THIRD REICH THIRD STRIKE! Chapter 4-6

riskdebonair (67)in #fiction • 7 years ago

Third Reich Third Strike!!!

I'm Waiting...

“This is it, they will not get me. I retire myself from this world!”
Adolf went to squeeze the trigger, but before he could something very strange happened…
History gave way as the red sea of time parted and Adolf was enveloped by a brilliant light into a blanket of luminosity; he disappeared from the room, as if he was never there.
Eva heard the sound of the gun dropping and she opened her eyes. She looked around to find herself alone.
Many thoughts went through her head.
Had he left without her? Did he transcend into the next world? Why was she still here alone?
She couldn’t bare these thoughts; she wanted to be with him.

Love for others was always paramount

The gun lay on the table, beckoning her. She stared at it in hope of finding salvation, and it called out to her “Pick me up, I’m waiting…”

Angelo el Diablo!

It came with the Darkness, and it had no Place in this World

The Man walks with deliberation and the boy follows. The sun glares down upon them both. The relentless heat of the desert is trying to best the Man and the Boy; but they have been through worse.
Time has no domain in this desert. It is constantly day, with the heat of the overhead sun and no shadows.

Nowhere to hide

The Man does not know how long he has been walking for, or any idea of how far he has travelled. The Mexican is a distant memory; a ghost from the past. The Man has many ghosts.

He thinks about his earliest memory; one of his few remaining memories of before...
It is early spring; the snow has begun to melt. He remembers the big tree at the side of his house; his parent’s house. He has no memories of his mother, only of his father and...
The grass is green and the sun is shining. He is a boy enjoying childhood, but today is the day. The Man knows it is the cusp of a new era, but the boy running in the garden does not know, he does not care.

It is the end, the beginning

He hears his father talking to another man; they are high up inside the barn. The boy runs towards the barn (he runs everywhere, he does not walk) and sees a long ladder leading into the loft. He immediately begins to ascend the ladder; it is still a challenge at his young age to do so, but he does it.
His head pokes up over the top. His father and the other man are sitting cross legged. They are talking about something important; both of them are earnestly smiling. His father pretends not to see him, as he continues his conversation with the other man.
The faces of his father and of the other man are faint memories. They both have dark hair, he remembers that clearly.

…

The sun has slightly lowered itself; it is trying to catch the Man off guard. The Man adjusts his hat. He looks towards the Boy. The Boy has not broken a sweat. He never does. They both carry on walking towards the northern horizon. The Man leads and the Boy follows.
He takes out a canteen and gulps down a drink of water. He would offer some to the Boy, but he knows the Boy would only refuse. Perhaps the Boy is stronger than him, the Man does not know; only the Boy knows. The Boy has so far bested the Man in every aspect, and the Man knows that only the strongest will survive what lies at their destination.

The Man recollects his earliest memory. He cannot remember exactly what his father and the other man were talking about, but he has an idea of what it was.
They were sitting in the loft in the barn, talking about a plot or some sort of plan. They had done something, they had acquired something powerful and they were going to use it to conquer or control an area, but they didn’t know how dangerous it was (no one did). They had stolen the power of the sun.
For them it represented hope. They could take this corrupt world and turn it into something good. It was their hope, their dreams, but such power was not meant for men, but for angels and demons.

The boy holds onto the ladder and watches his father and the other man converse. He smiles at them both and descends the ladder. He runs out of the barn and comes to a halt.
The Man remembers he stared up at the big tree.
A strong wind begins to shake the tree, and the sky begins to darken. The boy looks up, he isn’t afraid. Not yet. He doesn’t know what is happening. He does not care.
He stands there, looking around as dark clouds begin to overwhelm the blue sky canvas, covering up any hints of daylight. Within moments blackness has enveloped the sky. The boy can feel something wrong. Something is out there. It came with the darkness, and it had no place in this world…

The Man used to believe the next part of this memory was false, a bad dream. Or perhaps something a child had imagined; but he has come to accept it as it was, an omen of things to come.
The boy stands alone outside the barn. The wind is blowing; the sun has disappeared as dark clouds have covered the skyline.
The things have arrived.

The Man does not want to recollect anymore, but the Boy assures him. The Boy tells him, that if he cannot come to terms with his ghosts he will not make it out of this desert alive.
“Ghosts, an interesting word to use” the Man mutters to himself.
He thinks to happier memories of the Girl he once knew, but the Boy tells him to go back to the beginning; back to his first memory.

Action Blackson!

An Indelible Memory

Maris’ world had been shattered. It all started a few weeks ago when he responded to a call about a shooting at a gun store. He was at the other end of the city when he received the call, and by the time he arrived on the scene, it was a bloodbath. A man dressed as Hitler stood at the entrance of the gun store wielding dual AK’s. Patrol cars and other vehicles surrounding the store had been filled with bullet holes; several had been exploded. The police sirens were still wailing. Dead officers, Special Forces and civilians covered the street. A river of blood flowed towards the drains.
Maris got out of his car and saw the street was filled with the dead. The only noise was the sound of sirens wailing. Maris was in the middle of a warzone but the horror of the scene did not sink in. Maris had always thought of warzones as things that happened in other countries. The casualties were merely statistics, but what surrounded Maris were the butchered remains of actual people. He could not mentally register it.

His training kicked in and he quickly spotted the shooter who was bizarrely dressed like Adolf Hitler. It was a standoff between the two.
The man dressed like Hitler just stood there, looking in the direction of Maris. Maris stared back and slowly began manoeuvring his hand down towards his gun. He gripped the butt of his gun and removed it from its holster. He raised the gun and aimed it, but that’s when the man dressed like Hitler locked eyes with him and gave him a glare filled with one thousand years of hatred.
A Hitler glare!
Maris was overwhelmed and his gun slipped from his hands.
He thought to himself “what is this man?”
Life began to drain from his body. He felt weak at the knees and began to tremble all over. A cold sweat brushed over him. Maris thought he was going to die. It was then that the reality of the situation sank in. He was surrounded by the corpses of his friends and colleagues. His head felt light and he could feel himself slowly falling forwards.
The man dressed like Hitler pointed his AK’s towards him, and began firing wildly. Maris lost control of his body and fell forward onto the blood soaked street. Miraculously none of the bullets made contact with him. Maris managed to look up at one point and saw the man was gone, and then he fell unconscious on the bloody street.

Maris woke up to darkness. For a few brief moments he thought he was dead or had been buried alive. Instead he found himself inside a body bag at the hospital morgue. There had been so many dead, that they must have not checked to see if he was alive. Over one hundred people had been killed, and he was the only survivor at the scene.
He pushed his finger through a small hole at the top of the body bag and unzipped himself. Maris found himself covered in blood. He took off the tag that was around his toe and threw it onto the floor. His blood soaked shirt was covered in other people’s blood. Attempting to remove the tainted guilt he felt for surviving, he removed his shirt. The dried blood made the shirt cling to him as he peeled it off. Maris turned his head slowly, taking in the fact that he was surrounded by a myriad of bodies; most of whom he probably knew. This is when a forensic pathologist by the name of John Lawrence walked in and saw Maris sitting up on the examination table shirtless and alive. Maris stared at him.
The forensic pathologist was glad to see a silver lining to the plethora of bodies that had come in. He looked Maris up and down, then smiled and said “Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence!”

Maris never did see the Man dressed as Hitler again. He apparently disappeared after the hurricane of chaos that ensued.

No escape from the past

Maris got out of bed; another night of terrors had ended. His face was becoming very unkempt. He was finding it difficult to shave as his hands would not cease trembling. Whiskey was the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely. A few swigs of the stuff would calm his nerves. Coffee was also another vital drink; with his disturbed sleep, falling asleep on the job was becoming an ever increasing problem.
After surviving such an event it was mandatory that he attend counselling, but Maris had been putting it off. He couldn’t face admitting something was wrong with him; that would be too much to bear as his life was already spiralling out of control. He carried on working even though the job was becoming too much.
A candlelight vigil was held for all those that had died during the massacre. Maris did not want to attend, but he felt he had to. A lot of those who had died were his friends and colleagues, so he felt it would be disrespectful to not attend. On the day of the candlelight vigil he almost didn’t show up. Instead he was down at his local bar drinking away his sorrows. His partner MacGuffin found him and managed to bring him to the candlelight vigil. Maris drunkenly paid his respects to the dead…
Fear of dying was beginning to consume him. Dying alone was a thought he could not shake. He had friends and a family but no current wife or kids; just one failed marriage. That blood soaked street kept flashing in his mind. It was an indelible memory. The bodies were all faceless in his recollection.
“Why can’t I remember their faces? Everything else is crystal clear…”
He couldn’t shake the static growing inside of him.