End of the World Gang

The black hybrid SUV raced westward on an isolated stretch of desert highway. The bridge at the border had been breached, and scores of Californians fled east through Arizona. Three men and one woman headed into the razor thin silvery blue horizon, the truck hidden in the silhouette of the rocky mountains that bordered the valley. Four people armed to the gills with stolen military hardware silently screaming through the desert dusk to stop a flood.

A long, low groan followed by a sudden annoyed grunt breaks the silence. The woman twists to her right and leans over the backseat to check on the formerly unconscious man curled in the back.

We should have tied his ass up! the driver fesses.

Why? He's not a prisoner. She speaks authoritatively, but without the subtle qualities of a leader. The disturbed man in the back stirs, clutching his chest as he breathes slowly and deliberately.

What...the...fuck? Are you people crazy!

That's the thanks we get for saving his ass? I told you we should have tied his ass up.

Can it, Frank.

Who are you people?

The loud mouth at the wheel is Frank. The overstuffed gorilla sitting next to him is Beans.

Beans?

Benny. They're in the Guard together. Military intelligence at it's finest. The sleeping mantis next to me is Bugs, he's in the guard, too.

Per his namesake, Beans interjects judiciously, AIR Guard.

Must be the water boys of the Guard.

At least he's got a sense of humor. The last guy didn't have one. We had to shoot him and leave him in the brush. We're not going to have to shoot you, are we?

That depends on what you think is funny, I guess.

Eyes on the road! She offers her hand, Jenny. Her commanding presence gives way to a sensible vulnerability. Her blue eyes smile as he forces his own pleasantries, though his heart tells him to unlatch the back gate and hope his tuck and roll technique is good enough to withstand a one hundred mile per hour leap of faith. He is not confident in this ability.

Joe.

These guys are on their way to secure the I-10 border. Bugs and I are just along for the ride. And the safety.

Since the national power outages, the country's economic structure had come under enormous strain. One solution to the problem, temporary and short-sighted though it may have been at the time, was to round up anyone from any other country in the world and send them back. The thinking being that controlled populations are more manageable.

The borders along Canada and Mexico were the first to be shut down, followed by the interior borders of the states on the east and west coasts. The idea was to push them from the outside in, sweeping and clearing as the National Guard made its way to the interior of the country while the army and navy held the national borders.

The coming border segment intersecting the Interstate had recently reopened after having been shut down for nearly six months. Then, a particularly impatient driver decided that he would bypass the line of cars stopped on the bridge and barrel his way through, choosing the shoulder as his alternate route. Unfortunately, this man could not be remembered as a very good driver. His sudden jerk to the right sent the rear of his car into the fender of another car fueling at a gas pump at a station on that side of the road.

This set off a chain reaction wherein a smoking man was thrown off his feet, and a gas hose sprung loose, spraying fuel all about, including the trunk to the impatient driver's car. The man's cigarette fell into the stream of gasoline, igniting the entire scene into a speeding blaze. The burning car sped past the line, but, engulfed in flames, the man did not see the National Guard truck blocking the road in front of him. The flaming car sped straight into the side of the truck, and both vehicles exploded in a spectacle of twisted metal and melted glass.

The only four guardsmen on duty were killed in the tragedy, and Californians had been pushing through ever since.

So we have to secure it, since no one else has.

That doesn't explain why I'm here.

Like I said, we saved your ass!

I was locked away in a gated mansion! I was already safe.

Not with them bad boys amassing. Frank cuts to the chase. You were lucky we even found you. The fuckers had the freeway blocked with cars. When we got off, we saw a bunch of them walking the same direction, and that's never a good sign.

The idea of deporting both legal and illegal immigrants to save resources is an interesting idea on its surface. But that does not address the main concern of irreparable power grid damages in every state, the only power being supplied to prisons, hospitals, police departments, fire stations, and military bases by a combination of generators and renewable energy. The wise traveller has learned that using an alternative fuel, or in the absence of one, a hybrid vehicle to save the hassle of stealing fuel at the heavily defended gas stations in the major cities, though outwardly pretentious, proves reliably practical. For now, anyway.

So while the military and national guard round up the aliens, the police departments and local authorities ollapse under the pressure of renegade consumers, the ones who have chosen the path of least financial resistance to acquiring goods - those who have found it much easier to travel in small groups to appropriate resources in bulk. This way, they get more of what they need with a greater chance of survival and escape. They are not bad people, per se. They are simply tired of being openly fucked by the capitalist structure.

The government, hence the military, does not see these mobs as a productive means of social interaction in this time of crisis, so the standing order when encountering such gatherings is shoot to kill.

There were four or five of them walking up to "your" mansion. They had the gates half off the hinges when we showed up.

You didn't have to come in shooting.

Well, yeah, we did. Standing orders. We saved your rich ass.

It wasn't "my" mansion. The guy who owned it died.

Yeah, right, "died."

So is that the military's job, to save the wealthy?

Jenny is more subtle than Frank. The first order of the guard is to defend the border and the citizens from imminent threats. In your situation, it was not the mob that was in danger, so we acted accordingly.

Shows what you know. I've dealt with them before.

The headlights cut through the blackness as the truck peaks over mountain passes. The wind picks up, but the truck holds steady as it races towards the darkened west horizon. The lights of a small gas station beckon from the distance.

Frank follows the lights. May as well fill up. Bugs! Wake up! It's your turn to pay.

Bugs awakens, and his eyes squint harshly as they affix on the approaching lights.

Fuck off!

You've been asleep for two hours. It's your ass out the door.

The SUV jolts to a stop at a pump on the far side from the shop, and Bugs steps out to an aggravated proprietor wielding a shotgun.

We're commandeering fuel on behalf of the United States government. Bugs holds up his military identification.

Bull shit, you are. If you want to pump, you're going to have to pay. The man's voice broke as gravel from his worn and suspicious face. He cocks the shotgun.

Sir, please lower your weapon. I am with the Arizona National Guard. We need gas to make it to Blythe. Bugs raises his hands and takes a step back as the barrel rises to greet him.

Like hell. Why don't you protect me from them damn mobs instead of running around checking passports?

I'm sorry about your trouble, sir, but we have our orders, and we need to get to the California border.

My ass, your orders. The man steps closer. You best get out of here, boy.

Bugs reaches back, and the shotgun muzzle explodes. Bugs falls backwards, landing harshly on the grimy concrete between the pumps. Benny and Frank jump out the driver door, draw their pistols and begin firing. The man runs back to take cover behind a pile of packaged fire wood in front of the shop window. The shooting stops momentarily, and Joe slips out the back passenger door while Jenny helps Bugs into the truck. Joe unscrews the gas cap and selects his grade.

Fuck it. May as well take the good stuff.

The old man reloads behind the wood, then pops off a shot that sails over everyone's heads.

Not the premium, you sons of bitches!

Frank takes cover behind the SUV. What the fuck are you doing?

Getting gas.

In the middle of a fire fight?

Wood splinters and cracks with puffs of mesquite smoke as the bullets from Benny's handgun stop short of hitting the owner.

Just keep him pinned down, and we can be out of here without anyone else dying, OK?

He shot a guardsman!

He was protecting himself from people stealing his gas. These people are on their own out here.

He ain't no better than one of them mobs.

Frank. There's only one of him, not five. You can't shoot him.

Frank rolls back to give Benny time to reload. Just keep him pinned. Don't shoot him.

What?

Just get up here.

The men take turns taking shots at the base of the wood pile, all the while the man yelling at them.

You sons of bitches don't know who you're dealing with! I've killed bigger men for less! He ducks as two more bullets glance off the ground to the side of his feet.

Shit, are you done?

The pump clicks and shuts off. Joe screws the cap back on, and the men fly into the SUV as Frank continues shooting, making his way to the driver's seat. Benny shoots out the window as Frank gets in, slams the door, turns the key and pounds the accelerator.

Bugs' head lays on Jenny's lap. His paralyzed legs hang bent off the seat as the blood soaks his pants, dripping onto the floor boards.

Benny steams in his seat. He didn't have to shoot him, the fuck.

The old man emerges from his hiding place hollering after the SUV. Frank slams on the breaks. The passenger window rolls down as the old main lifts his gun. The muzzle of an M-16 slides out the window and fires off six rounds. Flesh and blood spew from the man's shins and thighs as he drops, screaming in pain. The truck takes off.

What the fuck did you do that for?

We paid too much for that gas. He owed us some change.

Joe looks to Jenny, bewildered, but she's busy comforting Bugs, who slowly bleeds to death in her lap. She holds his head in her arm, hand wrapped delicately under his chin, the other stroking his hair and forehead. He writhes and twitches, but she holds firm and calm.

Aside from the odd choked screams and yelps from Bugs' agony, the ride falls silent. Frank and Beans watch the road ahead. Jenny eases Bugs into the afterlife.

Joe thinks.