Downfall

The crowd’s angry

Heated bodies pushed at me from behind. Fevered shouts of anger filled the air. I stumbled as the crowd surged forward. I tried to back away. The furious mob crowded me toward their front. I pulled away, struggling against the mass of humans. Shouts echoed from megaphones and giant speakers, urging the crowd to disperse.

The volume of yelling increased at the demands. I struggled harder. Hands shoved me forward. Another warning from the megaphone. The front line of the crowd hesitated momentarily. Then they ran. Not away, but forwards. Time seemed to stand still as I was crushed and thrown forward. The shouting and chants reached a crescendo. Momentarily the sounds dropped and pounding feet were heard as those in the front screamed again.

A concussion grenade blasted over the noise of the crowd. Two more in quick succession. The rapid firing of government assault rifles. Smoke plumed in the air. Screaming turned from anger to fear. The mob of rebels slowed to a halt. I fought my way back. My fight wasn’t here. Flash mobs like this were common now. But this was the worst. Men and women younger than me were dead and dying. The livid anger and fear were tangible, filling the sky like a flock of vultures.

They weren’t going to stop. The hesitation was momentary. Than several shots. Stove guns. Homemade rebels who weren’t waiting for a leader. The relative silence around me was short lived. A roar rose up and the mob sprinted again. The street clogged in the middle. Sweaty men and women piled around riot vans. The dead and dying were trampled underfoot. The policemen fired into the crowd. More grenades. More smoke. Confusion reigned.

A foot kicked my gut. I gagged and fell forward. My feet churned. Falling was a death wish in this crowd. My hands hit the ground. I pushed off, tumbling forward. My foot caught on a grate in the roadway. I pulled and yanked, my bare foot slipping out of my shoe. Boots and heavy feet hit my back. My face hit the concrete. I curled, rolling with the crowd.

A body passed beneath me. The smell of blood and smoke permeated the air. A bullet hit my pant leg. Another kick. Another dying boy. Adrenaline drowned out all pain. I wasn’t going to join the dead. My kid needed me. So did my sister. They wouldn’t survive if I died. This wasn’t my fight. I shouldn’t be here.

A foot crushed my neck. My windpipe constricted. I retched and heaved, trying to stand against the sea of humanity. Cold metal smashed into my head. I clutched at the object. A police van. Anything to hold onto in the angry tide. I felt a handle and braced my arms.

I was pulled up, pressing against the metal plate. The mob around me blurred. I tasted blood and my mind focused. I had to survive for my son. His blonde hair. His green eyes. Those memories. I gripped the handle a bit tighter. The sounds of fighting dimmed. Smoke burned my eyes so I squeezed them shut.

Tears streamed from my face as anti-gas was released into the air. The crowd faded from my perception. The van slowed to a halt. I felt a sharp blow on my head. I stood straighter, still clinging. Another blow landed. I fell into the concrete, struggling to remain conscious. I spun toward my attacker. Another blow and I fell. My skull smacked the uneven pavement. Sudden darkness swept away the pain.

A knock sounded at the door. I opened my eyes from my attempted nap. My hands shook. I stood, walking the short distance to the door. I gripped the knob tightly and pulled. I sighed in relief. My son stood in twilight, smiling. His blonde hair hung in his dark eyes. I rushed forward to embrace him.

I stopped a moment before I touched him. I hadn’t seen the homeless man gripping him tightly. He smiled slowly. In an offhand manner, he pulled a stove gun from his leg. Fear caught in my throat. I leaped toward them both, but strong hands held my arms. The gun lazily climbed toward the green eyes.. I cursed and kicked, trying to break free. The gun rested on my son’s temple and the man smiled. The killer shook his head and pulled the trigger.

I shredded my vocal cords as I sat up, bludgeoning my head against something hard. It was a dream. We were all okay. It wouldn’t happen. I could still protect them. I took deep breaths, relaxing my stomach. The mild headache pounded a steady beat in my mind.

I felt around me. Soft plastic squished beneath my fingers. The occasional soft or wet item lay on the surface. I moved my hands towards my head and felt cool plastic. I pushed slowly. It rose, exposing tall brick walls and a smog filled sky. I lay on the edge of a dumpster, peering through the cracked lid. I watched for several minutes, but no one appeared. I edged closer, heaving the cover higher.

“Don’t leave yet.”

I started, falling back into the trash. The lid slammed shut. My eyes adjusted after a moment. My heart seemed to falter. I tried to speak, my voice catching in my throat. I gulped and tried again.

“Why. Why shouldn’t I leave.” I shouldn’t have been so demanding. A soft apple flew into my head and exploded in worms and warm matter. I hastily wiped at it, shaking my head until the voice spoke again.

“Ask politely. I’m only doing you a favor you freak.”

The voice sounded younger this time. Maybe a teenager. Or younger. I bowed my head over my legs and tried to speak calmly.

“Why shouldn’t I leave?”

“They’re watching the alley. Motion sensors. They’ll clear out soon.”

Now the voice sounded like an older woman. I peered into the darkness. The rain started falling, making more conversation nearly impossible. Water leaked from the edges of the lid. Loud sounds of skin on plastic echoed as the speakers moved from the edge. I slipped sideways as water streamed onto my clothing.

After a few minutes, someone turned on a flashlight. It hit my eyes first. I jerked away from the light as someone laughed and was told to shut up. The light danced over my head for a moment more, before someone shouted.

“I know you! You left me to die three days ago. You looked at me and ran. I know we're all trying to survive here, but we help each other. The light dimmed and shut off. The sounds of struggling overcame the rain. A gunshot and the sulfuric smell of a stove gun. I didn’t remember where I was three days ago, or what happened. But I wasn’t sticking around.

I threw off the lid and leaped the twelve feet to the ground. As my feet touched the pavement, I rolled. Simultaneously, a screeching alarm rang out overhead. I pulled my legs under me and sprinted toward the nearest street.

Moments later, riot vans sped into the alley behind, and ahead of me. A ladder hung from the fire escape of the old building. I ran at the wall, kicking off. My palms smacked the metal bar and I pulled myself up. The vans rolled closer. I climbed higher. Then stairs. I took them three at a time. A megaphone shouted for me to hold still. I didn’t listen. My fight wasn’t with them, but they didn’t know that. Taser wires hit the metal stairway.

I pulled my hands from the rails and kept running. I hit the roof. Water was pooling on the flat expanse. Running, I made for the opposite edge, leaping around blackened pieces of once white marble. I reached it, readying to slide down to the street below. I glanced up and hesitated. Less than a two hundred yards away, lay the White House. Or what was left of it. The mobs had finally gotten their wish. The structure had been blown away. Craters where it had stood and rubble laying in the streets and on roofs.

Whomever was in the the riot vans, couldn’t be the government. Those left had been guarding the president. It didn’t matter if I didn’t like it, or if it wasn’t the best turn of events. But I still had to find my son.