And so, the "Turning the Tide" chapters begin. As I've said before, I might not write any chapters for "Home Front USA", as I might go straight to "Around the World, And Above", but we'll see where things go. Enjoy!

San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Aztlán

[Jeremías Alcazar-Ortiz is spending today like he does every other day: sitting cross-legged in the shade, playing his twelve-string guitar for passersby in the main square outside the Cathedral of Saint Michael the Archangel. Even though he claims he does this simply out of boredom, and never begs, people often leave him a few coins or bank notes by his feet whenever they pass by him anyway. His faded straw hat obscures his face from both myself and everyone else around him. I sit on the end of the bench next to him, telling him he's welcome to come sit with me. He says nothing as he continues picking the worn-out strings. I offer him a bite of my street tamale. Again, he says nothing. After a few more moments of silence, without warning, he suddenly stops playing and begins to speak, avoiding eye contact.]

The only thing you could hear that day was the helicopters, and the only thing you could smell was the blazing fires all throughout the city. You could also smell the pyres topped with infected victims, the bodies charred beyond recognition as the flames cooked them to a crisp.

Things were crazy, hardly anyone knew what was going on, or what what was going to happen. All I knew was that we needed to act quickly if we were ever going to get anything done.

Just like your neighbor to the north, our southern border was being violated by scores of invaders. The undead swine were pushing up through Central America, a great deal of them coming from as far as northern South America. The only upside was that we didn't have any trigger-happy gringos crossing our border...no offense.

[I raise my hand, signifying a non-verbal "None taken".]

By that point, there was no way of saving any portion of the south. Our forces were too weakened, too demoralized. Too many of our own reanimated citizens, and too many invading from the south...With the exception of a few isolated cases of civilians making stands at various ancient structures, such as Uxmal, the army had given up on even creating "bait zones" in those areas, or even attempting to control the oncoming hordes. "Too many risks," they kept saying, "we don't want to end up like the Yankees".

They weren't wrong, you know. The armed forces were on the verge of complete and total annihilation. Two units were overwhelmed in Puebla, and only two privates of another unit were able to make it out of Mérida. But the one everyone kept talking about at that time was Oaxaca. [He snorts.] Oh Dios how they loved to bitch about Oaxaca. "Oh, if only we had more men!" "If only we had better defenses!" "If only the air force wasn't so occupied further north!" "If only, if only, if only!"

At that point, the army had already received orders to begin pulling out from their current positions and head straight for the sanctuaries being set up in the north. Many were mainly being set up in Baja California, and a further handful was also being set up in an area that encompassed the entire northwestern part of the country, with the entire safe zone placing its corners at Los Mochis, Juárez, Tijuana, and ending with Cabo San Lucas on the tip of Baja. Those cities were specifically chosen because if the Americans could clear everything west of the Rockies, then, by default, we would be safe too.

And before you ask me why didn't we try to stabilize the capital, allow me to enlighten you a bit. If you know anything about the topographical layout of our country, our capital is situated in the middle of a valley, surrounded by mountains. Even in prewar times the city was prone to pollution being contained within the city limits. The wind patterns also make it hard for the smog to go somewhere else. And with all the bodies and buildings burning, the government decided to relocate elsewhere. Better to give orders when your not coughing your lungs out. I know I'm being a little dramatic, but that's the truth.

The troops stationed in the capital were barely keeping the trains running on schedule. This one unit...I don't think you could even call it a unit by that point, had rounded up whatever people they had managed to find from the four surrounding blocks and had put them inside the Metropolitan Cathedral. With its high towers, its spacious design, it was one of the more ideal spots for civilian sanctuary. But there was also another underlying significance to it.

Oh?

One of the aspects of the Pacheco Proposal [1] was to escort civilians to either places of worship or any building with physical significance and/or security. I guess they figured by corralling people into whatever church they could find, the civilians wouldn't freak out as much. Maybe by having them in God's house, they thought, might have been spiritually comforting. I can still remember their faces, these little old ladies with studded rosaries wrapped around their hands, while parents tried to comfort their children.

I was arguing with Father Gomez, the short, pudgy, mustachioed priest of the cathedral. He kept demanding to know why these people were being corralled in here. "Why are you keeping us here?" he asked rather angrily. "Why aren't you escorting us out of here? The damned are upon us!"

Now, I wasn't a soldier. I was just this scrawny police officer who was tasked with helping the army and Federales round up whatever civilians remained. I told him that I myself didn't know for certain, as I was told by my superiors that the army had ordered for whatever living citizens were left in the city to be escorted to the aforementioned locations.

He didn't like my response, his voice raising even more. "What the hell do you mean by that?!" he yelled in my face. Before I could come up with another response, a young woman came up to us. She looked tired, her face dirty and her raven hair a mess. She was holding a toddler in her arms.

"Please officer," she said, "My child is hungry. What are we going to do?" I studied her face; she couldn't be older than twenty-five or so.

I put my hand on her shoulder and said, "Don't worry, señorita, everything is going to be fine. Remember, you are secure, because there is hope." [2] I thought it would calm her more if I recited some scripture, but I only remembered that one verse because my grandmother used to say that. I spent my childhood in Chiapas, back in the 90s. The Zapatistas were causing havoc in my neighborhood basically every day. My grandmother would often hold me while my parents held my brothers. She would stroke my hair and whisper that same verse in my ear as we would wait for the violence to die down.

Before I could say more, I was felt someone grab my arm and escort me away, leaving the young mother and Father Gomez. Whoever grabbed me spun me around to face them. I could see he was a corporal, and given the skeleton crew of men, he appeared to be the one in charge. He said that I was needed four blocks away immediately. I asked him if he had clearance from the chief of police, but he ignored me. He then proceeded to shove me into the back of an awaiting truck, and soon we were on the move. The entire time while they were still in sight, I could not take my eyes off of the woman and Father Gomez, who were still standing outside, with the dead only yards away. Even as they got smaller and smaller, I could barely make out the doubt and worry in their eyes.

[A middle aged man walks by us, silently tossing silver coin at Señor Alcazar-Ortiz's feet without looking before continuing on his way.]

The truck eventually pulled up to the Iglesia de San Felipe de Jesus. I was shoved out the back by the stock of the corporal's Xiuhcoatl [3], where I was met with the sight of a large police van. My fellow officers were escorting people out of the van. They were handcuffed, and most of them looked dirty and ragged.

What were they doing with the criminals?

That's what I wanted to know. I knew for a fact most of my colleagues would have been more than happy to leave some of those pricks to die, if given the opportunity. So I walked up to one of my fellow deputies. I asked what the hell were they doing, to which he replied that this was also part of the government's plan: to use our incarcerated felons as bait. Good, I thought, these sorry fucks will finally be doing something useful with their lives.

I helped them escort the remaining inmates into the building, but soon after, the same corporal ordered all the officers back inside. He shook the sheriff's hand, thanking him and his men for their service. I couldn't help but notice that one of the remaining privates was hopping into the van, revving up the engine. I asked the corporal what his man was doing with our van. After briefly turning to look at the aforementioned vehicle, he turned back to us and said, very matter-of-factly, "We need it, you don't." And with that, he turned and proceeded to walk away. The sheriff tried to grab him, probably in an attempt to get him to explain himself. I was correct, as he ordered the man to tell him why they were seizing our only transport.

The corporal looked him dead in the face and said, "You are going to stay here and keep these men in line. This is your duty, and you will act accordingly," before leaving. Two of his men shut the doors in our faces.

Are they for real? I thought. Surely they did not intend on leaving us here with these pigs. I tried to find some logical explanation for the corporal's statement, trying in vain to find some reason to not think that we were pawns in the government's plan. But of course, I came up with nothing. The other officers began arguing with the sheriff. Most of these men you wouldn't think twice about crossing, but a few of them were clearly worried about being here with the convicts, even more worried about them then the dead closing in on our position.

I turned to the convicts, my hand on my holster in case they tried anything. Most of them were unemotional, the older ones I mean, while the others look concerned. One of them, this poor kid who couldn't have been older than sixteen or so, started softly weeping to himself.

The sheriff clearly looked like he was at a loss for words. He tried to put on a brave face, murmuring to me and his underlings to remain composed. He then turned to the convicts and told them that we would be looking after them for the time being.

I didn't notice what was about to happen next, but the sheriff fell forward to the floor, unconscious. One of the convicts had snuck out of everyone's view when we were distracted by the corporal earlier. He now stood over the sheriff, a candlestick in his restrained hands. One officer tried to draw his gun, but soon another convict threw his cuffed hands over the man's head and proceeded to strangle him. A bullet from his gun went flying, striking the weeping teen in the chest.

The scuffle ended rather quickly; three officers and four convicts dead, the sheriff knocked out cold, and two officers injured, with me being one of them. My vision was blurry, and my head ached after being shoved headfirst into a wall. The doors were left wide open, the wails of the dead growing closer. Our guns had been taken, as well as whatever protective gear some of the deputies had been wearing.

I weakly got to my feet, noticing the other wounded officer on the other side of the room, next to the dead teen. He was clutching his bloody stomach. Probably a gun shot, I thought. I stumbled out the door, and began making my way down the sidewalk until I came to the crosswalk. I saw the dead coming from the east, advancing toward my position.

All of a sudden, I felt the ground began to vibrate. I looked around and saw parked cars shaking, a few of them had their alarms go off. I heard a hard crash behind me, and I turned to see a large piece of stone had fallen off a building. I looked at the building ahead of me in time to see the front windows shatter. It didn't take long for me to realize what was happening.

An earthquake?

Precisely. I think I was on the pavement in a matter of seconds. I grabbed onto a fire hydrant, attempting to steady myself. [He pauses.] But that was just the start. Even with the ground shaking uncontrollably, I felt the ground beneath my feet cave in slightly. Suddenly, and without warning, the ground caved in completely beneath me, and for two seconds I was in free fall. I instinctively reached out and felt my hand wrap around a pipe sticking out from under the road. I looked below just in time to see an oil tanker fall into the hole, immediately followed by a blazing car that had been resting near the edge of the hole. I didn't know how deep the hole was, but the two vehicles hit the bottom in just a matter of seconds. And I'm pretty sure you can guess what happened next.

Thankfully the blast only singed my clothes just a bit, nothing too intense to do any actual harm. I honestly felt like I was hanging over the mouth of Hell, its flames never seceding. I had seen my fair share of sinkholes in my life, but this was something you would see in probably a disaster movie or something. So needless to say, I think that nobody could have predicted it would happen now at that exact moment.

I was beginning to lose the feeling in my arms, afraid that at any moment my strained muscles would give in and I would fall to my doom. I tried to hoist myself up, ultimately gaining my footing. I could see a cable of some sort hanging over the edge. I jumped and threw out my arms, grabbing onto the cable and hoisting myself up, to which I saw that my saving grace was a power cable from a fallen electrical post.

After climbing out of the hole, and thanking whatever deity is up there that there was no electrical currency left in the cable, I laid on my back, exhausted and weak. I just laid there, staring up at the sky that was slowly darkening from the fires' smoke. After a few moments, I sat up, to see the dead falling into the inferno below. A religious person might say it was like the damned were falling into Hell itself, but all I saw was the enemy being neutralized. I didn't know how long that fire would burn, or if the dead would eventually just pile up on top of each other when the fire did eventually die, but it saved my ass. It saved the army's asses.

Not that it really mattered later. Securing the areas of the sanctuary bordering the United States was no easy task, when you had both zombies and gangbangers to deal with. Thank God the Yankee army was able to execute their sweep plans. Now that these pricks had been dealt with, we could now focus on dealing with clearing our new home further north.

I limped toward an overturned bicycle in the middle of the street. That's what I used to get the hell out of there, to try to catch up to the fleeing army. Even though I would later face repercussions for abandoning my "post", it was better than waiting for death. Fighting for your life is better than sitting around waiting for death. If you take anything from this, it's this: anything is better than waiting for death.

[1]- Mexico's version of the Redeker Plan.

[2]- "You will be secure, because there is hope; you will look about you and take your rest in safety." From the Holy Bible, Book of Job, chapter 11, verse 18.

[3]- FX-05 Xiuhcoatl: A Mexican assault rifle, named so after the mythological Aztec serpent who was said to be the spirit of Xiuhtecuhtli, the Aztec deity of fire. Some have compared the weapon's design to the German Heckler and Koch G36.