Enfield rubbed his eyes and put the binoculars to them again and stared back toward the city, it was in ruins. Through the binoculars Enfield could see buildings burning and collapsing, jets circling the air above it and a few sunken ships in the river, the bridge had been destroyed and smoke still rose from the city. Enfield put his binoculars away and slid back down the tower just as his giger counter started ticking wildly. He ran in the opposite direction of the fallout and headed towards, what he thought, was his old development. He kept up running until the ticking stopped. Enfield looked around for anything that he found familiar. He saw the pharmacy that was close to his house and headed toward it. As he walked down the road, Enfield noticed a lack of cars on the road and people on the streets, he pulled his hood over his face and tried to remain incognito as he got closer to the store. A single newspaper hung on display as he neared the store. Enfield went to read it, seeing that the front page had the words “War” and “Aftermath”.
“Aftermath of Civil War still affecting the US,” the paper read.
“This is not good,” Enfield muttered. He yanked a newspaper out of the broken vendor and found the page about the War.
“Two years have passed since the Civil War that tore the US apart,” it read, “Most major US cities are in ruin and disorder along with the Capital and San Francisco being hit with nuclear missiles. The goal of the nuclear attack was to wipe out the Enforcer and Guardian’s HQs, each side acquired a missile and evacuated the cities prior to launch, the US government were unable to stop the launch or redirect the missiles. In the aftermath of the war, casualties are estimated in the millions from a mix of military and civilian deaths. The US is now trying to recover from the War and is gaining aid and support from other countries.”
Enfield dropped the paper and sank down, he felt nauseous and dizzy. Did he really cause all this from one small case of looting on a single mission? He sucked in some air and tried to stand, he felt dizzy again but he knew his old home wasn’t far, he could hide there until he recovered. One thing he wanted to see is if his old school was still up and running, he was sure that even in a post war scenario, the education system would find a way to climb to the surface of the rubble and do it’s job, even if half the country was ruined and a third coated with nuclear fallout. Enfield sighed and headed in the general direction of his old home, taking cover in an old car or building whenever his giger counter started ticking.
After dodging a massive radiation cloud and a pair of thugs, Enfield managed to find the old lake where he used to swim at when he was younger. The only noticeable difference was the blown apart C-130 that was now sitting in the lake. Enfield shuddered and continued walking until he found his old home, once again he shuddered thinking what he would do if there were new occupants or even worse, his parents. Enfield casually drew his 1911 and kept it tight against his chest as he slowly advanced on the home. There were no cars on the drive and no indications of life, a good sign. Enfield walked up to the house and saw that the windows and doors were covered in plywood and the tape used at crime scenes. Enfield wondered if they had done this because of the day his parents had abandoned him and he snapped, firing eight .45 rounds in his bedroom before collapsing and having a massive psychological breakdown. Luckily the Crusaders managed to comfort him and get him back to his usual self. He wandered around the building until he found a single window that hadn’t been covered in plywood, the only problem was that it was on the second floor, and very small.
No matter for Enfield however, he climbed up the side of the house, using the parts of the wood that stuck out as hand and foot holds, he managed to get up to the roof, open the window and slip in.
“Bugger!” he yelled as he slipped on a bathmat and crashed into the wall. He stood up and rubbed the side of his head. He stood back up and opened the door to his parent’s room with his weapon raised, he was both terrified and rather glad he might see his parent hiding out in this house, terrified for what they might have become, and glad so he could exact his revenge.
Enfield peeked around the edge of the door and tried to squint through the darkness. He gave up, flicked the 1911s attached flashlight on and kicked the door open.
“I’m hommmeeeee!” Enfield yelled. No response came. Enfield sighed and looked for the light switch. After messing with it with no result he came to the conclusion that the power wasn’t on, Enfield blundered his way through the darkness of the house and eventually made it to the garage where the fuse box was. Enfield popped the cover open and shined the light inside the fuse box, seeing that none of the fuses were removed Enfield flicked on each one except the outside lights, once he did that, the soft hum of lights and power being restored was heard in the garage.
“Perfect,” said Enfield.
Enfield then spent the day checking if the lights from inside the house were visible from the outside. Once he deduced that he could keep the lights on Enfield went back inside to see if the TV was still working. He turned it on and with a sharp pop and a low buzzing, the plasma came to life. Enfield spent the rest of the evening cleaning both his clothes and himself of radiation, the last thing he needed here was severe radiation poisoning. Once the time read twelve at night, Enfield decided to go up into his old room and get some sleep. Opening the door to his old bedroom Enfield found that it was exactly the same as he left it two years ago, right down the bullet holes in the mirror and TV. He pulled his shoes off and lay down on his bed, it was a little harder that he remembered, but he would rather sleep here than anywhere else. As Enfield closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he asked himself if he should go back to his school to see his friends one more time.
Enfield was awaken by his giger counter ticking. He slid away from the windows and then checked if he had been exposed, fortunately the giger counter stopped after a few seconds and he was clean. He sat up and then went rummaging in his bag for food, he consumed an entire 3000 calorie bar and some water before he pulled his shoes back on and left his house through the window. He had left his bag and weapons behind, why? Because he was going back to his old school, that is, if he could remember the way to the school.
Enfield was quite lost. There were very few cars driving around and no school buses could be found. He had once again pulled his hood over his face to conceal his identity. Enfield wandered around until he found a familiar street, he walked down it and saw the school bus garage that sat next to the school, broken and in ruins with only six buses in the parking lot. He strolled past the garage until the school was in sight, and what a mess it looked. An entire outpost had been set up on the football field at one point but that was nothing but ash and craters, tanks and jeeps sat in the parking lot, disabled or destroyed, the fuselage of a fighter jet stuck out of the middle of the building. Almost half of the place was riddled with bullet holes or blown apart by stray artillery. Enfield really didn’t like the look of the place but there had been a war, and when there’s a war, nothing is safe.
Enfield made his way to the front door, to his surprise, people were just going about like nothing had happened, he could even see people trying to get around the crashed jet. Enfield hit the buzzer and the door unlocked, he headed straight for the front desk.
“Can I help?” the receptionist asked without looking up.
“Yes,” Enfield said, “I was just in town and I wanted to see my old school.”
“What is your name?” the receptionist asked, still not looking up, “We can trace your record and tell if you were a student here.”
“James Rogers,” Enfield said.
The receptionist looked up after Enfield said his old name. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Enfield didn’t like the look on her face.
“If you want me to go I will,” he said, “I just wanted to see my friends.”
“No no it’s okay,” the receptionist said, “I just didn’t know why you haven’t turned up for the past two years.”
“If you read the news you would have seen that I was dead,” Enfield replied.
“Then how come you aren’t?” the receptionist asked handing Enfield a guest pass.
“I have some very good friends,” Enfield said, “Let’s keep it at that.”
Enfield took the pass and walked down the hall towards the class he wanted to go first; History with Mr. Cosby. He walked through the halls and past the other students, most of which didn’t even throw a second glance, some however stopped and tried to get a second look at Enfield but he was gone before they could react. Enfield was soon standing at the door of his history class, the class had started and already he could hear Mr. Cosby ranting on about the Civil War.
“And now because of a bunch of idiots in the Government we won’t be recovering from this war until twenty-forty,” he said, “All this because of a small little incident of looting and then the US couldn’t trust the Enforcers anymore.”
Enfield stood in the open archway of the door and listened, wanting to hear more.
“From what I’ve been hearing,” Mr. Cosby said, emphasizing every third word, “Is that one of our former students was the cause of this war and because of this, the US marked him as a terrorist AND CONFIRMED HIM DEAD!”
Mr. Cosby took a pointer and swatted a large paper map, sending out a bang that made everyone jump. One student raised his hand and Mr. Cosby let him speak.
“Actually the government had a good reason to label him as a terrorist,” the student said, “If you remember he kidnapped those three girls and killed a lot of soldiers.”
“Yes he did,” said Mr. Cosby, “But why didn’t he use the girls as human shields or use them to escape the US?”
“Because he wanted to look good,” the student said, “He was trying to look like he was the good guy but in reality, he was a murderer and a coward. He deserved to die.”
Enfield gritted his teeth and kicked the door shut, startling everyone but Mr. Cosby.
“I-am-not-a-terrorist!” Enfield yelled.
“Well, look who it is,” Mr. Cosby said, “The one who was confirmed dead by the US government.”
“Well guess what?” Enfield said, “I’m not.”
Most of the students were agape at the sight of Enfield, they still thought that he was the old James Rogers but none of them had seen him for the past two years and none of them knew what had happened.
“Can this be happening?” one student said.
“Is this the kid?” another asked.
“TERRORIST!” the student shouted at Enfield.
“Shut it Tadd!” Enfield said back to him, “You haven’t got a bloody clue about what happened to me on that day, you don’t even know about what happened to my life.”
“Alright relax,” Mr. Cosby said, “Now James, why don’t you tell the class what happened to you on those last few days in the war?”
“Why tell?” Enfield said in a hushed and dark whisper, “When I can show?”
He pulled his shirt up a little to show the bullet wound on his abdomen. The entire class leaned closer to get a better look.
“This is what happened,” Enfield said, “This is what happens when your own country betrays you.”
“You got shot?” one student asked.
“Yep,” Enfield said, dropping his shirt over the wound, “Several times as a matter of fact.”
“How did you live?” another student asked.
“Simple,” Enfield replied, “Those girls saved me.”
“How did they save you?” a student asked.
“I taught them basic first aid,” Enfield said, “I didn’t know where they learned to treat severe blood loss and bullet wounds but what they did saved me.”
“They should have let you die,” said Tadd.
“Why would they? I helped them out and I protected them,” Enfield said, “They loved me and they didn’t want to lose me.”
“What was it like being dead?” a student asked.
“Boring,” Enfield replied, “I was stuck in a dark room for five days, do you know how dull that was?”
“It sounds really boring,” another student said. Mr. Cosby stood up from his seat and strode over next to Enfield.
“Well now that James is here we can get back to the topic of the Civil War,” Mr. Cosby said, “And James here is going to fill us in on what it was like on the battlefield.”
Enfield huffed and leaned against a desk as Mr. Cosby went on about the Civil War. Enfield ended up finding out more than he bargained for about the war, but then again, Mr. Cosby had various ways of acquiring information. Several times Mr. Cosby stopped and asked Enfield about the Civil War ground battles, Enfield explained how they went on rather than specific battles, he had been in the ground battles but most of the time he was trying to escape the war zone. Enfield, throughout the class, noticed Tadd’s menacing glare. He didn’t like Enfield, that was one thing solved, but Enfield knew that Tadd was dim and very assuming, Enfield wanted to see his reaction once he told the class that he adopted Scootaloo.
“Now what happened after you were supposedly killed?” Mr. Cosby asked Enfield.
“Tough to say,” Enfield replied, “I blacked out once I hit the ground, but I knew that I had killed Agent West.”
“Why did he want to experiment on the girls?” a student asked.
“Don’t know,” said Enfield, “But he had one sick mind.”
“What I want to know is how you were not killed,” Tadd said.
“You’ve asked that question several times,” said Enfield.
“And I don’t understand how a shotgun didn’t kill you,” Tadd replied.
“Maybe I got lucky, maybe it was the armor,” Enfield said, “I don’t know how I lived but what I do know is that one of the girls managed to keep my heart going long enough for me to get medical attention.”
“Which one of the kids did that?” Mr. Cosby asked.
“That was Susie, the purple haired one,” Enfield said, “She saved my life and in return, I adopted her.”
The whole class was taken aback when Enfield said that he had adopted Scootaloo. And within a second, everyone but Tadd applauded. Tadd sat there with his arms folded and the look of murder on his face. Enfield wanted more than ever for the class to end so he could get away from the look on Tadd’s face. Just as the class stopped clapping, the buzzer rang and everyone got up and left the room.
“Now James,” Mr. Cosby said just as he was walking out of the door, “Since your in hiding I don’t think you’ll be coming back again.”
“You’re right there,” Enfield said, “I don’t want to jeopardize my new home and more importantly, my daughter.”
“Okay then,” Mr. Cosby said, “Have a nice life.”
Mr. Cosby left Enfield alone in the classroom, he stood against the white board and stared out of the door. He watched as the other students walked their way to their next classes. Enfield then suddenly saw his old friend Maria walk past the door, not wanting to lose track of her Enfield slipped out from the classroom and followed Maria, hoping that she was going to the cafeteria. His luck continued when he watched her make her way to the lunch room and sit down at a table. Enfield blended with a crowd of students and then snuck up on Maria from behind.
“Hi,” Enfield said. Maria jumped and span around.
“James?” she asked looking up at Enfield.
“In a way yes,” Enfield said, “Did you miss me?”
“I thought you had been killed,” Maria said.
“Pah, an untrue rumor,” Enfield said as he sat down next to Maria.
“Where have you been for the past two years?” Maria asked.
“Trying to reset my life,” Enfield replied sadly. Maria leaned closer to him, concerned about her friend. She hadn’t seen him for two years and he was meant to be dead.
“Why,” she asked, “What happened to you?”
Enfield went on to explain how his life went from good, to bad, to being completely destroyed until his resurrection. He started his story on the day after school ended and then finished with the first week in Ponyville as he tried to restart his life.
“Wait a minute,” Maria said after Enfield had said the word ‘Ponyville’, “You’re a Brony?”
“Ah Bollocks,” Enfield thought.