Terrance Withers was propped against his 1999 Dodge Ram 2500 flatbed. He placed a hand over his wound and grimaced at the shock of pain that traveled the length of his body. “That didn’t go as I planned it.” Then again, when had anything gone the way it should have?
“All I wanted was to live a simple life, but no. Between the thought police, the screaming idiots who canceled everything, and the moronic politicians, life had evolved into a maddening cluster of whatevers.”
A spell of unconsciousness washed over him. Terrance fought against it. Eventually, he would sink beneath the waves of darkness to never emerge again. “Just not right now. I must let them know that the mission is accomplished.” Everything hinged on his part of the mission. Terrance pushed himself to his feet, his body burned with agony as he leaned in the cab.
An Old Earth CB radio was installed in his vehicle. In the years since the ‘Rebuild’, the old ways were more relevant now than at the beginning of the 21st century. Terrance clutched the mic and cleared his throat.
“Revolution X-Ray, this is Revolution 6.”
“Mission accomplished. I say again, mission complete.”
“Understood, X-Ray out.”
Taped to his dash was a picture of his ex-wife Jocelyn and their son Micah. Blood flowed out of his wound freely. Another wave of drowsiness washed over him. He shook his head to clear it. It took him several seconds to regain his senses. His time was drawing short. In the distance, he could hear the second and third segments of their attacks being conducted. He tore the picture of his wife and son from the dash and crashed to the earth.
Quiet tears slipped down his cheeks. “We had a good life,” Terrance whispered to the picture. “Everything was fine until we were forced to get the ‘treatment.’ Everything went to crap after that.”
His tears flowed as freely as the life that was escaping from his wound. He kissed the photo of his wife and son, closed his eyes, and was no longer bound to the tyrannical bondage of the Unstable Southern Apex governmental zealots.