Dividing the Nation

Prolougue

My name is Jeffery Wagner, and I don't remember much about life before the war. All I remember is our old city. And mom. We lived in an apartment on the top floor of a building in San Francisco, California. It had an amazing view that looked over the whole city. It made me feel free to sit in the window and watch the people below you. My favorite part of life, though, was mom. The way she talked to me made me feel loved, and she always knew how to make me happy. But that was when I was a little 10 year old boy, with no worries. I'm 15 now. When the war began, it changed us all. It started when I was 13, but it didn't affect us much. It was more in the southeastern areas. We watched on the news as the Second Civil War, they called it, played out. It was a battle between three sides, all with different political views. But after a year of just watching it on the news, it came to us. I was only 11.
Me and my mom were down at the docks when a large bang sounded behind us and the bomb sirens started wailing. My mom rushed me down streets to get back home, telling me all the while that everything would be okay. But when we were only a block or two away from home, we saw them. A large convoy of trucks has coming our way, all with machine guns on them. They each had a symbol of two crossed swords on the hood. The sign for the Defenders. They were the army that started this whole thing, claiming that the American freedom had been destroyed. But all they wanted was power. Everyone knew that. They came closer, and then we saw some solders running behind them, with other people being dragged along. But they weren't soldiers. They were citizens. I recognized one of them as my moms friend. She ran up to the soldiers and I followed behind. I could tell we were both scared.
When we reached them, they yelled for us to back up, but mom didn't listen. "Let those people go!" She yelled. She pushed the soldiers out of the way. "Mom, no!" I screamed, but it was too late they had forced her down on her knees, and had a gun on her forehead. "We do this to defend our country!" The soldier yelled. Then he pulled the trigger. I don't remember even hearing anything. I just saw mom jolt then fall. I ran up to her and dragged her into an alley. "Mom, can you hear me?" I asked, "Are you okay?" My mom slowly blinked. "Jeff, my boy," she whispered, almost inaudible, "just know I will always love you. I'll be happy where I'm going. You're father is there too. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Just take care of yourself." A tear rolled down my cheek as I looked into her eyes. "I love you too." I whispered. And with that, she took a long breath, and stopped breathing altogether. I stood and stared at her body for a long time before returning to the apartment, where I collected some money, camping supplies, and clothes and miscellaneous items. That night I buried her body in our churches graveyard, with a stick as the burial marker. I just stood there and cried for a long time, regardless of time. I finally got ahold of myself and headed out of the city. I didn't know where to go, just somewhere away from the war. But that was two years ago.
Today I live in a small hut I made in the woods in southern Montana. I'm 13 now, and my life isn't much. But at least I'm alive. And that's what mom wanted, right? So here I am. Waiting. For something. Anything.