October 30th, 6:15 p.m. EST — The Pasturelands, Chattanooga, Tennesse
The sun beat down on the tall grassy hill, casting a golden glow upon the lone figure that stood atop it. Diamonte, a young African American boy with a face obscured by a balaclava, surveyed the scene before him with an unwavering gaze. A checkerboard of green and yellow croplands stretched out before him like a patchwork quilt, each field a canvas for the sun’s gentle touch. Behind him stood a motley crew of boys, each sporting white t-shirts and bulletproof vests. Three utility terrain vehicles and a truck stood at the crew’s side, bristling with weapons and ready for action.
Further down the hill, an older heavyset teen named Big Spooky sat in the passenger doorway of a tan GMC Sierra 1500 AT4X sprinkling a handful of loose tea leaves into a metal strainer. Taking his time, he submerged the strainer into a porcelain teacup filled with hot water, set the cup into a matching saucer, and waited patiently for the flavors to infuse into a golden-brown brew. Once satisfied, he lifted the cup to his lips and rose to his feet, causing the truck to lift ever so slightly in response.
Down in the pastureland, a military transport train shot out of the forest like a bullet and barreled across the horizon, pulling five passenger cars, twelve flatcars, and twenty-three boxcars. Each car was cloaked in desert camouflage and proudly emblazoned with the words U.S. Army in bold black letters. The passenger cars were filled with soldiers and the flatcars contained an assortment of war machines including eight up-armored trucks, five M1A2 Abrams tanks, and three AH-64 Apache Attack Helicopters.
Inside one of the train’s passenger cars, a young Irish American soldier named Liam Nathanael was fast asleep in his seat when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Hey corporal,” said a voice. “It’s your turn for guard duty.”
“I’m up, I’m up,” Liam yawned, as he rose and strapped his rifle across his shoulder, “I just gotta run to the bathroom real quick.”
Half-awake and dragging his feet, Liam made his way toward the back of the passenger car, passing groups of soldiers who were all either sleeping, eating, or playing card games. There wasn’t much else to do on these types of assignments and he preferred to sleep as often as he could. Liam smiled as he stepped into the bathroom because he knew that the way the schedule was set up, he’d only have to do an hour of guard duty then he’d be able to sleep for the rest of the way home.
The UTVs rolled over the hill, one by one, kicking up large clouds of dirt and dust in their wake. Diamonte sat in the driver seat of the GMC Sierra with his foot slammed on the gas pedal and his eyes locked onto the distant train. Next to him sat Big Spooky, who was bent over and blocking the A/C from blowing out his lighter as he sparked it against the joint hanging from his mouth. Back in the bed of the truck were two quiet and heavily tattooed teens named Tezz and Marquis Hall.
A red Polaris RZR XP Turbo UTV pulled up beside the truck and held its position. The driver was a scrawny teen known as Woo Baby and his passenger was a short kid named Lul Demon. Big Spooky exhaled a large cloud of smoke. Then he stuck the joint out of the window and offered it over to Woo Baby, who relit it and puffed it twice before offering it up to Lul Demon, who was now standing through the bars of the roll cage pointing a loaded RPG-7G grenade launcher at the side of the train.
Lul Demon grabbed the joint and took a long hard pull before passing it back to Woo Baby. Then he placed his eye into the sights of the RPG’s scope and took aim at a gangway connection between two passenger cars. Diamonte slammed on his brakes and the Polaris slid forward just as Lul Demon yanked the trigger. A small rocket blasted out of the launcher and detonated into a dark cloud of smoke and fire against the side of the train.
“What the hell?” Liam gasped, as he lifted himself off the bathroom floor and brushed a pile of debris off his uniform. A deafening blast had obliterated the wall behind him, revealing the rusty steel tracks running beneath the train and the bare blue sky above him. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Liam tossed his rifle over his shoulder and clambered his way out of the battered wall and up to the roof of the train.
The sight before him made his stomach churn—the train was split in half, with eighteen cars still tethered to the locomotive and twenty-two others careening wildly across the tracks. Then his eyes caught sight of a distant cloud of dirt rising from the pasture. It was moving quickly, and as he strained his eyes, he could just make out the shape of a truck and three UTVs speeding toward the train. A feeling of dread settled over him as he watched them draw closer, the dust cloud growing larger and more ominous with each passing moment.
“We’re under attack!” Liam cried as he banged his fist against the roof of the train. “We’re under attack! We’re under attack!”
A window dropped open on the side of the train below him and a voice yelled out, “Identify yourself or we’ll shoot ya!”
“Hold your fire! It’s me, Corporal Nathanael of the 63rd Transportation Battalion!”
“What the heck are you doing on the roof Corporal?”
“I was in the bathroom during the explosion. The door got ripped off, so I had to climb up to the roof!”
A latch door opened up on the roof behind Liam and Sergeant First Class Marcelino Cavazos climbed out with his sleeves rolled up and a big wad of dip in his mouth. “Where are they? Where are our attackers?”
“Over there, sir, about two hundred, yards east. It’s four of them. One truck and—”
“They’re splitting up.”
“They’re what?”
“Two are headed towards the lost cars and two are headed towards us. But I see what they’re up to, and it won’t work.”
“What won’t work, sir?”
“No time for chit-chat, Corporal, it’s time to earn our stripes.” With that, Cavazos dropped down to his stomach, inserted his head through the latch door, and let out a thunderous, “Ten-hut!” In an instant, the soldiers inside were up on their feet standing as stiff as statues. “Men,” he continued, as he hung upside down. “We are under attack. Corporal Nathanael and I will lead the charge to the front of the train. Now, from here to the engine room I need two heavy gunners on each roof, two rifles in each car, and two pistols in each gangway. If you’re scared that’s okay, that just means you’re human. But if you feel like running away, do me a favor, and jump off right now. Cowards will only get in our way. Now let’s get some!”
“Get some!” roared all the soldiers in the car.
1-mile southeast, 6:36 p.m. EST — Prentice Cooper State Forest, Signal Mountain, Tennessee
A gray fox emerged from the thicket, creeping slowly across the forest floor with a serpentine grace. The landscape was a riot of oranges and browns, the colors of autumn suffusing every inch of the forest. As the fox lay nearly invisible amidst the leaves, its eyes remained fixed on a small steel can that lay ominously at the base of a towering oak tree. A delicious scent wafted from within the can, drawing the fox inexorably forward. But even as its mouth watered, a sense of unease prickled at the back of the fox’s mind. It knew the can was not to be trusted, but its hunger proved to be more potent than its doubts.
The fox approached the can with cautious curiosity, nudging it ever so gently. The container rolled over, spilling a small pile of corn over the leaves. Ecstatic, the fox dove into the corn without hesitation, unaware that it had triggered a large capture net. The net snapped shut around the fox, hoisting it off the ground and up into the canopy. For a full seven minutes, the fox struggled and screamed, thrashing about in the net until exhaustion finally overtook it.
After another seven minutes, the forest had fallen into a deep stillness. This quiet, however, was broken only by the peace-shattering screech of metal scraping against metal, followed by the echo of three distant explosions in rapid succession. Frightened out of its mind, the trapped fox began to twist and howl inside the net, only to be greeted by a murder of cawing crows zipping through the canopies. While most of the birds were nimble enough to avoid the net, a few grazed its edges, sending the fox into a dizzying spin.
Fearing for its life, the desperate fox sank its teeth into the net, gnawing a hole big enough to squeeze its head through. But as soon as its head was free, darkness descended upon the forest, casting everything into shadow. Looking up, the fox was stunned to see a large object hurtling towards it through the trees. Quickly, the fox retreated into the net, narrowly avoiding the impact of the object as it smashed into the forest floor, sending out a wave of shrapnel and exploding flames. Trapped and afraid, the fox hung helplessly in its floating prison, unable to escape the chaos that raged around it.
Miles away, a small orb-shaped aerial drone popped out of the treetops and began scanning the horizon. It bore a white spherical body and a large black camera for a face. As it rotated, its sensors were quick to pick up a strange object in the distance. Zooming in with its camera, the drone captured the view of a thin tower of smoke rising from the depths of the forest. A blue light flashed on its frontside, and a white shield covered its camera lens. Then a green light streaked across its underside and the drone blasted off across the treetops towards the smoke.
By the time the drone had reached the site of the crash, most of the smoke had died down. Only a few open flames remained burning. There, in the center of the wreckage lay the charred remains of a locomotive and four boxcars. A purple light flickered atop the drone, and it suddenly began to descend into the hands of a young Afro-Native girl named America Herron. The girl plucked the drone out of the sky and stuffed it into a bag on the saddle of a stunning bay-colored Mustang named Atohi.
Next Movement
