“So … what exit am I taking for New Roads?” Aaron asked, glancing at John. There was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth — small, almost defiant.
John hadn’t expected to see that again so soon. They were clinging to moments like this. Stretching them thin. Because they all knew what war did to moments like this. It swallowed them whole.
Aaron kept one hand on the wheel, but there was a tightness in his jaw he couldn’t hide. Something had settled in his gut since they left Denham Springs — a quiet warning he refused to name. He wasn’t ready to lose the only family he had left.
John closed his eyes briefly, mapping the route from memory. Drill weekends. Summer rotations. Long drives to New Roads with bad coffee and government-issued boredom.
“Take the first Airline exit,” John said calmly. “Stay on it about thirty minutes.”
Aaron nodded and pressed the accelerator a little harder.
“Well,” he muttered, “at least we don’t have to worry about tickets.”
The joke landed thin. They approached the O’Neal Lane exit. A cruiser sat sideways across the ramp. Blocking it. All three men saw it at the same time. Aaron didn’t slow. They passed too fast for anyone to get a long look at them. Silence filled the car.
Then—“What was that?” Aaron asked, voice tightening.
Charles leaned forward between the seats. “They’re not following us.”
“Not yet,” John said.
They passed Millerville. Another cruiser. Blocking every on and off ramp. Sherwood Forest. Blocked. Each exit the same. A pattern. Not an accident.
“Why?” Charles asked quietly now.
“Control,” Aaron answered. “Locking the city down.”
His knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel.
“This was a mistake,” Aaron muttered. “We should’ve taken back roads.”
“And get boxed in there?” John replied, steady but firm. “This was coming either way.”
Another exit. Blocked. Charles sank lower in his seat despite the tinted windows.
“This ain’t random,” he whispered.
John forced himself to breathe. Forced the panic down. Closed his eyes for half a second. Lord, give us wisdom. He opened them again.
“Keep driving,” he said evenly. “We don’t look scared.”
“I’m driving,” Aaron snapped. “Let me drive.”
They crested toward the next exit. Clear. No cruiser. No barricade. Aaron and John both leaned forward at the same time.
“There,” Aaron breathed.
“Take it,” John said immediately.
Aaron swung the cruiser toward the ramp. Relief hit them hard——and vanished just as quickly. Because beyond the treeline, rising over the parking expanse of the so-called “new mall,” was movement. Not civilian movement. Organized movement.Vehicles. Temporary barricades. Concertina wire. Men moving in coordinated lines — some in uniform, some not.
The massive retail complex had become a forward operating base. And it was already operational. Aaron slowed down without meaning to.
“Keep moving,” John said sharply.
They rolled past the outer perimeter. Close enough to see sandbags stacked at the entrances. Close enough to see armed men scanning traffic. Close enough to understand that something irreversible had happened.
“This is bad,” Charles whispered.
John didn’t answer. He was watching the speed of the construction. The efficiency. This wasn’t chaos. It was pre-planned. Aaron accelerated, putting distance between them and the base.
“We killed one of theirs,” he said under his breath. “And we’re in his cruiser.”
“We ditch it,” John replied immediately. “First safe opportunity.”
Charles was breathing too fast now.
“They’ll find us. They’ll trace it.”
“Then we move faster,” John said.
Up ahead, in a shallow ditch near an abandoned hotel, sat a Humvee. Driver’s side crushed. Windshield spider-webbed.Bullet holes stitched along the doors.
“Aaron,” John said. “Pull over.”
Aaron shot him a look. “Are you serious?”
“There are bullet holes in that vehicle. That’s not theirs.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
A beat. Aaron cursed under his breath and swung the cruiser behind the hotel, out of sight from the road.
“Two minutes,” he said. “Then we’re gone.”
John and Charles moved first, weapons drawn. The Humvee’s interior was a ruin of blood and shattered glass. An M4 lay on the floorboard. No driver. But blood on the steering wheel. And a trail. Small droplets leading toward the hotel entrance.
“He’s alive,” John murmured.
They stacked and moved inside. Door after door. Closed. Then one kicked in. Blood smeared across the handle. John nudged the door open with his foot. A rifle barrel stared back at him. An eye behind it.
Wild.
Focused.
John didn’t raise his weapon.
“Easy,” he said quietly. “We’re not them.”
A pause. The eye narrowed. Then recognition flickered. John leaned slightly into the light.The rifle lowered.
“King?” the man breathed.
Relief broke across both their faces at once.
“Jeffery,” John exhaled.
Behind him, Aaron and Charles lowered their guns slowly.Inside the room sat Sergeant Jeffery Scott — bruised, blood-soaked, but alive.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Jeffery said, exhaustion finally overtaking adrenaline.
John knelt beside him. “How bad?”
“Not as bad as I look,” Jeffery replied. “Most of this isn’t mine.”
They helped him into the bed. Outside, birds chirped. No sirens.No gunfire. Just the unsettling quiet of a city under occupation.Jeffery looked at them carefully.
“It’s here too, isn’t it?”
John nodded once.
“They’re consolidating. Killing potential resistance early.”
Jeffery closed his eyes briefly.
“California was a slaughter,” he said. “They hit from the air and the ground. Fast. Coordinated. We didn’t even see half of them.”
Silence thickened.
Charles swallowed.
“Predator missions,” he said. “You heard of them?”
Jeffery’s jaw tightened.
“Rumors,” he said. “Elite rapid-clearing units. Not buildings. Entire zones.”
The room seemed smaller.
“They said it was theoretical,” Jeffery added. “Too dangerous to implement.”
John thought about the base they’d just passed.
“They implemented it,” he breathed.
Aaron finally broke the silence.
“So what do we do?”
It wasn’t anger. It was fear. Genuine fear. John looked at each of them.
“We build,” he said. “We gather people. We gather intelligence. We move smart. Quiet. Small.”
He didn’t say “Take back the country.”
He didn’t need to. Jeffery gave a tired smile.
“You planning something already, King?”
John glanced toward the window — toward the mall base in the distance.
“I need a better look,” he said.
They moved onto the roof. Crouched low. Peered over the edge.The base below moved like a machine. Supply trucks. Armed patrols. Communication arrays going up. This wasn’t temporary.It was the beginning of something structured. Organized.Permanent. Aaron exhaled slowly.
“I don’t like this.”
John stared at the growing fortress. Fear pressed against his ribs.But beneath it—resolve. He lowered himself back behind the ledge.
“Never mind the first idea,” he whispered.
“I’ve got a better one.”
Stay tuned for book 2 How We Survive: Being Hunted