Sanctuary of Australia Ch. 1-4

Chapter 1
         Twelve-year-old Marcus Lovell raised his head above the thick underbrush in the way just opposite they had told him to—much too high and much too quickly.  He looked back and signaled for the one behind him, then picked up his rifle and kept moving forward.  Marcus had already taken longer than he was supposed to and the targets could be anywhere.  And if he didn’t get them all he would be punished.  Marcus stalked for another thirty meters over arid, light dirt, then raised his head the right way, spotted a target, and blasted a vertical line of bullets through it with the AK-47.

         Marcus’s exposed, dark skin fit well enough with the background and his desert camouflage matched the surroundings enough to where he didn’t have to be as stealth-conscious as Ash.  He scanned the area for another target.  The targets were mere cardboard cut-outs in the shape of human silhouettes but they were hidden well enough to make finding them difficult.  A rustle in the brush and footsteps cut through the quiet as Ash came up behind Marcus.  Ash ducked more into the brush, his light skin and blond hair not blending in as well as his comrade.  He held a longer rifle similar in appearance to Marcus’s AK-47.
         “I saw the last one,” Ash said in almost a whisper. “Do you want to get it?”
         Marcus shook his head and held his thumb up.  In an instant Ash poked his head above the brush, shouldered his rifle, and drilled a hole cleanly through the target’s forehead with a bullet.  A loud crack that echoed for miles swept over the brush like a bolt of lightning a foot away and both boys’ ears rung.

         The radio hadn’t gone off and all eight targets had been destroyed, which meant the man in the tower hadn’t seen any of their shots—exactly what they wanted.  Marcus let his Kalashnikov assault rifle hang by its sling and walked back with his hands in his pockets.  “That was a good shot.”
         “Thanks.” He was genuinely grateful for the praise as he always was about his marksmanship.  He whistled as he walked and eventually they reached the Sanctuary.  The Sanctuary stood out in contrast to the light tan and sand color of the surrounding area.  It was a large string and maze of buildings surrounded by a great concrete wall topped with rows and rows of barbed and razor wire.  The door was as high as the walls and half as thick and wood.  Marcus and Ash stood in front of the door and waited as it creaked open.

         A heavy gear with a crank on it was turned by a man with a rifle inside the Sanctuary, locking it up.  He turned to face the two boys.  “Mister Lovell said he didn’t see even one shot,” he said, vaguely pointing his thumb back to a high-standing tower in the center of the Sanctuary where a man with binoculars offered a wave.  “But now you’re needed in the run room.”
         Marcus and Ash looked at each other and their heads sunk.
         “So put your guns up in the armory.  Lance and Dan are already there.”
         Ash started walking, tired of carrying around the long Dragunov rifle.  Marcus followed, passing their sleeping quarters and several other small buildings.  Some were heavily fortified with wrought iron and concrete while some were hastily assembled lines of wooden planks stuck with nails.

         The armory was one of the well-fortified buildings.  It was a moderately large square building with a long, shallow troth running around the entire circumference of the room, holding rifles against the wall.  There were four slots under each name on the wall.  Under “Lovell” were two weapons in their places and two empty spots.  Marcus and Ash pulled the magazines from their weapons and leaned the guns into their places, putting the magazines and their spares in a large canvas bag hanging from a nail on the wall.  The “run room” was too short of a trip away and certainly lived up to its name.

         Marcus opened the door to the run room.  It was one of the hastily assembled buildings of wooden boards.  The floor was clean, red dirt.
         “Good, you’re here,” a man in camouflage pants and a gray tank-top said.  His body was that of a runner’s—thin and lithe, but well sculpted.  His face looked like it had seen too many broken liquor bottles and size eleven boots.  He walked forward out of the circle of girls and boys of varying ages running in a large oval.
         “They’re only on the fifteen minute mark now, so you’ll be even enough.  Now go on, you know the rules.”
         Marcus hesitated, then walked forward, about to join the massive oval of movement.  “Good luck,” he said to Ash.
         “You too, man.”

         Marcus and Ash started running.  It wasn’t bad at first, like always.  It was just running.  But it got tiring after the half hour mark.  After an hour and a half, most everyone was exhausted.  The rules were this: keep running.  You have five minutes to drink water or lie down every hour.  You run until you either can’t possibly move your legs or until you pass out—whichever comes first.  The last one left standing’s reward was to not have to do it the next time, which would be the same day the next week.

         Marcus was still running after two and a half hours, but more than half of the others were gone—carried to their barracks on stretchers.  Sweat dripped from every pore of Marcus’s body and his breathing was more of a wheeze than a clean sucking of air.  His legs felt like they were on fire or being stabbed with needles or both and his heart wanted to give out on him.  The man in the camouflage pants in the middle was asleep on his chair.  Marcus tried not to watch him.  Marcus’s short, black hair clung to his forehead with sweat.  Another girl in front of him slowed to a stop and collapsed onto the dirt, which was now pressed down an inch or so compared to the area around it from the constant trampling.

         Every joint in Marcus’s body ached and more than anything he wanted to just drop onto the ground, but he couldn’t.  He didn’t know if he was trying to be the last one standing or if he was just trying to prove something to himself.  The water break of the third hour couldn’t have come fast enough.  Most of the fifteen boys and seven girls left laid down, but Marcus didn’t, knowing he wouldn’t get up again if he did.  The running continued and the stabbing, flaming pain in his legs did as well until his eyes drooped, the room dimmed, his vision faded, and he felt his body hitting the dirt.

         Marcus awoke in his bed and slowly peeled his eyes open, muttering, “Did I win…?”
         “No,” came a voice from behind him.  He turned, taking more effort than would usually be necessary to do so, to find Lance at a circular table in the middle of the room cleaning his disassembled Makarov pistol side-arm.  Lance was tall and older than both Marcus and Ash at about fourteen.  His hair was brown and his eyes green.  The most unusual thing about him were his fingers.  They were about two centimeters longer than would be normal for his height and were gifted with incredible dexterity.  “Lucas won again, of course.”

         Lance eased the slide of his pistol back onto the frame and locked the trigger guard back in place.  “I think you were eighteenth or nineteenth.  Better than me.”  He said it as if it meant nothing, and it probably didn’t to him.  Marcus strained just to sit up and half of his muscles throbbed.  The other half throbbed harder.
         “We’ve got class in ten minutes,” Lance said.
         Marcus looked over at the clock.  It said seven.  “Yeah.”
         Lance stood and slid the Makarov pistol into its holster and Marcus pulled his out from under his pillow.  The children of the Sanctuary were instructed to keep their side-arms just there—at their sides.  They were to be as familiar as a shoe or belt.  Marcus limped with Lance out of the room.  Everyone limped the day after.

         The Lovell room was one of many amongst a long, wooden hallway.  Each room had a brazen plaque above it with the family name.  Marcus continued behind Lance and exited the long hallway out into still, dry air of the outer world.  The ground was dusty and dry where the cement was absent and that was most of the area.  Marcus gazed up into the endless sky, until it ended to his view at the barbed ridge of the wall.
         “Come on,” Lance said, breaking his calm thoughts into pieces and scattering them out amongst the dirt.  Marcus followed Lance around and between a few buildings until they reached one painted white.

         The white building was large and upon opening Marcus found fifty-something chairs pointed to the front of the room, half of which were empty.  Marcus took one near the middle next to Ash.  “Hey.”
         Ash turned in his seat.  “Hey.”
         “What’s she going to be talking about today?”
         “I don’t know.  Probably more about the wars.”  Ash tapped his pencil on the desk and waited.  “Tatyana looks great today, doesn’t she?”  He looked over, eyes glazed over.  Tatyana sat four empty seats over and one row up.  Her hair was even more blonde than Ash’s and pulled back and her skin was of a dark but milky color.
         “Yep.”

         “Quiet, everyone,” came a stern, female voice from the front.  A woman walked from a door at the side of the room and stood behind a podium.  She wore a conservative, gray pantsuit and her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun.  She took a minute to carefully look over every student in the class, then extended a metal pointer and gently held it against a map hanging on a blackboard behind her.  “Quick review first.  Name the country.” She looked around the room  Shar—Jason.”
         A short boy with black hair stood up.  “Um… Israel?”
         “Yes, good.  Status?”
         “Level two—reasonably hospitable.”
         “Lovell—Marcus, name this country.”

         Marcus stood and thought.  “Uh… Germany.”
         “Status?”
         “Level… five.  Destroyed and with nuclear fallout.
         “And this one?”
         “Japan.  Status is level four—destroyed but without fallout.”
         She moved the pointer again and kept looking at him.”
         “Iraq—reasonably hospitable.”
         She moved it again.
         “Can you choose someone else?”

         The woman kept looking at him.
         Marcus sighed.  “Australia.  Hospitable—obviously, because that’s where we are—but mostly empty.  Level three.”
         “Very good.  You finally started paying attention.” She pointed to another. “Briareos—Tatyana.  Country and status.”
         She stood. “America.  Status is… destroyed.  With nuclear fallout.”
         “Explain.”
         “In 2019 a supposed accident led to sixteen nuclear warheads being fired at the United Kingdom, Japan, and lower South America, doing terrible damage to all effected areas.  Japan discovered it to have actually been a plot by a group of Korean spies, but it was already too late as the UK had retaliated, doing large damage to several major American cities.”

         The teacher nodded.  “This lead to fighting amongst the countries that lead to the Japanese-Korean war, effectively destroying Korea.  Internal conflicts in other countries brought many of them to destruction as well.  That’s why the world is the way it is now.”  The woman collapsed the metal wand and leafed through a few papers on her podium. “Now onto survival…”
         Marcus and Ash couldn’t help being bored.  It was all preparation for the outside world where they would be released to when they turned eighteen.  But Marcus wanted to learn about the customs of the world as it used to be and Ash wanted to learn about Tatyana.

Chapter 2
         Class lasted three hours, mostly survival techniques and firearms instruction since protection became an absolute necessity in the outside world.  Marcus and Ash hurried out of the classroom at the second of its end and passed by the buildings of the Sanctuary to the largest one—a rectangular building against the western wall.  Marcus pushed a side of the double-doors in and found thirty or forty people—“students” and “teachers” alike—seated at long, rectangular tables and eating from plastic trays.  Marcus and Ash waited in the long line.
         “I thought that would never end,” Ash said.
         “Yeah.  At least tomorrow we have unarmed combat training.”
         “Mhmm.  That’s always fun.”

         Marcus and Ash got their plates and weaved around people getting into the cafeteria until they found a few open spots at the table.  Just as they sat down Dan came up from behind them.  “Hey, look what I found.”  Marcus and Ash turned around.  Dan’s height was just between Marcus and Ash’s.  His hair was red and his skin pale.  Unlike the various shades of tan and brown and sand that most others of the Sanctuary wore in various ways, Dan wore tattered black jeans and a white tee shirt.  He pushed Marcus and Ash apart and wedged a chair between them for himself, then looked around carefully.  Finding the coast clear, Dan took a shiny, flat, silver disc out from his backpack and held it under the table.

         “Whoa,” Marcus said.
         “Is that…?”
         “An old compact disc.  Lance and I went pretty far out from the Sanctuary on our last outing and we found an old, abandoned truck.  This was on the passenger seat.  And so was…” he opened the backpack more and revealed a small CD player and a wire, “this.  We can listen to it in the room later.”
         “Better not let Richard see that,” Ash said, “or he’ll put you in the run room by yourself again.”
         Dan zipped the disc up with the player.  “Yeah.  It’s way worse when you’re alone.  Well I’ll see you guys later.”
         “You’re not going to eat?” Marcus asked.
         “Us, the Briareos family, the Glacian family, the Rodric family, and the St. Cire family have target practice after lunch so I’m just going to go early.  I love shooting.”

         Dan ran off and Marcus and Ash went back to their meals.  The food was military rations left over from stockpiles and could very well have been years old, but it didn’t taste like it and most in the center didn’t mind much.
         “Hey, he’s back,” Marcus heard someone say, “Grandfather’s back.”
         Ash and Marcus looked over at each other and went for the door while most in the cafeteria looked out the large windows on the south side of the building.  The warm, dry, outside air hit them both and they ran around to the large opening next to the cafeteria where the whirling blades of a helicopter threw dust and dirt in every direction.  The decent sized crowd of both teachers and students backed away into a large circle as the black helicopter touched to the ground.  The blades slowed and the dust settled as a panel door on the side of the machine slid open.

         From the opening a man in a well-fitted suit stepped out.  He was tall and his hair graying.  He cast a warm, jovial smile out toward the onlookers as he stepped down with the aid of a black cane.  His hair looked like it had been expertly styled before the helicopter blades’ wind tossed it around.
         “Welcome back, Grandfather,” someone said from the crowd.
         Grandfather tried to smooth out his hair and looked out among the crowd.  “It’s good to be back.  It’s… good to be back.”
         The man in camouflage pants that monitored the run room parted the crowd and shook Grandfather’s hand.  “Did you find any more?”  It was quiet, but Marcus heard it.
         He shook his head.  “No, Robert.  Not this time.”

         The students of the crowd parted in Grandfather’s way as he and Robert went toward one of the buildings.  Marcus watched them leave and a long, low tone played through the Sanctuary, marking the time.  It was time for the Lovell Family, along with several others, to meet for target practice.  Marcus didn’t feel like going back to the cafeteria for his tray, so he just went straight for the armory to pick up his weapon.  He saw Ash run by him, barge into the armory, and run back out with his weapon without a word.  Marcus shrugged and entered the armory himself.  It was a well-lit room, which was surprising with it only lit by a single, free-hanging light bulb.  The walls were oak, but with all the rifles against them it could be hard to tell—one for every student of the Sanctuary.

         There were only three types of weapons.  The standard and most common was the AK-47 assault rifle, used by two members of each family.  Next was the Dragunov SVD designated marksman rifle used for long-distance fighting.  One member of each family used it as their primary weapon.  Last was the AKS-74U, a more compact version of the AK-47 with a collapsible stock and a short barrel used for close-range combat.  The last member of each family used one as their primary.  The versatility of weapons ensured effectiveness in nearly any situation.  Marcus pulled his AK-47 from its spot leaning against the wall and slung it over his shoulder, then pulled four magazines from the second canvas bag on the large nail.

         The sounds of gunshots were already ringing out and reverberating inside the Sanctuary.  The guard at the large door of the Sanctuary let Marcus out and he walked around the large stone wall to the southern side where fifteen students from five families fired at targets.  The shooting range was not much more than a long length of dirt with a few lengths of wood laid down in a large rectangular pattern as a kind of boundary.  Paper silhouette targets stood at various distances from the line of shooters.  Those with the Dragunov rifles had their targets out way beyond the bounds of the range.  Marcus stepped up to the empty space by Ash who was, not surprisingly, right next to Tatyana.  Ash carefully aimed each shot with his Makarov, trying to impress her.

         “Nice grouping,” Ash said to Tatyana.
         “What?” she said, taking her cheek from the stock of the ‘74U.  The soundproof earmuffs on her head and the constant gunfire made hearing anything almost impossible.
         “Nice grouping!”
         She took a moment to look at the target.  A few three-shot bursts had struck the center of where the chest would be, but most of the others strayed to the shoulders and even knees.  “Yeah right.”
         “Keep your elbow in!” Ash yelled over the gunfire. “And wrap the sling around your arm.”
         Tatyana coiled the weapon’s sling around her support arm and tucked her elbow in, then shouldered the gun again and fired a three round burst, getting three hits less than two inches apart at the head.
         “Wow,” she said, smiling.

         Marcus shook his head at Ash’s attempts and started to work with his AK as a man walked back and forth behind the line of students.
         “Come on, now.  Keep them on burst!  You’re just wasting ammo!”
         The man wore a pair of gray shorts and a white button-up shirt.  His head was covered with a straw hat and he had a stainless-finished revolver in a holster at his side.  He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week.  “Lucas, no akimbo!  One gun at a time!”
         Marcus found it hard to concentrate with Mister Lovell pacing behind him.
         “Center of mass, people, nothing fancy.”  He stood behind Ash.  “Work with the Dragunov now.  Your pistol is for last resorts.”

         Marcus had carefully fired through six magazines and the sun was beginning to sink.  Long shadows began to stretch from the shooters down to the targets and eventually ammunition was running out.
         “All right,” Richard Lovell said as gunshots were few and far between and most were jut standing around and talking amongst themselves.  “Magazines out, clear your chambers, everything on safety.  Let’s go home.”
         Marcus and the others yanked back the bolts of their weapons, letting out possible bullets.  Hundreds of brass cartridges littered the battlefield—some still hot from the explosions they contained and many as cold as the dirt.  The students re-entered the Sanctuary and went for the armory to stow their weapons, keeping only their Makarovs.

         Upon exiting the armory most of the students went for their rooms, as did Marcus, but only to pick up a clean set of clothes.  He then walked back to the dusty outside.  The temperature was dropping rapidly and Marcus couldn’t help but wonder how it could be so hot during the day and so much colder at night.  He ran a short distance across an expanse of dusty earth north-east to shower building.  Students were free to use it whenever they had free time, but most chose to do so in the morning.  Marcus entered through the single steel door and found the large line of shower heads above a semi-see-through shower curtain stretching the length of the room.  Marcus turned the hot and cold water knobs for the shower head on the far left.  When it was warm he disrobed and let the water wash away the last few days’ dust and dirt that ran so thick everywhere.

         Feeling much cleaner, Marcus dried himself and put on the clean clothes—a baggy pair of ripped and frayed tan pants and a bright yellow tee-shirt and underwear.  He tossed his dirty clothes into a half-full sack of ones like it, then stepped outside, taking a minute to enjoy the coolness of the night.  The door of the barracks slowly swung open and Marcus saw Dan in the doorway.  He waved his hand over, beckoning.  Marcus stuck his hands in his pockets and took forever getting to the building, making Dan wait.
         “Come on, man.  You’re freaking slow.  We’re waiting on you to listen to it.”
         Marcus sped into a jog and walked with Dan through the hallway until reaching the Lovell room where Lance and Ash were sitting around the circular wooden table in the middle of the room.

         “’Bout time,” Ash said.
         Marcus closed the door behind him.  “Sorry.”
         Dan unzipped his backpack next to his bed and pulled out the disc and the player and the wire earphones.  While walking towards the table he opened the machine and carefully pushed the disc onto the stubby post that held it in the middle, then plugged in the earphones.
         “I wonder what’s on it,” Lance said.
         “What if someone comes in?” Marcus asked.
         “You’re saying we shouldn’t listen to it?” Dan asked.

         Marcus stayed silent as Dan pushed the play button and sat it in the middle of the table, putting one of the earphones to his ear and handing the other to Lance.  The machine whirred, spinning the disc and the display said “Track 1”.  The four boys waited around the table and finally sound began pumping through the wire.  The soft, melancholy tones of a grand piano piped into Dan and Lance’s ears, though neither knew what the instrument was.
         “This must be… music.  I’ve never heard it before,” Lance said.
         “Let me hear!” Ash said, taking the wire and putting the small, plastic speaker to his own ear.  He listened with great intent, hanging on every note.

         “The CD said “b-a-c-h”.  Back?” Dan said. “Batch?  I don’t know how you say it.”
         Marcus took the earphone from Dan and listened along with Ash for the second half of the song.  He was absolutely mesmerized.  Like Lance, he’d never heard anything like it.  The arrangement of different sounds in the perfect way to make it actually pleasing—music.  None of them could get enough.  They passed around the two earphones to each other at different parts of the songs for an hour, never getting tired of them.  They only wished they had four earphones.
         “We need to get more of this stuff,” Dan said, finally shutting the machine off and stowing it in his backpack. “And these batteries… won’t last forever...”
         The Lovell Family took to their beds.  For the first time, they dreamt of music.

Chapter 3
         In the morning Marcus didn’t get to wake up on his own.  A loud, annoying bell rung repeatedly in the room until the four students turned from their beds to see Richard Lovell with the golden thing.
         “Good morning,” he said.
         Dan groaned.  Marcus looked at the clock.  “Five AM?”
         “That’s right,” Richard said, “now get up, get dressed, and get your rifles.  You’re going out today.”
         “Out?” Lance questioned, then thought about it. “Out…”
         “That’s right.  You all know we have power here as a group.  The families ensure strength within themselves.  And we’re using that strength to help those that aren’t as fortunate.”

         Marcus sat up in his bed.  “Really?”
         “Yes.  This time there’s a feud in Africa.  The peaceful Aleya group is being terrorized by the Rukians.  We need to help anywhere we can and they need help.  You all and the Briareos family will be taking a plane there.  So on your feet.”
         Marcus and the others pulled themselves from their beds and tied on their shoes, something they seldom did.  Richard led them to the armory where they picked up their weapons and put on combat harnesses that they filled with magazines for their weapons.
         Richard used a key to open a central cabinet in the armory and pulled out a black rifle with plastic parts on it—the United States’ M-16.

         Richard led the four children to the helipad where the helicopter Grandfather came from the day before sat.  They loaded in without word, not quite sure what to say.  The machine took to the sky with tremendous noise but it didn’t remain in the air for very long.  Soon the inhabitants of the helicopter were beckoned outside by Richard where they found a vast expanse of nothingness.  Dan saw the Sanctuary in the distance and Lake Disappointment a bit closer, but Lance was busy looking over the small jet airplane.  Ash was busy looking over Tatyana.  She and the other three of the Briareos family accompanied her—Lucas, Michael, and Cecilia.  Lucas and Michael looked very similar except Lucas was older, taller, and blonder.  His skin looked like it would be white, but was well-tanned and he was easily the oldest of both families at sixteen.

         Richard walked forward to greet a well-figured young woman in a form-fitting tan uniform.  “A joint aid mission.  It’s been a while since we’ve had one of these.”
         She nodded, pulling her long, black hair behind her head and tying it.  “Yeah.  The kids need to bond more outside their families, though.  It’s good for ‘em.”
         Richard shrugged.  “It ain’t about them, Amanda, It’s about the Aleyans.”
         Amanda Briareos looked at the ground for a moment, her eyes seeming to gaze into nothing, but when she turned back to her group she smiled a little.  They were stretching, knowing the plane ride would be a long one.

         Marcus rubbed his eyes as he and the others loaded into the jet behind the Briareos Family.  He couldn’t help but wonder about the plane.  The entire thing was very angular and the top and bottom contrasted each other.  While the top was painted brown and tan and yellow the bottom was light blue.  Marcus stepped up into the body of the plane.  There were only two rows—one on each side—but the seats were crimson and very comfortable.  Marcus sat down next to Ash and they clamped their rifles into the metal rings on the armrests that seemed to be there specifically for rifles.

         There were a few minutes of stillness.  The occupants of the plane chatted amongst themselves as they gradually woke up and it wasn’t long until the plane started moving, but it wasn’t forward.  The engines kicked on, then the occupants could feel the aircraft moving upward.  Marcus looked out the window to find the plane a few feet from the ground.  There was a short delay before more engines activated, pushing the aircraft forward faster and faster until it began to climb into the air.  Marcus felt relatively at ease—if a bit groggy—but he noticed Lance tightly gripping his rifle and clamping his eyes shut.  Once the altitude had stabilized, Amanda Briareos stood from her seat near the front and turned to the Lovell and Briareos Families.
         “This would be a good time to clean your equipment.  Make sure your weapons are tight and oiled.  We have cleaning kits in the back.”

         Ash, being in the aisle seat, went to the back and brought cleaning kits to his brothers as did Lucas for his brother and sisters.  Lance delayed, but eventually began cleaning with the rest of them.
         “What do you think it’s going to be like?” Tatyana asked Lucas.
         “We’re going to Africa, right?  Probably hot.”
         Tatyana kept her eyes on her ‘74U.  “You know that’s not what I mean.”
         Lucas grinned. “It’ll be fine.  Those Rukians won’t know what hit ‘em.”
         “Are you sure it’s okay to kill them?” Michael behind him asked.
         “We wouldn’t have to if they weren’t killing the Aleyans.”

         Michael kept silent, wiping an oily rag over all the moving parts on his Kalashnikov rifle.  “I guess you’re right.  I wish everyone were as safe as we are in the Sanctuary…”
         Everyone agreed on that.
         An hour into the flight all the weapons were back in the clamps of the armrests and the Lovell and Briareos Families were quiet.  The engine hummed and clouds were visible out the window over the endless blue of the Indian Ocean.  By the second hour everyone was asleep—conserving energy and just being flat-out bored.

         The occupants of the plane jolted awake as the plane touched down to land again.  The light level outside made it seem like no time had gone by, but the time zone changing played a large part in that.  Amanda stood from her seat and looped her M-16’s sling over her shoulder.  “Come on, everyone, we’re here.”
         “Where is here?” Cecilia, a lithe, red-haired girl asked as she rubbed her eyes.
         “Near the middle of Africa—a small village called Rosenthu.”
         Richard tossed colored handkerchiefs to everyone—each one half yellow and half white.  “Put these on as masks.”
         “Why?” Lance asked, looking at the square piece of fabric.
         “Concealment, protection, identification—just put it on.”

         Amanda and Richard left the plane first and looked around.  Slowly the Briareos and Lovell Families disembarked.  The area around wasn’t all that different from what the families were used to in the Sanctuary.  The road the plane landed on was concrete, but the surrounding ground was red-brown and tan.  Houses were of rusted sheet-metal or wood and didn’t look very sturdy.  A burnt out yellow car sat on the side of the concrete, leaning onto the dirt.  Marcus saw a few frightened pairs of eyes peering out from dark corners and inside houses.
         “In here,” Richard said, leading them to one of the rusted buildings.  Each of both families held their weapons close and looked in every direction as they crossed the distance to the shack.

         Inside the shack looked even smaller than outside and had just enough room to fit the ten of them.  Holes in the metal and wood let little spots of light fall on its occupants as they waited in silence.
         “The Rukians will be coming from that road in a few minutes,” Richard said, “to attack this Aleyan village.  We have to protect the village and that means killing each Rukian.  I’m sorry that it has to be that way, but it’s unavoidable.”
         Marcus could hear the plane moving outside, being taxied to a safer location.
         “Cocked and locked, okay?”
         The clicks and clangs of eight rifle bolts being drawn back and let to slam a bullet into the chambers of their weapons reverberated in the small shack.

         “Ash and Cecilia,” Amanda said, “being long-range shooters you’ll want to fire on the enemy before they get to the village.
         Ash and Cecilia nodded.
         “Then let’s go.  Take the best cover you can.”
         Richard ran out first with the Lovells right behind, then the Briareos Family and Amanda.  The ten of them spread out between the two sides, taking cover wherever they could find it.  There was absolute silence at first—the quiet before the great noise.

Chapter 4          
         Marcus could feel his heart throbbing in his chest as he wondered.  How many will there be?  What weapons will they have?  When will they be here?  He flicked the safety of his rifle down from the “Safe” position to “Auto”, then waited.  There was a rumble in the distance but it could have been imaginary.  Then Marcus was sure he heard a truck, or a few of them.  He peeked out from behind the piece of sheet metal he called cover—or rather concealment—and saw two green vehicles in the distance kicking up dust from the road.  The sun and heat threw a watery-looking mirage over the road that the vehicles cruised through and the distance was almost breeched.  Either Ash or Cecilia must have thought “That’s far enough.”  As soon as the image of the driver got into view the image of a red spurt from his head and him toppling over did as well.  The vehicle grinded to a halt, people were shouting, and everyone in the vehicle ran out.

         All Marcus could tell about the people were they were very dark-skinned, tall, and many had rifles like his own.  Two more shots rung out and two more of the men from the trucks dropped to the ground.  But there were easily twenty or more of them total.  They parted away from the road and the gunfire stopped.  Silence came back and Marcus shouldered his rifle.  Some incomprehensible shouting pierced the air, frightening Marcus and he stuck his finger in the trigger guard, then it really started.  The all-too-recognizable clatter of AK-47 fire radiated all over inside the village.  It soon became the only recognizable sound.

         Three Rukians in shabby clothes ran down the side of the road and Marcus stepped out from his hiding place.  His sights were on them.  His finger was on the trigger.  But he wasn’t firing.
         “Come on,” he said, “shoot.”
         His finger trembled.  “Shoot… You did it last time.  Shoot…”
         He took a deep breath arched his eyebrows, and angled the weapon vertically a little, spraying a good, tight line of 7.62 bullets across the chests of all three of them, putting a thin spray of red in the air.  They dropped to the ground and brought up a sparse cloud of dust.  They didn’t move.

         “Watch out, Marcus!” he heard Lance yell and turned to see him behind the yellow car.  He raised his short-barreled ‘74U toward Marcus.  Marcus dropped to the ground as Lance fired three bursts from the weapon.  Marcus turned just in time to see a man with an Uzi thudding against the dirt with bullet holes in his chest—arm and gun outstretched.
         Ash kept low and held his Dragunov close, standing at the side of the building on the end of the village.  One of the Rukians popped out behind the building and was shot down with a bullet to the chest and one to the head.  Ash flicked the magazine release with his finger and fumbled for another magazine from the harness.
         “There’s a lot of them,” he said under the gunfire, stamping the metal block of bullets into the weapon with his palm.

         On one side of the road Michael, Tatyana, and Cecilia knelt with their rifles pointing in three different directions, making a triangle formation that’s view saw everything along the road.  Lucas, being more bold, ran along the other side of the road.  He had seen one of the Rukians go into a building.  Gunshots still rung thick in the air, making the hot sun seem meaningless and every breath seem ten times more important than it usually did.
         “Coward!” Lucas yelled.
         Lucas stood at the doorway.  Something shuffled inside the shabbily-put-together home and a Lucas saw a muzzle flash, then felt pain.  He fired at the spot and the man slumped backwards against the wall.  Lucas wrung his hand around his arm and was breathing hard.  It didn’t hurt, not really, but he saw red staining the tan shirt and walked into the building.

         Ash and Marcus met up at the edge of the village and looked fifty meters down the road to where Michael, Tatyana, and Cecilia held their position.  There was a four-shot burst from something and then a single shot directly after it.  Marcus recognized that as Lance’s method.  Then the place went quiet.  The wind picked up a little, tossing dirt and sand around.  A few bullet casings trickled off the edge of the cement road onto the dirt, but made no sound.  Marcus could hear the blood going around his ears and he reloaded.  He and Ash glanced at each other for a moment.

         “How many?” Marcus asked.
         Ash wasn’t sure if he meant “How many are left?” or “How many did we get?” but either way he said the answer.  “I don’t know.”
         Marcus heard something behind him and whirled around to see one of the Rukians holding his AK-47 up over his head and horizontal.  Marcus pushed Ash backwards and threw his arm out, extending his own ’47 and yanking his finger back on the trigger as the Rukian did.  Thirty rounds screamed out in the short distance between them, brazen casings tossing themselves out of the weapons as if saying “I’ve done enough!”  Marcus, Ash, and the Rukian fell to the ground, but the Rukian didn’t get back up.

         When the silence continued for another five minutes Marcus and Ash walked on opposite sides of the road in the village, darting their eyes between each other, Michael, Tatyana, and Cecilia, and every spot that could be used for concealment.  The Briareos Family—minus Lucas—met in the middle of the road and spread out along with the Lovells.  They scanned and searched, passing Richard and Amanda—also on the look-out—a few times, but found nothing.  The area was eventually deemed clear.  Both families met by the yellow car.
         “Nice job, everyone,” Richard said.  It looks like the Aleyans will be able to sleep peacefully tonight.”

         Richard heard a gurgling sound and then a light moan and looked up.  He parted the small crowd and walked down the road with his black rifle over his shoulder, looking for the noise.  He still wore his straw hat.  Amanda and the Briareos and Lovells followed a bit behind and watched as he walked up to first man Marcus had shot.  He clutched a bleeding spot on his chest and looked up at Richard.
         “Please… help…”
         The Rukian sucked in a long breath and it looked like it hurt.  He shuddered and coughed once, a few red drops leaking from his mouth.  “Please…”
         Richard pulled his revolver from its holster and pointed it down at the man.
         “Don’t… please,” he said.  He looked desperate, but didn’t emote.  It didn’t look like he was even able to.
         Richard shot him and stowed the revolver again.

         When Richard walked back to the group everyone was staring at the Rukian’s body but Marcus was staring at Richard.  “Why?  Why did you do that?” His arms were at his sides and he felt like he was looking through Richard in stead of at him.
         “He would have died anyway.”
         “But why would you want to be the one that killed him?”
         “Lucas, come on.  We need to get that wound looked at.”
         The jet had apparently rolled back into place because Marcus saw it when he turned to look at Richard leading wounded Lucas away, but he hadn’t noticed when it got there.  He looked back at the dead Rukian.  Dan noticed that Amanda seemed to be the most shaken up.  She kept wiping her eyes like something was in them.

         “Come on,” Amanda said, “we don’t need to be standing around here longer than we have to.  Let’s get going.”  She pushed a few of the others along in the right direction and trailed a little bit behind, looking back once.  When they were all inside the jet she locked it behind her.
         Marcus sat in the same seat he’d had before and Richard was in the back, wrapping gauze around Lucas’s bicep.  No one spoke as the plane took to the air again, this time using the road as a runway.  An hour into the flight and still it remained silent.  Marcus leaned his head against the window and looked out.  The plane had recently crossed over the water, leaving the boundaries of Africa, but Marcus saw no beauty in it.