This Morning Our Apartment Complex Was Sealed Off, It Was for Our Own Good | Part 2
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Courtney cries from her little box on my screen. "Please, please! I need everyone to mute their mics while I make an announcement!" No one does, so the inevitable happens. Everyone goes silent simultaneously as Courtney flexes her administrator's muscles and mutes the whole meeting at once. "Thank you," she says. "I have word from Colonel Bullman. His unit will be permanently stationed in our parking lot.

People silently argue, then give up when they realize their voices are still muted. Colonel Bullman has assured me that the National Guard will remain outside of our complex and that we will still have complete autonomy. Courtney continues. Shit, that doesn't sound good. If the soldiers have to tell us we'll still have autonomy, then that means they're thinking of taking that autonomy at some point, otherwise they wouldn't have brought it up.

The Leighton lawyer guy pretty much states the same thing in the chat, except his wording is way more dickish and sounds self-serving. Or that's my interpretation at least. "Yes, Mr. Leighton, I see your protest," Courtney says. "However, may I remind everyone that we are living under martial law. Civil rights have been suspended while we deal with this emergency. This is for our own good." Mike raises his hand.

Yes, Mr. Stover? Courtney asks. You're off mute, so please behave. How will this affect my militia? Mike asks. Several people roll their eyes. Some cross their arms over their chests and stare angrily at their cameras. Security detail. Courtney corrects him.

"Whatever you want to call it," Mike says and shrugs. "To people using my guns, how will having the feds in our parking lot affect my God-given right to bear arms as part of a well-regulated militia?" "Security detail," Courtney insists. Several people type in the chat the same thing about how what Mike said is actually the wording in the Second Amendment. "Thank you everyone for the civics lesson," Courtney says.

And if sarcasm could break glass, every window in the complex would have just shattered. Colonel Pullman has assured me that the National Guard will remain outside of our complex and that we will still have complete autonomy. I do not know how to word it differently for you. Why us? Mike asks. Why here? I don't understand your question. Courtney says. Denise Wilmington raises her hand. Courtney unmutes her. Location. Denise says.

Our complex is at the apex of two main highways, three main city arteries, and is the last apartment complex on this row. It's easier to defend from multiple directions if needed." That gets everyone's attention. Stunned and scared faces stare out of my screen. No one messages anything for a while until someone types, "What about our cars?" Courtney looks confused as she reads the message.

Then she looks differently into the camera, looking even more confused. Then she reads the message again. My phone chimes. Did we finally break the crazy bitch? Mike texts me. I don't think she can break. I text back. Cars. Courtney finally says. Our cars. Then it hits me. Courtney and her car. She had just bought a brand new Tesla after she convinced the Tenants Association board to install four charging stations in the parking lot.

She loves that car more than she loves any human being, including herself. "I don't…" She stammers some more then clears her throat. "Yes, well, I did not discuss that aspect with Colonel Bullman. I will be sure to do that immediately." Mr. Foreman raises his hand. "Yes, Mr. Foreman?" Courtney asks, as the little microphone icon on the corner of his screen goes from crossed out to wide open.

"I have four volunteers from Ebercheks," he says. "But I could use a few more." "How many do you need?" Courtney asks. "Just enough to get us to an even dozen," Mr. Foreman says. "So eight more." "I'll put out the call to the residents," Courtney says. "If no one volunteers, then we can just assign people to your group." A stream of protests fills the chat. "People!" Courtney shouts even though there are no voices to shout over.

This is difficult for everyone, but we all have to do our part. That just makes things worse. My phone chimes again, but when I look down at it, I don't recognize the number. "This is Melissa Holliday in apartment 852," the text reads. "The nurse with the twins." "Oh right," I text back. "Are you okay?" "I am, but the toilet isn't," she says. "Mike Stover gave me your number since you're in charge of maintenance."

I want to text her that I am not in charge of maintenance, not even remotely, but she's a widow with twins and I'm not a total jerk. "Tom?" Courtney calls out. "I asked you a question. Is something on your phone more important than the safety and security of the residence?" I hold up my phone. "Dealing with a maintenance issue," I say and instantly regret it. The chat streams with maintenance requests. Courtney smiles wide as message after message fills the chat.

"Well, I was about to ask if there are any maintenance issues you want to report," she says. "But I can see you are already handling it. Thank you, Tom." "No, no, no, no," I say and shake my head. "No fucking way! No fucking way!" "I'm sorry, Tom, but our meeting time is up," Courtney says, making sure my mic is muted as I shout obscenities at her. "I'll leave the chat open so you can see all of the maintenance requests."

Then one by one the squares begin to drop out until the only people left are me and Courtney. She unmutes my mic. "Your noble efforts won't be forgotten, Tom," Courtney says. "I'll be sure that Colonel Bullman knows exactly who you are and what you have contributed to the greater good." "You and Colonel Bullman can go fuck off," I start to say just before her square goes dark. The bitch hung up on me on Google Meets, but she left the chat open.

so I sit and fume as I watch requests for apartment fixes fill up my screen. "I'll be there soon," I text to Melissa. Then I get up, go to my couch, pick up a pillow, shove my face in it, and scream until I'm hoarse. When Melissa opens the door, I have to suppress a smile as I raise my eyebrows.

"Looks like it's been a morning for you," I say as she holds up one twin on her hip, while the other grips the back of her legs and stares up at me. Her t-shirt is soaked all the way through, and her sweatpants are hanging halfway down her hips. "Here," she says, and hands me the twin in her arms. I take the kid because the alternative would be to drop it. I mimic what Melissa did and set the kid on my hip. I think it's the girl, but I'm not totally sure.

Melissa hikes up her sweats, then scoots up the twin at her feet and walks away. I step inside, close the apartment door, and follow her while the kid in my arms decides that my right ear would be the perfect chew toy. "I'm gonna apologize once for the mess, then we won't speak of it again, okay?" Melissa says, leading me through her bedroom to the bathroom. She frowns and shakes her head. "Sorry." I lean past her and take a look. Shit water is everywhere.

"Yeah, that's no fun," I say. "You have a mop?" "Me?" she asks. "You're the maintenance guy." "No, I'm the sucker that got roped into being temporary maintenance committee chair," I say. "I don't know shit about-" I point at the mess with my free hand, while the twin keeps chewing on my ear. "Well, shit. So you can't fix this?" she asks. "I don't know what's wrong," I say. "Did you try plunging it?"

"I don't have a plunger," she says. "That looks like your first problem," I say. "Your second problem is getting all of this cleaned up. You're gonna need a babysitter and a lot of towels." I look around her bedroom. "What do you need?" she asks. "Somewhere to set it down," I say and jiggle the kid in my arms. It giggles around my ear. "It?" Melissa asks, smirks. "Kids aren't your thing, I see." I shrug and the twin giggles again.

"She likes you," Melissa says as she sets her twin down in a play crib in the corner of her bedroom. Then she comes back and takes the other twin from me. "Now what?" I fish out my phone and start typing. "I just texted Courtney that I need someone to babysit," I say. My phone chimes and I glare at the return message. "No, not for my fucking turtle," I type. "For Melissa's twins, while she and I clean up her bathroom and I try to fix her toilet."

There's a long pause, then the ellipses start rolling. "The nurse?" Courtney texts. "Yes, the nurse." I text back. "Who can you get up here?" "As a professional, she should be able to handle two children by herself." Courtney responds. "Who are you texting?" Melissa asks. "Courtney," I say. "She doesn't like you much." "What did I do to her?" Melissa snaps. "You represent capability," I say. "What she takes is making her look incapable."

"That doesn't make sense." Melissa responds. "That's Courtney." I say then text to Courtney. "Do you want me to be in charge of maintenance or not? Think your answer through." A longer pause, then the ellipses dance. "I'll find someone," she texts. "And have them bring extra towels," I text. "Do not overstep, Tom," she texts back. I wait, but no ellipses begin to wiggle. Courtney has left the conversation.

"You got crap towels I can use to get this cleaned up?" I ask, regretting every word of that sentence. "I have some," Melissa says, "in the closet out in the hallway." One of the twins lets out a pained howl. We both turn our heads to see a twin with a fistful of the other's hair in its mouth. "You deal with that and I'll get the towels," I say. "Thank you," Melissa replies and hurries over to her twins.

By the time the doorbell rings, I have a good amount of the shit water corralled inside several ratty old towels. I hear voices at the door, then in seconds, a large woman shows up at the bathroom door with towels in her arms. "Oh, that happens to me all the time," the woman says. "I have IBS." Mrs. Grumman. "I didn't know that, Mrs. Grumman," I say. "You can set the towels down there." She lets them just fall out of her arms and onto the floor.

"Or do that," I say. "Thanks for the help," Melissa says and squeezes past her. She bends down and picks up a couple of towels. "The twins are in their playpen, but I think they are both about to fall asleep. It's close to nap time." "I'll just sit on the edge of your bed and watch the little angels drift off into slumber time," Mrs. Grumman says and walks away.

Melissa rolls up the legs of her sweats, gives me a grateful yet apologetic smile, and gets to work mopping up shit water. By the time I get back to my apartment, I've unclogged six toilets, helped a woman named Liza or Lisa or Leesa or something get her chihuahua out from behind her stove, stopped two faucets from dripping, and got Marco's ice maker working again.

There was a popsicle stuck in the automatic fill arm because, well, it's Marco. I strip naked and throw my nasty clothes into the corner of the bathroom as I turn the water on to high heat and wait for the steam to begin. Just as I step into the shower, my phone chimes. "Tough shit!" I yell from under the scorching steam of heaven. My phone chimes again. I soap up and ignore it. It chimes again, then again, then again.

Then it starts to ring. "Not happening!" I yell at my phone. Then the entire complex shakes as a massive explosion rocks the building. Gunfire erupts outside and I'm out of the shower in an instant, soapy water dripping off my body. I don't even bother to towel off as I grab my phone from the sink. "What the fuck?" I yell as I answer the call. "It's a fucking toddler tsunami!" Mike screams in my ear. "The guard is being overrun!"

"Shit!" I yell. "What are they gonna do?" "They want in!" Mike yells. "And you have the keys to the locks! That Colonel guy says we have one minute to open the doors and let them in, or he's breaking the doors down!" "Fuck!" I say and hang up. I find a pair of jeans and slide them on over my soapy wet legs, which is close to an impossible task. I find a t-shirt from the floor and throw that on as I grab the keys off my dresser and race out of my apartment.

Courtney is down in the lobby by the time I get there. "There you are!" She shouts and points at the chained lobby doors. "Get that open now!" I can see that the soldiers have removed the boards from the door. A group of them are standing outside with clubs, ready to break the glass. I raise my hands at them in the universal gesture of "hold the fuck on" and then jingle the keys a few times so they get the hint. Once the chains are off the doors and I unlock them, soldiers burst into the lobby.

"Covering fire!" Colonel Bullman shouts as he makes his way to me. He holds out a hand. I look down at the hand, then slap him five. "No, motherfucker!" He snarls at me. "The keys! Don't do it!" Mike says. I look back and see him standing in front of his security detail or militia or whatever.

They all have rifles held across their bodies, but I can see the tension in Mike's arms and I know shit is about to get real. "The keys, Mr. Quinton," Colonel Bullman snaps at me. "That is not a request." "You give him those keys, Tom, and it's all over for us," Mike says. "I will have the keys," Bullman says, then focuses his eyes on Mike. "And your weapons. Martial law is in effect. None of you have a choice in this matter."

"According to the capacity of this AR-15, I have 30 choices in this matter," Mike says. "As do each of my men," Bullman responds. "I count seven members of your little gun club. I have 49 behind me. How's your math, son?" "Mike," I warn, "you don't have this." "Oh, I have this," Mike says. "No, you don't," I say. "Chill out and take a few steps back.

Gunfire echoes in the night, and a soldier runs up to Colonel Bullman. "Sir, we have them held back for now," the soldier reports. "But we will only be able to keep them back for another half hour at the most, sir," Bullman points at Mike. "You can be a help or an impediment. I have no patience or tolerance for impediments. Your call." "Mike," I warn again. He glares at the Colonel, then looks at me. I raise my eyebrows as high as they can go.

He shakes his head but finally nods. "Stand down," he says to a security group militia. "And surrender your weapons," Colonel Bullman says. "Civilians with firearms are more of a danger to themselves and others than they are a help to us. Corporal?" The soldier that had run up to report to the Colonel looks taken aback. Then he sighs and steps to Mike.

"Please lay down your weapons," he says. "I'll have someone take an inventory and give you a receipt." "No fucking time for that!" Bowman shouts. "Put the weapons down and return to your apartments now!" He turns to Courtney. "Miss Hubbard, I am here to inform you that all residents of this apartment complex are now under my authority," he states. "You mean under the authority of the National Guard," Courtney says.

Colonel Bullman replies, He grins at Courtney. Day 17. Melissa holds the washcloth to Mike's brow and smirks as he hisses in pain. I say to him,

"Suck it, Tom!" he responds. "What were you thinking?" Melissa asks. "Picking fights with trained soldiers is a bad idea, Mike. There's no other way of looking at it." "The fuckers wanted to search my apartment without cause!" Mike protests. "Did they find your weapon stash?" I ask. "No," Mike says. "They found my weapons cache, Tom. It's called a cache, not a stash." "Same thing," I say and shrug.

I watch the twins giggle and babble and play with the multicolored rings and blocks Melissa set in their playpen. They'd be unbelievably cute if I wasn't terrified of them. So far, all day and all night, the apartment complex has been under siege by kids just a little older than Melissa's twins. Mike hisses again, and I turn my attention back to his whining. Melissa is giving me a cold stare. They're fine, she says to me.

Mike looks from me to Melissa, to the twins, and back to me. "I've been thinking the same thing," Mike says to me. "But I talked to one of the medics, and she said that none of the children in the complex are going feral and trying to eat anyone." "Is that what they're calling it?" Melissa asks, as she stands and starts picking up the medical supplies she'd gotten out for Mike. "Feral." Mike shrugs and gasps. Melissa stops cleaning up the gauze and isopropyl alcohol.

"What's wrong with your shoulder?" she asks. "I'm good," Mike says. "Take your shirt off," Melissa says. "I thought you'd never ask," Mike says with a grin. "Fuck you," Melissa says and smacks Mike's right shoulder. He cries out and almost falls out of his chair. "What the fuck, Mike?" I say. Melissa grabs a pair of scissors and frowns down at Mike. "I knew you did something to that shoulder by the way you've been favoring that side," she says.

"Hold still while I cut off your shirt." "But I love this shirt!" Mike protests. "Okay, tough guy. Then pull it up over your head by yourself," Melissa says and takes a step back. She twirls the scissors around a finger. "Come on, do it." Mike tries but fails spectacularly. He has actual tears welling up in his eyes by the time Melissa tells him to knock it off. She cuts his shirt off then shakes her head at the sight.

"Is it bad?" Mike asks. "Your shoulder is more purple than that plushy dinosaur Emmet won't let go of," I say and hook a thumb over at the twins. I finally learn their names: Emmet and Emma, because they're twins. "Jesus, it's dislocated," Melissa says. "I'm having a talk with Colonel Bullman after this. As a nurse, I cannot allow his soldiers to abuse the tenants."

Melissa gently places one hand just behind Mike's shoulder and the other right above his elbow. "Oh, he knows," Mike says. "He was standing right there, watch. Holy fucking god!" "All fixed," Melissa says as Mike takes several deep breaths, his eyes locked onto her. "That was not cool," he says. "But it did the trick," Melissa says. "Tom, can you get the poor baby back to his apartment?"

"I can get there by myself," Mike says. "Without starting another fight?" I ask. "I make no fucking promises," Mike says. "Yeah, I'll get him back to his apartment," I say. "I'll be right back." Melissa smiles at me and nods. Mike looks back and forth between us, but keeps his lips shut. Once we're out in the hallway, though. "I'll be right back," Mike asks. "How's the shoulder?"

"It hurts like hell," he says. "You want it to hurt worse?" I say. "Fine, fine. I'll let it go," he says. "But..." "No buts," I say. "But..." He continues as we walk toward the elevator. "I just wanna say that you could do way worse. Melissa is a fine looking woman." "I'm helping her with the twins," I say. "Sure you are," Mike says. "The twins on her chest, maybe." "Fuck her," I say as we reach the elevator.

There's a soldier standing there with an M4 carbine at the ready. "Floor?" he asks. "16," I say. "And you?" the soldier asks Mike. "16," Mike says. "One of your little bitch friends fucked up my shoulder, so Tom is being kind enough to help me back to my apartment." "You don't live on 16?" the soldier asks me. "No, I live on 17," I say. "Just helping a friend out." "Hold," he says and thumbs his radio.

"Two for sixteen. One resident, one visitor." "Two for sixteen," a voice responds. The soldier steps aside and presses the elevator call button. In seconds it arrives and he waves us in. Before I can press the button, he leans in and presses the number sixteen. "Elevators are monitored so there is no unauthorized access to residential floors," the soldier says. "It's for your own good. I bet it is," I say.

The doors close and Mike and I look at each other, but don't say a thing. After I get him settled in his apartment, I do the dance all over again with the soldier stationed at the elevators on his floor. But this one recognizes me and lets me get back to Melissa's floor. The soldier there is not happy to see me again, but I don't give a shit. When Melissa opens the door, she has two glasses of wine in her hands.

"Where the fuck have you been hiding this?" I ask, as I take a glass and hurry inside. "Mike had his stash of guns. I have my stash of wine," she says, and closes, then locks the door behind me. I am about to say something bold, but my words are cut off by automatic gunfire. We share a look, then turn off all of the lights and go to her living room windows so we can see what the hell is happening down below now.

Against floodlights, we see the tiny silhouettes of a thousand toddlers, all rushing toward the barricades the soldiers have set up throughout the complex's parking lot. "There are so many," Melissa says. "More every day," I say. We watch until the gunfire stops. It doesn't matter how regular it has become, I won't ever get used to the sight of soldiers mowing down little kids with machine guns.

Melissa turns her back to the window, then walks to the couch and sits down. I follow after closing her drapes. We sit in silence until the gunfire stops. Then Melissa begins to sob. I take her glass and set mine down on the coffee table with it. She collapses against my chest, and I let her cry as tears well up in my own eyes. After a few minutes, her crying stops. She stands up, takes my hand, and leads me to the bedroom.

Day 62. I jolt awake. "What is it?" Melissa asks as she rolls over next to me. "I don't know," I say. The noise comes again, hard and sharp. Someone is pounding a fist against the apartment door. "They're going to wake the twins!" Melissa hisses and gives me a shove. "See who it is. I'll check on the twins." I slide out of her bed and pull my jeans on then sprint to the apartment door. I can see Mike through the peephole, so I unlock the door and throw it open.

The kids are asleep. I snarl at him. Then I see he's holding a rifle. "Where the hell did you get that?" I ask. "Shut the fuck up and listen," he says, and pushes past me into the apartment. "Get Melissa. Get the twins. Pack some bags. We're leaving. Now." "What the fuck are you talking about?" I snap as I rub the sleep from my eyes. "They're taking all the kids," Mike says. My blood runs cold.

"What?" Melissa asks from the kids' bedroom doorway. She closes it quietly behind her. "What do you mean they're taking the kids?" "Colonel Fuckface has ordered that all kids under the age of eight are to be rounded up and housed in the common room," Mike says. "People are losing their shit." "Yeah, you think?" I say. "Where's my shirt?" I rush back into the bedroom, find my shirt, pull it on, then come back to the living room. I point at Mike's rifle.

"Where are you hiding that?" I ask. "Doesn't matter," he says. "What matters is we get you all the fuck out of here before the Gestapo shows up. Where will we go?" Melissa cries. I can tell she's desperately trying to keep her voice down, but the panic is rising with every word. "We can't go outside, Mike." "We can," Mike says. "I've been studying their schedule. We can steal a Humvee in about five minutes, but we have to go now."

"This is crazy," Melissa says. "We'll die out there." "What do you think Colonel Psychopants is going to do to your kids?" Mike asks. "Tell them nursery rhymes? Fuck no. He's going to keep them in the room until everyone calms down and gets used to it. Then he'll either toss the kids outside or kill them in there." "But none of the children have shown signs of changing," Melissa says. "We closed off the complex in time, right?" She looks at me, her eyes wide with terror.

"Right, Tom?" she pleads. "Makes sense," I say. "Otherwise the kids would have already gone feral like the others." "The Colonel doesn't fucking care," Mike says. "Come on, pack 'em back, we have to go." I nod to Melissa. "Do it, we don't have a choice." In seconds we're hurrying around the place, grabbing anything and everything we think we may need. Then with Emma in my arms and Emmett in Melissa's, Mike leads us to the front door.

My heart falls into my stomach when Mike yanks the door open. "Secure that firearm, Corporal!" Colonel Bullman says from the hallway. "Like the fuck you will!" Mike yells and starts to bring his rifle up. "No!" I scream and grab Melissa's arm. I pull us down to the hallway carpet and throw myself over Melissa and the twins as gunfire thunders around us. Wetness hits the back of my head, then there's a heavy weight across my legs.

After a couple of seconds, I push up from Melissa and the twins and look over my shoulder. The kids are screaming and crying, and I feel like I want to do the same. Mike's body is draped across my calves, half of his head missing. "Cover their eyes," I say to Melissa as I struggle to get from under Mike's corpse without crushing her or the twins.

When I'm finally free, I put myself between the soldiers and Melissa and the twins. "You fucking killed Mike!" I shout. "He drew an unauthorized weapon on military personnel," Colonel Bullman says. "He brought it on himself!" He gestures to his soldiers, but I brace myself in the doorway. "Don't even think about it," I say. "You touch those kids, and I'll fucking pick that rifle up and put a bullet between your fucking eyes." Colonel Bullman sighs, then shakes his head.

"Take 'em," he says, and before I can react, I have hands pulling me out of the apartment and throwing me to the hallway floor. Melissa is screaming, the twins are crying, and there's nothing I can do about it as a boot is placed on the back of my head and my face is forced into the dirty hallway carpet. I wriggle some then freeze when the boot is replaced by the cold steel of a rifle barrel. With my face in the carpet, I can only hear Melissa pleading for the Colonel to stop.

Then I hear her shriek and fight as the twins are taken from her. Despite the gun barrel to my head, I fight to get free. Then it all goes dark. When I wake up, I'm still lying in the hallway. The assholes didn't even move me inside the apartment. They just left me on the carpet, unconscious. The second I turn my head, I throw up. I've heard it's a symptom of a concussion. I never thought I'd have one. It takes me a few minutes before I have the strength and equilibrium to push up onto my hands and knees.

Then it's a few more minutes before I can grab the open door frame of Melissa's apartment and haul myself up onto my feet. My eyes are instantly drawn to the massive blood stain on the carpet. The body is gone, but the blood reminds me of everything that had happened. They fucking killed Mike. "Mel?" I call out once I'm able to find my voice. No answer. "Mel?" I call again as I stumble my way into the apartment. It doesn't take me long to see she's not in the apartment. Neither are the twins.

The assholes really did take them. Slowly, I stagger my way to the elevator. The soldier standing there sneers at me. "Floor 17," he says and presses the call button. "I'm going to the common room," I say. His sneer turns to a smug grin. "You're going to your apartment on floor 17," the soldier says when the elevator doors slide apart. "Colonel's orders." "I'm not a soldier," I say. "I don't take his orders."

"Fine by me," the soldier says and aims his M4 at my chest. "I'm happy to fulfill my other orders, you privileged piece of shit. You won't shoot me," I say. "I will, and I'll be happy about it," the soldier says. "You make the call, asshole. Fuck you," I say then take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I can't help Melissa if I'm dead. "Floor 17. Good boy," the soldier says.

He moves aside, allows me into the elevator car, then leans in and presses button 17. Stay in your apartment, he warns. It's for your own good. The elevator doors close before I can say anything to him. Not that I have anything to say. Words may be mightier than the sword, but they aren't mightier than a fully loaded M4 carbine. The ride to my floor is excruciating, and even during those couple of minutes, I have to fight not to pass out again.

Concussions suck. When the elevator doors open, I gasp. More bloodstains. All up and down the hallway. I stumble to my apartment, unlock the door, and slip inside. I have to rest for a few seconds before I am able to make my way to my living room. The place is trashed. It looks like a hurricane has gone through it. Bullman must have had his people search my apartment for guns or whatever.

After Mike showed them he was still packing, I bet they've gone door to door looking for firearms. Mike, they fucking cut him down right there in front of us. Before I sit down, I make my way to my bedroom and peek inside. Boris' aquarium is still intact, and I can see him sunning himself under his heat lamp. At least they didn't kill my turtle. That thought makes me laugh, and I don't stop laughing for a solid ten minutes straight.

Once the laughing turns to crying though, I stumble to the couch and collapse across the cushions. My phone chimes. "I am sorry about Mike," Courtney texts. "I didn't know they would shoot anyone." Bullshit is my first thought considering the bloodstains out in my hallway. "Where's Melissa?" I text back. It's hard to focus my eyes on the little letters.

I cannot divulge information like that." Courtney responds, "What the fuck does that mean?" A text, "Fucking tell me where she is." There is a long pause. The ellipses show up more than a few times and then go away again just as quickly. Finally, a text comes through, "All of those who resisted are being held in the basement." Courtney says, "I have to go."

I don't even bother to argue with her to tell me more. I know Courtney. She was pretty fucking bad before all this. Now she's officially Bullman's bitch which makes her even worse. But I know where Melissa is now. The basement. And the twins are in the common room. Or that's what Mike said was happening to them. I need to figure out how to get her and the twins free. But first I have to sit down. My head is killing me. And I'm not sure if… Day 63

When I come to, the sun coming in through my apartment windows is all wrong. It looks like dawn all over again. Then I realize I'm lying on the carpet in the middle of my living room. Fuck, I passed out again. It must be the next day. I slowly get to my feet and make my way to the bathroom. I take care of things, which includes carefully washing the gash on the back of my head. Then I get dressed and just stand there for a few minutes.

My phone chimes. "I'm coming to get you," a text reads. It's from Mr. Foreman, the retired cop. "I know what happened to Mike. It's going to happen to all the parents too." "What the fuck does that mean?" A text back. "Hold tight," he replies. I am already holding tight, so it doesn't take much effort to wait for him to arrive. When he knocks at my apartment door, I open it quickly and hurry him inside.

"Bullman has deemed the parents as a threat to the general safety of the complex," Mr. Foreman says. "He's executing them today!" I wobble on my feet and he catches me. "You good?" he asks. "No, I'm not fucking good," I say. "He's going to kill Mel. Then he'll kill the kids, right?" Mr. Foreman looks away from me. He swallows hard. "What?" I ask.

He refuses to look at me. "Oh god, no!" "You're sure?" I ask as I look up at him. "Yes," he says. "He hasn't told anyone officially, but we heard the guns last night. They were shooting down there for ten minutes straight." "Fucking hell," I say and choke back a sob. "The twins!" "Get up and come with me," Mr. Foreman says. "We aren't the only ones." I give him my hand, and he helps me up onto my feet.

after a second or two to make sure I don't pass out. We walk out of my apartment and I have to do a double take. There are several residents standing in the hallway and I can see the elevator doors wide open down at the end. The soldier guarding the elevators is nowhere to be seen. "I took care of him," Mr. Foreman says. "Same with several others." He gives me a sly, wicked grin. "Sometimes it helps to be old and taken for granted. Not one of those bastards saw me coming."

"What now?" I ask. "Now we take back our complex," Mr. Foreman says. "Come on!" Those of us who can fit in the elevator hop in, while the remainder head for the stairs. We ride down to the second floor and get off there. Mr. Foreman leads me to the stairwell. "Holy shit!" I say when we open the door and step onto the landing. All up and down the stairs, residents wait quietly.

When they see Mr. Foreman, they move aside and let us walk down the stairs to the first floor. "We're gonna fuck the assholes up," Marco says to me as I pass him. I just nod and give him a thumbs up as we get to the door. "This is going to be rough," Mr. Foreman says. "Follow my lead." He opens the door. The gunshot is deafening.

Mr. Foreman's body falls to my feet as I'm yanked out of the stairwell and into the complex's lobby. "You came close," Colonel Bullman says as he steps up to me. "But your timing was off by a few minutes. When the sentries didn't report in, we were prepared."

He makes a gesture to the soldiers holding me, and they drag me further out into the lobby, while several others stand guard in front of the stairwell door. "It is too bad that you people refuse to do what's best for yourselves," Bulman says. "This complex is secure. We have held the little fuckers back for months now. We still have supplies, there's still power and water, and all you had to do was wait out this nightmare until the government reestablishes control."

"When was the last time you spoke to anyone above you?" I ask. The Colonel turns away from me. "That's what I thought," I say. "There is no government anymore, is there?" "There are fail safes in place," Bulman says. "Bullshit," I reply. "There's nothing in place." My eyes stray to the common room doors. I see bloody boot prints leading to and from.

And I sure as fuck don't feel secure in a complex where psycho fuckers like you get to murder at your whim. I snarl at him. Tom. Courtney says as she comes out from behind a small squad of soldiers. You are being unreasonable. Those children would have turned at some point, which would be putting all of our lives at risk. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a few to save the many. Fuck you, bitch! I shout at her.

A rifle butt slams into my stomach and I double over. "Keep him secure," Bullman says to the soldiers holding me. "We'll decide what to do with him when this is all over." "You're a fucking monster!" I gasp as I try to get my breath back. "That very well may be," he says. "But sometimes monsters are what we need."

He points to a couple of soldiers by the stairwell door. They nod and yank open the door. Then soldiers pour in, shouting at the residents to move away and get back up the stairs. When the gunfire starts, I scream. My screams mix with the screams of the residents being butchered in the stairwell. I pray some escape up to the higher floors. What happens after that? I don't know. What I do know is Bullman doesn't get to win this.

My ears are ringing from the rifle fire. Bullman turns to me and smiles. "This is how it is now," he says. "Get right with it or join the others in the basement. You aren't technically apparent, but close enough to be dangerous. Your choice, Mr. Quinton. Fuck you," I say. Bullman nods, then cocks his head at the soldiers holding me. "Bring 'em with," he orders. "A clean sweep is the only way to maintain order now.

"You brought this on yourself," Courtney says to me. "Bring her too," Bullman says. "What?" Courtney exclaims. "Me? Nothing but cooperative. How can I trust someone like you?" Bullman asks rhetorically.

"A person who betrays her own neighbors in a time of crisis is not someone I want around me. It would be only a matter of time before you betrayed me as well." "No, no, I wouldn't!" Courtney shouts. "I'm loyal! I'm loyal!" "But to who?" Bulman asks as he gets up close and leans down in Courtney's face. "To me? No." "To this complex? No." "To yourself?" He straightens up and snaps his fingers.

"Get this bitch out of my sight!" he orders and walks away. "One thing I have never done while living here is underestimate Courtney. I've clocked exactly what type of person she is since day one." "You fucking asshole!" Courtney snarls at Bullman's back as he walks away from her. "You fucking asshole!" She yanks free from one of the soldiers, grabs his pistol off his hip, takes aim and squeezes the trigger. The gun doesn't fire.

"Not my first occupation," Bulman says without looking back. "All sidearms are left on safety for just this very reason." He finally turns and looks at her. He scoffs and shakes his head. "Civilians," he says, still shaking his head. "What is the point of any of you?" Courtney is grabbed and slammed to the floor. A soldier places a rifle barrel to the back of her head. Bulman nods. The trigger is squeezed.

Courtney's head turns to bony bits and bloody mist. I throw up. Well, I dry heave. I've got nothing left in my stomach anymore to throw up. "Goodbye, Mr. Quentin," the Pullman says to me and walks off toward the elevators. The soldiers drag me toward the door leading to the basement. I don't resist. There's no need. It's all over. Except for one last part. I go limp in the soldiers' arms.

"Stand the fuck up, motherfucker!" A soldier snaps at me as he yanks my arm. "Get on here!" He stops talking because he's surprised at how fast I move. The sudden movement kills my head, but that won't matter in a couple of seconds. My hands find the grenades amongst the soldier's gear. I pull them free, shove the rings in my mouth and bite down. Then I pull the rings free, flip the catches, and toss the grenades toward the front doors. And the barricades.

"No!" A soldier shouts just before the grenades go off. I fly back against the wall from the explosions and the storm of debris that assaults me. I don't know if I pass out again or not, but when I'm able to think again, I realize two things. The first is, I have a two-foot piece of rebar sticking out of my guts.

The second is the barricade, and the front doors behind it are obliterated. The soldiers, not knocked down by the blasts, race to the huge opening in the lobby and open fire. I watch them fight as I take hold of the rebar and try to pull it from my abdomen. It's stuck tight. Not that it matters. I'm bleeding out. I can tell I'll be dead in a matter of minutes. Maybe seconds. And there isn't anywhere to go after all this anyway.

One by one, the rifles stop firing and the screams begin. As my life bleeds out of my belly, I watch as small figures pour into the lobby, overwhelming everyone in their path. Convulsions shake my broken body as the last bit of life left in me drains away. But I catch one final image before I'm gone, the image of Colonel Bullman being crushed and shredded under a pile of feral children. I smile the last smile of my life and say,

It's for your own good, asshole.

These ads do not represent my own political viewpoint. So if you hear a political ad play on the podcast and it's not in my own voice, then it has absolutely nothing to do with me personally as a podcaster. Thank you again for being a dedicated listener of mine, and I can't wait to have another amazing year with you guys. I'll see you in the next episode.