Burning Nation

by Trent Reedy

  He swung around to look at me. And just as with the redheaded girl on that horrible night in Boise or the screaming, burning bodies in the tunnel on Silver Mountain, I knew right then that the image before me would be burned into my mind forever. I’d grown up with Calvin Riccon, but when he finally looked at me, covered in sticky, warm blood, I didn’t know the person behind those eyes.

  I worried for a moment that he’d cut me down, but then something in him seemed to click, like he had just recognized me. He flashed his old goofy smile and patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy. I took care of him for you.”

  —• Please note that the list below contains soldiers and combatants only. Civilian deaths are not included, so the total number of dead is much higher. Also, since casualty lists are not being publicly released, please send me a private message to report a confirmed death as a direct result of this war. However, IN ORDER TO REDUCE DUPLICATION, PLEASE READ THE CASUALTY LIST BEFORE SUBMITTING THE NAME OF A CASUALTY!

  —• All units, all units. This is talon actual. That noise you’re hearing in the background is the sound of heavy artillery rounds leveling the Fed base at Silver Sunset Resort. There were no Fed survivors. We will remain on high alert, but according to our network, we’ve secured Freedom Lake and surrounding areas from Fed control. Long live the Brotherhood! •—

  —• Resistance has taken FIRA headquarters in Coeur d’Alene! The Fed are pulling out. General Thane announced he had orders to redeploy. He left by helicopter. The rest are rolling out by convoy, heading west on I-90. We’re letting them go. Long live Idaho! •—

  —• We’re joined now in the CNN Idaho Crisis Situation Room by former secretary of defense David Shima. Mr. Shima, I know we have very limited information from the combat zone in Idaho, but as you can see, we’re getting more and more footage of federal military forces leaving the state. Can we draw any conclusions or at least speculate about what might be happening and why?”

  “Al, it’s simple. I’ve been on every network that will have me, trying to warn anyone who will listen that President Griffith was making an enormous tactical mistake. One thing I strongly believe we should have learned from the Iraq war is to never send an insufficient number of troops for an occupation and reconstruction mission. The United States military was already stretched too thin from troop cutbacks and overseas deployments. Then they faced a well-armed and determined insurgent force in Idaho, and President Griffith was simply not counting on all these other states declaring independence.

  “Bottom line, Al, the US military has suffered significant losses as a result of dozens of well-coordinated surprise attacks. It’s time to withdraw, regroup, and reevaluate our important domestic defense priorities. I think the president is making a smart play here by redeploying forces, hopefully to Texas, where we need to protect military bases and oil and gas resources a lot more than we need anything in Idaho. Once critical areas are stabilized, we can return to stop the Idaho insurgency.”

  “Thank you. That’s former secretary of defense David Shima. We’re going now to live footage of a number of explosions in residential areas in •—

  Back in the Humvee, Sergeant Kemp pressed the radio handset to his ear. “Last calling station, last calling station. This is flashpoint. Say again, over.”

  JoBell squeezed my hand as we rode in the backseat. “You did the right thing back there.”

  I looked at Cal in the driver’s seat, with his hair matted and shirt stained with blood. “I just want this all to be over.”

  “It’s not over yet,” Kemp said. “That was Crocker relaying a message from some Brotherhood guys just north of town. A Fed convoy is heading south on Highway 41. They’ll be in Freedom Lake in minutes.”

  I sighed and exchanged a look with JoBell.

  Cal had already turned the Humvee north. “Let’s go get ’em!”

  “We’re going to need some help with a whole convoy,” Sweeney said.

  “Brotherhood guys and whoever else are on the way,” said Kemp.

  About a mile out of town, the highway and the land on either side of it was blocked by a mix of old trucks and junked cars. A tow truck had hauled some of the wrecks into place. A few dozen armed men and women were gathered around the barricade. Some of them aimed their weapons when they saw us approaching, but Sparrow was in the turret and held up her fist to show them we weren’t Fed.

  Cal parked the Humvee on the road, and everybody but Sparrow got out.

  A bearded man greeted us. “I hope some more people show up. It’s going to be hard to hold the line.”

  Cal set his 240 on the hood of an old Buick. “This is my last belt of ammo.”

  “Control your shots,” Kemp said. “Go for the gunners. Make it count.”

  The bearded man pointed to the trees ten yards back from either side of the road. “We have more guys using the woods for cover, but not all of them are well armed. A few only have shotguns.”

  About two hundred yards in the distance, the Feds rounded the curve.

  “Oh shit,” Sparrow said.

  The Fed convoy consisted of a Stryker armored fighting vehicle leading three armored gun Hummers. Sweeney and Becca crouched in the ditch, taking aim. JoBell and her .50-cal rifle stayed behind a Ford Focus with me. Two of the Fed Humvees moved out to the left and right of the Stryker’s rear. That meant three .50-cal machine guns and probably an M240 were coming right at us. I could hear their engines rev up as they prepared to blast through our blockade. I caught a look from Kemp that told me he was thinking what I was thinking.

  “This isn’t going to work. We’re totally outgunned,” I said quietly to JoBell. “Hey, we gotta get out of here!” I yelled to the others. “We don’t have enough firepower to —”

  Our blockade line lit up as the Stryker and Humvees opened fire. Glass shattered. Bullets cut through vehicles. A man right next to me was hit, coughed blood, and dropped. Other bodies fell. Our guys shot back. Cal screamed and sprayed the Fed with 7.62. Sparrow didn’t let off her trigger either. But our rounds just bounced off the Stryker, which only sped up.

  “They’re gonna ram us!” Sweeney yelled. “Get out of the way!”

  JoBell was still shooting. “Jo, just drop it! Come on!” I grabbed her by the arm, she dropped her impossibly heavy rifle, and the two of us ran as fast as we could. Our only hope was to reach the trees before a Fed machine gun wasted us.

  We reached the woods with seconds to spare. The Feds kept firing as the Stryker slammed into the pickup and cars on the highway, knocking them aside. One Fed tracer round hit a gas can mounted on the rack of an old Ford pickup and burst into flames. I heard screams from the pickup as the convoy rolled past us.

  Then suddenly, two major explosions rocked the Fed Stryker, and it rolled off the road. Seconds later, the three Fed Humvees went up in flames as well. JoBell pulled me to the ground. “What the hell?” I said.

  “Look!” JoBell pointed back toward Freedom Lake. Four gun Hummers were riding side by side across the road and on the shoulder. Two of their gunners had AT4s cocked and ready on the turrets. That’s what must have taken out the Stryker.

  “Help!” A scream burst out of the tree line.

  JoBell looked at me in horror. “Becca!” we both said together.

  We were up in seconds and running back toward the debris of our barricade. “Becca!” JoBell shouted. “Becca, where are you?”

  “Help!” Becca said. “I need a medic over here!”

  The voice was coming from the other side of a junked Toyota right behind the Ford truck gas fire. As we ran closer, Sparrow, Cal, and Kemp caught up with us.

  When we cleared the Toyota, I stopped. “Sweeney. Oh God.”

  The right side of his face and neck had burned bright red, his hair melted into dark clumps. He must have tried beating out the fire, because the skin of his right shoulder and upper arm had blistered and shrunk back from his pink seared flesh in a mangled purple-black clump. His hips and thighs had burned t
he same way, only his jeans had sort of melted into his skin.

  Becca was kneeling beside him, her coat smoldering at her side. Tears streamed down her face. “I got the fire out but … Eric. Oh no. Eric.”

  I ran and dropped to my knees next to Sweeney, leaning over him to listen for breathing. He was alive. For now. “Sweeney. Hey! Buddy, can you hear me!?” At least the flames hadn’t burned him as high as his ear.

  “Sweeney!” Cal ran for him, that crazed look on his face. “I got ya, buddy!”

  “No!” JoBell screamed. She threw her whole body weight into the big guy, and Sparrow joined her, pulling Cal back. “Cal, no! You can’t just rough-handle him. He’s been burned and needs careful help!” She slapped his face, and I swear I’d seen punches that were less hard. “You listen to me, damn it!” Awareness came back behind Cal’s eyes. He focused on JoBell. “We’re going to help him. We will. I promise.”

  Tears welled up in his eyes. “Eric’s all …”

  JoBell put her hand to his cheek. “I know. I know.”

  I stepped up to Cal. “We gotta get him to a hospital. Go see if our Humvee’s okay. That’s the best thing you can do for him right now.”

  He nodded and ran off with his machine gun.

  A captain got out of one of the gun Hummers from Freedom Lake. He saw Sweeney and keyed the mike on a small radio clipped to his chest. “Send Specialist Terry to the front right away. I don’t care what he’s doing.” He nodded at us. “Reinforcements are here, though I’m sorry we weren’t sooner. It was a long drive in from Montana. Our mission was to assault US forces here in the north and to secure and open the border with Canada. We also have a truck back closer to town with food and medical supplies for you. Where should they go?”

  Cal pulled up in our Humvee. Its hood was mangled and it had plenty of bullet holes, but at least it was running.

  “Have them follow us,” said Sergeant Kemp. “We’ll lead them to the high school. That’s where we have our field hospital.”

  “Roger that,” the captain said.

  His medic joined me at Sweeney’s side. He gloved up, injected Sweeney with morphine, and then ran an IV. “This is about all I can do for him,” the medic said to us. “You have to get him to a medical facility soon. These are serious burns. I’m sorry. I have other casualties to get to.” He sprinted off down the road.

  The captain said, “I’ll radio to let my guys in the truck know you’re coming and that they should follow you.” He remounted his vehicle, and his four Humvees headed north.

  I was left there, holding up Sweeney’s IV bag. JoBell was crying, her arms around Becca. Kemp looked down at Sweeney. “We’re going to have to lift him.”

  “I got a pickup,” the bearded man said. “We can haul the wounded in the back.”

  I felt completely useless with that stupid IV bag while Kemp and Cal carefully lifted Sweeney into the back of the man’s truck. I climbed in with Sweeney and three others who had been shot but were still alive. As we rode back into town with Cal and the others following in the Humvee, I couldn’t hold back my tears. “Sweeney. Hold on. We need you, buddy,” I whispered.

  At the school, an unarmed sergeant in MCUs met us outside the double doors to the gym. Her name tape said MCDONALD. “What do you got?”

  “We got wounded!” I shouted. “You gotta help!”

  Sergeant McDonald rolled her eyes. “Place is overflowing with wounded. We have almost nothing to treat them with.”

  “Food and medical stuff is right behind us on a truck from Montana,” said Sergeant Kemp.

  McDonald let out a little sigh. “Thank God. Dr. Strauss will be glad to hear that. Let’s get these people in there.”

  TJ spotted me as he came out of the gym. “Danny, is everyone —”

  “Sweeney,” I said.

  TJ’s tired eyes widened in horror as he saw the burns. “Oh no. Oh shit.” Then he snapped to action and ran inside. “I’ll get a stretcher!”

  He brought out an Army litter, and me and Cal lifted Sweeney onto it. Becca sobbed as she carried the IV bag. The Montana truck pulled up right as we went inside.

  When I stepped through the doors to the gym, the smell hit me first — that disgusting, sour-sweet stench of blood that I’d come to know from the dungeon and everywhere else. People crowded almost every square foot of the floor, some of them covered in sheets or coats, dead. Others were bandaged or had open wounds, some moaning or calling out for help. An older major I assumed was Dr. Strauss worked on a patient on a science lab table in the middle of the basketball court, over the Minutemen logo. A spotlight I thought I recognized from the school stage shined light down on the table. We carried Sweeney over to him.

  “Sir,” said McDonald to the doctor. “Montana Guard has sent food and medical supplies —”

  “Did they send a surgeon?” The doctor bit his lip while he worked on the bloody hole in the patient’s stomach.

  “No, sir, but —”

  “You tell them to get me a field surgeon, or we’re going to start losing a lot more people!”

  McDonald found us a space on the floor to put Sweeney’s litter. “How soon until the doctor can get to him?” I asked.

  McDonald sighed and swept her hand around the gym.

  I crouched down next to Sweeney. He was doped up and had some hydration going. This was probably the best we could do for him until the doctor came around. I looked up at my crew. “Things are bad here. We should help unload the truck, do as much as we can.” Everyone nodded except Becca, who sat down next to Sweeney and took his good hand in hers.

  “He shouldn’t be alone,” she cried. She wiped her eyes. “And maybe with my lifeguard and CNA training, I can help here.”

  The rest of us went to the truck. Gunfire from who knew where continued as we carried boxes into the gym. Cal came up beside me as I pushed out the doors. “Listen to that, man. We gotta get back to the fight. The Fed are still here. We have to kick them out. That’s the only way you and me are gonna be able to help Sweeney. We gotta protect him.”

  A couple of pickups and a wagon drawn by two horses pulled up outside the school. If they were carrying more patients, soon there would be no more room on the gym floor.

  “Cal, I know,” I said. “But they got one doctor and a couple combat field medics for all these wounded people. Those three can’t take a time-out to move this stuff.”

  “Hey, guys.” Dr. Randall opened a door and climbed down out of the pickup, wearing a white lab coat over jeans and a sweatshirt. A handgun was holstered on her belt. “I came to see what I could do.”

  I closed my eyes and offered a quick prayer of thanks. “Dr. Randall, our best friend Eric Sweeney has been burned real bad. Becca’s in there with him. The doctor is busy with gunshot wounds or something. Can you see if you can help him?”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said, before hurrying inside. I left Cal standing there and went back out to the truck.

  Mr. Morgan hobbled up to me as I was bringing in my last box. “Daniel.”

  “Mr. Morgan, you should really at least get a crutch or something,” I said.

  Morgan nodded. “An Idaho Guard medic has a wound worse than mine. He’s using the one set of crutches we could find to get around while he treats people.”

  I smiled at the man. “Still, you’ve been at it all day. Try to get some rest.”

  The principal nodded. “I might say the same about you, but the fight goes on.”

  “Hopefully even any Fed holdouts would leave a hospital alone,” I said.

  “The US Army set up machine gun nests on the roof,” said Mr. Morgan. “I’ve been wanting to bring them down, but we haven’t had time.”

  “We can take care of that,” said Sergeant Kemp.

  “They get up there using the roof hatch at the back of the stage?” JoBell asked. He nodded. “Follow me,” she said to Kemp.

  I started after my group, but Mr. Morgan grabbed my arm. “Danny, you have to see if you can use your
influence with the governor, er, the president to help us again. I worry about disease. Cholera or fever. Plus the smell … It’s already nearly unbearable.”

  “Mr. Morgan, I’m sure people are swamped everywhere,” I said.

  A loud explosion went off somewhere in the distance, but close enough that we could still feel the shock wave. Morgan led me away from everyone. “We’re putting the dead on the floor of the English and math rooms, but those classrooms are almost full. We need at least a truck, a flatbed trailer or something, to move the bodies to a different location.”

  I swallowed. “Lot of people. And you still have the Fed prisoners in the locker rooms.”

  “Um, no, actually, we don’t,” he said. “Some men from the Brotherhood came and took them away. They didn’t say where they were taking them. I worry that … Well, anyway, they’re gone, which at least let us have better access to clean water. Until the water supply ran out. We’ve switched to bottled drinking water for now.”

  “The water tower,” I said. The Feds had put holes in the tank when they’d been shooting at us. “Yeah, we need to get that fixed. We’ll take care of the guns on the roof, and then if you’ll let us borrow the welding gear from the shop, we’ll get the holes on the water tower patched.”

  He agreed, and I went to work. I had hoped that staying busy would help keep my mind off Sweeney. It didn’t. My group brought two .50-cals, one M240 machine gun, and plenty of ammo for them both down from the roof. We left the M240 to protect the makeshift hospital and packed up everything for the other two guns.

  We got a crew together with Skylar Grenke’s dad and some men who worked for Freedom Lake. They got the water tower patched and the city’s pumps working overtime to get the supply back up. When the power went out, we made sure the town generators were fueled up, and then we transported some generators and fuel to the school hospital.

  Sweeney had been treated with some kind of gel, and he’d been bandaged and doped up. I was glad he was still unconscious. His burns would hurt so bad. For the hundredth time, I ran through in my mind all the things I should have done differently to keep this from happening. Becca and TJ were hard at work helping Dr. Strauss and Dr. Randall, but they never strayed too far from Sweeney’s side.