Juan threw his hands up, "So am I!" he shouted. "But that doesn't give the right for a mob of pinche artesanos to shut down the whole country!" Juan correctly deduced that the entire nation's transportation network was being disrupted by blocking major bridges.
Juan heard Diego call out, “War machines!”
"We gotta go!" Someone grabbed Juan by the shoulder and practically pulled him past a barrier. Juan's years of construction work caused him to notice the crude obstacle. It was made mostly of bricks stacked on pallets, which were covered with posters, flags, and graffiti. "Can't you see what's coming?"
Juan blinked and stared past the long row of protestors. A medium-sized bulldozer was moving slowly along the road toward the Tempe Art Center, pushing barriers and parked vehicles out of its way. "That's a D-8," he said.
“No, Dude!” the man shouted, jerking again on Juan's shoulder to no avail. “Behind that!"
Juan’s eyes scanned for a fraction of a second before landing on a convoy of four of the largest military trucks he’d ever seen. They looked angry and evil, and the turrets and gun ports bristled with rifle barrels. “What are those?”
"MRAPs!” It stands for Mine-Resistant Ambush Protection vehicle. “I never thought I see those used on US streets.”
At that moment, Juan caught sight of Sofia, and he forgot about everything else. He called her name over and over, and waved frantically until at last she looked in his direction.
"Oh thank God!" Juan exclaimed, his words lost in the cacophony surrounding him. "Come here, mija! Come here to me!"
A sound like firecrackers erupted. The protestors were shooting fireworks and setting off smoke grenades.
Juan cursed, “Idiots! They’re going to get us all killed."
As the tractor drew closer to Juan's truck, he began waving with both hands toward the driver of the D-8, “Stop! Stop! Just let me move it!”
But the Caterpillar driver would never hear Juan's calls. There was a loud popping sound, and blood splashed across the D-8’s windshield. The driver released the throttle as he died, and the D-8 ground to a halt.
Escaping from the crowd clustered near the stage, Sofia broke free and began racing towards her father. They could make their way on foot down to the next street. Maybe they could get someone to give them a ride out of this madness.
Juan waved her forward as an unrestrained gunfight broke out between the armed protestors and the marksmen in the armored vehicles. Their eyes met. In that moment, he saw the woman his daughter had become: beautiful and passionate, with a fierce look of righteous anger and determination glowing from some great inner fire.
In the next instant, that fire was extinguished.
When a person gets shot, it doesn’t look like anything in the movies. They crumple and collapse into a lifeless heap with no fanfare or outward mark of their passing. Simply here one moment …and then gone.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Juan knew he was screaming, but he couldn’t hear it. He also couldn’t hear the rattle of gunfire erupting all around him. Juan sprinted forward, but it felt like moving in slow motion. He had the sense that he wasn’t breathing. Perhaps he was holding his breath, but it felt like there was no air to breathe.
Although he couldn’t hear the explosive reports of the weapons being fired, he distinctly heard the sinister snap and hiss of bullets flying past his head as he approached the spot where Sofia lay. He begged God to let one of those bullets strike him dead before he arrived to find what he knew he was about to find…
God did not grant Juan that request, and the din of battle erupted again into Juan’s consciousness as he slid across the gravel to his daughter’s side. When he placed his hands on Sofia, his worst fears were confirmed. The body was warm and limp, but it was heavy with death. The bullet had entered her back near the left shoulder, and the entry wound was in front on the right side of her chest. Bright red blood frothy with tiny bubbles was staining her blouse a dark black color.
Somewhere in the distance, a man yelled, “They’re out of ammo!”
A cheer erupted from the protestors, “They’re falling back! We’ve beat them!”
Juan saw the line of MRAPs gunning their engines in reverse, crushing some of the protestors who were swarming over the retreating vehicles. His vision grew red as a blind rage washed over him.
“We believed in America!” he shouted. “And this is what we get for our dreams? You’ve taken everything from me!” Juan reached down and grabbed one of the nearby bricks. He found himself on his feet, racing forward to hurl the object with all his might at the war machine. “Trump can go to hell!”
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Can You Survive the Russia-Ukraine War?
Can You Survive the Greater Depression?
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