Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds

by Joe Nobody

  To many farmers, it was as if the Great Wall of China were being built directly through the center of their fields.

  Tractors, combines, and other implements couldn’t just cross the multilane freeway to plant or harvest the crops or care for livestock. In fact, such slow-moving machinery wasn’t even allowed to utilize the freeway. Access points, such as overpasses and crossroads, were often several miles away. How was the rancher to cross the road?

  As the federal government quickly discovered, the “fair” value of a thin strip of land was minor compared to the financial impact realized by an individual citizen. Over time, the court’s and public opinion agreed, and the cost of construction soared.

  Williams continued his explanation and justification of the new rules and regulation. After nodding at the projectionist, he then pointed to the large display and said, “In the future, the Alliance will again exercise a similar process and take possession of unclaimed property.”

  A murmur swept through the crowd, Diana noting the sharp tone of a few individual voices. The unrest didn’t go unnoticed by the man behind the podium.

  “If there are office buildings… or vacant land… maybe a factory or other real estate that are not claimed by legitimate owners, then the Alliance will take possession of the property. This is no different than how every county in the United States did business before the collapse. If a citizen didn’t pay property taxes to the local jurisdiction, the land was taken and then auctioned off for the good of the community. The proposal before you today is no different.”

  The explanation seemed to placate the crowd, or at least most of the naysayers.

  For another 10 minutes, the councilman repeated the rules, covering the specifics of how individual citizens were to go about claiming their property. After wrapping up his portion of the presentation, Councilman Williams returned to his seat followed by a smattering of applause.

  The next item on the agenda was the question and answer session.

  The first man stepping to the floor-mounted microphone was a gentleman who appeared to be in his early 60s and was dressed in apparel that led most onlookers to believe he was a rancher. “My brother didn’t make it through the collapse,” he stated with a sad voice. “I have a copy of his Last Will and Testament, which clearly states his home and land were to be mine if he passed first. Is this strong enough documentation for me to make a valid claim given this new process?”

  The next two citizens of Amarillo to approach the podium all voiced similar concerns and questions. The fourth man to reach the mic was dressed in an expensive looking suit and spoke with a powerful tone as if he were a man comfortable with addressing large gatherings.

  “My question is for Chairperson Brown,” he began, staring at Diana with a hostile gaze. “I wish to ask Ms. Brown how the government intends to compensate citizens who have already had their property seized or destroyed by the Alliance?”

  Diana acknowledged the challenge by approaching the podium. “Thank you for attending this evening, sir. Your question is very broad based, would it be possible to provide a few more details so that I can give you an accurate answer?”

  Despite Diana’s attempt to be accommodating and polite, the questioner seemed to take offense. “You arrived at this evening’s gathering in a very expensive class-A motorhome,” he began with a sneer. “I assume from what I know of your background such a vehicle was not in your possession before the collapse. Is that accurate?”

  “Yes, that is accurate. As the Alliance began to spread across Texas, we acquired several motorhomes from an abandoned dealership on the outskirts of El Paso and have used them for long-distance transportation.”

  Mr. Suit-and-Tie grinned as if he’d caught the rat in a trap. “And did you compensate the owner of that business?”

  “No, not that I’m aware of. We were informed that the owner was deceased. The RVs were just sitting there, rusting away.”

  Pointing an accusing finger at Diana, he barked, “My client is the rightful owner of that RV dealership. He is the son of the owner and was away on vacation when the collapse occurred, only recently able to return to the area. Will he be compensated via these new laws?”

  “No,” Diana replied honestly. “But, he can file a claim on the dealership, and the Alliance will find an alternative source for any future vehicles we may require.”

  Instead of continuing his conversation, Mr. Suit turned and faced the crowd. Spreading his arms wide in appeal, he began addressing the gathering in a bellowing voice. “My fellow Texans, this is not justice. The actions by Miss Brown and her cohorts were illegal, immoral, and go against the grain of the values we all hold true. The rightful owner of this business has suffered millions of dollars of losses, and is unlikely to ever recover.”

  He stopped for a moment, scanning the audience, and then half turned and pointed at the stage. “These thieves… who call themselves our government… they are nothing more than greedy, power hungry thugs who readily admit they have, and will continue to plunder whatever they want. While the rest of us struggle to put food on the table and clothe our children, they are seizing luxury motorhomes and other upscale amenities for personal use.”

  A shockwave traveled through the crowd, many of the attendees surprised that someone would attack Diana so blatantly, others voicing their agreement with the harsh accusations.

  Waiting until the background noise subsided, Diana finally voiced a rebuttal, “Your words are slanderous, sir. I, as well as all of the council members, acted to save lives, restore order, and improve the lot of our neighbors. For over a year, none of us were paid for our service, nor did we receive any special personal benefits. Many of the Alliance’s founders were killed or wounded in the line of duty. All of us put our lives on the line to help our communities. I have no regrets and carry no guilt in my soul.”

  Mr. Suit shook his head in disgust, his voice booming through the arena to drown the crowd’s murmur. “No personal benefits? No special treatment? Let me ask this; where did you get the gasoline and diesel to power your opulent motorhome, Miss Brown? While the rest of Texas was succumbing to malnutrition, sickness, and shivering in the cold, dark corners of the rubble, where did the fuel come from?”

  Diana didn’t get a chance to answer.

  A man two rows back stood, his chest heaving in anger, his fist shaking at Mr. Suit he yelled, “Why you lowlife piece of shit, I’ll kick your ass!”

  Someone else shouted, “Wait! Wait! I want to hear her answer!”

  “That bitch was driving around with her ass wrapped in leather seats while my kids were starving?” another voice cried.

  Everyone started talking at once, the volume increasing exponentially as all wanted their voices heard. Hundreds of people were now standing, some shouting insults at Mr. Suit, others taking out their frustrations on the leadership sitting on the stage.

  The head of Diana’s security team sensed that things were escalating quickly, the din of the crowd now so loud that his men were having trouble hearing his commands through their earpieces.

  Years of frustration, stress, and fear were all percolating just below the surface of the attending masses. Not only had their world been shattered by the apocalypse, but change was also now rolling into their lives at an ever-increasing pace.

  Several islands of dispute developed throughout the seating areas, individuals of varying opinions now bickering with each other. Diana’s team, sensing the rage that was simmering inside the gym, began to collapse their perimeter.

  One man shoved another, sending his flaying arms and legs into the midst of a separate argument. Someone else threw a punch. A woman screamed while another man shouted a warning. A chair flew through the air. A gun was drawn. A shot thundered through the enclosed facility.

  In seconds, absolute bedlam erupted.

  Screaming, alarmed people were rushing for the exits, the swirling horde of humanity moving in all directions like a school of fish trying to escape the shark. W
hile long guns weren’t allowed at the meeting, a vast majority of the attending survivors carried pistols. More and more shots rang out as the panic and desperation intensified.

  In a flash, Diana was surrounded by her bodyguards. With their weapons drawn, the four stout men literally lifted her off the ground with the press of their well-conditioned frames. “Get her out! Get her out!” the team leader shouted over the chaos.

  The plan had always been to egress through the same side door that Diana had used to enter, the sanctuary of her motorcade being close by. As the security team pushed and muscled their way through the pandemonium, they soon found the route blocked by dozens and dozens of people all trying to exit via the same door… and all at the same time. The few deputies assigned by Sheriff Watts had mostly been stationed outside. Their eagerness to enter at the same moment when everyone else was trying to leave added to the gridlock. The surging, struggling mass of flesh was wedged tight in the threshold, horrific sounds coming from the throats of those being crushed by the throng.

  The body of a trampled woman tripped one of Diana’s protectors, another knocked to the floor by a fast-moving fistfight.

  Realizing there was no hope of pushing his charge through the exit door, the team leader spied an empty corner that, for the moment, was unoccupied. “Over there! Get her over there!” he commanded.

  In a flash and blur of movement, Diana found herself shoved roughly against the concrete block wall. “Get down!” one of her men commanded.

  The Alliance’s top official found herself kneeling in the corner, peering out at the riot through the legs of her protectors. Aside from the indignity of being manhandled, corralled, and forced here and there, Diana was infuriated by the violence.

  Just then, she noticed two men who seemed out of place. They were walking across the gym floor, apparently impervious as they strolled with purpose through the whirling upheaval. Something in their steely gaze made her shiver as they made a beeline for her position.

  Before she could shout a warning, both men reached inside their long coats and produced what she recognized as sub-machine guns.

  The security men saw the movement at the same time, someone shouting, “Guns! Guns!”

  The buzz of automatic weapons, combined with the bark of her team’s pistols filled Diana’s ears. One of her men fell, as bullets thwacked into the wall around her.

  Pushed down by the weight of her fallen guardian, Diana longed for her own weapon. She regretted her decision not to carry a piece, now feeling a sense of helplessness as another of her protectors went down. She could feel the hot flow of blood flowing across her face.

  Fear now enveloped her core, her thoughts confused and darting. Defenselessness and vulnerable, she was hopeless. She wanted to help her men fight. She should be giving aid to the wounded. A vision of Nick filled her mind.

  It was a one-sided gunfight, the blizzard of spraying lead overwhelming Diana’s men in less than two seconds. One of the attackers went down as her security chief corkscrewed to the floor, a series of slugs tearing through his torso.

  Pinned under the fallen bodies of her team, Diana watched with horror as the surviving attacker slammed a new magazine into his weapon and then began walking toward her with murder in his eye. The man wasn’t angry, frightened, or rushed. His face was that of a calm, cool, professional.

  Some instinct forced Diana to push, struggle, and crawl away. She knew the wall was behind her, the weight of her own men making every muscle ache and strain. Still, her brain screamed for her to retreat… run… get away from the advancing predator.

  The floor was sloppy and wet from the blood and gore, making traction impossible. She saw the machine gun rising to the shooter’s shoulder. Her struggles doubled as a whimper escaped from her throat.

  Her hand came in contact with something hard, the familiar shape of a pistol’s grip in her palm. She could see the assassin’s knuckle tightening against the trigger as her fingers closed around the slick weapon. She wasn’t going to make it.

  Shards of concrete exploded from the wall next to her head, slicing, stinging debris pelting her skin as the incoming rounds worked toward her face. Diana never noticed.

  Her wrist felt a tug of recoil as she fired, her finger working the trigger over and over and over, pulling as fast as she could command. She couldn’t see anything; no sound reached her ears. There was only silence.

  The world went black.

  Chapter 12

  By the time the outskirts of Alpha appeared on the horizon, Bishop’s frustration and foreboding had peaked. Other than being as kind and gentle with his mate as possible, he was stumped for a way to help his wife heal.

  In addition to the obvious source of Terri’s foul mood, Bishop couldn’t help but ponder Chase’s part in the entire affair. Well past the anger he had experienced that first night, the Texan had spent significant mental resources trying to figure out the ambassador’s angle.

  The man’s surprising appearance at the registrar’s office had not only been ill-timed, but also unjustified. What possible knowledge could Chase have expected to gain from such an odd endeavor?

  For the last few miles into town, Bishop tried to push aside his personal dislike of the U.S. diplomat and approach the mystery from a cool-headed, logical perspective.

  Again, he had failed, unable to arrive at any reasonable explanation.

  “Do you ever think about what our life would have been like if everything hadn’t gone to hell?” Terri’s voice questioned out of the blue.

  “Yes, on occasion… I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on it. The collapse was something neither of us could control.”

  “Of course, you’re right,” she said in a hushed monotone. “Still, I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like to cook dinner in a real kitchen and put Hunter to sleep in his own room.”

  Bishop knew his wife was in a very delicate place. He had to choose his words carefully. “Do you think you would have been that much happier?”

  It was Terri’s turn to vet a response. Only a small fraction of her discomfort bleeding through with her next words. “I don’t think ‘happier’ is the word I would use. I love Hunter and you. And both of you make me a very happy girl. What I keep going over is far more complex than feeling happy or sad. Seeing the old neighborhood got me to longing for more of a permanent existence… of having a station in life.”

  “I understand,” Bishop began. “Shelter is not the same as a home. A roof over our head is the same as establishing a place to raise children or call our own.”

  “I’m glad you get it,” Terri said, a small smile showing at the corners of her lips. “I don’t blame you, nor am I angry with the world. No one could ask for a better mate than you, darlin’. But… going back to Houston has opened a jumbo-sized barrel of monkey-questions. I’ve been sitting here asking myself how long it will be before Hunter has a real home, not just four walls and a roof. What has to happen before we stop sailing dangerous seas and drop anchor in a safe, stable port? I’m feeling the need for establishment… to lay a foundation for our family.”

  “Let me ask you this,” Bishop replied. “I’m sure we both agree that the residence we just left isn’t a neighborhood where either of us would want to put down roots any more. I’d be pissed at the realtor for even showing it to us. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, I agree. But… I’m not speaking of any specific town or address, I’m talking about a community where we could live what I used to consider a normal life.”

  Terri was resurrecting want had always been a minor point of friction in their relationship. When it had been utilized as a hunting lodge and weekend getaway, the ranch’s isolation was actually a positive attribute. She had often accompanied him to the remote locale just to escape the hustle and bustle of suburbia.

  He had always known it was not even close to her idea of a preferred retreat. As the newness of their marriage had faded, she occasionally would stay home, sending him on the jou
rney to West Texas alone.

  Bishop had always written it off as discomfort with the primitive facilities and barren landscape surrounding the old camper. Now, after having been forced to live full-time at the isolated location, he realized that there was more to it than any lack of a flushing toilet or microwave oven.

  In no way did her lack of enthusiasm come across as a negative. The fact that his wife didn’t share his love of the secluded environment actually made her the healthier example of humanity.

  Bishop’s work and the trauma associated with carrying a weapon for gainful employment prompted the Texan to crave being a hermit of sorts. He not only tolerated being alone better than most, he actually enjoyed it. Bishop could remember several times, after returning from a particularly difficult assignment, when the ranch had been his salvation.

  Terri, on the other hand, was like most healthy human beings. She needed social interaction, conversation, and a sense of belonging.

  In some ways, the ranch’s isolation had helped both of them through traumatic times following their bug-out from Houston and the events that followed. The quiet surroundings had allowed both of them to recover after the worst of the post-collapse episodes.

  Before the recovery had taken hold, Bishop had even held out hope that the secluded stretch of land would one day be their permanent home. Much of the fantasy had been fueled by a lack of any other reasonable alternative. They had even contacted an architect at one point, discussing the possibility of the man drawing a special design to marry well with the box canyon.

  Now, the ranch would have to be low on any reasonable person’s priority list when it came to choosing an address. It was going to take years to build a herd, and Bishop’s gardening skills hadn’t exactly been top-shelf. Even the wild game in the area was in decline.

  “We will find a place to call home,” Bishop said firmly. “I can’t promise when or where, but I won’t rest until we have someplace to begin over again.”