The Eating

Someone has been breaking into houses, and it's not us. They've been killing the families trapped inside. I say "they" because there are numerous break-ins all over the city within minutes of each other.

"Dad?" I said, as I helped him bar doors and windows. Even our upstairs windows have been shut up, now. The house is dark.
"What, son."
"As if all of this isn't complicated enough, why are people killing each other?"
He dropped his arms, and stood.
"Let's take a break." he said.
We went into the kitchen. Dad pulled a chair out for me, so I sat. He then poured us the last of our orange juice and sat next to me.
"Do you see the lines on my face?" he asked, "The paleness of my bald patch, my flush cheeks?"
I smiled, "Yeah Dad."
"They aren't from aging." he said, "They are caused by worry."
"But Dad, Zed can't get in here. We've got this place boarded up like a hurricane shelter."
"It's not the Zacks I'm afraid of, son." he said, "They can meander, and moan all they like until whatever is giving them life vanishes away. Zack does not seem to need sustenance to survive."
He paused.
"We do."
"Food." I said. "That's why we're killing each other?"
"I'm not killing anyone." he laughed, "But yes . . . and no."
"No?"
"No." he took a long drink and set the cup down, turning it slowly in his hands as if the emerging pattern of the glass wasn't one he'd seen for years.
"No. We are in a state of martial law, Martin. Do you know what that is?"
I nodded.
"The justice system gets simple under martial law. Do a crime. Die." He definitely noticed my eyes widen.
"Alright." I said, "Even if we jay walk or something?"
"Are you supposed to be outside to be jay walking?"
"No."
"Well there you go." he said, "Let's say you're outside jay walking, and a patrol spots you. You have guns on you that fast." He snapped his fingers. "They ask you what you're doing out. They intern you and grill you about what your activities have been. Have you been company to any of the break-ins?"
"No."
"Prove it."
"I don't know if I can."
"Then they suspend Habeus Corpus, give you a brief hearing, and a large percentage of the time put a hole in your head. So yes, son, you can be executed for jay walking."
Before this I had thought to sneak out and see my friend Bobby. But now . . . Bobby is cool and all, but I like living.
"So why are they killing everyone?" I asked.
"Witnesses, I suppose. They don't want to leave any. Or they just want to decrease the surplus population so there is more food for them."
My stomach turned, "Ah crap. That makes me sick."

There was a hard knock on the door.
"Marines! Open up!" said a stern voice.
Dad got up slowly. I could see he was wearing the 9mm in his belt. He reached back and patted it.
Together we went to the breakfast nook window, where dad constructed a little door in one of the boards. We saw the Marines on our doorstep. There were five of them. They looked legit.
"What do we do?" I asked.
Dad went to the door, "Can you properly identify yourselves?" he shouted.
We heard the cocking of a gun, "Sir. You will open your home, or we will exercise brute force, detain you and your occupants indefinitely, and burn this home to the ground."
"There is no need for threats. What is your name, son?" asked Dad. Calm and cool. I had to smile even though my heart felt like it was vibrating in my chest.
"Sir." said the Marine, "I am 1st Lieutenant Roger K. James. Open your door."
Dad looked at me and whispered, "I don't think you would make up a name like that."
I nodded and smiled. Dad waved me behind him.
"We're opening the door, now, Lieutenant."

Dad opened the door. The bright afternoon sun hurt my eyes. The Marines began filing in. The kid who identified himself as Lieutenant James handed Dad a piece of paper, "I apologize for being short with you. Are you Mister Ashton?"
"Yes. What is this about?"
"We are authorized to confiscate certain food items for the sustenance of the community at large. Do you have food storage?"
I could see the lie standing behind Dad's eyes, but he nodded.
"Dad!" I said.
"Martin," he answered, "You stay put, son. Make sure these gentlemen are comfortable."
He took the Lieutenant into the pantry.
"This is all we've got." he said, "I'm afraid we didn't have time to shop before the town got shut down."
"Corporal Michaels," said the Lieutenant, "Grab Polle and a bag."
He looked at my Dad, "Sir. I again apologize, but we must take 1/3 of this food supply. We are authorized to take whatever we please."
"Yes I see that." said Dad, the paper crinkled in his hand.
"With a food shortage," said the Lieutenant, "We can expect incidences like we've had over the past couple of days to increase. This is all in the name of keeping the peace."
The Marines took their share, and packed it away in a duffel bag. Dad walked them to the door.
"When our shipment comes in," said Lt. James.
"If it comes in." whispered one of his men.
"We will compensate your loss." he finished. Dad acknowledged him with a smile.

Lt. James took post, I guess, behind the door.
The Marines lined up behind him, guns up. The duffel with our food in it was slung over Poll's shoulder.
"We've been ambushed after leaving homes." said Lt. James, "They know, and they are a slippery bunch. You should get down on the floor."
"Wait." said Dad. He went to the staircase and yelled up, "Beth, Holly!"
The girls peeked down the staircase after a moment.
"Both of you, get on the ground and stay there til I say."
"Why Daddy?"
"Later." he said, "Now get down."
Lt. James opened the door and swept off the side into the dried up landscaping. His party followed, slinking away rapidly to the South. We closed, locked, and barred the door. I went to the nook to watch the company move down the street. An APC unit appeared, and they loaded on safely.
"It appears I have to be much more sneaky about hiding our food supply. They'll be back, and they'll wonder why we haven't lost any weight." said Dad.

An explosion. Close enough to shake the house.

"Get down, Martin!" said Dad. The rattle of gunfire. Some of it raked through the windows, crashing glass, opening up smooth cylinders of sunlight into the dark house.

Another explosion.

There was just under a minute exchange, but it felt like an hour. The girls stayed quiet.
Dad held me down, "Stay down girls." he said.
He rose, gun out, and went to the window.
"Ah hell." he said.
"What Dad? What do you see?"
"Martin, get the rifle."
I ran. Man did I run. I threw the bar off of the door to the garage, leapt into the darkness, almost went flying when I caught my ankle on a box, and slammed into the food storage cabinet.
I could barely see what I was doing. I fumbled the clip into the rifle, cocked it, and shuffled back into the house, barring the door behind me.
Dad was still looking out the little door. He signaled me to sit tight. I turned the safety off.
He turned to me, "It's possible they saw where the soldiers came from."
We waited a little longer.
"I think they're leaving."
"They?"
"Look. I want you to see."
I popped my face into the door, giving my eyes a moment to get used to the sunlight. The APC was on fire. Bodies. The blood. I didn't know we had that much blood in us. I got queasy.
"Watch, son."
Then I saw a couple of them. They were just people. Normal looking folks. The woman's hairdo had to have cost a couple hundred dollars. She looked like she hadn't had a change of clothes in days. They stripped the soldiers, took the guns, and ran towards that patch of woods.
I watched until I heard sirens.

"Will they be back?" I asked.
"It's a strong possibility." answered Dad.
"Martin? Dad?"
"We're fine." Dad and I said at the same time. "Come on down."
Mom and Beth came down the stairs, visibly shaken.
"What's going on, Martin?" Mom asked.
Dad brought her into a strong hug, "We have to be more ready now than ever."
Mom grabbed me by the collar and jerked me into a family hug. I had to pull away to look outside again.
Several Military vehicles rode onto the scene. Thirty soldiers poured into the streets, and began sweeping out from the crime scene.
"What do we do Dad?"
"We sit tight. We tell them what they want to know when they come knocking. And we seal this place tight after they leave."
"We have to move the food storage." I said.
"Yes we do."
We have a crawl space, but that seemed too obvious.
"My room." Beth said.
"Huh?"
"Well," she said, "Don't get mad, Daddy. I've been messing around up there. I pried up part of my hardwood flooring." she shrugged, smiling. "I got bored."
Dad laughed.
"Underneath there is a big gap between the ceiling and the floor. We could stow whatever we want down there.
"Sounds good." he said.

We didn't move on it until the Marines left, again. I gave them the best description I could of the people I had seen. As the last Marine left, he turned.
"What kind of gun you got?" he asked.
"A 9mm Ruger."
He nodded. He opened a pouch on his belt and gave us a couple boxes of ammo.
"Those guys were my friends." he said, "You encounter whoever did this, you put one of these between their eyes. You got it?"
I nodded.
"Tell them it's from Jake."
"I will."
Jake shook my hand. He looked each of us in the eye and walked into the evening light.

We moved the food storage up to Beth's room. Before bed, Dad and I demolished the stairs. It was time. We keep a long ladder in the hallway, now. I don't think we'll be spending much time downstairs, anymore.