Collective Retribution

by Edwards, D. S.

  Chad had dealt with Mayor Reid prior to the attack. They’d faced each other in high school on the debate team, and Reid had dated Katie their senior year. Recently, Chad had been the local chairman of his political party. Reid was a member of the opposing party, and had nearly been defeated in the last election thanks to Chad’s hard work. It was pretty much understood that Mayor Reid hated Chad Ellison.

  “I don’t think Gary will be seeing me ask him for anything. The last thing I wou—”

  Chad was interrupted by a deep rumbling sound. He got up and walked outside. Other neighbors were coming out of their houses and looking around.

  The fog had burned off. Chad could see a helicopter in the distance, heading toward town. By the time the chopper reached the edge of Boise, everyone within earshot was standing in the streets, eyes turned up.

  Chad assumed the military would have some working vehicles, but until now he hadn’t seen any. They hadn’t had contact with anyone from Gowen Field, the Air Force base on the edge of town, since the attack, but this chopper must have come from there.

  As the chopper passed over the first set of houses, its side doors opened. Papers began fluttering to the ground.

  Chad picked one up and read:

  My Fellow Citizens:

  It is with a heavy heart that I tell you we have tragically lost millions of lives and our world has become a much darker place. We are now in grave danger as a people. That is why I must ask you to stay within the areas you live, for your own safety and the safety of others. There are unimaginable dangers outside of our towns. There are forces who want nothing more than to kill, steal, and destroy. On November 28, our nation was attacked by foreign forces intent on punishing us for interfering in world affairs. The United States as we knew it could no longer stand.

  “What’s it say?” Katie asked.

  “It looks like the president is sending aid.”

  Katie looked puzzled. “The president? He’s alive?”

  Chad skimmed to the bottom of the flyer and read the last few paragraphs out loud:

  “The United States as we knew it could no longer stand. Corporate greed mixed with racism, religious bigotry, and hatred drove us to the brink of destruction. This attack by some of those who had formerly been oppressed is our wakeup call. We have been given a chance to wipe out all poverty and end all violence. Everyone will have their needs met. We will now be a nation without classes. We will be a nation where everyone will work for the good of the Collective. No one will go hungry. Everyone will have an equal share of this land’s wealth. If we all work together, we can usher in this glorious sunrise of rebirth. We will finally be the greatest nation on earth. The survival of our society depends on everyone’s participation in rebuilding.

  “Soon members of our military will be coming to lend aid. They will be bringing food, water, clothing, medicine, and propane heaters. They will also be taking an inventory of all supplies, including firearms, ammunition, and citizens’ defensive capabilities. A thorough census will be taken, and everyone will be asked to do their part, each person according to their needs and abilities. I ask that you welcome them and cooperate with them.

  “If you do not stand with your fellow citizens and you choose to impede progress, you will be dealt with swiftly and with force. Standing shoulder to shoulder with you all,

  Richard C. Hartley, President of the United Collective.”

  Chad nearly crushed the paper in his hand. According to their needs and abilities? It sounded like the president was actually quoting Karl Marx.

  He handed the paper to his wife, picked up another flyer, and headed for the house.

  “I’m going to talk to Pastor Moore,” he said. “I think we need to get the church together for a meeting. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  Chad grabbed his 12-gauge shotgun and walked toward the church. He knew Gary Reid as well as anyone. If someone was coming in to lend aid to the residents of Boise, it would threaten the power and wealth Reid had accumulated. He was fairly certain Reid wouldn’t let that happen without a fight. This thought troubled him. The wording of the flyer also troubled him. It seemed genuine, and it seemed like aid would come, but at what cost? There were people who still needed help in Boise, even though the community had come together and helped one another. Things weren’t perfect, but progress had been made. United Collective? What happened to the United States?

  Chad had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  At the church, Pastor Moore stood on the front walk talking with five other people. He smiled and waved as Chad approached, then began talking excitedly.

  “Isn’t this wonderful? It’s an answer to prayer. There is hope we can rebuild the nation!”

  Chad tried to return the pastor’s smile, but thought it probably came across more as a scowl. “Leo, can we go in and talk in private?” he asked.

  “Sure, Chad.” Pastor Moore excused himself from the group and led the way into the church office.

  Chad let him sit before he began speaking. “Did you read every part of that flyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doesn’t anything about that disturb you?”

  The pastor thought for a few moments before answering.

  “Well, the fact that someone I disagree with on almost every social issue is still the president disturbs me a bit. The things he put in place before the attack were, I feel, extremely wicked, and go against every aspect of my faith in Christ. But I still believe God can use anyone to help his church. If food, clothing, medicine, and heat are coming to those who need it, I will not question God’s ways in providing it.”

  Chad shook his head and briefly closed his eyes. “Doesn’t the fact that Hartley is calling America “The United Collective” bother you?” he said. “I just think we need to be careful and watch out for one another. If I’ve learned one thing about this president and those he ruled with, it’s to always look for the reason behind every action. I know there are people who are hurting and still need help. I also welcome that help no matter where it comes from, but I’m worried about what it will cost us.”

  Pastor Moore stood, smiled, and held his hand out to Chad. Chad returned the smile, took his hand, and embraced him in a hug.

  “Please be careful, pastor. You’re a leader of men and a spiritual father to many. Just the type of man a dictator would remove before assuming power. Watch yourself. If anything feels off, or you feel in danger, let me know. I’ll stand with you.”

  Chad turned to leave. The office door swung open, revealing Gary Reid and his usual fixed-grin expression.

  “Hello Chad, Pastor Moore. Isn’t this wonderful news?” Reid said, waving a flyer in the air.

  “Depends on how you look at it,” Chad said. “We could have things take place that none of us want, all in the name of relief.”

  Reid scoffed. “Nonsense. You are such a pessimist. This may be just what we need to return to some sort of normalcy. If the president is still in office and starting to get things organized, the power coming back on may be just days or weeks away.”

  “Is there something I can help you with, Gary?” Pastor Moore asked.

  “As a matter of fact, there is. When I heard the news, I thought we needed to have the proper welcome for those coming to help. Since you’re close with most of the people on this side of town, I was hoping you could get everyone together so we could plan. I think we need to be organized, so there isn’t chaos.”

  Chad excused himself. It bothered him that Reid seemed happy about the news of someone sending aid. He’d thought it would threaten Reid’s power, and frighten him to not have control over resources. There had to be a plan hatching in Reid’s devious mind.

  “I’ll be watching you, Gary Reid,” Chad muttered into the frosty air.

  24

  NIRSCHELL RANCH

  8:25 P.M., APRIL 20

  MICHELLE DIDN’T HESITATE. SHE RUSHED OFF TO GET JILLIAN while Nirsch went to the bedroom and grabbed more gear.
His SCAR and Sig felt good in his hands, though he’d hoped to never have to use them again.

  A few minutes later, Michelle came into the bedroom. “Jillian’s on her way,” she said. “What do you need me to do?”

  “If you could make a fresh pot of coffee, that would help. It’s probably going to be a long night. I’m going to get Bill and grab Larry. We’ll be back in a few minutes for some coffee before we head out.”

  After explaining the situation to Larry and Bill, Nirsch went to the barn to get the horses. The moon was just beginning to rise. He knew this would help tonight. The two Hansons showed up, and with Michelle passing out mugs of steaming coffee, they all met in the kitchen to make their plans.

  Nirsch sized up each man as he took his seat at the table. Brett Hanson had a slight build and had never been much of a fighter. The worst combat he’d seen was the occasional scrap in the schoolyard. Nirsch would have to keep him back from any firefight that might await them. Brett’s dad, Pat, had been in the Marine Corps and had served two tours in Vietnam, so Nirsch wasn’t worried about him. Bill had also fought in Vietnam, and Nirsch knew how tough he was after working with him on the ranch for twenty-plus years. Larry was a D.C. cop, and with the murder rate in the nation’s capital, Nirsch knew Larry would be able to handle most anything that came his way. Everyone had serious, expectant expressions on their faces. They looked like a pack of wolves surrounding a wounded elk.

  “I don’t know how many people we’re dealing with,” Nirsch said. “I saw at least five bedrolls in the front room. If someone’s staying in the bedroom, that makes six.”

  “How do we know that the people staying there aren’t guests?” Pat Hanson asked. “Maybe Charlie and Lorraine took some folks in, to help them out. We all know how giving and generous they are.”

  “I don’t think so,” Nirsch said. “We know what kind of a house that woman keeps. There’s no way she could live in the mess I saw through the window this morning. We also know Charlie runs a tight ship. He’d never allow his kitchen to be jury-rigged. There’s no doubt about it. Something is very wrong.”

  “What do you have in mind, Boss?” Bill asked.

  “We’ll go together until we get to the top of Starr Ridge. Then we’ll split up. Pat and Brett will work their way farther down the ridge, come in from the far end of the pasture, and take positions on either side of the house. They’ll set up about 150 yards out, where they can watch the windows and both doors. Bill, you’ll take a position from the loft in the barn. Larry and I will approach the front and back doors. We’ll have a nice conversation with the occupants, and hopefully they’ll come out and fill us in on the whereabouts of Charlie and Lorraine.”

  “Dad, are you still here?”

  “We’re in the kitchen, son.”

  Adam came into the kitchen covered with feathers, holding a turkey carcass in each hand. He had turkey blood up to his elbows and a smile on his face a mile wide.

  “I got all the chores done and the turkeys cleaned,” he said. “Here, Mom.” Adam handed the birds to Michelle. “I’ll clean the guns as soon as I wash up.”

  “Where’d you get the turkeys, Adam?” Brett asked.

  “Me ‘n Dad got ’em today! You should have seen it. Dad called them all the way in. They must have run a mile to get to us. My dad’s the best turkey caller in the world. When they got close enough, we both shot at the same time, and got ’em both. It was awesome. Mine has the biggest beard!”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-inch-long clump of turkey beard.

  “Wow!”

  “Nice bird!”

  “Good job!”

  Adam stood up straight and as the praise from the men around the kitchen table cascaded over him. He walked to the wash basin and filled it with water. “It wasn’t that big a deal,” he said.” Me and Dad usually do pretty good when we go huntin.”

  Nirsch watched everyone doing their best not to laugh. But it was time to end the levity. “I think we’d better get going,” he said. “The moon is up enough to give us some light. I want to get there about the time whoever it is has settled in for the night.”

  The five of them rode out at nine into a chilly, silvery spring night. Nirsch thought back to the Saturday afternoons he’d spent with Adam watching John Wayne and Clint Eastwood movies. He smiled and turned the collar of his coat up against the cold breeze.

  “Yup, we’re a genuine posse.”

  They rode in silence for fifteen minutes. Brett Hanson rode up alongside Nirsch and cleared his throat.

  “Pretty cold night, huh?” Brett said.

  “It would be a lot worse if we were making this trip in January.”

  “At least we got a moon.”

  Nirsch had the distinct feeling that Brett Hanson did not want to talk about the weather. “What’s on your mind, Brett?”

  “Well sir, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now, but didn’t quite know what I was going to say. Sir, I want to, well what I mean is, I would—”

  Nirsch cut him off. “One thing I’ve learned over the years is if you’ve got something to say, it’s best to be brief and to the point. So young Mr. Hanson, spit it out, and don’t hold back.”

  “Sir, it’s about Jillian.”

  Even though he knew this time would come, and he thought he was ready for it, Nirsch’s heart sank and he suddenly had a giant lump in his throat. He tried not to show it and spoke with phony calm edging his voice. “Go on, Brett.”

  “Jillian and I have been friends since we were just little kids. We’ve ridden together, fished and hunted together, worked together branding and haying. She is one of the toughest girls I know, and the prettiest, as well as one of the best friends I’ve ever had. This last five months since the attack, everything changed. I don’t know why or what’s different. I just know I think about her a lot more, and differently. I still like hanging out with her, and doing things together. But lately, I find myself thinking about her all the time. I wonder how she’s feeling. I get sad when she’s sad, I’m happy when she’s happy. I get excited when she’s around, and I get butterflies when she talks to me. What I’m trying to say, sir, is I love her, and I want to marry her. I respect you, sir, and I would like your blessing and your permission to ask her.”

  They rode side by side for several minutes before either spoke again. Nirsch could feel the tension. He finally spoke just before they reached the top of Starr Ridge.

  “Jillian is my only daughter, and I will always think of her as my little girl. It’s hard to believe she will be nineteen in July. I have always liked your family and I have great respect for your dad. I see a lot of him in you. I am going to give you my blessing, young man.”

  “Oh, thank you sir! I will prom—”

  Nirsch held up his hand. “Slow down there, Brett. How much do you know about my background and what I used to do for a living?”

  “Not much, sir. I know you worked for the government and Jillian couldn’t really talk about it.”

  Nirsch began talking slowly, doing his best Sylvester Stallone “Rambo” impersonation.

  “I made sure justice was served in various locations around the globe. I did this by any means necessary. What this means is, if I had to kill someone who was threatening the safety and security of the innocent, I did so swiftly, with no equivocation. You need to know one thing before you go any further.”

  Nirsch raised his voice slightly, slowed his speech, added a little growl, and narrowed his eyes.

  “As I said, Jillian is my only daughter, and she will always be my little girl. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her to make sure she’s happy. Just as there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. Before you move forward and ask her, know this. If you ever get out of line and strike her in anger, or abuse her trust, or take advantage of her love for you in any way, I will make sure justice is served.”

  Nirsch said this last sentence in a low, raspy whisper. Brett turned ghostly white and looked as
though he might pee.

  “Yes, sir,” he managed to choke out. “I promise I will make sure she is always happy.”

  “I am sure you will make her very happy.”

  It was all Nirsch could do not to laugh. If Michelle had heard what he just said, she would have kicked him, and he’d be sleeping in the barn for a while.

  The posse broke over the top of the ridge. Nirsch reached over, intending to pat Brett on the shoulder as they met up with Pat. Brett winced and drew back like an abused puppy. Nirsch again fought off laughter, reached out a little farther, and patted him on the shoulder.

  “This is where we split up,” he said. “Pat, you take the south ridge, and Brett, you set up on the north ridge. Make sure you have a full view of the front and back yards before you settle in. Check your watches. We’ll give you twenty minutes to get set up, and then we’ll come down and sort this out.”

  Brett and Pat rode off, leaving Nirsch, Bill, and Larry. Nirsch reflected on his conversation with Brett. He wasn’t too thrilled with the thought of Daddy’s little girl growing up and possibly having a baby of her own soon. Where did the time go? It seemed like yesterday that he was bouncing her on his knee, having tea parties with her, and praying monsters out of her closet. Now some boy was asking for permission to marry her. He liked Brett enough. He came from a good, God-fearing, hard-working American family. Great-grandfather Nirsch settled this country with Brett’s third great-grandfather. They’d weathered the Great Depression and two world wars together, and now their two families were once again facing diversity side by side. Nirsch had no doubt Brett would care for Jillian, and that he was strong enough to protect and provide for her. Nirsch chuckled as he recalled the look on Brett’s face when he told him what he’d do if he hurt her. Priceless. He could also imagine the disapproving look Michelle would give him when she found out he’d had “the talk” with him.