Sometime in the near future, in the midwest, a group of gorilla fighters travel. They carry an assortment of guns and munitions, they do not look as one might expect. Most dressed in civilian clothes carrying rifles of no distinction, these few do not appear as military men but as farmers and cashiers. The working class, regular everyday Americans. It was around 9 pm and there were rather large clouds beginning to blot out the sky, spreading like dirt in a puddle. The forward most man raises his hand in a fist and all stop abruptly. A muzzle flash from a few hundred feet away in a treeline and then the whizz of a bullet overhead. The men drop to the ground and begin to return fire. One gets on the radio and calls for support, they are on the frontline of this war and backup likely will not arrive. He calls in vain.
Perhaps we should zoom out to understand how this group came to be in the current pickle, about 3 years prior tension had been rising and reached a boiling point. The sizzle of geopolitics drowns out the everyday life of most. America has fallen from the once free country to a place of oppression and taxation without representation. The ruling class is dominated by a small portion of people, hoarding their riches while the working class becomes poorer and poorer. Drugs and poverty run wild in the streets like mold in an abandoned refrigerator.
Some of the middle class rose but most fell into poverty, banks foreclosing and repossessions daily, capitalism has reached the end of its usefulness for all. Following this rather slow burn a resistance began to spread, a feeling of revolt towards the ruling class. Dividing the continent between the poor working class and the people willing to bend their morals for a check. Shortly thereafter a war broke out, small at first with few casualties but growing slowly until present day. Millions have died already and it appears the oppression shall remain long after this conflict resides. Our story focuses on the man with the radio, we shall call him John. Before the war John was a farmer, like his father, and his father’s father. John found peace in the birds and the sun, he was a simple man. He often found himself reminiscing, thinking back to how the sun felt upon his back just 3 summers ago.
John worked in his field plowing and planting one particularly hot day, the birds always chirped but there was one particular call that rang through his brain everyday since. John thought back to this day frequently and almost always found himself smiling. It was a happy memory, and one he would look back to regularly during the turmoil of war. He was not far from home but everyday the front grew closer to his abode.
As the men returned fire John looked around for some kind of shelter, he spotted a small bluff about 100 feet away to the right.
“Scotty follow me” He shouted over the crack and whistle of gunfire.
Scotty was carrying a small mounted cannon of sorts on his back, he also had the munition for it and John saw an opportunity. He ran and Scotty followed and as they grew closer to the corner of the bluff he turned to check if Scotty was still behind him, which he was. As he peered back time seemed to slow as Scotty caught a round and fell down to the side with a thump. John turned and took a dive towards Scotty, unfortunately the shot he had received had hit him in the head. Scotty was dead, John shuddered and pulled Scotty’s backpack off of his lifeless body. John ran as fast as he could swinging the bag over his shoulder, bullets whizzing past as he ran. He dived once again behind the safety of the bluff, dirt flew up where he had been not a second before as a round hit the ground behind him. He stumbled up the bluff and threw the bag up the hill in front of him, his rifle in his offhand. He heard a scream from his fellow farmers down and to the left but he did not look. He ripped the cannon off the bag and began to set it up, roughly zeroing on the enemy position.
Scotty came from a regular everyday family not unlike John, his father was an accountant and he was going to college before the war started. Scotty was studying to become a dentist, he always had nice teeth and was rather fascinated by the only bone that is exposed. He was a great student and an even better friend. John looked back in his mind as he set up the cannon to a day in fall not too long ago. John and the rest of his squad were somewhere near Kansas at the time and were working a routine lookout spot near the front as usual. The two hadn't seen any action in months and this position was a boring one if it could be called that. The two casually smoked cigarettes and joked about things that no longer existed.
“How come corporations force paying customers to buy bags” Scotty remarked as he took a bite of his sandwich, the two enjoyed their time together but now it was over.
John withdrew a mortar from the bag and dropped it into the cannon.
Thump
The shell fired over the bluff and landed with a boom about 200 feet away from the treeline. John repositioned the cannon and fired another shell, time seemed to be slowing more and more and he watched the treeline hoping the shell would remove the threat of enemy fire for a few so he could get his bearings. The wind howled around him and a few drops of rain began to fall, slowly changing the cannon from green to grey. The shell exploded right where John remembered the first muzzle flash. He got on the squad’s radio channel and shouted through.
“Run to the bluff ill cover you”
He picked up his rifle and began to fire shots at the tree line, the flash from his muzzle lighting up the barrel of his gun which was now dripping from the rain which was intensifying quickly. He fired and fired until he ran out of ammo and switched magazines, firing and firing until his squad made it to the bluff. He turned and saw there was a man missing, looking down he saw next to Scotty’s lifeless body another of his team members, he wasn't sure who. He was lying down and crawling towards Scotty before he was hit with a round, he slumped and fell still.
John shuddered as the wind picked up, beginning to shriek and howl.
“Get on the cannon” He shouted as he continued to fire towards the treeline, this would however be in vain as the enemy seemed to have a technological advantage, He could hear a fighter plane approaching rapidly and knew it was likely his end. Time seemed to stop as the fighter drew closer, he could hear the bird from that day 3 summers ago, chirping happily in his memories. Lighting struck the ground nearby and illuminated a massive violent funnel rapidly growing as it grew closer.
Brrrrt
John was not struck but the impact of the large artillery rounds flung him over the bluff and he fell about 20 feet breaking his leg on his landing. He could hear the screams of his squad above who were likely in pieces from the airplanes guns. He looked over to the treeline and lighting struck again, illuminating a few enemy combatants running out into the field as the apparent tornado swept in behind them ripping up trees and debris began to rain down from the sky, John’s rifle was laying near him and he grabbed it, shooting at the enemy as they ran for their lives. One of his team members fired a flare into the sky illuminating the scene, John watched as his enemy was sucked up into the vortex never to be seen again, The wind calmed for a moment as the funnel grew closer and closer. John was sucked up into the funnel and his ears could not withstand the roar. He went deaf and everything went black, he could see his farm and hear the birds chirping as he faded out of existence.
We do not steer the ship