Moment in Time – I Remember

He looks down at the broken shards, spread across the floor.  His eyes glance at the broken pictures, glass shattered across the carpet.  He moves from the room, feet crunching on the glass and wood on the floor.  He stumbles down the stairs. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.  Every step is a memory for him.  Each photo he tears off the wall.  He sips from a bottle, feeling the burn erase the memory for a moment, only to come back ten-fold.
He settles in the easy chair, a photo in hand.  He drinks deeply, never looking at the picture.  He knows if he does, he won’t do what he plans.  He drinks again.  He drags his head back, lost in the fog of alcohol and memory.
He recalls the time he saw her back in their college years. *drink* He recalls the nervousness between them both. *drink* He recalls the conversations at the café.  *drink* he recalls touching her between classes. *drink* he recalls the tender touches that lead to them. *drink* He remembers moving.  *drink* he remembers proposing. *drink* he remembers her saying yes.  *drink* he remembers her saying yes. *drink* He remembers her reluctance to moving in with him and leaving her parents. *drink* he remembers the wedding.  *drink* he remembers the wedding. *drink* He remembers her carrying for him in the hospital. *Swig* He remembers how she watched everything he did so he wouldn’t go back. *Chug* He remembers how she did everything to make a house a home. *drink* He remembers how she collapsed. *deep drink* He remembers how she went to the ambulance. *Finished bottle*..
He staggered to the fridge, stumbling from couch to chair to shelf.  His eyes burned, but he needed it to play out.  He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and stumbled somehow back to the living room.  He ignored everything from her.  He couldn’t stand it.
He took a long drink… He remembered being in the waiting room when the word came in. *shot* He remembered falling to the floor. *shot*  He remembered the never-ending hallway to the room.  *double shot*  He remembered her cold hand in his.  *double shot* He remembered telling her how much he loved her. *triple shot* He remembered how he would never forget this moment. *bang*

Moment in Time – Sinking then Sunk

He moved himself to a more comfortable corner of the cabin and shimmied into it to the point of imagined comfort.  He slide the bag near to his current location and heard the slight rattle of bottle against bottle and the swish of confined liquid against confined liquid, and in a moment of clarity he thought that no matter what something divided his life into partitions.  A shake of the head and a random hand-sweep of his right hand knocking a table off center mixed with the crinkle of a grocery store bag moving to the side while his hand probes the depths of the memory potion he seeks.  The bag gives way to the smooth contours of blown glass as his greedy fingers seek a solid handhold.

He removes the wire cap and forces open the cork with a solid popping sound and without a glass handy, he takes a deep drink of the amber liquid hidden behind labels and darkened glass.  Feeling the slow burn move down his throat and deep into his soul he slides the bag he brought before him and removes his pen and notebook, flipping past page after page of single-line text, every line a thought and every thought a memory that will be with him forever now.  He flicked page after page until a fresh page came to the forefront and clicked his Bic.  He wasn’t sure if this was the best time to write what happened down, but he had to tell someone before the world was finally made aware.  As all stories, this began at the beginning. . .

Marriage is all about compromise.  One wants one and the other wants another and the best solution lies in the middle of those two extremes.  This relationship was nothing special when it came to that.  He wanted one thing and she wanted another, but the problem that came to the forefront was that one moved past the dating phase and the other did not.  She moved through life, as he saw, unencumbered by the intricacies of life.  She loved spending until the money ran out and and devoured the attention of friends and family until the most courteous guest at a party left somewhat abashed.  He loved privacy and buried himself in his work, never opening himself to friends and family more than necessary and the distance between the two only started there, in the first month of their first week.

Month after month passed and nothing gained traction.  Arguments in private grew harsher and harsher.  They grew more and more distant and friends began to gather on the side of one or the other.  He spent most days out of the house and at pubs or his office, she spent her days with her friends or out at clubs while telling him she was working.  The relationship grew more and more towards shadows, but neither would let go.

Friends became enemies and enemies became potential spies for both of them.  They both hired private investigators, finally abandoning the pretext of retaining anything beyond a settlement through court.  She came home one night and finally decided it was enough and beyond something that could be fixed and he agreed and followed by a night composed of talking, tears, and realizations, they decided to separate.  He moved out the following day after signing a document which broke up all belongings, money, property, and a promise not to go for more from each other.

The divorce went smooth as one could think and suddenly they were done, expectations of each other met not in marriage but in divorce.  The possessions were divided as per the document they both decided upon but when most would think the story done at that moment, the tragedy happened after instead of during.

It took a year until she was deep in a relationship and two years after their marriage dissolved when the plan was hatched to see if he had removed her as the beneficiary, which he hadn’t.  With the idea laid before her through her own dark thoughts and the dark thought and money looming before her fiance as well, it took little encouragement to push him towards her dark deeds.

He wasn’t a slow idealist either, living in a family townhouse with his new wife and newborn, he occasionally harbored the same thoughts she did.  He never told his wife and told his daughter only while she slept.  His venom only told to the subconscious.

Events moved towards the sad conclusion and she planned to have him meet her to discuss the cabin that was still up for grabs with the promise that he might get it in the final decision.  He drove there expecting the best but she planned to have him held up at gunpoint and forced to give them what they wanted.  He drove to the meet and thought only of final closure.

He walked into the room and there she was and he was surprised that he had no feelings towards her.  Everything he felt while dating her and when they were fatefully married was gone.  She was a person, a thing to him now.  She towards him and he pushed away, suddenly feeling the anger towards her explode in his mind and he drew his small revolver.

He took another drink and thought that if things could be different, he would be dead or nowhere involved.  He declined to write the fact that he opened the door and accidentally fired a shot, missing everyone and hitting the wall just below the painting of the beach and lonely palm tree. His target hit square and swung with the revolver moving to his head and pulled the trigger.  Then silence.

He set down the pad and reached to the bag once more, a click and a fizz of a twist cap, followed by a satisfactory sigh and a bang, his last thought being a sarcastic “why did I get involved in this family?”

Moment in Time – Memory Regained

I sat and sipped at my tea, thinking back through my life.  Time is a painful companion sometimes and this is not different.  Sometimes the memory that the mind stirs are pleasurable and sometimes they are painful, but this time. . . the memories the mind pulled was painful.  Drawing me back with every sip of my drink, pulling me back to the moment I lost the closest friends I had.

My birthday was near and I gathered those I hadn’t seen in years.  I had seen them, but not seen them in almost six years.  I moved away and started a new life with new friend and a new way of living life, but though they were not part of it, I kept them close to me.  This was the moment to forget about the old me and use to the new me.  It was my birthday and I gathered them all together.  Friends I have had for years, through trouble and calm.  They were my family.  I never thought what happened would ever happen.

We enjoyed a great meal, a few drinks, and the night drew to a close.  Six years of having friends buying birthday dinner accustomed me to not paying but their blank stares when the bill came alerted me to the fact they were not accustomed to that style.  I paid and got up to leave, my mind flickering between the types of friends between two states and was overwhelmed by the most current.  They thought I drank too much, which was only a few drinks, and opposed my driving home.  I forced the issue since I was absolutely fine, but something deeper lingered with them.

Days later and missed communications a plenty, I inquired what was happening.  They took their friendship with me to a chat room and on mass decided to sever their friendship with me then and there.  I was silenced, unable to voice my side of their dispute.  I tried to voice my protest in the name of friendship, but it fell on deaf ears.

I tried to forget them and what they meant to me, but everyone I knew said that what they think meant less than what I gave it.  They decided to write me off, something I never do to a person, but they, many years later, hold to that one-sided pact, decided that severing me from the group that we once were without testimony from the defense was the right choice.

I still miss them and would accept them back at any time they want to renew our friendship, but the choice is theirs.  Some have reached out, but not all.  I miss what we were, but they have to accept what I am.  Isn’t that what everyone hopes for?  To shed their past and be accepted for what they are?

Moment in Time – Crawling Through The Dark

The crawling feeling was everywhere now.  He could feel them on every part of his body; sometimes inside his body.  The medications they gave him never helped.  They simply numbed him so much that the crawling would overrun him without any fight.  He couldn’t itch, scratch, or even scream for help.

His mind fogged day after day to the point he lost track of all sense of time.  The constant torture he lived in blended all the moments of his life, both past and present, into one long string of horror.  He refused to close his eyes because then they would come in greater force, he had to fight sleep until he couldn’t stop himself any longer.  His thoughts scattered and jumped so fast that he was unable to hold a thought longer than a few moments, but his mind screamed one word over and over –  Why.

Minutes or years later, the door would open and light would flood over him.  He couldn’t move nor could he even scream out, the drugs keeping him locked inside his own eyes.  Just as quick as the light would come, it would fade again and drown him in a sea of darkness and the crawling would return with a greater force.

His parents, though he could barely remember them anymore, must have given up on him seconds or centuries ago, he had no clue nor did he care any more.  He wanted it all to end.  He wanted the torture to end.  He wanted to yell out and tell them to end it, but every time he tried, his voice stood in his throat and refused to come out.  It was as scared as he was, something he didn’t think would have been possible.  He dreamt, the few times he did actually sleep, of his car and driving with his friends, but then the pain would return, force its way into the dream and make him wish he was truly there and could drive the car into another lane and end it all, but fate would probably just leave him in a coma, covered in the crawling and the drugs.  He could never have that, he would never make it through being trapped in his own – he would wake to the crawling, the crawling feeling was everywhere now.  He could feel them on every part of his body. . .

They hung on to hope for months, but no response ever registered.  They decided to keep him on support until he woke up.  It’s the only thing parents can do in this situation.  Hope.  They clung to each other as the doctor checked his eyes for signs of life. . .

Moment in Time – The First Time

She was the one he thought about when he thought of this moment.  Actually, she was one of many he thought of about when thinking of this moment.  He could blame it on a teenage mind, though.  He could say it was the sexual perversion online, television, or movies, but honestly, he could have thought of anyone and it would have sent his hormones spinning out of control.  All of those thoughts were out of his head right now and the only thought was her.  On the outside edges of his consciousness, he wondered how long he spent in quiet contemplation about his previous mental conquests since she had already started revving her own engine and nuzzled at his neck.  His eyes closed and left almost disconnected from his body, letting it move on cruise control.

He was now a senior and this would probably be the last chance he would have to be with her before they both went their own ways.  Wryly he thought that, though, since she was heading to college and he was heading to his fathers garage.  He left his hands sliding up her sides, sliding slowly and methodically; he impressed himself.  It was like he had done this a hundred times before.  His fingers slide across the fabric, feeling every single thread underneath.  He could hear the light moans on his neck where she ravaged it with soft kisses.  He felt and saw his head lower and kiss her shoulder, bare skin touching lips for the first time in his life.  He almost lost all control and took her right then, but he found himself not able to control his slowly moving body.  He cursed and swore in the confines of his own mind, his teenage hormones flaring to the point of explosion.

He watched as he pushed her back slightly, releasing a small, questioning whine from her.  He softly kissed her and felt her hair in his hands and he caressed each silky tendril between his fingers.  She melted into his kiss, their bodies becoming one in one glorious moment.  She pulsed against him, forcing him to move backwards slowly, the door handle digging into his spine.  He watched himself gently take her face in his hands and push her away.  He swore, almost audibly, as he heard himself say that he should take them home.  Years of lonely self-moments played across his mind as he watched the anticipation fall from her face and turn into sullen anger.  He watched himself pull from the rocky point and drive her home, a chilled, cold response was all he was left with.

He flipped the page of the newspaper and glanced over the edge, looking at the woman he could have lost with such a brazen move.  She forgave him almost immediately when he got home and could answer the phone.  He had a few questions to answer to his parents, but his father understood and gave him a pat on the back.  She went off to college and he worked in the garage.  She came back every time she could and on the third time she did, he proposed.  She finished school and his father decided to retire – fate was conspiring just like it did that night so long ago.  He took the shop and her hand.  His smile was hidden behind the paper so his wife of twelve years couldn’t see it.  He looked out the window and lowered his paper, folding it on the table.  The kids were to be home soon, the bus was turning down their road.

Moment in Time – Keep Your Friends Close [Part 10]

We took to the water for a few days after a few weeks rest and recuperating from our wounds in Mexico.  I can’t say how many friends died that day, but more and more I return to my thoughts back on when this started.  I think of our hatred of immigrants and our fear of where we were going.  It all seemed so worthless, all that hatred for nothing, only to find out that the real threat was ourselves.  We were a country that turned in on itself and imploded while most of the rest of the world gloated and sat idly by.  I had a lot of time to think during that trip.  Not because I liked where my thoughts took me, but mostly because I could speak about three words in Spanish.  I threw bread at seagulls, was attacked by said seagulls, and in a less humorous moment, I stood with the others at the bow and we silently watched bodies slide by as we closed in on the Florida coast.  I couldn’t stay for long, both the smell and my emotions were too strong.

We made it down the coast and past a few patrols in the water and slide to the relative safety of the shores of Cuba.  Under the Mexican flag, we were granted harbor, but that didn’t last too long.  With too many white faces on board, we were immediately swarmed and disarmed of the few weapons we did bring with us.  John and the Mexican army general that came with us talked to the man in charge of the detachment that found us and he beckoned me over.

“I want you to come with us, bring your notes and a few pens.  Tell a few of the other boys you trust to stay alert, I don’t feel comfortable with our position.”

“Then why take the risk, John?”

“Because we can’t win without risks.”

We were shoved into a truck and the flap was immediately closed.  Sitting in the dark while flashing lights coming from outside of the canvas cover, none of us spoke.  I tried to jot a few notes down during the truck ride, but the lack of light and the bumps made me give it up fairly quickly.  John and the general talked quietly towards the entry hatch and the general glanced at me, but I saw John mouth ‘No’.  To this day, I have no idea what they were discussing about me or even if it was about me.  The general had a habit of always watching the faces of everyone around him, even his own men.  The general was gruff, but seemed like a decent man for someone in his line of work.  I actually paused while I thought that and had my first laugh in a good long while.  His line of work.  The funny part was that it was my line of work now too.  The general saw me smile and gave a small smile himself before turning back to John.  I think I could grow to like that man.

The sound of gravel gave way to pavement as the lights outside became more and more steady.  The bumpy ride eased and the sound of music began to lightly filter from nearby.  The truck slowed down and came to a squealing stop which was followed by two voices shouting at each other, but lord knows I couldn’t understand a damn thing said.  The flap went up and light flooded the truck bed.  We all covered our eyes as flashlights glared at us like a thousand angry, tiny suns.

“Out! Now!”, shouted a voice from beyond that pale veil of light.

We stepped out of the truck and immediately bound and blindfolded.  I was shoved in a different direction than the voices of John and the general, fully believing that I was dead.  I was going to be used as a political prisoner and sold to the United States for a Cuban prisoner.  That didn’t happen, but I was not exactly prepared for what came next.  Thrown into a chair and left alone for what felt like an eternity, the blind was finally lifted to expose a really nice dining room.  I felt a little betrayed not to be in a prison, but I wasn’t about to try to get myself thrown into one.  The gentleman who took my blindfold off came around from of me with a chair being dragged by one hand and a cigar in the other and sat down.  He looked at me for a little while and I took the silence to try to access him.

He was by far the most unassuming man I had ever seen.  He looked more white than Cuban and dressed like he was from the Mid-West.  He had dark eyes that were more friendly and jovial then threatening and had a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips.  I took a quick glance behind him and saw my notebooks open on the table behind him and he saw the lightning quick dart of my eyes which caused that hidden smile to break into a full one.

“Yes, my friend,” his voice didn’t even sound as it should. “I have read your notes, or at least began to.  You have done some wondrous things, my friend, but I feel you may not have as much luck here that you hope to.”  I started to speak, but he raised his hand, sending a wave of smoke around him. “I don’t know your exact reasons, so do not be afraid that you have a ‘traitor’ in your midst.  I know of the situation in America, it really isn’t a secret.  While my friends discuss the potential in helping in your cause, I will tell you that a deal with your government is also being worked on.”

My heart went cold and sank through the chair below me.  He was going to turn on us.  We could never match what the government could offer.  He continued to smile at me though, even though the despair in my eyes had to be completely visible to him.

“Do not fret, my friend.  I will assure you that you are safe for now.  What I have you here for, record keeper, is a proposal.  You want something and I want something.  You want your country back and so do I.  My price is steep though and it will be through you that I offer it.  I will tell you what it is if you say yes.  If you say no, I am afraid you will have to be silenced.  Your answer, friend?” He said that last bit with a smile that could charm a thousand women at once, but the chilling way he said I would be silenced. . .

“Do I really have a choice?”

Moment in Time – Too Late

He knew he should just go home and sleep it off, but the liquor still burned in his veins, clouding his thoughts and holding his body hostage. Looking at the water below him, he becomes entranced by the waves constant movement. He thinks he might be crying, but he cant tell. His ability to feel his surroundings faded hours ago, so the hot tears running down his chill skin flow unnoticed. Closing his eyes and arching his head back he feels the rush of a mind shutdown by artificial means. His world spins and he loses his grip slightly and lurches forward.

Catching himself before he falls, he opens his eyes in complete calmness, staring down at the undulating waters in that same emotionless wonder. The lights from the city flicker in the waves, shining like tiny beacons, welcoming him to enter them. He lifts one tentative foot off the ledge and dangling it over the edge, mocking fate and tempting death. Stepping backwards, he slips and falls off the barricade, his head slamming against the ice cold concrete of the walkway.

Minutes, hours, days, pass by, he has no idea. Waking a small pool of his own blood, he feels his body once again. Pain wracks his limbs as he struggles to raise his head, the sticky pool below him growing. He struggles to sit up and looks out to the sun rising over the bay. He was about to kill himself, his mind strains to tell him. He wants to laugh at himself for saying that, eight years of medical school told him he succeeded. His vision begins to fade as the pool grows and grows. He feels the tears streaming down his pallid cheeks and the warm blood flow down his back. He gently lowers himself back down, breathes deeply, and dies.

Moment in Time – The Hammer Strike [Part 9]

We passed the border of Arizona with no difficulty and made our way across the burning terrain under the cover of constant helicopter and jet traffic.  I constantly glanced to the seemingly unmoving sun as we plodded our way across the state, watching citizens duck into their homes as our forces passed.  We made our way from Nevada to Phoenix, AZ with no trouble and met with the 33rd Airborne at a nearby military base.  I sat to the side, watching soldiers run about as if they were expecting an attack at any moment.  It was a week since I met with Burns, or even talked to him, his time being dominated by his generals.  I walked the troop barracks and the kitchen area, but was kept away from the front lines.  I knew we were near the Mexican border, but I also knew that was a closed border due to a massive exodus of exiles and illegal immigrants, that most of the citizens of Mexico had escaped back to their home country.  I realized too late that not all people gave up on the original dream of what they thought America was.

We reached Phoenix without trouble, but that night we received our first out-of-the-country resistance.  I was in my guarded tent when I woke abruptly to the sound of an explosion.  I sat up straight, but the soldier in front of my tent pulled back the canvas, revealing the bright explosions before the entry before they pulled it back down and told me to simply stay down.  Being the stupid expatriate slash moronic writer that I am, I disregarded the orders and rolled outside the tent I was kept in.  I rolled to my knees, the to my feet, and right in the barrel of a rifle against my forehead.  I closed my eyes, expecting death, but I felt nothing, only a slight lessening of the barrel against my skin.  The gunman in front of me said something to me which i didn’t understand, but simply dragged me forward.  He dragged me behind lines of tanks and helicopters, firing shots towards the border.  I ran in amazed silence as I saw the border to the United States close as massive amounts of heavy machinery move towards it.  I watched, still in shock, as I saw the American Military being defeated by the combined effort of both the legal Mexican military and the illegal.  The Country of Mexico had decided to go to war.

I don’t recall much beyond the lights flashing a mile away from me, but I knew I was being dragged closer towards Juarez with a haste that I still didn’t expect.  I expected death to greet me in mere moments, but I suddenly saw John materialized from the darkness and grab my arm.  He said something to me, but I couldn’t understand it as the fear I was experiencing crippled all my senses.  John dragged me to a small factory, loaded to the brim with missiles and rifle rounds.  I still couldn’t understand what was going on, but simply stood at the window, watching the lights that flared on and off as the US Military faced off in a battle to the death with the Mexican Military.  I knew I was “safe”, but my heart was still pounding a million miles an hour.  John grabbed my arm gently and pulled me towards another room which was reinforced by iron and lead.  Faith was waiting at the door and gave me a quick hug before she escorted me into the room.  I stood in silence as she held her arms around me, but I knew what was coming.’

I stood before the main council of the rebellion, which I knew would not be here by the time I walked out of the room.  Faith held her arms around my waist, but wouldn’t leave, shaking her head as random Mexican army soldiers told her to leave.  I glared at them, they glared at me, no longer trusting me.  I listened to the explosions in the distance and decided to be the first to speak.  I unwrapped Faith’s arms from me and looked in her eyes, letting her know that this is what I wanted.  She let go and I stepped into the single light in the center of the room, something that was so cinematic that it almost made me laugh.

“I have been in the camp.  I have known what they want to do.  They is not them.  They are him.  The focus is not the soldiers, but him.  Kill Burns.  Kill him and you kill the government.  I don’t know what John and the others have promised you, but I know what I am about to.  Kill Burns, publicly.  I am not a fighter, only a reporter.  I deal in information, but I know who leads the death.  I know who condones the ‘protection’.  Sweden is not enough.  Mexico is not enough.  We need more and I will promise you more right now.  You want your land back?  You got it.  You want your culture back?  You got it.  There is no longer enough Americans left to occupy the country that use to be.

Burns will not stop, ever, until he feels his country, his freedom is secure.  I know this because I’ve talked to him.  I’ve sat in his private quarters listening to his ramble, wishing he would realize just what he was doing, but that will never happen.  We need to make him see what he is doing and that what he is doing will come at him a thousand-fold.  Speak to anyone who has come in contact with him with us tonight, I won’t be the only one who says Burns must face the wrath he is bringing down on himself.  Even I. . . even I will have to have more blood on my hands before this is done.  Thank you.”

I sat down to a roaring applause as another person stepped forward to speak, but all I could think about was that young man who was my first kill in this war.  His eyes glared at me from beyond and I was cold in this hot desert sun.  He pointed towards the east and I knew where he was pointing because I could see the storm clouds forming from that direction.  That is where our true test will happen, but first, we needed more allies. . . and I knew where to find them.

Moment in Time – Enemy Mine [Part 8]

I traveled days, if not weeks, with people who considered me a traitor, but to my surprise, I was given full access to everything but the most confidential meetings between Burns and his generals.  I was also given full, though escorted, access to the troops, listening to their stories and watching their faces as they did what they did.  We were on our way to Carson City, a place I knew that my group wasn’t heading to, but each officer gave me a look that stifled my happiness in their presumed path.  I walked the troops and with the utensils given to me by my captors, I was able to give this report.

Starting with my immediate surroundings, I was given the treatment of a general.  I walked the troops and watched them live in the same conditions that Civil War soldiers lived in.  There was no plumbing, nor were they allowed to use the facilities.  I have seen soldiers defecate outside of their tents and wash using water that had gone bad weeks ago from stagnation.  I was appalled by what I saw, but a soldier who I mentioned this to, early on, said, “We do what we have to do because we are ordered to do what we have to do”.  This simple statement is not shared by the entire core, I will tell you that.  Many soldiers take offense to killing fellow Americans no matter how they are classified.  I had spoken to a group of soldiers about this, but one seemed shaken and after a bottle of Popov vodka, he spilled his entire story to me.

“I killed my friends.  I did, I shot them dead, right in front of their houses.  I want to die.  I want to die, Brian.  I hope that a rebel bullet will hit me every day.  I loved Shannon every day of my life, but I killed her because of what these assholes made me do.” He took another drink. “Did you know they want to change the name of the country?  Did you know that?  They want to change it to the United Federation.  Can you believe that shit?  They want to image their bullshit ‘ideals’ under something from Star Trek.  Where is the united part?  Where is the every citizen has freedom part?  We are hunting Americans, like you!  We are no better than Iran!  We are no better than Cuba!  We are fucking no better than -”

That was as far as he got before a group of MP’s grabbed hold of him and dragged him away.  I was shaken, mostly from the MP’s who I thought would be coming for me, but came from my interview.  I wandered the camp and caught a number of conversations which expressed how wrong they felt about firing on fellow countrymen.  I hazarded that only a few actually fired shots on our camp a few days ago.  I wondered, while in captivity, how John would be able to turn these rebels in hiding to our side.  I wandered the camp for days, even when we reached Carson City, NV, I was surprised on what I saw.

Carson City was bulging with troops, planes, and weapons.  I stood in awe, watching soldiers and equipment being moved to the southern border of the city, just waiting to move south to where my crew was heading.  Burns stood next to me, watching in silence, glanced at my hanging jaw and laughed.  “This is the end for your friends, but you might be able to save yourself.” Before I was able to respond he rode on and into the town while I stood gaping like a country bum in the city for the first time.  I watched helicopters flying towards the east and soldiers marching to the south, but to the south I had no idea what would require over a million (though I might have been exaggerating how many there actually was) soldiers for a few hundred rebels.  My answer would come in only a few days and I would never, even to this day, expect what would happen on the border of Mexico, nor would I ever forget.

Moment in Time – The Ends Justify the Means [Part 7]

We reached Battle Mountain, Nevada, a place appropriately named for what happened there.  We knew Burns was on our trail hard since the speech, but we had no idea he knew where we were heading. Hindsight is a bitch sometimes.  We moved under the cover of night, backtracking along the route and setting up dozens of false trail on the way, but when we passed into Nevada, we had no idea of what we would encounter.  Jacks and I were assigned to organize our communications, but his mind wasn’t in the job.  North T was his brother, whose death is something he will never recover from.  I watched him go through reports from Colorado, thumbing through reports of casualties that occurred after my speech, something I still haven’t recovered from, and write down the names on a small sheet of paper and stuff them in his jacket pocket.  I lost myself in news from the east, mainly from the Western New York area.  I’m still ashamed that I never shed a tear when I read my sisters name on the report from the casualty list from the prisoner camp outside of Syracuse.  Goodbye, Jennifer, I hope the next life will be as good as the one we’re fighting for.

We reached the Nevada/Utah border a few days after we left Colorado, tired and somber for a bunch that knew we were making progress towards what John said was “our saving grace”.  We camped outside of the Nevada border, fires kept to a minimum, but the fact that we were expected blew all of our plans out of the water.  It was nearly midnight when the first shots rang out in the warm, clear night.  Flares shot up all around us as there was a mad scramble for weapons and ammo.  I awoke with a start, confused about what was happening, but I clearly heard John yelling to our forces to mobilize and get to the western perimeter.  I stumbled around in my tent, trying to grab boots and gun all at the same time and failing at both.  I managed to get the boots half on and the shotgun loaded before I hear John’s voice cut out half through an order.  I stumbled out of the tent, ready to die, but was met with a ring of my fellow patriots firing at vague shadows advancing from a twinkling of gun fire in the distance.  We had prepared for this, but our preparations melted under actual gunfire.  We began a grudging retreat towards the vehicles and horses, but the sound of jet engines in the distance told us that we wouldn’t get far.

I ran back to my tent and grabbed as much of the communications as I could and set fire to the rest.  Tents burst into flame all over the camp as bodies began to pile up in both ranks.  I made my way to a horse and stuffed the notes I was able to save into the saddlebag and walked in its shadow, keeping my pale face out of the moonlight.  I had watched enough movies to know what I was doing and one of us had to reach Battle Mountain to contact the resistance force there and let them know what happened.  I was only about twenty feet out when Jacks and John, who was sporting as improvised tourniquet around his neck, caught up with me.  We quietly made our way west, avoiding random patrols who were sent, as far as I can tell, for people trying to escape.

Under the circumstances of our situation and the fact that we had to make sure John didn’t die at any moment, we took another two weeks to Battle Mountain.  Reaching that god forsaken place is something I will never, ever, be able to forget.  We rode up slowly since none our signals were responded to, but as we reached the point where we were supposed to meet our contacts, we found out why. While not an attractive town to begin with, the site of all two thousand, eight hundred plus lay in a giant hole dug in the center of the town.  Men, “rebels”, women, children.  No one escaped Burns and his troops.  Some near the top showed signs of torture, but the rest were just riddled with bullet holes.  Jacks tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a nearby building that was once the supermarket.  Holes splattered with red covered the side nearest the parking lot.  They did it right here, this very spot, at least fifteen at a time.  I have no idea how long it took them to kill almost three thousand people, but there was no reason for this massacre.  The “rebels”?  Sure, kill the people fighting for freedom, but not the innocent others.  Not the children.  Not our future.  A voice came to me outside of the supermarket, a voice I had burned into my memory.  Burns was waiting for us.

“Ah, you finally made it.  I was beginning to think no one escaped from our little fun in Utah.  Please, friends, calm down.  All I have with me is a token force or the army, nothing more than two hundred troops.  Let’s be civil.”

I remember those words to this day.  He sounded so eloquent, so in control.  I couldn’t help but follow suit.

“We need medical attention.  Honoring the Hague agreement in the treatment of prisoners of war, we ask for medical attention for our friend.”

Burns simply smiled.  Two medics ran out and grabbed John, pulling him into a nearby building.  Jacks and I stood there, waiting for the inevitable, knowing that our General was more important that a bookkeeper and his assistant.

“Gentlemen, please be at ease.  You are my. . . honored guests.  I’m sure many people have questions for you, but right now, we will be civil with each other, right?  Good.  Sargent, please escort this man to the best accommodations this town has.. excuse me, had to offer.”

Jacks was gently taken away by two soldiers flanked by another two.  We were still considered dangerous, even though unarmed.  Apparently ideas are more dangerous than bullets.  I was left standing with two soldiers and Burns himself.  My anger at him faltered in the scopes of two trained soldiers so I simply turned my back and stared into the body filled hole behind me.  I could hear the footsteps slowly approaching me, knowing that it wasn’t a soldier, just a murderer.  A government sanctioned murderer.  A murderer that I needed to know more about.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Burns?”

“Of course, Brian.”  I could sense the smile in his voice as he said my name.

“Why them?  They had nothing to do with us.  Why not just eliminate us?”

He laughed, “Brian, you really are innocent, aren’t you?  I could have wiped out every last person in our camp, but I didn’t.  Not out of any morality or something foolish as that, but because you’re only one sect of terrorists that plague our new country.  I know why you question why I am keeping you and your friends alive, but it is really easy to understand.  I need to know why the Mexicans and Cubans have mobilized.  I need to know why Canada has closed its borders to government officials.  As the communications officer of the largest cell in the United States, you will be able to share this information with me.  As to why these people, these citizens had to die?  For you, Brian.  Each and every person here died for you.  Each plea for mercy was for you. ”

He turned to walk away as the soldiers with him gently escorted me away when he stopped and the soldiers stopped in unison.

“Sometimes, Brian, I regret what I have done to our own people.  Sometimes I think what I am doing might be wrong.  I force myself some mornings to wake up and take the lives of American citizens.  I do what I do because I am honorable.  I do what I do because I know what I do is for the betterment of our great country.  I do what I did here because I have come to realize that the ends justify the means.  I will kill you someday, but know that even after both of us die, the country will continue.”

With that, He turned and walked away as I was led to a small hotel and shoved in a room that was sealed with metal bars over the windows.  The ends justify the means, he said.  Three thousand deaths rest on my shoulders.  I was not about to let them have had to die in vain.  Burns supplied me with paper and pencils to continue my records, I don’t know if it was because of some sense of repentance or sadistic humor, but either way, my records will continue and I will survive.  At least until Texas, where I died.