“It’s drugs, isn’t it?” asked Eva. This time, Ethan smacked her.
“Yeah, it is. Now, don’t you think about snitching on me, yeah? Cuz if ya sell me out, my friends will come after you. And if they don’t get’cha first, the cops will. I’ll make sure.”
Tremors coursed throughout Ethan’s whole body. He didn’t fear the consequences of exposing Pops, because he’d never intentionally do that, he feared accidentally exposing Pops. “This is our job?”
“Mhmm. Everybody’s got a job, boy. Now, this is yours. Do your part, make me some money, and I promise I’ll make sure you have pillows, blankets, food, you name it. I’ll keep people off your back if I hear them talkin’ too.”
“Like you said,” said Eva to her brother. “We need a friend. This guy could really help.”
Ethan agreed, though he wasn’t excited.
Eva looked up at Pops. “What’s our first mission?”
–––––––
“What’a we do?” said Ethan shaking the bag in frustration.
“Give it to the guy in that house, duh.” Eva’s response was half-sarcastic, half-aggressive. She looked prepared to rip the bag from his hands.
“I know, I know. How, though? It needs to be kept a secret, so we can’t just walk up to the front door.”
“That’s why we sneak it through the back.”
Ethan flailed his arms. “Then, how are we gonna know who to give it to? And what if the guy doesn’t pay us?”
“I’ll make him.”
“How? You don’t know how to fight.”
Eva looked at him. Swiftly and without warning, she leapt on Ethan, who found himself flat on his back. She tried to sit on his chest, muffling his mouth. He struggled until his greater strength threw her off. Thinking it was over, he stood, brushing dirt and leaves off him, but Eva tackled him a second time. This time, she slugged him in the gut with her elbow
“I give up!” he wailed.
“That’s what I thought.” She stood quickly. “Now, follow my lead. I got an idea.”
Ethan followed a step behind Eva as they came up to the front door. Ethan kept the bag firmly at his front so that others in the neighborhood behind them couldn’t see it. Eva took a second to posture more confidently, then knocked.
A boy who appeared their age answered. “Yeah?” he asked.
“Hi. We moved in down the street. We’re just looking for kids to play with. I’m Eva, and this is my little brother Ethan.”
The boy stared. “He looks older.”
“Cuz he never smiles, and I’m cuter. Can we come in?”
Ethan heard a shout originating from a couple feet away in the living room, “Shane! Who is it?”
The boy, apparently named Shane, replied after tripping over his words a moment, “I don’t know. Some kids.”
“Is that your dad?” asked Eva. “Can I talk to him?”
Ethan was shocked at the strangeness of Eva’s approach with their job.
Shane looked equally, if not more, confused. “Um… Okay. Hey, dad–”
“Can we just come in first?”
Without answering, Shane stepped aside. Ethan, quivering with fear, tried to face toward the father so he would see the bag, recognize it, take it, then they could leave. Whoever he was, he was fat, old, and had a wife sitting on the seat next to him that looked like she hadn’t eaten in a week, almost like them.
Eva stepped up to the father. Ethan promptly followed; he needed to protect her, and staying close made him feel safer too. She whispered to the father, “We should be alone.”
“The hell is this?” the man asked. Upon noticing Ethan’s bag, finally, he quickly corrected himself. “Oh, right. Shane, get the hell out of here. Go to your rooms.”
Shane obeyed, and another person Ethan couldn’t see followed him down the hall.
“Anton send you, now?” asked the father.
“We call him Pops… Uh, yes.”
“Kids? Just little kids? Damn, you must really know how to keep a secret. I’ll buy it this one time, but from now on, I don’t want kids handing me my shit, okay?”
Both nodded. Eva replied, “Yes, sir. We’re new to this, you know.”
“Here’s his money, now get outta here.”
–––––––
“Every time I see you kids, you impress more,” said Pops as he counted the money Eva handed him. He was flamboyantly happy. “I could get in big trouble for getting you two involved… Since ya can’t live here, but ya rightfully, just-a-fiably don’t trust the po-lice, I’ll take care of you from … afar. I’ll feed ya, I’ll provide everythin’ ya need to be safe and comft-erble, as long as you do your job. The better you do your job, the more money I make. The more money I make, the better your lives.”
“Thank you, Pops,” said Eva. “We’ll be fine. We got our mom’s blood, and our fucked-up father’s too. We’re smart, and we’re tough.”
“Indeed you are. Now, get on back to your shelter. I’ll drop off some stuff for you in the morning. Where is it again?”
The twins weren’t great with directions, but after a while of trying to explain it, Pops realized where they meant. Then, Ethan asked, “What if we get caught? What if people find us?”
“Still better than the streets, boy. Now, let’s get on outta here. I’ll drop you off close to your place.”
Upon returning to their barn, Eva, smiling wide, laid on their grass bed. “See, little bro? We’re doing good, you know, for being on our own and all.”
“Right now, yeah.” He didn’t feel too optimistic about their situation lasting longer than the night; the previous nights were just dumb luck in his mind. He laid down beside his sister, snuggling into their sleeping bag. “When is he going to give us that stuff?”
“I don’t know. Sometime later. Wonder what it’ll be. I hope nothing bad. Think he’d lie to us? Should we stay up just in case he’s gonna do something bad to us?”
“No, I’ll try to stay awake.” He shut off their flashlight. “Goodnight, Eva.”
She climbed into her bed. Just as they got comfortable, Eva found his face with her hands, lowered her face closer to him and said, “I love you,” proceeding to give him a quick, but passionate kiss on his lips. Though uncomfortable, he just accepted it without comment.
Ethan stayed awake all night as always, occasionally dozing off. When daylight illuminated only some of the area around them, he crawled out of his sleeping bag slowly enough to not wake his sister, then peeked out of the building. A used mattress and multiple cans of food were right outside waiting for him.
PAUL
What did it matter if he abstained from food, human interaction, cleanliness, or simply stepping outside occasionally? He knew what neared. One could not be comfortable when death is right around the corner. Meals, showers, and fresh air helped nothing. For days they offered him sustenance, and for days he rejected it, except for the water. It made sense why great heroes of history starved themselves in protest. A display of what mattered most. As was likely their thinking, he believed it better to die slowly than to keep living for the benefit of the enemy. The troops wanted him alive for additional questioning, and he was literally dying before telling them anything useful.
When they demanded the whereabouts of those who escaped Woodburn, he had confessed they were, “Nowhere you could find them.” His left eye earned a bruising for that reply.
Among those people was his wife, Nicole. Her safety exceeded the importance of his cause, or even his people, but his cause and her wellbeing were now one and the same. So, he remained in his cell, rotting as if already a corpse, and he didn’t mind.
Paul’s mind remained as active as ever, though. It obsessed over one thought in particular:
Have I done the right thing?
Rallies, riots, then ultimately ruin. Were the lost lives worth the cause? Silver lining, at minimum was that when the rich cut corners, monopolized, and choked resources, and the government disregar
ded the Constitution, people weren’t dying by the thousands, daily, from bloodshed alone. No necessary movement in history was without bloodshed, he thought. Even Ghandi’s. In the end, his own blood was shed. Unjustly…
Paul decided to retrace his steps. Perhaps looking at the picture as a whole, now from the outside, would gain him new perspective.
“What brings you here?” Nicole asked. A good question; not one easy to answer. This was the first he had met Nicole, at none other than the 2008 Democratic National Convention.
“I was just thinking that myself,” he said to her. “It’s my second time here, since the war. I had the same thought then as I do now.”
“Which is what?”
He looked around at all the smiling faces, the news and camera crews preparing, and the delicious buffet they were in line for. “I don’t know… It all seems so… tribal. Know what I mean? Like, am I here because I just have to always side with Democrats, or is it because of some other reason? Just trying to be honest with myself, you know?”
Nicole nodded. “I getcha. One-hundred percent. But, let me ask you this: If you always side with Democrats, just for the sake of siding with Democrats, what makes you side with them in the first place? It still comes down to what you believe, right?”
Paul shrugged. “I suppose.”
They started choosing food from the long table. Nicole stated, “Most people side with a particular party because everyone they’re close to sides with that party. People are more tribal than rational.”
“You’re sophisticated,” laughed Paul. He sampled a grape from his plate. “Why the cynical outlook on things?”
“I try to see things as they are,” Nicole simply replied.
“Ah. Then, tell me this: why are you here?”
“It’s not that I agree with much the Dems stand for, I just don’t believe in being a bigoted asshole who uses the Bible to justify being an asshole.”
Paul nodded. “So, it’s not that you side with Democrats, you just stand against Republicans.” He was starting to like this woman.
“Exactly. The rich shouldn’t get privileges. They’re rich; what more do they need? And I don’t buy for a minute that making the wealthy wealthier somehow helps everyone else. I think being gay is gross, but I don’t believe it should be illegal to marry them. I could go on and on, but bottom line is, I don’t side with scumbags.”
“If, say, starting another war in the Middle East, then lying to Americans to get away with it isn’t being a scumbag, I don’t what is. I don’t see the economy getting out of this hole, no matter who gets elected in the end. All we can do is make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
“They are good at lying and justifying their bullshit, aren’t they?”
Paul heard her, but he jumped to an important question that had just come to mind. “If you had to choose, would you side with Democrats or Reformists?”
“I don’t believe in siding. I think both parties have the correct line of thinking. Sadly, Democrats are cowards, and Reformists are too extreme.”
“Radicalism might be necessary. We’re entering another Depression, and nothing’s being done about the fact that the rich are making things worse for everyone else. Sometimes, it’s not enough to calmly sit back and negotiate with people who can’t be negotiated with.”
Nicole shot him a particular look. “And what about the government? Should something be done about them?”
“Well, that’s what elections are for, right? But, I sense if this election doesn’t go well… America’s going to head farther in the wrong direction. As a nation, we’re pissing everyone off, including ourselves.”
This was how Paul and Nicole hit it off. Before they knew each other’s names, they already clicked on several levels, especially the most important one – beliefs and perspectives. By the end of that night, they learned their names, and by the end of ten months, they were married. The ceremony was held on the night they believed their desired candidate, Barack Obama, would win the election, November 4th. Ceremony completed, impressive reception turnout, then off to Sunriver for the honeymoon. They arrived twenty minutes after the announcement of the bad news. A substantial majority of the census voted for their candidate, but the electoral college was won by the one operating the regime of the previous eight years, Dick Cheney. Anniversary night was forever cursed.
The economy did not recover in the next four years. The Reformist party grew immensely, as it stood for equally for minorities, livable wages for the non-rich, and upholding the Constitution, and in seemingly only one presidential term, it replaced Democrats as a major political party. ‘The real liberals’ as Paul saw them, not the politically-correct liberals, not the self-entitled liberals. Nicole joined the party in 2009, long before Paul ultimately did in 2011, and he only had because conditions did not improve under Republican leadership. More than half the country was now convinced the entire system was rigged; corrupt beyond the point of turning back. As Paul believed, it was the sheer condition of the nation that drove Reformists to begin speaking of revolution.
Much to everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t Reformists who started the war at home. It was Chicago. Another terrorist attack on the country. The culprits were never confirmed. Perhaps that’s what the suspects wanted, whoever they were. After the attack, everyone was blaming everyone. Many said Islamic radicals, some even claimed Christian extremists. Some blamed Reformists, some blamed the government. Paul believed it was Reformist members, but he never believed the attack to have been necessary. The last straw, but the camel’s back was already about to break. Chicago was the first to erupt in chaos. Not merely rioting and looting, war. People began attacking one another because of sheer political affiliation, or economic class. When the Army intervened, everyone diverted their attention solely to them. News of the troops themselves being overwhelmed by citizens spread universally within hours, and that was when Washington D.C. was hit. Allan Braun initiated that attack, and his initial targets were all government institutions. D.C. fell first, then Chicago.
By then, it was too late for everybody else. Panic is probably to blame for the rest of the Collapse. What remained of the government, including the president himself, continued to operate in hiding. Few locations, particularly Seattle and Portland, remained peaceful; the entire east coast had fallen before them. Paul believed those cities would never have fallen if it weren’t for the fact everyone was retreating to the Pacific Northwest – rich, poor, government official, civilian, soldier … everyone – and they brought the war with them. Canada closed off its borders, and that was when Seattle was lost. Then, it was Portland.
Fortunately for Paul, he was already in the last city to fall. He led his people to do nothing more than drive out the war itself. He never meant to lead a resistance. Being a leader, a leader in a party already being blamed for the second Civil War, he was branded the enemy by every other political group, including Democrats. The troops forced his hand. First, he and his people only meant to defend themselves, but by the end, they were fighting for the same cause as the other Reformists, and for the same reason. The Army drove Paul out of Portland by early December 2012. He retreated to Woodburn, where he and his people meant to hide while they licked their wounds. But their fire endured. Paul continued to lead campaigns within Portland and in the surrounding area, primarily using guerilla tactics. He never suspected the Army to know exactly where to find him, let alone send their full strength all at once to apprehend him.
Following his surrender, he learned the troops reclaimed most of Portland. That’s when it made sense. There was little to divide the Army’s attention now, so why not strike full-force?
Paul opened his eyes. He was certain now. There was nothing to regret, nothing to retract. The fight was necessary. His only shame was defeat. “The good guys are supposed to win,” he said to himself.
“What?” asked Tyson Corwin. Paul had been lost in thought before and since the Colonel entered the cell.
Only n
ow was Paul paying attention to his surroundings. “I was … talking to myself.”
Tyson breathed in. “Well, I’ll just tell you outright, rather than building suspense. I’ve been ordered to execute you in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Get it over with, then. I’m right here, and you have a gun.”
Tyson reached down to his gun, but only rested his fingers on it. “That’s not my custom, nor is it ethical, or permitted.”
“What was it you just said about building suspense? You have peculiar customs.” Paul received no reply from Tyson. “You don’t want to kill me, do you? You don’t believe it’s right.” Nothing again… “But, you’re a soldier. You obey orders, for the sake of obeying orders.”
“You’re a soldier as well. You ought to understand.”
“Better than most. I understand loyalty better than most, too. Unfortunately, I’m not loyal to a commander, to a god, or even to my country. I’m loyal to my principles. Without principles, we’re no different than any other mammal. No better.”
“Is that why you refused your relocation orders?”
“Iraq? Absolutely.”
Tyson turned, waving to his two guards to leave. After they stepped out, he came closer to Paul. “No, I don’t want you executed. It would undo everything we’ve tried so hard accomplish. I don’t understand the meaning, I don’t have all the intel, and I know I’m not the only soldier with principles. I don’t pretend to possess any of these things. I believe you do.”
“Maybe a person like me – a person who asks questions – should never have enlisted in the Marines. Cogs in the war machine should function as they were made to function: without questions or objections.”
Resurrection Page 11
