• “The US is the last country in the world we should fight.” – Lt. General Tadamichi Kuribayashi – Commander of Japanese Imperial Forces in the Defense of Iwo Jima

    The war began in 1985. Everything happened so fast that the American forces never knew what hit them until the Russians were nearly half-way across their country. Everything started in May of ’82 when the Russian government was swayed by the Army and Naval officials that a war with America was the best way to ensure the spread of communism. In truth, it was, but actually making this idea a success was much harder than it sounded.

    For three years, the Russians drilled continuously for the invasion of California, produced tanks, missiles, aircraft, weapons, and enough soldiers to man them all. Not only did the Army prepare, but the Navy drilled just as much. Submarines constantly conducted missile drills off of Hawaii and California, working on targeting military installations, fuel depots, and important landmarks.

    Many of the Russian military commanders and government officials saw victory as a promised result, not worried at all that the invasion could go bad. Although most were positive of success, there were some Russians who looked to history and thought differently, but they never spoke their thoughts.

    Three years passed as the Russians prepared for the invasion while the Americans worried about ICBMs and nuclear warheads, paying no head to the thought of an invasion. The Russians were ready to attack, and in June of 1985, the Soviet invasion force left from Mokhovaya to begin. American spy satellites caught the massive ship deployment, but intelligence agencies called it a training exercise, but by August, they found out the truth.

    The first signs of attack were the satellite images of missiles leaving the ocean surface from ballistic missile submarines off the coast of Washington, Oregon, Alaska, and California while Russian bombers delivered their payloads on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii and on Guam. As the invasion forces landed, what American forces that did counter were quickly dispatched and either killed or captured. It was hard for the people to imagine that America was being invaded, but it was.

    ---

    Jacob laid atop the library roof, the muzzle of his rifle barely poking over the edge. It had been three years since the Russians had invaded, finally being stopped at the western bank of the Mississippi River. There was supposed to be a small recon unit passing through the town sometime that day, but Jacob didn't know when. The sun had barely risen when he set his rifle up on the rooftop and covered himself with a grey tarp so as to be harder to spot.

    As he waited, thoughts about the war began running through his head again. He remembered when the first missile hit near the UCLA campus where he was getting his Bachelor's degree in engineering. That was cut short. He remembered as the Russian soldiers began pouring out onto the beaches of southern California, quickly establishing a powerful foothold. Not long after that, the entire western seaboard was under Communist control. Jacob had gone back to Colorado to be with his parents and sister and hopefully be safe on the eastern side of the Rockies. The peace there didn't last. It was only about a year later that the Russians had crossed the mountains and had taken Colorado and most of the western plains.

    He remembered when the Russians had marched into Pitkin. Jacob was sick. The Russians began looting, assaulting the citizens, and worse when they found no resistance. His family had managed to escape the chaos, but found little help as they went east. It seemed that the farther they went, they were never really free from the Russian hold as it spread.

    When they finally stopped in Kansas, the only signs of the battlelines were the piles of scrap left over from destroyed Russian and American tanks. His family decided to stay in Wichita, but Jacob slowly began form,ing his own plans to return to Colorado. He remembered going over the old battlefields, finding rifles, pistols, knives, bullets and any other things he would need when he did go back. It was about a month after arriving that Jacob left, leaving only a note for his family. he took an M16 rifle, a Colt M1911 pistol, ammunition, and a K-Bar combat knife that he had picked up from a battlefield a few days before, as well as some MREs with him. It was hard, but Jacob slowly made his way back to Pitkin.

    Small drops of water clinking against the metal flume of the furnaces in the library shook Jacob from his thoughts. He readjusted his body when the discomfort from his previous position began getting to him, only to have it return a few minutes later. As h looked through his scope, Jacob saw a small cloud of dust rising and heard the far off sound of engines. He quickly pulled back the bolt on his rifle and prepared to begin his assault.

    Jacob waited for the Russians to make their way through Pitkin. Time seemed to drag on forever as the patrol progressed through the town, anticipation welling up withing Jacob's chest. He waited for the patrol to pass by before taking his shot on the last man in the collumn. Jacob watched through his scope as a small mist of blood sprayed from the Russian soldier's neck, and as the rest of the soldiers moved for cover while two grabbed their fallen commrade. Jacob could hear the Russians yelling to eachother, giving orders, and trying to figure out where he was.

    It didn't take long for Jacob to find another easy target; a soldier whose back was facing him. He waited for several minutes to let the Russians begin to relax, but always kept his crosshairs on the selected soldier. Jacob waited just a minute longer before pulling back on the trigger of his rifle, the recoil slamming into his shoulder as the crack from the muzzle signaled the soldier's death. Jacob had counted eight Russian soldiers with one jeep, and had now cut the number by a quarter.

    As the second soldier slumped to the ground, the Russians began shooting up into the rooftops, not caring where they shot, just so as long as they hit the sniper.

    Jacob smirked a bit as the soldiers opened fire and as chips flew from the faces of buildings, as well as the small brick lip of the library's roof where he laid. Jacob had been in enough firefights and skirmishes in the last two years of the occupation, incoming fire no longer really bothering him if he had cover.

    Jacob moved enough to get better aim on another soldier. It was a perfect shot since the Russian had turned to look directly in Jacob's direction a moment before he fired. The soldier's head snapped back when the round hit, his body falling backwards. Jacob was glad with the kill, but realized led to something he didn't want; he was found out.

    There were five left, but it seemed like fifty. The Russians weren't just shooting blindly in any direction, but were instead all targeting the library roof. Jacob laid down behind the lip on the edge of the roof as the soldiers continued to unload their clips on his position. This is the kind of position he hated. It was the position any soldier hated; pinned down and having no way of escape. Jacob simply waited on the roof, trying to figure out the best way to either kill the Russians or bug out.

    He listened for a minute, waiting for the Russian rifles to stop firing. He couldn't see what was happening, but as the sound of shooting died down a little, Jacob knew he had his chance. As he laid on his back, Jacob reached up on the stock of his rifle and flicked the selector switch, changing the firing mode from single shot to full-auto. There were only two rifles firing when Jacob took a deep breath and popped up over the lip and pulled the trigger, sending a wall of 5.56 millimeter rounds down into the reloading soldiers.

    Jacob held the trigger and quickly emptied the thirty round clip. He had kept count of his kills, knowing there were five soldiers on the street. As the final rounds left his rifle, he made a recount of his targets, trying to see if he'd hit any of them. 'One...two...three...three.' There were only three soldiers down there. Jacob sat there against the concrete lip for a few seconds, trying to remember when the soldiers left. 'Before they reloaded...' "s**t" Jacob quickly dropped behind the lip and ejected the spent clip from his rifle. As he fumbled for the new one on his belt, he heard the heavy metal door to the roof slam open. 'Nononononononono.'

    Jacob quickly slammed the new clip into the underside of his rifle and pulled back on the bolt, loading a fresh round into the mechanism. He heard the crunch of gravel and saw the tip of the Russian's boots as he turned the corner around on of the heating units on the library's roof. The soldiers managed to get a few rounds off before Jacob pulled back on the trigger and fired into the soldiers' chests from near point-blank range.

    One of the Russians' rounds had grazed Jacob's arm while another hit him in the leg. Jacob laid in his spot trying to return his breathing to a normal pace. He remembered when his grandfather had told him of his time in World War II as a Marine sniper.

    "Being a sniper was always risky. They never took snipers prisoner for very long. If the Japs ever caught a US or British sniper, they took them to the prison camps and beheaded them within hours. A sniper is always in danger of being caught. We were hated more than anyone else. Those Japs would hunt for a sniper until they found him, no matter how many of their own soldiers died. It was one less sniper."

    Jacob couldn't help but laugh at his granddad's words now that he had experienced them for real. "Old man was right. They do hate us."

    Jacob shuffled over to where the two Russian corpses laid sprawled out on the gravel. What he saw made him grin wide. Jacob grabbed the two AK-47s from the bodies and threw them backwards over the lip on the roof, getting the soldiers down on the road to start shooting at him again. While the soldiers continued to fire, Jacob searched the dead soldiers for anything useful. He grabbed the four metal balls from each soldier's chest and set them aside; the small rings on each sticking up for a quick grab and pull. "Waste not." Even though he had his own grenades, Jacob was more than willing to use the Russian's own weapons against them.

    Jacob crawled along the roof to the lip and grabbed two grenades. "Fire in the hole." He spoke to himself as he pulled the two pins from the grenades and tossed them over the edge of the roof and into the Russian cover. "Boom." The explosions rocked the area, sending deadly shrapnel into building facades. Jacob looked over the lip, down at where the soldiers were hiding and saw nothing. The jeep they drove in on and had used for cover was destroyed and the road under them had two small craters in them, surrounded by scorch marks. The only signs of the soldiers that once hid there were the dismembered ad burned corpses that radiated from the blast centers, now barely recognizable as humans.

    "Damn..."

    Jacob slowly stood from his place behind the lip of the roof, only to drop to the gravel from the searing pain in his left leg from where the bullet had entered. He made his way back to the corpses and rummaged through their gear, looking for the med-kit, finding it quickly. He couldn't read Russian that well, but managed to figure out which vile was the morphine and quickly administered the pain killer. Jacob tossed the used epi-pen aside and grabbed the packet of clotting agent, tearing away one of the corners and dumping the contents into his leg wound. It burned...a lot, but Jacob quickly began wrapping the wound with the roll of gauze and tying it off.

    Once he had cleaned and wrapped his arm, Jacob resumed his search through the Russian gear, pocketing anything that would be useful: rations, money, the other med kit... Before leaving the roof, Jacob picked up his spent casings and threw them into the Russian packs, pocketing the empty clips to refill and use again.

    He slowly made his way across the gravel rooftop, his newly acquired limp slowing him down considerably. 'Well, I'm not going to be fighting for a while. Guess I need to stay here for a while.' He was glad he had grown up in Pitkin. He knew the best places to hide, and had a good idea on who he could trust. He only hoped he was right.

    ---

    Katrina was at the check-out in the small grocery store, glad to have found SOME food still left. The Russians had taken nearly everything, leaving barely enough for the citizens to survive. "Thanks Chuck. See ya tomorrow." The clerk only nodded as Katrina began to leave the store, only to stop behind the front doors as the Russian patrol passed by. She waited for them to pass completely before moving again. She was halfway out the doors when the first shot cracked through the streets. Katrina jumped back, as she watched the Russian soldier fall. She couldn't scream, almost as if her voice had been taken from her. Katrina backed up against the wall of the foyer as another Russian dropped after another crack.

    The constant gunfire drove Katrina to huddle as far into the corner as possible, trying desperately to hide from the fighting. Tears of fear began to run down her cheeks as the shooting continued. The gunfire dulled for a moment, only to have it start up again in seconds. Some of the rounds that were sent down into the Russian soldiers bounced up and punched through the glass doors to the store, drawing a loud scream from Katrina.

    She never thought her fear could climb higher than it had during the firefight but Katrina realized she was wrong when two grenades detonated behind the soldiers, sending shrapnel into the faces of the surrounding buildings, shattering most if not all of the windows.

    Katrina sat curled up in a ball in the foyer, surrounded by broken glass. She had small cuts along her arm and left side, left from the shattering doors and windows. Slowly, Katrina got up from her position and slower still began to walk out of the ruined store and into the street. What she saw made Katrina gasp; scorched bodies, a burning jeep, and...a single man walking out of the library with a bandage around his arm and leg? Katrina stood there for a few moments before snapping out of her daze. She studied the man as she looked around for anything worth salvaging from the bodies, finally realizing who it was.

    "Jake...?"

    ---

    Jacob limped out of the library, the bandages on his arm and leg already red with blood. He slowly made his way to where the once recognizable soldiers laid and began rummaging through their charred supplies, gathering clips of 7.62 mm rounds for the AK-47 he was eventually going to need as well as a few tins of food and medical gear. Jacob was too busy sifting through the Russian gear to notice the girl who had stepped forward until she spoke. The unexpected voice made Jacob instinctively reach for his pistol, only to release it when he saw the girl in front of him. It took Jacob a few minutes of staring to begin to remember who she was. "Kat...?"

    She barely recognized Jacob even as he stood a few feet in front of her. She remembered the laughing, joking, nut from high school, not someone who would be going through a burnt soldier's gear and carrying guns. "What are you doing? Why do you have those guns?"

    "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm killing these Commie bastards. Why wouldn't I?"

    "But why here? What made you turn into...this?"

    Jacob looked at Katrina for a couple minutes before changing the subject. "How about we go to your place. I don't want someone overhearing this."

    Katrina nodded in agreement as she closed the short distance between herself and Jacob, helping him to the passenger side of her car. She threw his pack and rifle in the trunk before entering the driver side and driving off towards her house at the eastern side of town.

    The two rode in silence most of the way, Jacob breaking it after about twenty minutes. "How are your parents?"

    Katrina looked over a Jacob for a second in slight surprise at his voice interrupting the rumble of the engine. "They're fine. I moved back in with them when the Russians came, to make sure they're alright."

    "That's good. Does Dad still know his stuff about bullet wounds from Korea?"

    "Yeah. He still goes through his field kit every so often. Why?"

    "I think I need some help."

    Katrina pressed down on the gas pedal, sending the car down the streets faster, arriving at her home a few minutes later. When they arrived, Katrina pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. When she got out, she checked to make sure no neighbors were watching before heading to the trunk, pulling out Jacob's pack and rifle before helping him out of the passenger side. She helped Jacob up the small set of stairs that led to the side door, making sure his leg didn't move too much. Katrina managed to open the screen and wooden doors while holding Jacob up and shouldering his pack and rifle. "Dad, I need some help! Quick!" Once Katrina managed to pull Jacob inside the house, she closed the door, locking it behind her.

    ---

    Rapid footfalls resonated through the house as Katrina's father made his way to the foyer. "Yeah Honey, what do ya ne..." He trailed off when he saw his daughter supporting someone wrapped in bloody bandages. Quickly Dan turned his head and called through the house. "Diane, find my old field kit! And hurry!" After calling to his wife, who could be heard searching through their closet, Dan turned again to help Katrina with the wounded man holding onto her shoulder. "Katrina, who is he?"

    "Dad, this is Jacob. He's back."

    "Jacob?" Dan looked at the boy's face when he looked up, the old man immediately recognizing the mischievous look in his eyes. "By God it is you. What the Hell happened, boy?"

    Weakly, Jacob managed a short laugh. "Well, you know me, sir. Just got into a little fight with the new administration."

    Dan rolled his eyes at Jacob's comment as he and Katrina carried him down into the basement and laid him down on the cold concrete floor. "How many times do I have to tell ya'? I retired as a Sergeant. So stop with this 'Sir' crap."

    "Heh. No way in Hell, sir."

    Dan laughed a bit at Jacob's reply, his eyes turning serious once more when he looked down at the bandages. "How many?" Dan asked without looking up from Jacob's arm as he began to unwrap the blood soaked bandage, his hands quickly gaining a shine from the blood that seeped from the wound.

    Jacob winced as the pressure left his arm, the pain once again returning in full force. "Eight soldiers and three clips. I'm 'startin to run low." He winced again as Katrina's father pressed down hard on his arm, causing waves of pain to rip through his body with every beat of his heart. "My pack...morphine...hit me." he managed to say through clenched teeth.

    Dan nodded and had Katrina go through Jacob's bag and pull out one of the Russian kits, eventually finding the morphine with what help Jacob could give. When she found the epi-pen, Katrina popped the cap off and jabbed the needle down into Jacob's thigh, his face quickly loosening up as the pain subsided.

    When Diane arrived at the bottom of the basement stairs, Dan quickly began working on Jacob's wounds. The arm wound wasn't too bad, seeing as the bullet went completely through, but his leg was different. Dan gave Jacob a twisted sleeve from one of the shirts in the laundry to bite down on while he took a pair of forceps and dug into Jacob’s leg for the slug. He knew it would hurt but continued to fish for the bullet until he found it and pulled the metal out. Jacob's face changed quickly when Dan pulled out the bullet and re-wrapped the wound.

    "Thanks old man."

    Jacob lay sleeping on the couch in the basement den where Dan would often sit and watch the football games that the Russians let air. It was considered a way to keep the civilians morale up and keep them happy, and it worked well enough. Jacob’s rifle was slid under the couch just incase he needed to grab it quickly, while his pack was stowed in the corner, hidden by the sides of the couch and the recliner.

    “Well, he lost a fair amount of blood, and his femur was shattered, but he should be okay. It’ll just take a while.” Dan was drying off his hands with what was once a roll of paper towels, throwing the wet and bloodied wads into the garbage. “Now aren’t you glad I kept that thing, Diane?”

    Diane rolled her eyes almost in resignation. Dan would never let this one go. Although she knew it would stroke his ego, Diane answered her husband’s question. “Yes I am. I’m glad you finally found a use for that old thing instead of just taking up space. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were just a miserly old Jew; the way you never throw anything away…” Diane nodded and went to the kitchen, beginning her work on preparing dinner.

    “MOM!!!” Katrina almost yelled at her mother for what she said. Even though she knew her father was almost as tight with his wallet as the stereotypical Jew, she still couldn’t believe her MOTHER, of all people, would say something like that.

    “Oh leave her be. It doesn’t bother me anymore; she calls me that enough so I just tend to tune it out.” Dan sat at the table, reading over the local newspaper. “Damn Russian propaganda. Won’t even let a single page go by without some piece of their crap.”

    “Just leave it be, Dan. You’ve managed to put up with it for this long. Why not ignore it?”

    “Well I can’t ignore it. That boy down there was bleedin’ on my floor because of these bastards. You think I can just ignore their drabble now?”

    ---

    Silence filled the Mormino house, the only sounds coming from either the turning of the pages of the newspaper and the sounds of cooking until a loud pounding came from the front door. The sudden noise caused Diane to drop her knife on the floor in surprise, narrowly missing her own foot. Dan stood and walked through the house until he could see the hats of Russian soldiers through the front door window. “Bastards.” Dan cursed under his breath as closed the distance to the door. He pressed on the door before turning the lock-bolt and opening the wooden door, then facing the soldiers without a barrier. “Yeah?”

    One of the soldiers stepped forward and cleared his throat before speaking a heavily accented English. “We are looking for a person who opened fire on one of our patrols. Do you have any knowledge of this?”

    “No.”

    “Have you seen anybody moving around this town with weapons?”

    “Apart from you?”

    “Yes, apart form us.”

    “No.”

    The soldier sighed, his patience beginning to grow thin with the old man standing in front of him. “One of the people we talked to earlier said they saw the boy get into a car with your daughter.”

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about. When my daughter arrived home from shopping, she was the only one who walked through the door.”

    “Well where is she?”

    “Not here.”

    “Where is she old man?”

    “She was picked up by a couple of her friends and they left up into the mountains for some hiking. I wouldn’t expect them back for four days.”

    The soldier was visibly frustrated with the lack of answers by the end of the ‘conversation’, but managed to hold his temper well. “We will be back to talk with you again. Until then, have a good day.” With that, the soldier turned around and nearly stormed off, followed by the two other soldiers with their rifles hanging off their shoulders.

    “Oh we will. You be sure to have a good one yourself.” Dan called after the soldiers, enjoying listening to the one who talked with him yell back what were surely curses in Russian. “Pigs…” Dan said to himself before stepping back inside, closing the door. “…total pigs.”

    When Dan returned to the table where his paper laid in a messy pile, Diane looked over at him, her face carved with worry. “Who was it? What did they want?”

    “Oh nothing. Just having a nice conversation with the good Russian soldiers, answered a few question, whished them a good day, and after all that, I’m pretty sure he yelled back Russian curses at me as they left.” Dan had a slight grin on his face as he explained what had transpired.

    “Oh Daniel, I wish you wouldn’t patronize them.”

    “Just having a little fun.” After a few seconds, Dan’s head snapped up from the paper and turned to look at Katrina as she sat on the couch. “Katrina, the Russians asked some of the people in town and they said you were seen helping Jacob into your car. I told the soldiers you weren’t home and instead were up in the mountains with some friends. I suggest you stay downstairs for a the next four days. Don’t answer the door, don’t answer the phone, nothing. Alright?”

    ---

    General Petróvich sat behind the heavy wood desk in his office. He had sent routine patrol units through the small towns throughout Colorado, just to make sure no insurgencies were boiling up. All had reported in except one sent to a small town in the mountains. Petróvich slammed his fists down on the top of the desk, causing everything on it to jump. His fists landed on a blow-up map of Denver and the surrounding area. There was a red star over Denver, signifying the Russian regional command center, and there was a thumbtack over Pitkin. “Mayór!”

    When he was called, the Major that stood outside the General’s door stepped inside, saluting. “Da, Generál-Leytenánt?”

    “Why hasn’t the patrol from…” The general looked down at the map, “…Pitkin reported in yet?”

    “We sent a retrieval unit two days ago. We should be getting their report…” The Major was cut off as a runner came through the open door and handed a piece of paper to the General. “…soon.”

    As the General read the report, the Major could see his leader’s anger rise considerably. “They’re dead!?!” The General looked up at his aid and handed the report to him before speaking again. “Apparently they were killed by one man. An eight-man unit killed by a single gunman… These stubborn American dogs just don’t know when they’re conquered.”

    “Would you, sir?” The Major handed the report back to General Petróvich before he spoke.

    The General took the report and looked up at his aid. “Get out of my office, Nikoli. I need to think.”

    The Major saluted his leader and walked out of the office, closing the door behind him while the General discussed strategy with himself. Nikoli walked down the hall and descended the stares two floors and continued to his room half-way down the hall of the commandeered hotel. While the General had the penthouse-suit on the top floor, Nikoli had one of the better suits two floors down since he was the General’s aid.

    When he opened the door, Nikoli immediately headed to the ‘kitchen’ and grabbed the bottle of gin and poured a shot. He wasn’t thrilled by the American vodka, so he decided to use the next best thing he could grab. He felt it to be a good compensation since the Russian gin was closer to rot-gut than actual gin.

    After downing the shot, Nikoli walked over to one of the well-upholstered chairs and sat down; his body sinking into the cushion. Personally, Nikoli didn’t like the war, figuring the Americans were the last enemies the Russians should fight. He mentally noted how many other officers felt the same way; all of which he could count on one hand. Every other officer he knew felt the same way the General did: “Destroy the weak American dogs and make the world give in to the Soviet might.”

    Nikoli had thoroughly studied history, and when he learned of the Russian plans on attacking the Americans, he focused his studies on the Pacific Theater of WWII. How the Japanese pushed the Americans back and had invaded Alaska, and how the Americans were able to push back and force the Japanese all the way across the Pacific and back to the island nation, even invading themselves. Even though the Russians had made it over half-way across the country, Nikoli knew the Americans would eventually push the Russians back, even if they didn’t manage to push them completely out of their country.

    Nikoli had spoken his concerns to General Petróvich many times, saying that the only reason the Russians were able to advance even this far was because of their numbers. The Americans DID have better weapons and better soldiers, but the General and many other officers refused to believe it. He sighed and sank lower into the chair, trying to think on how the Americans would fight back. “We made it to their great river, but we’ve been stopped just outside of St. Louis. We can’t use the Great lakes due to the American and Canadian Coast Guards’ presences there.” Nikoli discussed the situation with himself as if thinking aloud would help figure out what would happen. “While we must worry about the Americans’ ingenuity, we must also focus our attention on the British. When they join the Americans, Russia will be forced into a two-front war and will have to deal with two armies. They are a powerful force when they ally with the Americans…and if the British get involved, that would also bring Canada, Australia, France, and Germany into the fight. World War Three...and we started it.”

    ---

    Jacob watched as the Russians kept on advancing, no matter how many rounds he and the American soldiers pumped into them. For every soldier they killed, two more seemed to take his place while for every American that died, no help came up. Soon, Jacob was the only one left and was down to his last clip. When he fired his last round, Jacob reached down for his pistol, only to find it gone. Desperation began to set in as he pulled the K-Bar from its sheath and attached it to the muzzle of his rifle before the Russians began to pour over the sandbags. He managed to kill a couple Commies with his makeshift spear before he was knocked down and his weapon torn away. Jacob laid in the dirt, looking up at the Russian soldiers as they attached their bayonets and brought the bladed rifles down into his chest.

    ---

    Jacob let out a scream as he practically shot up, backing as far as he could into the soft wall behind him. His head jerked around as he tried to figure out where he was; his breathing coming in pants.

    Katrina nearly jumped in the air from her sleeping position across the basement den when Jacob screamed. Quickly turning on the lights, Katrina rushed over to Jacob’s side, a worried look covering her face.

    Sweat continued to roll down Jacob’s face even as his breathing returned to normal once he realized where he was once the room lit up. He felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders and pulled away before actually seeing who grabbed him.

    ---

    It had been nearly two weeks since Jacob arrived in the Mormino house after his altercation with the Russian soldiers. Not once had Jacob dared to even try to climb the stairs, worried that he would fall back down, or that if he reached the top, he’d be seen. Jacob managed to get his meals during the day when either Dan or Katrina came downstairs to watch football or write, respectively.

    Quite often, the Russian soldiers came to the house, asking questions about where Katrina was and if she had indeed helped Jacob, but Dan continued to stone-wall them. Jacob was thankful for the family that was almost like a second one to him.

    “You know, the Russians are getting more and more insistent with their questions. I think you two need to find a place to stay until this blows over.”

    The sudden words that broke through the noise of the football game surprised Jacob. Dan never really talked during games, Jacob had found that out a long time ago, which meant this occasion was important.

    “Say again, sir?”

    Dan sighed, showing he had thought about the idea for a while. “The Russians intend on taking Katrina in for questioning, and if they decide to farce their way in and search the house, they will find you and then Diane, Katrina, and I will be taken into custody and executed.

    Remember though, that if…when you leave, you won’t be able to come back until the Russians are gone.”

    Jacob sat on the couch, shock covering his face. As he sat there, Dan took the opportunity.

    “Jacob, I will drive you two out of town, up to your family’s mountain house. Remember, though…” Dan’s face took a look of warning. The man had always been like a second father to Jacob, but was now a father, worried about the safety of his daughter, “…you are traveling with another person; my daughter. If she gets hurt because of on of your reckless acts, you will have to deal with me.”

    Jacob stayed quiet, only nodding his reply to Dan. Dan had been serious with Jacob before when he and Katrina were in high school, but never had the man actually scared him like he did now. “Y…yes, sir.” Jacob finally managed to stutter. And just as Dan had gone from enjoying the game to serious, he returned to the game, a smile returning to his face.

    'What just happened here?'

    ---

    Jacob was able to walk, although strained, and went about gathering his washed clothes, some food, and helping Katrina figure out what she would need. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the Mormino house, but knew Katrina was even more against it than he was. The girl didn’t seem as enthusiastic as she usually was, but managed to get things done all the same.

    It took two days to clear out the two bed-long tool chests in Dan’s Ford where Jacob and Katrina would be hiding as they passed by the Russian checkpoints to leave town. The winter had finally set in and snow covered the ground, making tracking at its easiest. No one wanted to set off, but knew that it had to be done.

    Dan had packed climbing gear, food, and survival gear and tossed it into the bed of his truck before stowing Jacob’s and Katrina’s gear in each tool chest, followed by their owners. As they drove, Jacob and Katrina stayed absolutely quiet, lest they announce their presence to the Russians as they checked the bed. The pass through the checkpoint went surprisingly smooth as they checked Dan’s story and looked in the bed, only seeing the hiking gear. It was nearly an hour until Dan stopped the truck again, this time at the Brooks’ mountain home. The old man got out of the truck and went to the bed, opening the tool chests to let the rather sore passengers out. “Sorry ‘bout the ride.”

    “No, I enjoyed having my spine turned to dust.” Jacob replied with heavy sarcasm.

    Jacob led the way up the rather steep trail to the house. The boy’s only hope was that the Russians hadn’t found it yet. It took about twenty minutes to reach the house, thanks to Jacob’s limp.

    It stood in the shadow of the surrounding mountains, so the only time direct light hit it was in the evening during twilight. It was actually fairly large having three bedrooms, a kitchen, den, dining room, and a bathrooms. Not to mention the second floor where Jacob’s father had his hunting trophies, and the basement where the hunting rifles and ammunition were kept, along with the built-in bar and bathroom.

    When they entered, Jacob went to his old bedroom, leaving Katrina and her father to argue over which one each would get; Dan got the master bedroom. Dan had decided to stay in the hose for the night, to make it seem like he made camp over night to hide any suspicion. Jacob made it a point to go through the house, making sure everything was still in place since the family last used it. The house didn’t rely on power or heat from the main grid due to its remoteness, but Jacob figured turning on the generator would be a bad idea. It seemed everything was in place, which wasn’t much. He was glad everything on the main floor was okay, but his real worry was the hunting rifles in the basement safe.

    Jacob managed to get down the stairs and made a B-line for the safe and entered the combination, surprised he’d remembered it after he didn’t know how many years. A smile crossed Jacob’s face as he inspected the weapons within; the four rifles, two shotguns, eight pistols, and an old muzzle-loading Kentucky rifle. Some people thought it to be a bit overkill when they went hunting with his father, but the man always answered the same:

    “In the mountains, you never know how many rifles you’ll need. One man may only be able to use one rifle, but if that rifle breaks, how else is he going to hunt?”

    Jacob was glad his dad kept so many rifles; it gave him a good lot to choose from. He went through the ammunition, finding many lead balls and powder for the Kentucky, .30 caliber rounds for two of the rifles, and in the back, two ammo-cans of 5.56 mm rounds. After moving a few rifles, Jacob pulled the cans out and set them beside the safe to remind him to reload his clips before leaving.