Free Dawn of the Unthinkable by James Concannon

life, it made him become even more excited about his
plan because it could actually solve some of the problems that
depressed him so much. Besides, when you’re not rich yourself,
it’s not hard to talk about disposing of other people’s assets ,
he thought happily.
    He was getting sleepy. The small amount of
exercise hitting the balls had tired him, which does not take
much anymore , he mused. He was thinking about other, more
pressing needs around the house that he was ignoring. The chair he
has in was a soft, comfortable recliner, and he snuggled down
deeper into it. Before long, he was breathing deeply, fast asleep.
He started to dream.
    In his dream, he was an eagle soaring high
above the country, higher than any other bird could fly. He could
see that most of the population was settled on both coasts with
pollution and other signs of overcrowding there and only sporadic
pockets of population elsewhere throughout the country. He could
hear the land moaning, like the overcrowding masses were stepping
on an open wound. He soared down to get a better view of what was
causing the problem. He flew down, wishing he could hold his nose
against all the odors civilization put out; with his heightened
sense of smell he realized how difficult it must be for animals to
live within close proximity to humans. He perched on a tall
building and looked around. He was close to several states’
borders, two of which were mainly agricultural in nature. The land
in those areas seemed to shine; he could smell crops planted, and a
whiff of small rodents to be eaten. Then he looked in the opposite
direction where there was a large city. There were crowded streets,
skyscrapers as far as the eye could see, people pushing, people
shoving, and the girls who try to look pretty…. Hey, how did Bachman Turner Overdrive get in here , he wondered. He flew
down for a closer look.
    He saw a scuffle in an alley, and his bird
instinct told him a fatality might come of it, which could provide
him with an easy meal. He settled on a fire escape and watched the
action unfold. It was apparently some type of gang dispute because
the two youths beating the other wore red bandannas, while the
other wore blue. They were shouting and cursing at each other as
they landed awkward blows. One thing that had happened with the
advent of cheap guns was that gangs had lost their ability to fist
fight. The resulting scrap below looked like something out of The
Three Stooges, with little real damage being inflicted. It was
beginning to look like there would be no casualties out of this
action so he was getting ready to fly away when a new person
entered the alley. Unlike the others he wore no bandanna, but a
snap-brim fedora, black sunglasses, and a black leather jacket. He
moved deliberately, not excited by the scuffle, but moving
purposefully toward it. Around twenty feet from the heavily
breathing men, he hid behind an old door and pulled a rod from
inside his coat. He propped his elbows on the frame of the door,
and stuck the rod through its broken window. There were two quick
puffs of smoke, and one of the three dropped like a rock. He was
aiming at the other two when one of them threw something at him,
hitting him in the head. The dark man’s shot went wide. Someone
must have called the cops because sirens could be heard, and all
three took off. Before he left, the dark man looked up at Ryan
where he was perched and said with a wicked grin, “I’m coming for
you.”
    “Dad! Dad, wake up! Eww, you’re sweating!”
his son said, shaking him. Ryan looked around. He was gripping the
arms of the chair tightly, his body rebelling against the terror
his mind had inflicted. He had had dreams before where he had been
chased, but this one seemed more real than the others. He wondered
whether the man getting shot had any significance. He guessed that
it did not; he was not the type to come to a violent end. Who would
want to do him in? He was a rather inoffensive civil