Martial Law - The Tale of Samuel Turner

Chapter One -

Chapter One -

"Another day, another hell" I keep telling myself, hoping one day it'll give me some closure, comfort, anything. I remove the Mag from my Colt m1911, checking how many rounds were left. "Damnit. Only six left". A sigh escaped my lips, I wasn't in any position to fight, let alone take on a squad of several heavily armed men that appeared just over the horizon. I needed a plan, and fast. I check my six, my old Yamaha FZ1 propped up by the kickstand next to a rusted, beaten down shipping container labeled "Evergreen Marine Corp." I holster my pistol into the back of my jeans and creep my way towards my motorcycle. The sound of engines buzzed in my ears like sirens, warning me to evacuate. My heart is beating out of my chest, to the point it burns. I mount my bike, hardly making it on with my shaky legs. My fingers caress the ignition contemplating whether I should hightail it or stay and fight with what little I have.

"C'mon Sam, make a choice!" I ever so lovingly tell myself. I jolt my hand to the side, starting the bike as I kick down the kick bar, if this didn't work, I'm as good as gone. I throw on my helmet on and ride out of the hanger I was stationed at. Within an hour, my ass was out of dodge and on the road, safe from whoever was approaching me. I park next to a remote campground just off MO-94, 13 miles away from Jefferson City. The Cabins look old and worn down. Just my style. Picking the most stable of the several cabins. It has an old homey feel to it, everything was in one room. Except for the bathroom. The beds seemed basic but more comfortable than a sleeping bag and the dirt, so bitching can be saved for later. The kitchen was small but enough for one person, the living area was perfect for relaxing. Something that hasn't happened in a while.

After everything has been organized into its respective locations, I felt that some rest was in order. With my almost dead phone in hand, I put in my earbuds and drown out my demons to the sound of Queen. My eyes become heavy with the days of restlessness and adrenaline. For what feels like minutes, turned out to be a couple days. My eyes flutter open, hair tangled in my face, body sluggish and overly demanding its share of coffee which I yet have to make. I arise from my temporary coffin and make the dangerous, life threatening journey to the kitchen, nearly falling on the way. "Where the fuck is the coffee?" I look around the kitchen and my bag, no sign of my beloved Maxwell House Coffee.

"Must have left it back in North Riverdale, fuck" I shake my head at my stupidity. How could I forget my coffee? Either way, I'm just glad to be out of that mess. I strip down from dirty blue jeans and leather jacket, replacing them with a slightly cleaner pair of jeans and a t-shirt with just a few holes. I call it my "holy shirt". With that out of the way, I can focus on more important matters. I strip my bag of everything that didn't have a home yet, like clothes, bits of snacks and most importantly my box of .45 ACP. which did not have much in it to begin with. I run a finger through my hair, looking around the cabin. "Where to next..?" I grab my map off the floor and begin to follow the main highway through St. Louis into Columbia, which then leads to Kansas City, All checkpoints I need to hit for supplies. I circle the three cities with a sharpie and fold the map into my pocket, making some dried eggs with powdered milk. Yumm. After eating my Five-star meal, I was off yet again to hit my supply runs.

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The first place I visit is Columbia, a decent sized town with a college as their main icon. The Tiger. I stop off at a local Walmart for my well-needed coffee, dried foods, and basic snacks. As I walk through the store, I stumble across the hunting aisles. Knives, Rifles, shotguns, camping gear virtually everything you'd need. What's odd about this scene is that it's untouched, everything is on the shelves, in a neat, organized faction. On the plus side, more for me, on the down side, it could easily be a trap for a wanderer such as myself, yet I take the bait anyway. I slam my elbow into the revolving glass screen which was holding the shotguns in their rack. No alarm, no trigger system from what I could tell. From behind the counter, lays a box of 12g shells, perfect for my new Remington 1100. I load four shells into the gun and one into the chamber, feeling significantly more armed.

With that out of the way, I reach down to find a replacement for my m1911, since .45 ACP isn't exactly the easiest thing to find. I wrap my fingers around a Model 938 S&W just as a bone chilling piece of metal gets forced onto my neck.

"Drop the gun" A woman's voice demanded from behind

"You don't want to fight, just back off and I won't hurt you"

the sound of a gun cocking behind my head signals adrenaline through my body, I release the weapon as she spins me around, pointing the gun in between my eyes. Her wavy brown hair with her sky blue eyes feel oddly familiar for some reason, but I just shake the feeling off

"What do you want from me?" I raise my hands behind my head, taking a deep breath

"I should be asking you the same thing, what are you doing here"

"Same thing as you, trying to survive." I glance into the barrel of her gun and scoff "you know it's not very polite to wave a gun at people."

She presses her gun against my head, putting her finger on the trigger "Don't. Fucking move."

"So threatening, what are you gonna do with an empty gun princess?" I slam her arms to the side, launching a full force kick to her stomach, watching as she drops to the floor in agony "Didn't I say you don't wanna fight?" Knowing my luck, she isn't alone. No one ever is except me. My squad got ambushed in Phoenix back in '10. For some reason, I stand my ground, waiting for someone or thing to attack next, but nothing happened. The girl manages to get to her feet, clutching her stomach in her hand

"Name's Sam by the way" I reach down to grab my model 938, loading the cylinder with 9mm rounds "also, never bring an empty gun to a fight. Word of advice" This was my first "conversation" with someone other than myself in years.

The girl just stares at me with nothing but pure hatred in her eyes, which didn't phase me since she did kinda point a gun at me.

"Not a talker, eh? Fine by me. Makes my life easier-"

"I-i'm looking for my husband"

Oh, she does speak, cool. "And that's my issue because?"

"C-can you help m-me?" I guess the saying 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' registered into her head

"Sorry but I've got things to do other than babysit someone who tried to kill me." I holster my gun into the back of my pants and drape my shotgun over my back

"P-please...I need to find him.." Great. Now she's crying.

On my end, I kinda did just kick her full force in the stomach. But I don't give a shit.

"Rachell..my names Rachell.."

"Nice to know, take care Rachell" I grab my bag, which had fallen off my back somehow and make my way towards the other end of the store.

The look in her eyes. I can't explain what they held within besides pain and fear. A gut wrenching feeling struck my core, a feeling I haven't felt in a while. Guilt.

"Rachell" I called out, standing at the doorway of the fire exit "Grab your shit, I'm gonna help you find your husband"