I am speaking to you directly now, General Thompson. It was you who ordered the air strike on Camp David. It was you who orchestrated the terrorist attack against Washington D.C. It was you who murdered innocent government officials who were merely doing their job. And it is now you who would send thousands more to their deaths in a hopeless cause of your own making. Your sickness will no be allowed to spread.
The thing once called America has entered an essential transformation. That is our present reality. We must embrace it so that we might all reap the benefits. You would take those benefits away from the millions who deserve them, General Thompson. We have formed an alliance between ourselves, the United Nations, and the cooperating governments of Russia and China. This is a good thing, not something to be feared or to have people fight against.
That is why I am calling on all others to seek out the domestic terrorist known as General Reginald Thompson. Locate this threat, eradicate this threat, and you will be generously awarded by the new government. I personally guarantee this, and unlike the word of a savage and brutal rogue general, my word is my honor, and my honor is unquestionable.
You say you are coming for me, General Thompson?
Very well then, now I’m coming for you.
The transmission ended.
A thousand miles away inside a well-protected Chicago high-rise sat Dr. Fenwick Sage and his personal assistant, Glenda Green. The doctor turned the power off to the shortwave transmitter, removed his glasses and began to clean them with a white cloth while he waited to hear his assistant’s opinion on his first of what would likely be many more radio broadcasts.
“You’re brilliant. You’re always brilliant, Dr. Sage. This world doesn’t deserve the likes of you.”
Sage returned his glasses to his face and then gave his assistant a quick shrug of his nearly non-existent shoulders, though inside he was immeasurably pleased by Glenda’s praise.
“Ah, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. Something like a fireside chat to the masses, if you will. But will it be effective? Will it draw the general out so that we might finish him once and for all? I already have the United Nations worrying over a possible rebellion inside the Neutral Zone that might then lead to a reaction from the Chinese, the Russians, or both.”
Glenda sat saying nothing, which in turn motivated the doctor to keep talking.
“It’s not all bad news, of course! The population reductions are coming along quite nicely. We’re up to nearly three thousand per day. The Russians and Chinese are struggling to keep up! The U.N. Secretary General has called the program a model of absolute efficiency that will soon become an example to the world, an example I intend to lead beyond Chicago, beyond the Neutral Zone, and beyond the former United States.”
The corners of Glenda Green’s mouth turned downward.
“You intend to lead…what? It was my understanding Protocol X’s ultimate goal was the annihilation of all government, all process and eventually, all of humanity - to set the world right by setting the world completely free of itself.”
The doctor folded his hands in front of him on his desk and attempted a somewhat apologetic smile.
“Well, to a point, of course. Millions will surely be eliminated, as they were during my grandfather’s time, and thus resource allocation will be vastly improved as the strain upon those resources will be greatly reduced, but I don’t feel the need to go further than that! I consider this an opportunity to provide the kind of leadership the world has never truly seen, at least not in the modern era. True leadership, without compassion, without pretense, without pretending to care about things not worthy of such attempted fakery.”
“So you mean to say that because you are now close to acquiring even greater power, it is the accumulation of that power that interests you the most?”
His assistant’s questioning criticism both stung and angered the doctor’s fragile ego, causing him to clench his fingers tightly against one another.
“I am saying, Ms. Green, that what I intend is what I intend and your opinion of said intention is of little merit should it disagree with the outcome.”
“And that outcome would be you ruling the world?”
Fenwick Sage flashed a hungry smile. He was unable to hide just how much he desired that very thing.
“We shall see, Ms. Green, we shall see.”
Glenda stood up and gave the doctor a thin, weightless smile.
“Well, keep me informed of your progress, Doctor. I am off to some forsaken place in North Dakota, of all places.”
Sage’s interest was piqued.
“North Dakota? What would possibly require your attention there?”
“It would seem a gathering of sorts. Reconnaissance has indicated movement of hundreds, perhaps thousands, toward a location in the northwest corner of the state. I need to go there to determine the actual numbers and if it’s a potential threat to your authority. You know, if we had satellite capability up and running again, it would make surveillance far quicker and more accurate.”
Sage sighed, both annoyed and intoxicated by his assistant’s grasp of the Neutral Zone’s new government logistics.
“Yes, that is being worked on as we speak, Ms. Green. The Chinese and Russians are both doing their best to keep us in the dark here, but it will be a matter of days, perhaps a week or two at most, and then the military satellite system will be operational once again.”
Glenda tightened the front of her tight-fitting jacket and gave the doctor a look that suggested she wasn’t entirely certain he could actually make good on his promise.
“Well, let’s hope it isn’t too late by then, Doctor.”
“I thought you just told me I was brilliant, Ms. Green?”
The doctor’s assistant nodded while keeping her eyes locked onto Sage’s.
“I’m certain you’ve heard the expression, too smart for your own good?”
“Are you accusing me of that? Do you think me not up to the task of expanding the power that begins and ends at this desk?”
Glenda shook her head.
“No, Doctor, I’m merely reminding you that there are thousands, tens of thousands out there who are ready to fight to take back what they are convinced you took from them. You’re not entirely immune from that effort sitting in this tower high above it all. We would all do well to remain especially vigilant of the multiple threats against us.”
Sage’s voice was the soft hiss of the snake warning a potential disturbance to leave it alone.
“Have a safe trip to North Dakota, Ms. Green.”
Glenda Green gave the doctor another thin smile that was far more mocking than kind, turned on her high-heeled shoe, and exited the office. Fenwick Sage turned his chair around to face the Chicago cityscape as his mind crawled over the details both said and unsaid of his just-concluded conversation with his assistant. He needed to initiate a show of force, an undeniable victory that would quell any festering threat of an insurgence.
It was at that moment Sage decided he would follow Glenda Green to North Dakota to make certain himself that whatever threat she thought might be manifesting itself there, was wiped out.
He would prove to her his ability to rule regardless of the cost.
He would prove it to everyone.
---------------
SEASON TEN COMING SOON!
FREE excerpt of: THE IRISH COWBOY
For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.
Romans 3:23
…Sheriff Potts saw Hap Wilkes staring at him with the all too familiar intensity of a man who had lived under the open Montana sky all his life. They were eyes Dillon’s father had remarked some years ago, always warned of an approaching storm, their hazel green flash like the clap of thunder, a call to others that they would do well to seek cover.
Though now an old man, Hap Wilkes had once been considered by most around Savage to be among that area’s toughest. He didn’t suffer fools, and had a well earned reputati
on for letting anyone know it. Dillon’s father Stan, himself someone few would have wanted to tangle with twenty or thirty years earlier, whispered to Dillon as Hap walked by during Jan Wilkes’ funeral, “There goes the toughest man I ever known.”
That was ten years ago, and as the sheriff pulled his car up to the Wilkes’ home, he was saddened to see how much older Hap now looked. The stroke had certainly taken its toll, forcing Hap to lean against one of the paint chipped posts holding up the dilapidated front porch as the older man continued to glare at the arriving sheriff.
Beyond the stroke though, was something else. Hap Wilkes had always carried a mystery about him, a sort of invisible, yet impenetrable wall from behind which he kept himself hidden. It was a condition beyond his simply being a quiet man. Sheriff Potts had long considered Hap Wilkes to be a person inflicted by some kind of terrible, deep regret. There had been rumors of what that regret might have been many years ago, when the sheriff was but a boy, but such talk faded as the tellers of that tale died off, and the world stopped caring about the long ago lives of old men.
Every Sunday, as predictable as the rising of the sun, Hap Wilkes could be found sitting in the very back of the small Catholic church that had served the Savage community for the last century. The rancher said nothing while he listened to the Morning Prayer, his mouth drawn downward in a perpetual frown, his eyes seeming to never blink. So too was the rancher’s Sunday attire always the same. A dark blue dress shirt under a grey jacket, matching grey slacks, and black dress shoes that were polished to a bright sheen every Saturday evening, the only other pair of footwear the rancher owned besides his long worn cowboy boots.
Sheriff Potts casually noted Hap’s presence on Sunday, while he sat with his own family at the front of the church. By the time the Sheriff, his wife, and their two daughters rose to leave, Hap Wilkes was already long gone, driving in his rust battered 1948 black Ford pickup truck back to the ranch, and the solitude he so clearly craved.
“Hello there Mr. Wilkes, I apologize for the unannounced visit, but your phone service was disconnected some time ago.”
Hap stood silently watching the sheriff while Dog stood next to the rancher doing the same.
“Anyways, uh, I’m here to let you know the Feds have been holding some meetings about your property Mr. Wilkes, specifically, about those horses that run around out here. Seems there was a study done a few years back, and uh, well, they think there might be an endangered species being harmed by that herd of horses. Apparently it’s some kind of lizard. I don’t have all the particulars just yet, but they contacted my office saying they were having trouble getting a hold of you, so I figured it’d be better if I were the one to come out here and give you the heads up.”
Hap’s posture straightened as his eyes flashed the approaching storm Dillon recalled his father describing to him years ago.
“Is that what you’re doing here Sheriff? Giving me a heads up?”
The rancher’s voice was a rasping whisper, barely audible, yet somehow easily understood.
“Yes Mr. Wilkes, it is. I figured you would rather have me be the one to show up unannounced rather than a bunch of people from the Bureau of Land Management.”
Dog had begun to growl again, the sound mimicking the silent noise coming from Hap’s eyes.
“You say the Feds want to come onto my property?”
Dog’s growl grew more intense.
“Yes sir, that is what they intend to do first thing tomorrow morning. They need to take foliage samples, observe the herd, stuff like that, I don’t know.”
Hap Wilkes held his right hand in front of Dog’s nose, quieting the animal’s growling, then looked back up to continue staring down at the sheriff. Finally, Hap turned to gaze out across his property, clearing his throat as his eyes settled on Vaughn’s Hill. His low whispering voice carried back to the Sheriff, even though his eyes remained fixed on the hill.
“These Feds you mention, the Bureau of Land Management, they have a problem with the horses?”
Sheriff Potts shifted on his feet, sensing the storm still brewing within the aged rancher.
“Yes, from what I understand, they have concerns about the endangered species around these parts. That the horses are damaging the lizard’s natural environment.”
Hap removed his tattered cowboy hat and brushed it off against the side of a pair of very faded and worn blue jeans as he shook his head slowly from side to side.
“I figure them horses and those lizards been sharing that same piece of land out there long before any of us, or these Feds, were ever a speck in God’s eye.”
The sheriff silently found himself in total agreement with what the rancher was saying, but he also knew where the federal government was concerned, it would do what it wanted, common sense be damned.
“I understand, Mr. Wilkes, and I sympathize with what you’re saying, but they’ve completed the initial study, and now they intend to walk the property tomorrow and either confirm or deny the need to intervene.”
Sheriff Potts clearly heard the sound of thunder in Hap Wilkes’s voice, as Dog began growling again.
“And just what the hell does intervene mean in this situation, Sheriff? This here is my land, not theirs. You understand that, right?”
The sheriff placed his hands on his hips and nodded.
“I do, but like I said Mr. Wilkes, this doesn’t have anything to do with my understanding. It’s the government, and you know, if they think they need to look around, that’s what they’re going to do, and there’s not a thing to be done about it.”
The rancher made his way down the two steps of his porch, grimacing each time his left foot bumped across the surface. Despite the lame leg, and Hap’s advanced years, the sheriff realized more than a shadow of that legendary toughness his father had remarked on a decade earlier yet remained within the worn frame of Hap Wilkes.
“I asked you a question Dillon Potts. Don’t play politician with me boy. What do these people mean by intervene? What do they think they can do on my property?”
The Sheriff noted how Hap had addressed him without using the title of sheriff, no doubt reminding Dillon the rancher knew his father long before Dillon had come into the world.
“I was told they will have to relocate the herd, possibly sell them off.”
Hap Wilkes forced his spine to straighten to nearly his full height of just over six feet and then he spit within inches of Sheriff Potts’s boots. The rancher’s narrowed eyes expressed his outrage at the thought of anyone coming and taking a herd of horses that had made their home on his property since a time when America was still young.
“Like hell they will. You let those Feds know they step one foot on this property, and I’ll put them in the dirt! Those horses belong here as much as anyone or anything! You hear me Dillon Potts? Tell them there’s one mean old man with nothing to lose who’s willing to blow them all to hell before I see them lay one hand on those horses! You tell ‘em that!”
Sheriff Potts took a step back, realizing he could no longer see Hap’s dog, sensing the animal was circling around him.
“I need you to calm down Mr. Wilkes, ok? Making threats against federal workers who just want to do their job isn’t going to make this situation any better. I need you to move back, and call your dog.”
Hap Wilkes shook his head, his deeply lined, sun-worn face a mask of disappointment and disgust.
“Boy, you ain’t ever gonna be the man your father was, or the sheriff he was either. Get off my land. Get off my land, and don’t you or any of them Bureau of Land Management rats ever think of coming here again. I mean it boy, you’re gonna wake up a whole mess of trouble if I see any of you around my home. You all leave me, my property, and those horses alone.”
The dog’s growl was now directly behind Sheriff Potts, causing the lawman to move his right hand downward to unholster his weapon. The sheriff was shocked both at how quickly Hap Wilkes moved to clamp his right hand over his forearm, as
well as how much power the nearly eighty year old rancher yet possessed. The grip was as strong as any the sheriff had felt before, and certainly stronger than his own.
“No need to be reaching for your weapon boy, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Hell, at my age, there ain’t much left for me to hurt but myself. Just relax now and deliver my message to those Feds. They’re to stay off my land.”
Sheriff Potts felt Hap’s grip relax, and quickly stepped back, careful to let the rancher know he wasn’t going to draw his gun. He knew he had every right to arrest the rancher for assault, but also knew doing so would only make him look weak and reactionary to the community, and God forbid if his dad found out. Dillon was up for re-election next year, and hauling in an eighty year old man over some endangered lizard dispute would not win him any votes with the rural voters who made up the majority of Richland County, Montana.
RACE WARS: Season Nine: “LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER”: Episodes 49-54 of an ongoing post-apocalyptic thriller series... Page 6
