Upstate South Carolina Before the Great Collapse

THREE WEEKS LATER

It had been three weeks since the incident and they were all hold up in Rocko's gym outside of town. It was a non-descript concrete building long devoid of any signs. The gym at once been pumping. It had seen the lights of a state champion boxer, a future NBA power forward and even a WWE wrestler come through its doors. Rocko's father, Rocky Sr, had founded the gym and it had seen some amazing years. Eventually, his only son Rocko had taken over the gym. Things had gone alright for a few years, even if business slowed, but while the bypass had wounded it, along with the Planet Fitness out by the highway, the 2008 recession had been the death nail. Rocko just said he was sorry to see his dad go in '06, but was glad he went before the gym did.

Still, even though it was closed to the public, Rocko had kept it open for private workouts among close friends, even during the start of the virus as all gyms across the state and eventually the entire country were shut down. Rocko's family had deep connections with Solomon's so he'd knew this world be a safe place.

Rocko was in the back of the gym, deadlifting 350 lbs worth of rusty plates, cursing about before his leg injury he could easily throw up 500 lbs. Rocko was a big boy, always had been. He musta ripped his mama's pussy apart when he came out, Solomon often thought. He was nothing but a stack of muscles. Before his injury, he'd been a state dead lift champion and one year finished in the top three nationally.

Dark as furnace ash, he was a "bred for work negro" Solomon would say.

The rest of the crew were spread through the building. It had always been hot in there, like an oven, and the level of initial intensity that had come down was now picking back up.

Solomon knew they were at a breaking point. He knew they had to make moves soon.

After they arrived here together, there had been a big blow up. Solomon was angry that they had pulled him out of there and not let him finish the job. Khalid was angry because he viewed Solomon as partially responsible for his brother's dead. All were in the wrong. King had saved Solomon. Abdul had made his own choice and it had been a brave way to die and as they saw what came next, they realized they had to work together.

The first sign of this was when Solomon, King and Rocko had helped take Abdul's body, wrapped in gym towels, into a clearing in the woods to give him a proper burial. It was not the burial Khalid had wanted for his brother, but it was better than nothing.

In the weeks that followed they witnessed the wrath of Babul and the Sons of Al-Ḥaram Ash-Sharīf. They had taken out many of them, but there were many more than they'd known even existed on the compound. They were patrolling the woods, looking for them. They'd come close to finding them once, but hadn't checked inside the building.

They'd tortured poor Mitzi for information about their whereabouts, probably because she had been the one to tell Solomon to stop that day. They'd waterboarded her, of course. When Rodney tried to intervene, they had hauled him off to the middle of town and beheaded him in front of those that had decided to stay along with four others, three of which were three white women Solomon had never seen before. A mother and her two teen daughters. He wasn't sure what they'd done, but Solomon hoped it had been worth it.

They'd all watched this go down from afar through binoculars. They felt powerless to stop it, except Solomon, who was ready to jump back into things. Rocko had laid his big ass on top of Solomon to keep him from going. It had enraged Solomon.

"You big black monkey motherfucker" he'd called Rocko later, but Rocko had done him a favor, even if Solomon wouldn't admit it.

Solomon knew to a degree Khalid, King and even Rocko blamed him for all that had happened, but also seemed to understand he was trying to do the right thing.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

That day another white man was beheaded. He'd tried to intervene as they were about to behead the others. He was a WWII veteran and had warn his full uniform. He walked right up to Babul and stood up to him. Babul had screamed at him to kneel and submit and he had refused. Instead, he had started singing the National Anthem as loud as he could. Even as Babul punched him in the gut and the other terrorists beat him he did not stop. Even as they put his head against the table and sliced off his head he kept singing. He didn't scream, he just sang. He didn't go out like no bitch.

Everyone got the message after that and got out of town. True to his word, Babul had allowed them to do so. A few stayed, however, and had now become Collaborators. That was what they called it in 'Nam when South Vietnamese would work with the North. It was bound to happen, but Solomon still thought they was bitch niggas for it. Now they were the ones helping show locations where they might be hiding.

Mitzi had given up the location of Solomon's home. It had been in the family for years. They torched the placed. Solomon didn't blame Mitzi for it though and besides, before heading to the gym he'd make them stop real quick so he could grab some things: his pistol, a box of his mama's important things and, even though he left it the first time, he went back in and grabbed his grandmama's voodoo book.

They'd torched the Kwik Stop too, but had left King's Beauty Supply and his repair shop alone. Solomon figured it was because it was part of the main strip and burning those buildings would be burning downtown and he didn't think they wanted to do that. They wanted to take over, not destroy, Solomon thought remembering Babul's words.

Maybe they thought they might come back if they kept those businesses too and guess what? Those niggas was right, because that was the plan.

They went over the plan sitting at a make shift table Rocko had made by putting two benches beside each other and putting a piece of board on top. They made a map on board using chalk and supplement pills Rocko had as markers. In the middle a weight collar represented King's Beauty Supply, their destination.

King had told them he had a hidden arsenal of of automatic weapons in the basement of the buildng.

"What? You don't think I just sell hair grease to black lady and survive in this podunk town do you?" King had said when everyone was shocked by this revelation.

As they made their plans to retrieve their weapons they were alarmed by a knock at the door.

Solomon knew that nigga Babul wouldn't knock, but still they scrambled to position. Solomon had his pistol and stick at the ready. He made sure his dog, who had shown up after everything went down and who he'd now named Neckbone, was ready as well. Rocko stood the squat rack with a shotgun racked and ready.

Solomon Khalid opened the door and pulled it back slightly so Solomon's hands were free.

Solomon paired through. There was no towel heads, just a clean cut middle aged white man with a slight gut in a polo shirt tucked into khaki pants. Solomon could see the bulge of his gun on his chest, secured inside a side holster.

Solomon had seen him lurking around for weeks prior. He was suppose to be an insurance salesman but Solomon had smelled the bacon a mile away. He was a fed if Solomon had ever seen one, but it won't no concern of Solomon. He had just figured he was here busting some crack heads who dealt out of a crackhead near the abandoned Piggly Wiggly or maybe after some of those meth cook trailers on the outside of town. But Solomon had been wrong.

"What's the play?" the white man asked him.

"What's it to you, white boy?" Solomon responded.

"Because whatever it is, I want in..."

Solomon looked him up and down, cutting his eyes at him, sneered and spoke:

"Hurry up, nigga. Get inside before you get us all found out".