Zen's War: Captivity

Pablo led the way, Zen and the rest followed close behind. Before they had left Pablo covered his water pits with dirt to make sure no one would find them. With jackrabbit in their bellies they left their campsite behind. They left the wash and came once again to Campbell Avenue, crossing the bridge that led over the wash.

The heat of the day was already intensifying. If the devil had chosen a place to make his home other than hell, the Sonoran Desert would have been a worthy substitute.

The former Contiguous United States were split primarily into three parts. The westernmost states were mostly under the control of the Mexican Revolutionary Front. From the south, up through the Midwest, to the former border of Canada was controlled by the Confederate American Militia. The original thirteen colonies were under the delusion that the United States of America still existed. They still elected a president every four years; in the crumbling ruins of the White House, within the Oval Office, sat the ruler of the free world.

Survival of the fittest does not only apply to the animal and plant world, but to political systems as well. These three political factions survive because they are the best suited to. The strong prey on the weak. If you’re not strong, then you will not survive. Strength for political factions and governments comes from a ready supply of weaponry. Community is another key aspect of their strength. All three of these groups have close communities and extensive arsenals of weapons. For their communities to survive, they must have weapon to protect themselves. Individually the members of these factions work together towards common goals. Sadly, these three factions do not share common goals.

Survival also depends on the ability to adapt to the environment and exploit your competitors’ weaknesses. Governments and political factions are no different.

Zen’s thoughts centered on Sahara. What psychotic group could have taken her? He supposed it could be the Confederate American Militia. They were a group of white supremacist survivalists. They hated pretty much everyone except those that adhered to their beliefs, which were a mixture of Nazi and Confederate ideals. They wanted to create a new America. This new America would be made up of a white Caucasian ruling class. The blacks and all other races would either be killed or enslaved. Jews were vermin that would have to change now be exterminated. According to the militia, if the Jews were not wiped out, then their Zionist conspiracy to rule the earth would come to fruition. They were just doing their duty for God and country. After the war the strong used their weapons to control the weak, as well as defend themselves from competition. The ones whose voices cried out for peace were silenced.

They continued south on Campbell Avenue, their journey had only just begun. On the left and right of the roadway were fields overgrown with plants and weeds reaching towards the sky. Both fields were at one time used by the University of Arizona for farming and horticulture. A small house sat to their right. The house was falling apart. In the driveway sat an old Ford pickup truck, which from its appearance hadn’t been driven in years. The truck was completely overgrown with weeds, and all of its tires were flat. Suddenly the sound of a gunshot rang out. As they continued walking one gunshot became many, their sound steadily growing louder. Each of them grew more nervous as the number of gunshots increased, as well as their proximity to them. Zen who had the eyes of a hawk was the first to see where these gunshots were originating from. Squinting in the blinding light of the sun he spotted a battalion of Permanentes coming out of the east. Permanentes were one of two infantry units in the army of the Mexican Revolutionary Front, the other were known as Activos. Amid their ranks were a group of men on horseback, numbering ten. All of the Permanentes, including the cavalry wore the same uniform. This uniform consisted of khaki trousers, and a blue tunic. Over the tunic was a navy blue wool overcoat, with red trim. Across their chests they wore brown leather crossed ammunition bandoliers. On their heads they wore rounded blue kepis. The group fired rifles with bayonets attached to them. The battalion continued forward at a quickening pace, as if they were in pursuit of something. The horses stirred up a cloud of dirt as they galloped along. Out of the cloud of dirt they could see a black man running from them. He ran in a futile attempt to evade those that sought his capture. Zen could not help but feel sorry for him, due to the fact that his attempt would end in his death or in the least capture. Being captured was obviously the desired end. A dead slave cannot perform his duties.

As the group of soldiers/bounty hunters and the man they pursued came closer, the horrific display came into focus. The fugitive slave was wearing jeans, with no shoes or shirt on, and he was bleeding profusely from a bullet wound. The bullet wound seemed to be somewhere in his back. Zen and the rest of the group were not about to wait around to be hit by a stray bullet. Each of them ran to find their own hiding spot. Derek jumped into the back of the pickup truck by the roadside then lay down in a prone position due to his heavy backpack. Hector followed suit, but instead hid beneath the bed of the truck. Zen and Aurora ran and hid behind the house beside the truck. Pablo ran onto the porch of the house and banged loudly on the front door. The door flew open revealing a burly man with a long blonde beard, wearing camouflage army fatigues. He held what looked like a shotgun, which was pointed in the face of Pablo. “What in the hell is going on around here?” the large man shouted. “Would it be asking too much for a little peace and quiet?” His eyes lit up when he realized Pablo’s identity. Apparently they knew each other. “Come on in, you and your friends, hurry up,” he said, insistently.

They each reappeared from their hiding places and high tailed it through the front door. After they were all inside the man quickly turned around and locked the two front doors. The outer door was solid steel which was locked with five chains, each requiring a separate key, while the other was wooden. The bearded man fumbled with a set of keys he had fished from his pocket, struggling to match the right key with the right lock. Then after the outer door had been secured, he went to work on the inner door then locked the two deadbolts and the lock on the door knob.

Entering the darkened room Zen noticed there was one kerosene lamp glowing on an old wooden coffee-table. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a rocking chair next to the table. The man with the shotgun immediately slid the rectangular table to the side. Directly beneath where the table had been was a trap door in the wooden floor. He quickly flipped the trap door open revealing a ladder that led underground. The man with the blond beard was first to descend down the ladder, still clutching the shotgun in his right hand. Zen was the first to follow, as if led forward by some unseen force. The rest followed this course of action, having faith in Zen’s decision to follow.

Down they went, like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, without any way of knowing where it would lead. The opening that led underground appeared to have rounded walls of concrete, and was around two feet in circumference. The climb down was uncomfortable, especially for Aurora who was quite claustrophobic. Almost at the bottom of the ladder was the man with the blond beard. Next came Zen, then Pablo, followed by Aurora and Derek. The trick was not to descend too rapidly, in order to allow enough space between you and the person below you. If you descended too rapidly, you ran the risk of kicking the person below you in the face. Derek who was the last to descend did not have to worry about it.

After they descended for what seemed to be an eternity― which in actuality had only been around fifteen feet―they came to a box shaped room. The room was much larger than Zen had expected. It measured around two hundred square feet. All four of its walls were made of solid concrete, including the floor and ceiling, except for the small circular hole from which the ladder descended. Along the perimeter of the room kerosene lamps hung at random intervals near the ceiling on the wall. As their eyes adjusted to the artificial light, details of the room came into focus. Up against one of the walls was a black leather couch. The couch was torn in many places, revealing the white stuffing within it. On the opposite wall was a large American flag. Along the perimeter of the flag were portraits of American presidents and other important American figures, including such people as George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. There were also famous American movie stars such as James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. This was not something they were used to seeing. It was considered unlawful to fly or even possess an American flag, or any other piece of Americana, according to the Mexican Revolutionary Front. Those who possessed or flew an American flag were usually accused of treason and killed by a firing squad or hanging. This was Mexico again. If anyone hinted that this was still America, they were swiftly punished. The only people that were exceptions were those who could evade the authorities. This bearded soldier was obviously one such person.

There they all stood in the glowing light of kerosene lamps. They could hear nothing of the world above. They could no longer hear the sounds of gunfire, nor the fugitive slave’s futile cries for mercy. Both sounds were replaced by the trickling sound of running water, which could be heard in the distance. This was a surreal sound for them, since they had seldom ever heard it.

Each of them breathed heavily and were moist with perspiration. They had just escaped within an inch of their lives. They had survived, which was either a blessing or a curse in their current situation.