Rats On A Sinking Ship

The brick house’s roof clicked and clunked with the heavy wind. Sound of branches and whatnot falling on top and rolling off.

Tucker’s mom brought sandwiches for the boys as they hovered over the table inside.

The old wooden table groaned under the weight of Tucker’s dad. He was looking at the map spread across it. The dim glow of a lantern cast flickering shadows on the walls.

Tucker, just tweleve, pointed at different spots with the confidence of someone twice his age. His confidence came from his years of hunting experience. He figured this would be no different.

Find your prey. Study it. Succeed.

A half-circle of men—burly, armed, dangerous—watched him closely.

“I’ve been studying this place for a while,” Tucker said. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that he’s got the lightest security in the back.”

Mike, his father, folded his arms. “And where’s he keeping it?”

Tucker shrugged. “No idea. But it’s probably not in the barn. Too obvious. My guess? The basement. I mean there’s other oil pirates stealing cans of oil and gas. We aren’t the only ones in this area. Heck, even normies are starting to do it. The barn just isn’t safe.”

Mike nodded, chewing on tobacco. He spit into a small paper cup. “And the schedule?”

“They leave for church at 8 a.m. every Sunday. Back by 11. That gives us three hours to get in and out.”

“You sure about this?” asked Jeff. He was older than the rest but just as dangerous. “First time in the field, ain’t it? I don’t know if you’re aware, but the church ain’t as popular as it used to be. I’m supposing they might miss a sermon er two.”

“I’ve done recon.” Tucker said. “The only security is traps, locks, and alarms. No guards. No guns. We can handle it.”

This was Tucker’s first mission. He wanted to make his father proud. There could be no mistakes.

Mike spit in his cup and patted his son on the back.

Tucker always loved it when his father gave him approval. It was rare, so when it did happen, he felt great.

“Then it’s time to put all that practice to work.” said Mike. He rolled up the map of the estate and the men left to get ready.

Tucker nodded. He was ready. Or so he thought.

The sound of distant explosions crackled from the TV.

Victor sat frozen, his face bathed in the cold glow of the screen. The screams, the chaos—it was all there, playing out in real-time. His expression was unreadable. Fear? Rage? Maybe both.

The rest of the crew stood behind him, staring, unblinking.

Tucker walked into the room, rubbing the tension from his face. But the moment he saw the screen, his expression shifted.

They had just been celebrating and watching sports. Now they were back to watching the horror movie called the news. But they had seen this before. They should be used to it.

Wrong. This… what he was witnessing, was different.

Tucker was trying to process what the General had told him. Now his sadness turned to shock.

The news reporter on-screen was wearing a bulletproof vest, gripping his microphone like a lifeline, shouting over the deafening noise behind him.

"After negotiations fell through last night, the UN officially disbanded. Since then, things have only spiraled further out of control—"

A sudden explosion rocked the ground behind him. The camera shook. The reporter and the camera went flying through the air. He and the camera were only on the ground for a moment. He got back up, then checked his surroundings before continuing. Desperate to get his story, his message to the world.

"I—I am currently on the border of Canada and the U.S.” the reporter continued. “As you can see, the firefight has already started. The surprise dual invasions by Mexico and Canada might be linked, but it's still too early to tell—"

The screen cut back to the news anchor in the studio. An anchor in a well dressed suit was sweating. Usually he was used to the heat of the lights, but something has clearly changed.

"Thank you, Stan, and please be safe. In other news—"

Then someone off-camera handed him a sheet of paper. The anchor and this unknown lackey had a quick, low back and forth before he took the page and read it.

The anchor’s face changed instantly.

Pale. Hollow.

"What’s the meaning of…?" he mumbled, re-reading the words in disbelief.

Then, a gulp. A deep breath.

"Is this real? Jesus, IS THIS REAL?!"

Murmuring off-screen.

The anchor’s voice wavered.

"This is a joke... THIS IS—" He stopped. Collected himself. Forced composure.

The room inside Mammoth Bunker was dead silent. The crew felt if one of them blinked they could miss everything.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the anchor said, voice shaking. "I… I know that we’ve been through a lot these past 20 years but…. But I couldn’t imagine…"

He closed his eyes, exhaled. He crumpled the paper and threw it off the stage without looking. He whipped his sweat and cleared his throat. This was his time. Time to say the message of a generation to the last of humanity before they withered away in the last of their 6 months.

"You deserve to hear it straight. It’s official. God have mercy on our souls. We just entered World War Thr—"

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

The screen cut to static.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Then, they all shot up to their feet.

Yet they all stood frozen, the weight of the news pressing down on them like the artificial gravity in the bunker had just doubled.

They were statues for what felt like eons. Locked in the time dilation of fear.

Dr. Martinez was the first to break the silence. “What?”

Victor turned to Emma. “W-What the hell happened?”

“Damn it, it’s the communications tower.” said Emma. “We never finished fixing it. It must’ve shorted out.”

Jack slammed his fist on the table. “Fuck the tower! What about us?”

“What about us?” asked Lien.

“We were supposed to leave!” said Jack. “Now we don’t even know if there’s gonna be any countries to go back to.”

“The fighting just started. It can’t be that bad.” said Lien.

Akira exhaled. “There are no nukes as far as I could see.”

“Yeah, well, Japan doesn’t even have nukes to fire.” Victor said sarcastically.

“And Russia’s never used theirs.” rebutted Tucker.

“Hey!” Martinez snapped. “This is happening because they don’t know what we’ve done. Maybe if we can get a signal out—”

Emma shook her head. “The comms tower is down.”

Jack turned on her. “If you’d done your job, the tower would still be working.”

“Let’s not start the blame game.” said Tucker. “Lien wanted to learn.”

Lien stiffened. “So it’s my fault?”

Tucker shook his head, nervously. “No, that’s not what I—”

“That’s enough!” Martinez’s voice cut through the rising tension.

He swept his gaze over them, his usual calm replaced with something sharp, unyielding.

“We cannot fall apart now. Not when we’re this close. Everyone, back to your barracks.” he said. “Take twenty. Cool off. Then we’ll get things back up and running—together. As a team. Does everyone understand?”

No one spoke.

“Move! That’s an order!”

Slowly, they started filing out, tension still crackling in the air.

Jack stopped at the entrance. He turned back, eyes locked on Martinez. “And what about you?” asked Tucker.

Martinez looked at him. “Me?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said. “What will you be doing?”

“I gave you an order.” Martinez said through his teeth.

Jack held his gaze for a long moment, searching for something in Martinez’s face. Whatever he found—or didn’t find—left him unsatisfied.

Without another word, he turned and left.