A New World: Taken by John O'Brien Read Free Book Online Page B

changes during the day.   We observe people heading into Wal-Mart at one point and emerging again carrying boxes.   They are apparently using the store as a storage facility of some sort.   My guess is food and other supplies.   Several trucks and vans are in the school parking lot but none are used during this first day.   Late in the afternoon, while I am taking a shift observing the camp with Greg, a large red truck drives up the highway from the north and pulls into the gate leading into the parking lot.   Lying on my stomach, I set the binoculars in front of me and shoulder the M-110.   Rotating the scope setting to 20x, I see three men emerge from the cab.
    I center the cross hairs on the driver as he swings the door closed.   His upper torso and head fill my sight with the juncture of the hair-thin lines centering on his face.   The silencer on the end makes the barrel a little heavy but not to the extent that I can’t keep it steady.   I feel Greg’s arm lightly touch my arm as my finger caresses the trigger guard.
    “Not to worry, Greg, I’m not taking a shot.   Just making myself feel a little better by centering on that asshole’s head,” I say without removing my eye from the scope.   “Besides, it would be a long shot with the suppressor attached.   Still, I’d like to put one in the groin and call it poor bullet drop compensation.”
    Greg removes his hand with a chuckle as I follow the three men across the lot where they meet up with several others emerging from the office building.   An apparent conversation is held.   One of the men pats the driver on the shoulder and all of them head inside.   My finger caresses the trigger observing the obvious “job well done” pat on the shoulder.   With the semi-automatic nature of the 110 and the fact that they wouldn’t hear a shot, I could take out at least four of them before they knew what was happening.   This knowledge does little to alleviate the deep-seated anger that rises from seeing the pat.   Job well done my ass , I think as they disappear into the single story structure.
    “Did you notice several of them toting M-4’s or at least some variant?”   Greg asks.
    “Yeah.   My guess is they are AR-15’s picked up locally but we’ll have to assume they’re autos,” I answer.
    The afternoon passes on towards evening.   The heat that had built during the day begins to cool as the sun descends to the top of the hills behind us.   The shadows of the trees envelop us as they stretch to the east.   The birds, which have only uttered the occasional call, begin their evening chorus and take flight searching out their evening meal.   Squirrels hop from tree to tree above.   Scratching sounds fill the forest on occasion from the squirrels climbing or descending the trees, their tiny claws gaining footholds on the bark.
    Our binoculars pick up a convoy of school buses heading towards the school from the direction of the fields and turn into the lot.   We note the time and count twenty-four armed guards exiting first followed by sixty-three people.   They are followed by another guard contingent who shepherd them into various buildings.   From the gym and classroom buildings, another group of people appear in the open area on our side.   It takes on the appearance of a prison yard with people in the middle milling around and guards on the perimeter keeping a close eye.
    “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did they just separate the males from the females after they exited the buses and herd them into different buildings?”   I ask Greg while still observing.
    “That’s what it looked like to me.   They took the males into that roundish building and the females into that long, rectangular building,” he answers.
    “That roundish building is the gym and pool.   I believe that rectangular building is where most of the classrooms are.   So, they appear to segregate genders?   Interesting,” I comment.   Thirty minutes