Mad City: Book One of the Sean Walsh Post Apocalyptic Series Read online

  Alpha wasted no time and began hitting terrorist sights both home and abroad with great vigor. The threats at home were dealt with quickly, but the basic rights of its civilians were now ignored. This was not a good time to be an Arab-American. There were reports of summary executions of “suspected” enemies of the state on a regular basis. These suspected enemies of the state were almost always Arab-Americans. Most were terrorists, but there were innocent American citizens who perished. Alpha had become judge, jury and executioner. There was massive collateral damage during this time. The line between military and police had blurred. At first the American public and our allies rallied behind Alpha. Alpha showed the world they meant business by unleashing tactical nukes in Iraq and Iran. Most of the desert there was turned to glass. Israel breathed a sigh of relief when this occurred and with the help of the United States, invaded Palestine and annexed it as their own.

  Six months before all of this happened I was forced to retire from the police department. I shot and killed an armed teenager who was attempting to car-jack an elderly woman. The teenager was a black youth who was, unfortunately for me an alderperson’s nephew. He had an extensive record of violence for a 16-year old. The elderly female he was attempting to car-jack at gun point was black also, but nobody brought that up. It was in a very violent part of the city where shootings and robberies were a part of the ghetto culture. Many good people in these neighborhoods were the victims that nobody really cared about, unless it was an election year which this was.

  It all happened so fast. I replay it over and over in my head to this day. Dumb luck that I was a block away when the call of a robbery in progress came over the radio. There was a quick update with the description of the youth and him being armed with a semi-auto pistol. When I pulled up on the scene, he had the pistol aimed at the elderly lady’s head with his right hand and was trying to pull her out of the car by her grey hair with his left hand. Most of these calls are bullshit, this guy really does have a gun pointed at Grandma. I jumped out of my squad car.

  When he saw me out of the corner of his eye, he spun around gaining target acquisition and swung his Glock in my direction. By instinct I shot a total of five .40 cal bullets into the youth. He collapsed on the ground and I called for back-up and medical attention. I couldn’t hear the screams from the elderly lady that was the intended victim and I couldn’t see any of the witnesses on the sidewalk because most of my peripheral vision was gone. (You lose quite a bit of your hearing and peripheral vision when your body goes into fight-or-flight mode.)

  I had been involved in numerous police shooting as a cop and as a Sergeant. I came close to shooting people, even had my finger on the trigger squeezing it ever so gently, but something always changed at the very last second and I was spared taking another human’s life, except for today. He was dead on the scene. Much like my career in law enforcement.

  I don’t remember much after that. I was in shock. It doesn’t matter how big of a tough guy or gal you are, no cop goes to work that day hoping they kill another human. It goes against our nature, but sometimes we are put in situations where there is no other option. Of course these decisions are made in fractions of a second, just like in my situation.

  After the shooting I went through the regular routine of hours of questioning from the Department of Justice, the District Attorney’s office and our very own Internal Affairs Division. After getting a replacement gun and going for a drug test, which was standard procedure for anybody who is involved in a critical incident, I was driven home by Fred Smith from IAD.

  I liked Fred. He was a good cop that I worked with when I was a rookie. We both worked midnight to eight in the morning in the toughest part of the ghetto. He was a good cop and now a good Sergeant. IAD needed more guys like Fred. “Do you want me to call your wife?” Fred asked with a look of genuine concern. He then had a “oh shit!” look on his face. He remembered me as a married guy, he didn’t work with me when I was going through my horrible divorce. Fred had taken the promotion to Sergeant and moved on to a different district. “I’m sorry Sean, I forgot,” Fred said with a look of embarrassment and empathy. He also went through a tough divorce and knew how I felt.

  The criminal investigation regarding my shooting concluded in six months. It was ruled justified and there would be no criminal charges brought against me.

  I was now a civilian. It was pretty hard getting used to that. I wanted to be a soldier or cop since I was a little kid. I remember when I was about 10 years old I told my Mom that a friend of mine heard that the army was looking for little kids to join an elite group of soldiers that specialized in going into tunnels and routing out the enemy. Since we were small we could fit in tight spaces. It all made sense to me. The only catch was you had to be an orphan. So I asked my Mom if she would send me off to an orphanage so I could be a part of this elite unit. I remember her face turning red and her beating the shit out of me. At that point I really did want to run off to an orphanage.

  The first time in my life I had time on my hands. I did some bodyguard work for cash and was in high demand because of my military and police training. I also spend more time with my boys. My oldest, Sean Jr. was living with his Mom working odd Jobs and was going to technical college. My youngest, Collin started his first semester at U.W. Madison where he was studying engineering. He was about a 2 Hour drive away from me. My time with my kids was very awkward but I made the best of it. I did keep in touch with them every day just to say hi and make sure they were okay.

  The divorce was tough on my kids and my ex-wife portrayed me as the “bad guy.” She and her depraved mother tried to pit my boys against me, poisoning their naive and trusting minds. Towards the end of my very long and drawn out divorce, my ex and her mother were proved to be liars. I had spent a great deal of time trying to heal those wounds. Through time and patience, I started to grow close to my boys and tried to make up for lost time.

  With my new found spare time, I paid particular attention to the news reports and the bleak outlook in the Middle East. There were also reports that terrorists would be attacking on United States soil. I didn’t consider myself a “prepper,” but I did start to store food, water and other supplies for a worst case scenario. I asked my boys to move in with me because it would be safer and they both thought I was crazy.

  When the inevitable did happen I was ready. The military and police went door-to-door instructing us to seek shelter in our basements. There was a curfew imposed and you would be shot on sight if you broke the curfew. I was ready and made it through the nine months in my basement. Power and communication were both brought back after about five months into my time in the basement. Neither were reliable but both were welcome when they were working.

  When communication was restored I attempted to contact my kids with no luck. I also tried calling my ex-wife to see if she knew where the kids were. I later discovered that she and her parents were at a peace rally at their local church at the time of the event. They didn’t die right away. It took about a month for them to succumb to radiation burns and sickness. Karma had caught up with them. At least I didn’t have to worry about paying her any of my pension anymore.

  4 Post-War America

  It was getting safer to be outside and I was getting my news from the internet and television now. During the period of being forced to be indoors, the government would drop news canisters (plastic tubes with news leaflets) at the doors of citizens. I started collecting them when I thought it was safe to go outside for a couple of minutes.

  These leaflets were published by Alpha’s department of information. We were informed of the curfew details and public health updates. You couldn’t be out on the streets past 10:00 p.m. without proper documentation or risk being shot on sight. There was also warnings of air and water quality.

  There was also plenty of propaganda in these leaflets. Alpha was touting tremendous victories in America and abroad. Most of these reports were factual, but the collateral
damage and the heavy casualties to our military personnel was brought to light much later. Alpha promised a quick end to this war and it did end rapidly. Sadly, this haste had a hefty price tag in casualties.

  America had lost a good chunk of its male population that was 18-25 years of age due to death in combat. There was plenty of up close and personal fighting, even though we did use tactical nukes and air strikes. We lost plenty of soldiers at home routing out terrorists and overseas operations. Females who had started to be included in combat roles were also losing their lives in the war. They made up about 20% of the active combat forces.

  Due to the drop in citizens that were in their prime child-bearing years, Alpha outlawed birth control. Alpha was determined to repopulate the country. The only way you could access birth control was to have a doctor write a prescription for you. This included condoms and what used to be other over-the-counter contraception. The absent young men and women would impact the economy and future military strength.

  The local police worked in unison with the military. Hell, they even started looking like them. The police were dressed in BDUs down to their bloused boots. The police addressed local crime and dealt with it swiftly. There were lots of desperate people, especially when this kicked off. Local law enforcement didn’t have the time or resources to deal with most of these folks in conventional ways.

  Sometimes citizens were forced to take the law into their own hands. That meant you had to take police action, which included killing somebody that was attempting to break into your house for shelter or necessities. The police would take a quick report from you depending on how complex the situation was. The days of long police investigations were all but gone. Which meant the position of detective was all but eliminated. I had always been a patrol guy, so that didn’t bother me so much.

  In the early days of the war it was definitely the strong and smart that would survive. My home was fortified better than most, but there was one instance where an intruder attempted to get into my house. It was during this time that we could start going outside for about five minutes a day. I went outside to collect my news canisters and he charged me. This unknown, desperate man dug his head into my gut full speed knocking the wind out of me.

  We wound up inside my kitchen and we were locked in hand-to-hand combat. My first thought was, I can’t get any traction. I’m slipping all over the place. I looked down at my unlaced boots for a split second and had my moment of clarity. Why didn’t I lace up my boots? I thought as I was trying to get some footing. I was only armed with my Ka-Bar that was on my belt. I kept sliding on the laminate floor in my kitchen while my attacker had his hands firmly on my neck attempting to choke me. He was advancing at me with his mouth open, like he wanted to take a bite out of my ruddy, Irish neck. His breath smelled like a hundred rotting corpses. We danced an odd death waltz.

  I delivered several palm heel strikes to his throat and nose with no results. My attacker was a male in his late 40’s about 5’9”, stocky with a grey sickly complexion with dead eyes. He smelled terrible and his clothes were filthy. He didn’t say anything, just grunted. He just kept opening his mouth killing me with his halitosis. I had been in many hand to hand battles in my day and I should have been winning this one. He had a firm death grip on my neck and I was starting to black out due to lack of oxygen. I knew if that happened it would be the last time I would be in my kitchen, or anywhere else in this lifetime. I was able to get to my Ka-Bar and thrusted it two times in an upward motion in-between his ribs to reach his heart. He buckled over, but kept his footing. I wasn’t going to wait for round two.

  I grabbed one of my katanas that was next to the stove and thrust it through his breast plate when he stood upright piercing his heart. His knees buckled, but he quickly regained his footing. How did he survive that? I decided to go for his head. As this smelly asshole made a slow lunge toward me, I spun around slicing into his neck with my blade. Most of his neck was cut clean by my razor sharp blade, but there was still skin and muscle holding part of his head to his torso. He crumpled and took a last breath staring up at me with most of his head disconnected. With my sword in hand I stood over this unnatural house guest. My heart was beating out of my chest and I was soaked in sweat. I had a partially decapitated dead guy bleeding on my floor and my door was open much longer that I wanted it to be.

  The battle ended as quickly as it started. I closed my door and inspected the body. I went through his pockets and he had no identification on him or anything of value. He had old radiation burns on his neck and hands. He looked sick and I didn’t want him in my house any longer. I didn’t want any disease brought into my house and, well, he was creeping me out. I dragged his corpse outside to the curb and put a bright red sticker on my front door. This was a way to notify the police that you needed them.

  I changed out of my clothes that were soaked in blood and threw them in the back yard. I would burn them later. Whatever sickness that guy had, I didn’t want. I didn’t know if he was contagious and I didn’t want to find out. I took what started out as a hot shower but quickly turned cold. I used disinfectant soap that burned. Better to be a little uncomfortable now than getting sick later.

  About two days later there was a knock on the door. Two uniformed police officers that I didn’t recognize asked me about the body and I explained what happened. They informed me they had reports similar to mine of subjects that were sick from the radiation and other illnesses in the area. These subjects were desperate and dangerous. They almost seemed bothered like they had better things to do than take my report and told me a collection unit would dispose of the body in a couple of days. Collection units were mobile crematoriums that would burn the flesh from of a corpse and then crush the bones. Due to the large volume of dead bodies, burying the dead was now for the wealthy or powerful and the rest of us would enter the afterlife a pile of dust.

  Dead people were being treated the same as trash. It was necessary under the circumstances. I was shocked by how little of an investigation the cops conducted. Even if it was a justified homicide there should have been a thorough investigation. Instead I had two flatfoots that didn’t really give a shit about me or the guy on my curb. I guess there were more pressing issues than me killing a pseudo zombie. The collection unit must’ve had a slow day because I noticed the body was gone the next morning. These were dark times ahead for this country and me.

  I started to calm down from the adrenaline high and decided to retire to the safety of my basement after doing a perimeter check. It was dark outside and I was exhausted. I laid down and when I closed my eyes I could see the kid I shot when I was a cop and the countless enemy soldiers I killed when I was in the military. Killing was something I was good at in my days in the military and I thought that chapter of my life was over with. I had gotten good at burying those emotions out of necessity. The incident in my kitchen started to bring back the bad memories. I started to see their faces all over again.

  For fuck’s sake, Sean, get a hold of yourself! I controlled my breathing and my heart rate started to slow down a bit.

  That was the only person I had to kill since I was in my basement quarantine. The air quality was getting better and I was starting to run low on supplies. It was time to get out in the world again.

  What the hell is it really going to be like out there? It was night and I was exhausted. Time to get some sleep. Tomorrow I’m going to find out for myself what this world looks like now.

  5 Father Tim

  The air was getting safer to breathe according to the Alpha department of information and independent sources on the internet. The first thing I did when it was safer to go outside was to carefully check the outside of my house and small 1 and 1/2 car garage. They were dirty but no major damage. I’m glad I didn’t listen to the ex when I bought this house. She wanted a bigger fancier home that was covered in siding. I reverted to my Chicago routes and opted for a brick house that was a bit more basic and smaller. It payed off.r />
  I unlocked the reinforced service door and was happy to see my 25-year-old Toyota 4-Runner and 15-year-old Yamaha Road Star motorcycle. There was a good inch or so of dust and dirt on the 4-Runner and on the cover of my Road Star. All the tires were low and the batteries were dead on both. I had two jump packs in my garage and one in my house. The jump packs also had air compressors so I felt like I could get these guys running and roadworthy without too much trouble. I also had a decent stockpile of fuel for both. I decided to wait to get them going until I was ready to hit the road and explore.

  I started to walk my neighborhood a couple of blocks at a time. I always carried my .40 caliber Smith and my 9mm Beretta 92F along with my trusty Ka-Bar. It was legal for me because I was a retired police officer. Carrying a concealed weapon Licenses were revoked when Jean Pierre took office. He was deathly afraid of guns and did everything in his power to disarm citizens. In the end that didn’t prove to be such a great idea. Maybe an armed citizen could have taken out one of those suicide bombers before they got a chance to push down on their plungers of death. We will never know for sure.

  There were a lot of old people on my block and the surrounding areas. Most of them didn’t make it through the tough times of being quarantined inside their homes. Some were not prepared and went outside too early Some had preexisting medical conditions that were made much worse by the lack of medical care or medicine. There were also those who didn’t want to see what was behind post-apocalyptic door number two and ended their lives.

  I never got too friendly with any of my neighbors. They all knew I was a cop and would stop me every now and then to ask me “cop” questions. I think they could tell that I didn’t want to talk shop when I was off-duty. Most of them respected that and my desire for privacy.

  During my second walkabout I saw my neighbor Karl across the street attempting to drag his wife Mary to the curb in a make-shift body bag. They were both retired school teachers that should have been living out their golden years in a nice quiet community. Or at least that’s the way it should have been. I recognized the stench of death coming from the house when he opened up his door. She must have been dead for some time. Unfortunately for me it was all too familiar. I smelt it in the military and when I was a cop. The call would come over the radio for a dead body and that smell would invade my nostrils immediately. Something you never get used to.