all god's orphans

Wes leaned on the hood of his van and examined the ridiculously large map. He was lost. He’d pulled into this truck stop hoping to find someone who could tell him where he was exactly, but all he’d found were some dead bodies and a map so big that he doubted he could fold it back to a size that would fit in his van. He took a sip from the warm Dr. Pepper he had liberated from the broken down coolers inside and squinted at the map. Shouldn’t he have passed Nashville by now? He had never been good with directions. Before he could continue on his way, he needed to know where he was right now and that wasn’t looking too hopeful.

The parking lot was nearly empty in the front and the back of the truck stop, which was meant to host about one hundred tractor-trailers, only held about eight. He had the whole place to himself, pretty much. He had already taken a shower and played a few video games, but it was time to move on. As he tried to fold the absurdly large map, he thought he heard a gaggle of geese nearby, which struck him as odd.

It seemed to be coming from the woods beside the truck stop and as he moved to that side of the building, the sound became clearer and he realized it wasn’t geese, but children shouting and playing outside. For a moment, he thought he must be mistaken. He hadn’t seen any children around for days. It was like the school bell had rung and they’d all gone inside.

He moved through the band of pine trees and could just make out the shape of a school building and what looked like a playground. Had this area somehow avoided whatever was happening everywhere else, he wondered. As he got closer, it looked for all the world like school was back on. A large, yellow bus was parked beside the fence and matronly women in long skirts stood nearby watching the children play.

Wes slipped through the woods to the side of the school building trying to peer inside the windows, but they were too high. From outside, it appeared that the lights inside the building were off. He went towards the front of the building hoping to find out what was happening, but the parking lot was empty except for a large SUV. As he was inching towards the front entrance, he heard a man’s voice shouting at him as the doors of the SUV opened and out hopped two armed soldiers.

“You!” Shouted one, causing Wes to freeze in place. “Hands up!” Fear yanked Wes spine in the opposite direction and he took off running back towards the woods. One of the soldiers was quite a bit younger and left the older one in the dust. Wes’ lungs were burning as he hit the tree line and hoped to lose this guy in the pines, but he was too fast. He tackled Wes at the knees and knocked him to the ground, placing his entire mass on top of him. The guy was so heavy that he could barely breathe.

“What are you running for, huh?” The guy spat, roughly patting Wes down for a weapon.

“Because you’re fucking chasing me with guns!” Wes exclaimed. Eventually the older soldier, a sergeant, made his way to them.

“Holt!” He called to the younger one. “That’s enough. Let him up.” Holt got up, but refused to offer a hand to Wes “Easy, partner.” Said the sergeant. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. I haven’t had the best relationship with authority.”

“Is that why you ran?” The sergeant seemed much more reasonable than his counterpart, but still put Wes in handcuffs. As they led him back to the vehicle, Wes could see the children being put back on the bus.

“What’s going on here?” He asked them. “Why is this school the only one I’ve seen open since this all started.”

“It’s not open.” The sergeant told him. “We’re just making a pit stop on the way to the education camps. It’s a few hours’ drive from here and kids need to run around.”

“Education camps?” Wes had been under the impression that the government of the United States was in the past tense. He had seen vague elements of a military presence, but nothing on the ground and nothing so parochial as an education camp. When they reached the SUV, the sergeant fiddled with the radio trying to reach base with no luck.

“Homestead, this is Viper 15.” He said into the CB handset. “Do you copy, over?” Static.

“Those radios are pieces of shit.” Holt observed.

“Language, corporal.” Said the sergeant without looking up from the dials. “Homestead, do you copy?” Nothing. “Forget it.” He said, tossing the handset down. “Scan him.”

“What do you mean ‘scan’ me?” Wes pulled slightly against Holt’s grip.

“Relax.” Said the sergeant. “It’s just your thumbprint.”

“No, fuck that!” Wes exclaimed, trying to break away from Holt only to be punched in the stomach and sent to his knees. Vomit gurgled up in the back of his throat.

“We can do this easy or hard.” The sergeant said. “It’s up to you.” Wes gasped in huge gulps of air as the nausea subsided slightly. Eventually, he nodded. The sergeant removed a device that looked like a smartphone and turned it on. A small picture lit up the screen and showed where Wes’ thumb was meant to go. He felt the sergeant press it to his thumb, which was still cuffed behind his back. Wes resigned himself to what was going to happen next. Oh well, he thought, I was supposed to be dead weeks ago so what does it matter. As the sergeant watched the screen, a small note sounded.

“Not on file.” He said to Wes’ everlasting delight.

“What does that mean?” He asked.

“It means you’re in violation of executive order 141-80.” This all sounded like Greek to Wes. He’d been told many things any time he’d been arrested. This was not among them.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He was getting irritated now.

“That language isn’t necessary.” Said the sergeant, instantly earning Wes’ hatred.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He genuinely wanted to know.

“Smile.” Said the sergeant as he held up the device and took a photo of Wes’ very confused face. “Name?” He asked, and Wes considered telling him to fuck off, but Holt seemed to be itching to land another punch in his gut, so he decided he would play along for the moment.

“Wesley.” He replied.

“Last name?”

“Wesley is my last name.” He snapped. “Nobody calls me Scott.”

“Well, Wesley.” The sergeant began. “I don’t know what rock you’ve been hiding under, but there are some new rules regarding young men and how they spend their time.”

“Is that right?”

“Indeed it is.” The handheld device beeped. “Congratulations, Scott Wesley.” Said the sergeant. “You are now a conscript private in the United States Army.”

“The fuck I am.” Wes protested.

“I’ve warned you once already about the language. We’ll have to work on that, I guess.” The sergeant removed the handcuffs. “My name is Sergeant MacDunn. You’ll need to come with us.”

“No thanks.” Said Wes. Holt flicked the safety off again.

“We can just shoot you, y’know.” Holt smirked.

“You guys are nuts.”

“No.” MacDunn corrected him. “We are soldiers in the US Army and now, so are you.” Wes didn’t seem convinced so the sergeant tried a different approach. “It’s not so bad. We’ve got food, meds, shelter. If you prove useful, there are plenty of opportunities for advancement.” MacDunn turned his attention back to the CB radio. “Homestead, come in.” Only static. Wes saw an opportunity.

“Y’know, I can help you fix that radio.” He told them.

After a few minutes in the truck stop, Wes emerged with an armful of CB equipment and in no time, he had hooked up a better antennae and a signal booster so powerful that they could have conceivably sent a message to the international space station. Soon, the voices from Homestead were coming through in hi-def clarity.

“Wow.” Said MacDunn after finally getting in touch with his base. “I think you’ll fit right in. Why don’t you follow us back to base?” Wes glanced around at the parking lot.

“My car broke down a while back.” He told them. “I had actually gone into this truck stop to find a new ride when I heard those kids.”

“No problem.” Said MacDunn. “You can ride with us.”