THE COLLAPSE: Swantown Road by Frank Kaminski Read Free Book Online Page B

restaurant, and with no protection from the awful effects, the police assumed that they would all just come out with their hands up.  That never happened.  They came out, but shots were fired, some say accidentally, but nevertheless, the seal had been broken.  An all-out showdown ensued, with a majority of the protesters wiped out within seconds.  The surviving protesters were beaten down to the ground and arrested. 
    Several network helicopters had captured the events on film in real time, live, as they occurred.  The most graphic scenes were being replayed.  It was awful, and hard to believe that a civilized government police force (at any level) could possibly do this to their own citizens. 
    The bartender went around and methodically turned on every TV in the joint, and adjusted each one to a different local network.  “It’s on every channel,”  he solemnly declared to his patrons.
    “This is just absolutely terrible.”  Fish said as if he shocked by the events (but he wasn’t).  He was on a mission, moving from TV to TV, scanning the different reports for his favorite person, Emil Knard.  He had hoped that his hero might have survived the massacre somehow.  Maybe he was one of the first surrenderers and was already sitting handcuffed very uncomfortably in the back seat of a police car.  Fish felt as though the legendary Emil Knard would not have given up that easily, and he was likely already dead. 
    Most of the networks were fixated on replaying a particularly gruesome double headshot that a young African-American female in a Krispy Krib t-shirt received as she hurriedly fled the restaurant to escape the tear gas.  It was overwhelmingly apparent from every angle that she was unarmed.  The two shots were hair fractions of a second apart, and blasted a good portion of her skull away on one side.  It pulled a few million heartstrings across America, since she had an awkward, embarrassing type of run that immediately humanized her before she was gunned down.
    “Maybe they thought that she was ‘The Predator.’”  Fish said, trying to be funny.  It was a reference to the black female’s weaved-in dreadlocks that draped behind her head quite like the famous alien’s did. 
    Stephen and Connie silently stared at him, along with several others.   
    Fish shrugged his shoulders and smiled at his friends, then said, “Too soon?”
    “Yeah, man.  I think so.”  Stephen said with utter seriousness, sensing that many were observing their behavior.  In reality, deep inside, Stephen was barely able to hold it together and act dignified.  The alcohol had taken hold, and he was nearly on the verge of busting out in laughter due to his old buddy’s absolute lack of sensitivity in public during a morbid situation.  It was ludicrous.  When he looked over at Constantine, she was suffering the same plague.  Her hand covered her mouth, and Stephen was pretty sure that there was grin underneath there.
    “Ugh, I can’t believe they actually shot that girl twice in the head.”  Connie said with mock disgust.  After a moment, she added, “It was a pretty good grouping, though.” 
    Stephen’s eyes popped wide open at her comment and he shot her a ‘shut-the-fuck-up’ turtle-faced grimace.  She was purposely feeding Fish.  Her fist immediately went back to her mouth and she chewed a knuckle in anticipation.  At that point, Stephen knew it was too late.
    “I know, right?  That was some excellent grouping!”  Fish bellowed loudly in agreement and laughed.  Stephen lost it at that point and went on the march.  He headed straight to the bathroom, as he did not wish to be witnessed laughing his ass off during a crisis of that nature.  He remained in there for several minutes, hiding in a toilet stall as humor tears streamed down his cheeks.
    After some time, Stephen heard the bathroom door creak open and somebody walked in.
    A voice, “Yo...” 
    It was Fish, checking to see if his pal