When you get an idea, WRITE IT!

I swear this first scene of the warehouse fight just popped into my head. The rest followed just as quickly.

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I pressed my back against the wall of the crumbling warehouse, standing in the waist-high brown weeds and holding my pistol chest high, just waiting. From long experience, I knew that around the corner was a two-door loading dock, choked with weeds and the roll-up doors long since pillaged. My zen told me there were two Norteño soldiers advancing up the ramp.

My zen. It's what the Army called "Enhanced Battlefield Awareness" when they plugged me and a few hundred other Airborne Rangers back during the Rio Plata War, back before everything went to shit. I hear, see, even detect smells better than the average human. Even have a kind of ESP from all the data I can collect. The downside is blinding headaches, vivid nightmares, and suicidal urges. You get what you pay for, I guess, and I paid nothing for these upgrades.

These two guys stalking me are good. They know that I've taken out the other four members of their scouting group, and are being cautious. Carefully I squat down and grab a chunk of concrete lying in the dirt. There's a window above me that goes into the old office of this place. I slept there once or twice when times got hard. Feeling where the Norteños are, I toss the rock through the broken window and begin moving.

Did I mention I was also gifted with an Enhanced Neural Response System? Means I'm fast as hell when I need to be. I come around the corner and I'm already aiming. Target One has heard the rock hit the garbage on the upper floor and is starting to look upwards. I squeeze the trigger and I'm so amped I can almost see the bullet crawling towards his chest. Before it hits I'm onto Target Two, who was looking to the side, sweeping the open area of the parking lot with his rifle.

Both shots hit. Two takes a headshot and drops like his strings got cut. One is still breathing and looks like he might start screaming for his mama in a second. Can't have that. I carry a knife just for this sort of situation. I quietly finish One off, then have to stifle my own screams as my ENRS shuts down. Overdriving your body like that has its own price, pure agony as your nerves scream at you for a minute. They used to give us drugs to stop that reaction. The drugs are long gone.

Because it's part of my job, I search them. Two very nice M34 6.5mm battle rifles and about 150 rounds of ammo. Those join the pair of rifles and ammo stock I took off two of the other members of this patrol. One has a bag of cold tamales. Without a second thought, I devour the entire bag. The other price of being that fast is you need more food, which is a liability when the enemy controls almost all the remaining farmland. I've learned to like fish and rice, two things we can get ourselves.

I had to get back. Night was coming soon and the night belongs to the feral dog packs and the equally feral packs of humans who are struggling to survive. Wrapping the captured gear for easier transport (after claiming one of the rifles for myself, of course), I struck north, coming up the rough roadbed of 580 with the oily waters of the bigger and better Bay lapping over the drowned buildings of Old Oakland. An hour walk and I spotted the watch fires, young men barely out of their teens trusted to maintain the borders. They knew me - everyone knew me - and let me pass.

"Lord Mayor at the Claremont?" I asked as I passed through the makeshift barricade.

"Where else?" the kid replied with a shrug. He was armed with an old sport crossbow. Even in the ruins of Oakland, there weren't enough guns and ammo to go around. I thought for a second about teaching the kid a lesson about respect and giving correct answers, but I was tired, still hungry, and my legs were still shrieking in pain.

Eventually, I made my way to the sprawling City Hall. It was once a luxury hotel and spa, but how long since anyone has gone on a vacation? I've forgotten. After a brief argument with the guards over the guns I was carrying (they wanted to take them "for safekeeping" which meant they'd never be seen again), I was admitted to the Lord Mayor's presence.

In a world facing famine, he managed to be obese. He called himself "Lord Mayor" because he liked the title. He was really just another strongman squatting in the ruins, but he kept the food coming and the violence down. We could have done a lot worse. He rose from his throne and lumbered towards me.

"Ranger Man! We were getting worried about you, haven't seen you for days!"

I managed a smile. He liked it when people smiled. "Got tangled up with a Norteño scouting group near Hayward. Took me a couple of days to finish them." I dropped the bundle of guns and ammo on the floor. "Took that from them, pretty good gear." I looked him in the eyes, smile gone. "I'm keeping this rifle and two loaded magazines."

The Lord Mayor just laughed. "Of course, Ranger Man! You are my best scout, and the guys you train are the second best! Sit, eat! It's crab season, and we even traded for some garlic." That sounded too good. I abandoned all pretense of manners and plopped myself down on some cushions. One of the Lord Mayor's numerous serving girls brought me a plate with a mountain of crab meat on it and a glass of some cheap red wine. She crouched next to me, in case I needed something. The Lord Mayor was going on about negotiations with the San Francisco Island Confederation over our mutual problems with the Norteños and piracy on the San Joaquin Channel. I wasn't interested.

The mostly-naked girl stared at me as I ate, furtively glancing at where the Lord Mayor was still talking and laughing on his seat of power. "I . . . I heard that you remember," she said in a hushed voice. "I mean before the collapse, I mean, back when this was a city and San Francisco wasn't a bunch of islands. Is that true?"

My mouth was full of really good crab, so I just nodded yes.

"My goodness!" she almost squeaked before controlling her voice again. "May I ask how old you are?"

I swallowed and stared her in the eyes. "Calendar is messed up, but I suspect I'm 77 years old."

She gasped loudly and made a show of taking my empty wine glass for a refill. The Lord Mayor noticed the motion and drunkenly shouted "My Ranger Man! Don't know what I'd do without him!" as the crowd of sycophants cheered.

I bowed my head in acknowledgment of his compliment, but my thoughts were dark. You’re going to learn soon enough. I'm not immortal; the Army couldn't do that for me. I may be the last man in America who remembers civilization. And après moi, le déluge.