I leisurely walked with Frank through the bustling Indonesian market square. We were pretty intoxicated on a mixture of various substances and were taking in the sights and being our usual asinine selves. A lady came up to me with a dead chicken and yelled something in my face, and I mumbled some incoherence back to her and we quickly continued on our way. We regaled about the moment that had just passed and carried on laughing without really taking notice of our surroundings. I started to look around and suddenly realized that there were a number of armed individuals in orange and black army fatigues walking by. They were giving us the stink eye, but I didn’t give it too much thought as we were told this sort of thing was commonplace and to just mind our own business and we would be fine.
Soon we reached the entrance of a dance club. The bass was pounding and it seemed like a bumping party inside despite the fact that it was early in the afternoon. I guess Frank and I were operating on the same wavelength as we both approached the entrance without any discussion. We made our way inside and the place was packed. The disco balls were in full swing and everyone had glow sticks and were dancing like crazy. I had been to lots of clubs before and had never been much of a club goer myself, but there was some kind of electricity in the air and I got caught up in it. We joined in on the dancing and I felt like I was on top of the world.
Only a few jubilant moments passed before party was pooped on. A man burst through the entrance into the building wielding a hunting rifle and began blasting holes in the unsuspecting club goers. He was walking with the gun at his side with a blank stare on his face killing without regard. At first I was terrified and I cowered by the wall and prayed that by chance I would be spared, but as he came closer and continued to kill countless people, I realized if I was going to survive, I would have to do something. The rifle he was using was a bolt action so I waited until he was within about ten feet of me and I lunged towards him just as he started to reload the bolt action. I grabbed the rifle and we fell to the ground both clutching the gun and somehow I managed to maneuver the rifle around to be pointing at him. It was at this point that I realized that we were surrounded by 4 armed men wearing the same orange and black army fatigues from earlier pointing automatic rifles at us, yelling something over the pulsing bass that I couldn’t understand. I considered letting go of the rifle and putting my hands up, but I wasn’t sure who’s side they were on and thought that they might suspect me as the one that had just gone on a killing spree, after all, I was holding the murder weapon. I quickly made a decision and started yelling “Back off or I’ll shoot him” referring to the man who had just seconds ago been killing seemingly innocent civilians. I held the gun on him and grabbed the scruff of his shirt while backing up, making my way towards an emergency exit at the back of the club. Frank followed suit and the whole group backed up slowly all with their fingers on their triggers. I kept yelling “Back off! Back off now!” but they continued their slow pursuit. Once we made it to the door, I pushed the killer toward the armed men, tossed the rifle, and burst through the doors into the glaring sunlight.
Frank and I began running. It was the only thing to do. We ran through the unfamiliar urban sprawl without a clue where we were headed. My heart was pounding and all I could think was to run as far away from the mess at the club as I could, as fast as I could. An alarm of some sort started sounding throughout the city streets and I could see that the locals were beginning to stir. As I ran, I noticed that everyone was suddenly armed. Woman and children were bearing small arms that almost looked like some sort of automatic pellet guns and they started shooting at me as I ran. “Fucking Christ!” I thought, “Kids are shooting at me!?” I felt something go beneath my skin on my upper back and my arm. There wasn’t any pain really, just the feeling of a foreign object in my body lodged just beneath the bottom layer of my skin where it meets the flesh. I kept running, I had to keep running. I was jumping over fences and trampling through gardens and sprinting down alleys and soon I stopped seeing people and it looked as if I was in some sort of abandoned area. It was then that I spotted the nearby abrupt edge of the city leading up into rugged hills and mountains. I decided that maybe I could lose them in the mountains and wait out this mess there.
When I hit the start of the first hill, I realized that I was nearly exhausted. I kept pushing up the hill and when I neared the more mountainous terrain, I noticed that the sun had dipped behind the mountain and the wind had picked up. I slowly began to run out of steam. I stopped for a moment behind a large rock and put my hands on my knees and began panting heavily. “Where is Frank” I thought. “Is he dead? Did they capture him? What will they do if they capture me?” It was then that I looked up to discover that I wasn’t alone. A young man, probably in his early twenties, was standing there not even 15 feet away staring at me, holding a gun pointed directly at my head.
“You think you can hide in these mountains?”, he said menacingly. “As children we train in these mountains. We spend weeks on end in these mountains on our own, fending for ourselves. These mountains are our way of life. We live these mountains. We breath these mountains. We know these mountains!”