Last Night's Dreams, in One Sentence - 11/24/2020

 

"Rally-Crossed" - 10/25/2020

"Rally-Crossed"

10/25/2020

Sitting in a truck, in what seemed to be a Wal-Mart parking, my girlfriend, myself, and one other guy found ourselves parked next to members of the Proud Boys "militia" group, as they were having a rally. I was in the driver's seat, she was in passenger, and the other guy was in the back, behind her. On her side, one of the "militiamen" turned toward her and made some sort of sarcastic gesture. Pretty true-to-character, she returned the gesture, in an equally-snide manner. This obviously didn't sit well with him, and he began making threatening gestures in our direction. I could see that this wasn't going to go well, so I slipped the truck in reverse and backed out of the parking spot. When I turned the wheel, in order to pull into the driving lane, I had to inadvertently inch toward one of the armed men, trying to clear the parking space. Quite ridiculously, the man looked at me in total terror - as if I was hellbent on running him over - reached down to his holster and drew his handgun. I immediately threw the truck back into reverse and, screeched away, just as he opened fire and bullets began cracking into, and through, the windshield. Frantically, I spun the wheel and turned the truck around, still hearing his gunfire smacking into the metal frame while we fled the parking lot. Behind us, I could see that a large portion of their rally-goers were jumping into their Jeeps and trucks and giving chase. Between them, I could see a large, bearded, suited man (who looked like a cross between Gavin McGuiness and Connor McGregor), stalking ominously behind the trucks as if he was the commander turning them loose.

This parking lot seemed to stretch on, forever, and was part of a massive strip mall, in an exaggerated version of my old hometown of Lake Mary, FL. Trying not to lead our chase out of the relative-safety of a populated area. We looked for a police officer on the strip mall grounds. The first one we approached - after we told him that we were being followed by men who just tried to kill us - said that he was simply a security guard and that handling such a dire situation was "not his job." Nearby, we found an actual, female police officer, and tried to tell her what was happening. She didn't seem all that interested, but before we could try to convince her that we were in danger, the caravan of trucks came barreling around a storefront corner, speeding toward us and the apathetic cop.

Not wanting to stick around and find out what they were going to do, once they caught us, the three of us immediately dove back into the truck. This time - having no time to get back to our original seating - I found myself in the rear passenger seat; my girlfriend retained her front passenger spot; and our mutual guyfriend jumped in behind the wheel. We didn't even have a chance to drive away, this time, as the lead truck pulled up along our passenger side. Immediately, the truck's passenger, and at least one person standing on the bed, pulled out rifles and opened fire on us. I ducked down in the back seat, and drew my pistol. Nonsensically, I was able to return fire while pressing myself back against the seat, even though such a hail of gunfire - from that range - would have completely shredded our entire vehicle, were this waking life. From behind the seat, I could see my girlfriend up front, ducked down as I was, and firing back at them with a fully-automatic pistol. I remember becoming distracted, for a moment, and wondering where the hell she got that thing. (I later came to remember that we had been playing "Rogue Company" together, over the weekend, and that I was suprised to see, at one point, that the character she chose had a machine pistol in her loadout.)

This bombastic, unrealistically close-range firefight went on for a few short seconds, before I felt a dull thump on the side of my head, knowing that I had been grazed. Over the sound of the gunfire, I was able to yell at our driver's seat friend to get us the hell out of there. He finally hit the gas, and we lurched away from our attackers, speeding and skidding through the parking lot and trying to lose them. This eventually brought us off-road (in an area that was previously undeveloped, when I used to live in the city), and had just barely given them the slip, when our friend slumped over the wheel and began caughing and wheezing. Obviously, he had been hit with gunfire (which would have been strange, since he was the one furthest away from the shooters). Before we could really check on him, I saw the terroristic caravan of jeeps and trucks rushing through thet dirt, toward us, from behind. I jumped in the front seat (though I can't remember if I moved the driver out of the way, or if he just "disappeared") and slammed on the gas. The chase continued, back onto the street and through the small city, as night fell, and the last thing I can remember was trying to lead the chase directly toward the Sherriff's office, nearby.