except me and my colleagues and about a hundred gathered townspeople are getting ready to witness an execution or two or three. 

I sneak a glimpse at the gathered citizens. A few of them are our people intermingled in the crowd. The town people look haggard and hungry, but mostly curious and almost eager to see what happens next. While I should be angry at their compliance and complacency, I know I can't blame them. I was them not so long ago, just waiting in line for my share of the milk.

My fellow citizens of my hometown are as captured here as my about-to-be-executed friends.

I watch as the firing squad enters the end zone. Six soldiers marching like soldiers do with single-minded focus. I notice how clean and healthy and well fed they look. They look young and vibrant and like the winning team. They have a bounce in their step. Other soldiers follow. There seems to be more of them now than we counted earlier. 

A heads-down group of hostages arrive. My team on the field, made up of what is left of the Resistance, looks like they missed a meal or two even though I know they have been eating good lately. I guess all of Mr. Thomas's good food hasn't yet made up for months of starvation. Just as I think this, who do I see but my old neighbor, the fat bastard himself, Mr. Thomas.

He steps on stage and goes to the microphone and takes it from the warm up speaker. He clears his throat and begins with, "Thank you for coming tonight."

Seriously? This is not somewhere we want to be.

He continues, "The One Nation Army is finally here to liberate you. You are in for a treat later because our leader, General Kerry One Nation, will be arriving within the day. He is personally coming to take possession of an enemy of the people - Prince Torin Henry James Albert of Wales."

I look around. Most of those in attendance look almost bored, and like they don't care about a prince. They want to know about the post-execution food giveaway. I know they do because I have been in their shoes before.