The Persistence of Memory: America Under Attack

Part Nineteen

Uncle Hank's house in Elgin SC.

I sat up in the comfortable king-sized bed, straining to hear the sound that had jolted me from my sleep. Three months had passed since the Others had parked their ship in Earth's orbit, and I was still alive. I had fallen into a lonely routine at the house I had inherited from my uncle. I ate and drank as little as possible from the preserved food supplies and sealed water drums. Instead, I set snares for rabbits and squirrels, drank from the well, and fished in the pod and the creek. I had seen plenty of deer, a wild pig, and even some goats, but I let them all go. I didn't know how to smoke or preserve meat, and I wasn't lacking for protein in my diet.

I had even explored and looted the homes of the nearest neighbors, finding them all either abandoned or occupied by corpses. I made myself comfortable, promising, of course, to relinquish ownership on the happy occasion of Uncle Hank's return. But that day hadn't come.

In the dim pre-dawn light of the morning, distant thunder rumbled into my room. I always enjoyed a good thunderstorm. It only took a moment to realize that the rumble wasn't coming from a storm. The pattern was too distinct.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Pause. Boom Boom Boom.

I had heard a similar noise the previous time I stayed in this house, too. Back then it had come from the artillery range at Fort Jackson. About thirty minutes into the concert, the distinct sound of a helicopter joined in.

"Woo Hoo!" I screamed in utter joy. It was the loudest noise I had made since coming here, and definitely the happiest. It meant that I wasn't the only survivor. Someone had organized the army, salvaged some machinery, and they were fighting back! Correction: We were fighting back.

The sounds of battle stopped as the helicopter's noise faded to nothing. The excitement stayed with me all day as I organized weapons and supplies into manageable packs in case I needed to grab them and make a quick escape.

Two nights later, I was awoken by the sound of automatic weapons firing. This time, it wasn't an echo from many miles away. It was close. Maybe even on the property. Another burst answered the first, so close it could have been right outside my window.

"Got a key?" a man asked. It HAD come from right outside. My window was directly above the side door to the garage.

"Yeah, I have a key," a different voice answered. Two heavy thuds struck the door, and on the third it burst open.

"Get inside," the second voice said. "Down stairs. Door on the right. I'll knock three times before I come in."

I knew that voice. It was Uncle Hank. He was interrupted by another burst of gunfire. I risked a peek through the window and saw muzzle flash up the hill on the far side of the driveway. Bullets hit the garage door right below me.

Another flash came from farther back on the left, and a third over the top of the bass boat.

My clothes were laid out for the next day, so I dressed in the dark as quickly as I could. I was pulling my boots on when I heard someone running up the stairs. I didn't want to make a lot of noise, but I didn't want to get shot, either, so I called out.

"Uncle Hank, it's Thomas. I'm in your bedroom. Don't shoot. It's Thomas."

The footfalls stopped. "Come to the door and open it slowly. No lights, and hands in the air or you die."

"Ok, I'm coming. I can't see, but I'm coming. I'm opening the door now."

I turned the handle and pulled the door open a crack. I put my hands in the air and opened it the rest of the way with my foot.

The dark shape of a man I assumed was my uncle stood before me. A dim green light came from something on his head, and something else glowed in his hand.

"Uncle Hank?" I said in a quiet voice. "It's Thomas. Who's shooting at us? Is it them? The Others?"

"Shut up" he said. "Keep your hands high and take two steps back."

I did as he said while he tapped on the glowing tablet in his hand. He exhaled and lowered his weapon. "I'm glad to see you, Tom. We'll have to catch up later. If you have anything you want to keep, grab it now. Where is everyone else? I don't want to shoot the wrong people."

"It's just me," I said. My eyes filled with tears as I said the words. Saying out loud made it real. It was just me. I was all that was left of my family. The thought hit me in the chest like a truck.

Uncle Hank grabbed my shoulder. "Save that for later. Stay right behind me. Hold on to my pack until you can see."

We went downstairs to his storage room, where my packs were ready to grab and go. He knocked three times on the wall. "My nephew is with me," Hank said. "He's clean, so don't shoot him."

"Copy," the man said.

"Mark, meet Thomas. Thomas, Mark. Kill the night vision for a sec." Uncle Hank flipped the sensor up on his goggles and turned on a battery powered lantern. He looked at his tablet device and turned in a circle, like he was scanning the room. "Grab all the ammo you can carry. That box has clips for the M16. Focus on those. We are out of here in one minute."

Hank went to the back of the room and pulled on one of the shelves, causing it to swing away from the wall like door on hinges. He shined his light behind it and revealed a small room with more weapons and ammunitions and metal safe door that looked like it belonged in a bank vault. He handed me an M-16 and a couple of extra magazines. And interrupted me before I could say I didn't know how to shoot it.

"Sling it over your shoulder and use the twelve gauge for now. I'll show you how to use this one later. Mark, I want you to go out the basement door, down to the creek. Cross at the bridge on the left and high-tail it to the green bunker on the paintball course. We'll have the home field advantage there. Thomas, you are with Mark. I'll hang back and cover you. Take this. I'll get another one."

He removed his night vision goggles and showed me how to activate them, then Mark and I were running across the back yard. We were almost to the woods when they saw us and opened fire.