The flatbed Ford roiled into Des Moines as the prairie night overtook the sky “Food?” Kitty asked.
“Yes. And a bathroom.”
The streets were mostly barren, but a group of about twenty kids were gathered in a suburban park, as Lance and Kitty approached it. “Another end of the world party. Wanna go?” Lance laughed.
The kids, in their late teens and early 20s, were drinking beer, and dancing. “I’m kinda over getting told to throw my hands up n the air,” Kitty deadpanned.
From the north, at a height of about fifty feet, a drone swooped in on the party, and hovered. Kitty stopped to enjoy the show.
“This is the National Guard,” came a female voice from the drone. “You are not authorized to be out of your homes for this purpose. Disperse, and go home. Immediately.”
One of the guys threw a can of beer at the drone. The drone operator elevated her machine straight up. The drone started buzzing the kids, swooping down low, and around in circles at a high speed. A few of the girls ran for it. The drone followed them for a couple seconds, before returning to the small mob, that was yelling obscenities at it.
The female voice came up again, “Wayne and Garth Cranshaw, Peek-a-boo! I see you! The two of you are violating your parole contracts. If you do not go home, rigt now, you run the risk of further incarceration.”
“Facial recognition cam,” Kitty said.
“Unless that’s their mother flying that thing.”
One of the brothers responded by pulling out a hand gun, and firing at the drone. The drone operator took evasive action, and dodged bullets until the guy’s clip was empty, then swooped back in and hovered. “Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me,” the female voice laughed.
The other brother turned his back to the drone, reached into a small duffel bag sitting on the picnic table, pulled out a double barrel, sawed-off shotgun,, yelled, “Kiss this, bitch!” then turned and unloaded both barrels. The drone went down. The brothers laughed, and high fived. The others applauded their bravado.
Then the sounds of sirens screamed from every direction. The kids ran for the hills. Ah, but there are no hills in Des Moines. There would be nowhere for them to hide, and soon the air would be full of drones, and maybe the sounds of a gun battle. Party on Wayne! Party on Garth!