He knew he had to scout everything — but first; he had to get his son. He backed out of the driveway, wiping tears from his eyes, hands shaking on the wheel.
“I have to go to my ex-wife’s,” John muttered to himself. “I have to get Shaun out of there. Whether she likes it or not.”
The words sounded harder than he felt. He sped up, taking a left, forcing himself to focus. Aaron weighed on his mind too. If things were falling apart, he had to reach him. Maybe they could figure this out together. He passed an old mom-and-pop store on the right. No cars in the lot. No sign of life. He was going too fast. His tires squealed as he swerved slightly, correcting himself.
“Easy,” he told himself. “Just get there.”
Back roads. He knew them well. Faster. If he thought too much, he might freeze. So he didn’t think. He just drove. A gas station came into view. Cars were lined up at the pumps.
But no lights.
No attendants.
No movement.
People sat in their vehicles like they were waiting for something that wasn’t coming — hope, or instructions, or permission to move. It looked wrong. John’s stomach tightened. He kept going. He couldn’t help anyone yet. Not like this.
Not until he knew what was happening. He pressed harder on the gas. His heart hammered.
“I don’t want to die,” he admitted under his breath.
“I don’t want to lose them.”
The thought hurt. He pictured his kids’ faces. Shaun. His daughters. Jessica. The idea of never seeing them again made his chest ache. But if anyone could do something, it was him. He had to believe that. He reached the end of the road and transitioned onto another. No traffic. No sirens. No chaos — not here.
Just silence.
He exhaled. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Then he entered Denham Springs.
He slowed down. Not much. Just enough to look. The church on the left stood quiet. The small, family-owned supermarket on the right had people outside. They sat on the curb. Some leaned against the building. A few held bags. It looked like they were waiting.
For food.
For news.
For something.
The doors were locked. No employees. No sign of reopening.Just a small group of anxious faces. John swallowed. He recognized some of them. Neighbors. Parents from school events. People he had small talk with at barbecues.
Now they looked lost. Hungry. Afraid. He kept driving. His ex-wife lived on the next street over. He had to get there. He pictured the argument that might come. The yelling. The resistance.
But it didn’t matter. If things were collapsing, Shaun needed to be safe. He gripped the wheel tighter. Then everything changed.Two police cars roared into the parking lot. Too fast. Too aggressive.
They skidded slightly as they stopped.
Doors opened.
Officers stepped out laughing.
Joking. Like it was a normal day.
But they weren’t empty-handed. Guns in both hands. Not holstered. Not secured. In their hands. Two pickup trucks followed. One after another. Full of men he recognized. People from his hometown. Neighbors. Friends of friends. Some held rifles. Others gripped handguns. Even the ones in the truck beds had weapons.
Limos and SUVs trailed behind — dark windows, no visibility.A convoy. Not police business. Something else. Something organized. John’s breath caught.
“What is going on?”
The trucks slowed. The police moved toward the crowd outside the supermarket. Hands up. Orders shouted. John couldn’t hear them. The windows were closed. But he saw the body language.
A man from the crowd hesitated. He didn’t drop fast enough. An officer grabbed him. Punched him. The man went down. Then the gunshot cracked through the air.
John flinched. It was distant. Muted. But unmistakable.Someone fell. No warning. No negotiation. Just force.
His mind scrambled. Government takeover? Martial law? It didn’t make sense.
Not like this.
Not so fast.
One officer turned. Looked directly at him. Pointed. John froze.
“How could they possibly know?”
The idea terrified him. Were they scanning plates? Recognizing faces? Or was it random? It didn’t matter. He threw the car into reverse. Tires screeched. He backed up fast. Too fast.
He spun the wheel and shot down the road. Heart pounding.Hands slick with sweat.
“Any second,” he thought. “They’ll corner me.”
Because that’s what he would do. If he were on the other side.He pushed harder. Eighty miles per hour. Maybe more. The back roads blurred. Curves came too quick. He fought the wheel, barely keeping control.
Once.
Twice.
The car threatened to slide off.
He corrected. Kept going. Praying. Not for miracles. Just for survival. He couldn’t go home. Not yet. If they had tracked him, they could have found his family. He couldn’t lead them there.He couldn’t lead them to Shaun. He needed to ditch the car.Somewhere it wouldn’t be noticed.
He’d come back for it later. If later existed. A cruiser appeared in his mirror. Gaining. Fast. Panic surged. Nowhere to go. No safe exit. Finally, he jerked the wheel. Turned onto a side road.
A narrow driveway. Country yards. Quiet houses. He pulled in.Killed the engine. Silence. His chest heaved.
“Please, Jesus,” he whispered. “Don’t let them catch me.”
The cruiser roared past. No hesitation. No stop. Just movement.John waited. Counted breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
When he was sure it was safe, he opened the door. Cold air hit him. The world felt too exposed. He glanced toward the house.Curtains shifted. Someone was watching. That made his skin crawl.
He didn’t blame them. If a stranger pulled into his driveway like this, he’d watch too. Hands raised slightly, he started walking.No sudden moves. No threats.
He just needed help.
Or at least space.
“I don’t want trouble,” he called out, voice shaky. “I just need to get somewhere safe.”
No response.
The curtain moved again. Someone inside was deciding. Fight or flight. John understood that. He kept walking. Slow. Non-threatening. Every step felt heavier. He wasn’t here to hurt anyone. He wasn’t a threat.
He just needed to survive.
To get to his son.
To figure out what the heck was happening.
And if the world had changed—he would change with it, even if it broke him.