by W. J. Lundy
The old man nodded, indicating the road. “There has been a lot of traffic on the highway this morning. Scanner says the state police are leaving.”
John paused, his fork now loaded with potatoes, inches from his mouth. He looked up and asked, “Leaving where? Headed to the mountain?”
Gary shook his head no. “Going the other way. They are pulling up stakes. I was on the scanner all night. After what happened out there, they are done with it. That basecamp getting shot up is all over the radio. Homeland is sending in teams to replace them, but it hasn’t been so easy.”
“What do you mean?” John asked.
The old man moved away from the window and opened a cabinet with a small TV inside.
“No television while they eat, Gary,” the old woman shouted from the kitchen.
Gary pursed his lips and waved off Ellen’s comment. He searched a shelf for a remote, then worked a button, powering on the TV. He scanned through channels and stopped on a news network from overseas. “International news is the only one reporting on it. Most of the big domestic stations are being quiet.”
On the screen was a highway of burning vehicles. Police walked through the smoldering wreckage as bodies were carried to waiting ambulances. Men in black with covered faces walked through the camera views, holding rifles.
“Where is this? Is that the mountain?” John asked, not recognizing the terrain.
The old man frowned. “No, son, this is down state just north of Grayling. Seems someone ambushed a convoy of Steel Corp people that were moving north to reinforce this bunch up here.”
Bobby looked up from his plate. “Ambushed? Who ambushed them?” he said. “We don’t have Legion down state.”
“Not sure. Some think it may have been Army. Others say it’s militia. There was big news last night about the actions taking place up here in Sherman. People are calling it the first battle of the next Civil War.”
“You need more than a bunch of angry locals to do damage like that,” John said.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, son,” Gary said. “There was a lot of stuff about Washington sending in a brand new batch of Steel Corp men with special equipment to put this uprising down, some real bad hombres meant to come in and clear you all out. Either way, whoever it was, they stopped that convoy cold.”
John watched the images on the screen—burning armored vehicles still on flatbed trailers, shot up armored SUVs on the roadside. He turned back to the old man. “What has the response been?”
“Well, like I said, the state police have announced they don’t want anything to do with this. They’ve pulled back from the mountain and are primarily taking up positions on the highway. The governor is supposed to be deciding soon. Maybe as early as tomorrow.”
“Deciding on what?” John asked.
Gary tuned off the TV and closed the cabinet before returning to his place by the window to watch the road. “There are folks in the city that want him to suspend the State Constitution and turn everything over to the corporations and Homeland. And I think you know what that would mean.”
“Martial law. Loss of everything?” Bobby said. “Gregory talked about this; they have to create a storm big enough to force the state’s hand, but we can create storms too.”
Gary nodded. “Yes, it works both ways, son. You’ve woken up more than those in the corporations and the cities. People out here in the sticks are backing you, and they are moving in to show support.”
“How so?” John asked.
“Militias from all over the west are forming up. Hell, word has it that a militia out of Wisconsin is already headed this way, and there is another in Minnesota that just destroyed a Homeland base in Duluth. And you just saw what happened down south. Officially, the Free States are staying out of it, but it’s escalating fast. They say if Michigan goes free, then the rest of the Midwest will follow, damn the cities.”
“You’re talking full-on civil war,” John said.
“If things don’t calm down soon, it could certainly go that way,” Gary acknowledged. “Both sides seem to be looking for a way out of this.”
Bobby sat back from the table and pushed away his empty plate. “I need you to get a message to the Legion. We had to run out of there in a hurry, and I don’t want Gregory worrying about us.”
The old man nodded. “I can do that, anything else?”
“Tell them hell’s coming after them. If what you say is true, they’ll be sending everything they got at the mountain tonight,” John said. “We have a plan to change things, but it might not be enough to stop what’s coming.”
Gary looked at John and said, “There is another thing.”
“What’s that?” John said, finishing his own plate.
“They are reporting you to be the leader of this whole thing. The west is calling you a freedom fighter, while Homeland has branded you a terrorist.”
“What about me?” Bobby asked.
Gary shook his head and laughed. “Hardly a mention.” His face then turned serious. “Now, I know you came here for more than just breakfast. What do you need?”
Chapter Twenty
Bill lay on the ground with ants crawling on his face. Just feet away, he could see into the blank eyes of Samir. The dead man’s bandage had pulled away, and the gnarly wound was gathering flies. Bill struggled to turn and look away from it. He wondered if Homeland would ever come for them, or would he lie there until he died of exposure. His arms were cuffed behind his back, and the overcast sky hid the sun. He had no sense of time; he didn’t know if he’d been there for an hour or half the day.
Looking up at the sky, he wished for rain to sooth his parched throat. Ants were on his lips, and he tried to blow them away. After rolling back to his stomach, Bill tried to press himself up, but the clinking of metal stopped him. He rolled to face the sound. Men were emerging from the woods. Dressed in black with Homeland stitched on the front of their armor, they moved in line with rifles forward. Bill forced a small yelp, and the lead man acknowledged him.
The man put a handset to his mouth and pointed. A pair of men from behind ran forward and knelt next to Bill. They tried to sit him up, but he groaned in pain when his arms snagged on the ground. He was rolled to his side and a man pressed his face close to him. “Handcuff key?”
Bill nodded. “In my left pocket.”
The man reached into his pocket and removed the ring. They rolled him to a sitting position and bent him forward. The man unclicked the handcuffs, and Bill felt immediate relief in his shoulders. He fell, forward gasping. “Water,” he pleaded.
The man beside him reached into a pack and removed a bottle. He spun off the cap and handed it to Bill who, drank thirstily. Taking notice of the dead around him, the man spoke into his handset, and the line of men moved forward then stopped.
Bill pointed to the ridge and said, “Don’t go over the top. There are shooters in the hills. They’ll hit you.”
The man spun and looked at the rise then moved back to make sure he was well below it. He spoke into his radio again. “There are shooters in the hills; don’t leave cover.”
The line of men dropped down into the grass, their eyes still locked ahead. There was the crackling of brush, and Bill looked up to see Dawson dressed in tactical gear and carrying a short-barreled rifle. She stopped beside him and dropped down to her heels. “Well, once again, you manage to come out unscathed. How is it every time you leave the house with Homeland, they all die.”
He ignored her comment and looked up at her. “You have to tell them to stay out of the Gap,” Bill said. “I was only left alive to warn you. Warren has an army up there.”
She shook her head dismissively. “It’s not an army, just a bunch of terrorists.”
“You have to stop this, or a lot of people will die.”
Dawson scanned the ground and looked at the body of the dead Steel Corp contractor. “It looks like it’s a little late for that.” She turned back to the sheriff. “But don’t worry, you wan
t a good omelet, you have to break some eggs. This all ends tonight.”
“They have too many people,” Bill said.
“We have a lot also.” She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “We already know about the Wisconsin militia. Homeland has set up a roadblock for them at the border. They’ll find them and kill them before they get anywhere near the Gap.”
Bill sat up. “I don’t know anything about that. They have people up there—a lot of them, and they know how to fight. They wiped this team out. We ran down the trail when the base camp was attacked, and we were ambushed from the hills. Then when we were down here waiting for orders, they came out of the fog and killed the rest of us.”
She squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. Nohrs has pulled out the stops. There will be a helicopter assault tonight, along with raids on the roads and the trails. We will hit them on all sides. This is no longer my operation; the Homeland tactical branch has taken control.” She stood and indicated for the other men to get Bill on his feet. “And turns out I was right about your boy. John Warren is the leader of a terrorist group known as the Legion. It’s looking more and more like all of this was planned right under your nose. Manager Nohrs is uncovering all of it as we speak.”
The sheriff stammered forward and felt his knees buckle. “This is bigger than Warren,” he said, sinking back to his knees.
A man grabbed him under the arm, lifting him back up.
“Get him back to the station, get him cleaned up and fed, and don’t let him leave,” she said. “I’ll have more questions for him when we wrap this up.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The truck rolled forward over broken roads as the sun set in the western sky. Bobby and John lay in the bed under a canvas tarp. Bobby was on his back, taking every bump with a groan. He held a mobile phone, reading encrypted messages, and sending out ones of his own. The truck slammed through a pothole, and the men were tossed up and down against the steel bed. Bobby grunted and took a last look at the phone before disassembling it and tossing it out of the truck, piece by piece.
John rolled to his side. He was dressed in the borrowed clothing, with a brown watch cap. He still had the radio and night vision from the helmet and his suppressed CAR-15. The pockets of his Carhartt coat were stuffed with magazines. He felt the truck slow as Gary in the cab passed through a country intersection. He looked over at Bobby. “What’s the news?”
“Not good,” Bobby said. “Our guy in their camp says Nohrs got authorization to use a special weapons team out of Wright Patterson Air Force Base. They are being moved up tonight. They’ll be hitting the pass with Black Hawks and Little Birds.”
“Can the Legion stop that?” John asked. “From what I have seen, the pass is set up to be defended at the perimeter, not from the inside out.”
Bobby sighed. “It’s going to be ugly. The pass is full of mines and booby traps. Gregory and Paul are raising steel fiber bird nets in the trees.” He rubbed his chin and looked down. “I wouldn’t want to be on those Black Hawks. Without artillery and gunships, they’ll be taking fire the whole way in. Even if they manage to get on the ground, they won’t be able to hold the pass. Greg knows they are coming and will have weapons in place for it.”
“Is there any good news?” John asked.
“Yeah, I’d say so,” Bobby said. “A group of boys from Green Bay made it into the Gap last night. Wisconsin just declared themselves free. Michigan is still on the fence because of all of this. But the old man wasn’t lying about the state police standing down. Roadblocks through the mountain were left unmanned and wide open. The Wisconsin militia walked right in and linked up with the Legion.
We now have an open route in and out on the west side of the pass. Wisconsin has made promises to Homeland to close the border and not interfere, but so far not much has been done. Counties are flipping all over on this side of the bridge. Hell, if the pass holds tonight, we might have the entire Upper Peninsula in Free hands by morning, regardless of what the governor decides.”
John lay back and closed his eyes. This was the start of a war. Even if they managed to take and hold territory, the fighting wouldn’t stop. They had to have help from the governor. They had to stop the state from turning over to Homeland. They needed a formal declaration from the state government, banning Homeland. A data dump from Nohrs, exposing the instigated violence would be enough to do it.
The truck slowed and pulled onto the shoulder of the road. John lay still beside Bobby. They heard the truck driver’s door open and close. The man’s boots clopped on the road as he passed to the tailgate and dropped it. He pulled back the cover and looked down. “You boys asleep in here?” Gary said.
“Hell, no,” John said. “Not with the way you drive.”
Gary laughed and reached for a canvas bag and pulled it toward him. He pulled a flat tire from the back and dropped it on the road. Then he hoisted himself up to sit on the tailgate and lit a cigarette. The sun was almost completely gone now, and shadows were stretching across the terrain. John eased himself up and looked out. They were on an empty black-top road in the middle of a forest.
“Nohrs called a dusk-to-dawn curfew because of the fighting. I don’t reckon I’ll be seeing anyone out here. If I do, I’ll tell them I got a flat and just finished changing it. If that don’t work, I’ll let them arrest me. No worries.”
John shook his head. “Don’t wait for us. Just go home, Gary.”
They old man scowled. “I got you all here, and I’ll get you back to my place when it’s done.”
Sighing, John stepped out in the truck bed and walked to the shoulder side so he could quickly hide if anyone came. He put on his night vision goggles and tested them, then he pushed in the earbud and put the throat mic on the side of his neck. He spun, looking into the woods, then said to Gary, “Where is it?”
The old man stood, walked to the shoulder, and squatted. In the dust at the side of the road, he sketched a map. “You all go right through here. This is all empty forest. At the back is the old Henderson home; it’s a long, single-story ranch. Nohrs took the place over a year or so ago.”
“Security?” John asked.
Bobby leaned in. “He’s always got a couple guys with him, but our man in the Homeland camp says it’s been beefed up since this started. They think five, plus his assistant.”
“Family?” John asked.
“None,” Bobby said.
John looked off into the woods. There was no sign of light from a home. No movement. He reached back into the truck and lifted his rifle. He was dressed like a hunter, but if he bumped into anyone, they would know right away that it wasn’t deer he was after. He reached down and lifted the flat tire and placed it in the back of the truck. He looked back at Gary. “I would feel a lot better if you went home. When this starts, they’ll be looking for us on these roads. It’s better if you aren’t captured.”
The old man went to speak, when Bobby stopped him. “It’s okay, Gary. We can find our own way out. Go home and take care of Ellen. Get a message to the mountain that we are on mission.”
Gary scowled and shook his head, then nodded. The old man exchanged handshakes and slammed the tailgate closed. As he turned to walk to the cab, John looked at Bobby and dipped his chin. “Lead us out.”
The big man did as he was instructed and stepped into the dark woods. They moved quickly until they were yards into the trees then knelt low. Sitting sat back-to-back, they scanned the woods. Gary started the old pickup truck, the red brake lights shining bright, then they heard the truck pull away. They waited a moment longer to ensure they were alone then Bobby rose back to his feet and patrolled forward.
As the light faded, the forest grew darker, and they began to make out the faint glimmer of lights from the ranch house. Bobby moved slower and began walking so that he kept trees between himself and the open terrain. He took another step then slowly dropped down, raising a fist. John froze then slowly took cover behind a tall oak. He waited unt
il he saw Bobby wave him forward.
John tread softly on the dead leaves and squatted beside the point man. Bobby pointed toward the shadows of the home. It was long, the way Gary had described it, and surrounded by a log fence. A blacktop driveway wended through the trees and by the front door. Offset to the home was a large, three-car garage with a bright floodlight in the peak. Bobby put a finger to his throat and said, “There is a roving guard.”
“Where?” John said, searching but not seeing him.
Bobby pointed to the fence then, with his finger traced it along the front of the house. Where it turned, there was a dark shadow, then the cherry-red glow of a cigarette. “He’s smoking over there.”
“Stay here and watch the front. I’ll take him,” John said.
He worked his way through the woods slowly, making a wide half circle and taking carefully placed steps to avoid limbs. Ahead, he could see the black outline of the man front-lit from the garage flood light. He took another few steps forward and paused again. The man had a submachine gun hanging by the sling off a post on the fence. This guy was fat and lazy, used to the easy duty.
John observed his movements. The guard dropped the cigarette and stomped it out, then fished another from his pocket. There was a flash and flame from the guard’s lighter as he lit another, then he leaned back into the fence again. The guard was watching the driveway, completely unconcerned with what was coming up from behind him. John dropped his goggles over his eyes and turned on the weapon-mounted laser. He let the IR dot dance on the man’s back then carefully walked it up until it met the shoulder and spine intersection on the man’s back and pulled the trigger.
There was a crack and a flash of light. The man’s cigarette hand dropped to his side. There was a gasp of air, and the body fell forward into the grass. John scanned the terrain and slowly moved forward. There was no movement from the body, and the surroundings were still. “Clear,” he whispered into his mic.
