“Alright, General Thompson, you have your meeting. I’ll have it scheduled today for thirteen-hundred hours.”
The general’s eyes indicated how grateful he was for Colonel Jones’ cooperation.
“Thank you, Colonel. This will be our true beginning.”
Colonel Jones turned around with eyes narrowed.
“Let’s hope it isn’t also the end as well. We’ll have no room for error, General.”
General Thompson was about to respond when both men were silenced by the sound of an approaching aircraft. The colonel returned to the window, confused by the unmistakable, massive outline of a C-5 military transport aircraft.
“That bird wasn’t scheduled.”
Just then the colonel’s desk phone blared to life, momentarily startling both officers.
The phone code indicated the call was coming from the main entrance guard tower. The colonel snatched up the phone’s receiver.
“This is Colonel Jones.”
General Thompson watched and listened in silence as the colonel had a message relayed from one of the two airmen guarding the base entrance.
“What? I see. Ok, let them in.”
The colonel slowly returned the phone to its cradle and then glanced over at General Thompson who continued to stand silently awaiting an explanation as to what was going on.
“We have visitors, General.”
Both men peered through the window blinds as a row of black, federal government limousines passed just underneath the colonel’s office on their way toward the base’s primary air strip where the C-5 had just recently landed. The parade of limos numbered seven in total and were accompanied by four battle-ready Humvees, each carrying six heavily armed soldiers.
Colonel Jones suddenly backed away from the window, his face pale as a layer of sweat sprung from his forehead.
“That’s Admiral Briggs!”
General Thompson confirmed it was indeed the man who had replaced him as Joint Chiefs Chairman.
“Any idea why he would be here?”
The colonel shook his head.
“No…clearly it’s something beyond my pay grade.”
General Thompson already had a good idea of what the admiral was doing at the base given his presence also included the arrival of the C-5. In addition to the admiral were several more high-ranking military officers, an older man the general recognized as a member of Congress, and several more women and children who were obviously family members of the others.
“They’re relocating. This is where they’re taking off from. Those people down there likely represent much of what’s left of the Martial Law government’s chain of command.”
General Thompson’s face suddenly recoiled from the window, a reaction that did not go unnoticed by the colonel.
“What is it?”
The general cleared his throat, and when he replied, his tone dripped darkness. The upper right corner of his mouth curled into a snarl as he spat out the name.
“Dr. Fenwick Sage – he’s down there too.”
General Thompson began to make his way toward the door leading to the hallway outside the colonel’s office.
“Wait! You won’t do any good storming out there like that. I’m the one who should be greeting them. You’ll just get yourself shot and they’ll initiate an investigation of every single individual assigned to this base. They’re armed to the teeth out there. The resistance will be terminated before it even had a chance to start. Use your head you damn fool!”
As soon as he spoke the words the colonel’s face reddened as he stood silently awaiting the retort he thought certain to come from the four-star general he had just called a fool. Instead, General Thompson stopped and hung his chin against his chest while running his right hand over the top of his head. He was a man desperate to try and find his family and to deliver revenge for what had been done to so many throughout the country. He looked up at Colonel Jones and nodded.
“You’re right, I’m not thinking. You go out there and do your thing. Try and get as much information from them as possible on what they’re up to. I’ll stay here and wait for your return.”
The colonel grabbed the formal dark blue military officer jacket that hung from a coat rack located just behind the office entrance and quickly put it on. He then gave the general a quick salute and made his way into the adjoining hallway.
It was less than a minute later that General Thompson watched the colonel approach the gathering of limousines and Humvees outside. He stopped and saluted Admiral Briggs and then gave a curt nod to Dr. Sage after the admiral introduced Sage to Colonel Jones. A brief conversation ensued followed by Admiral Briggs walking swiftly toward the awaiting C-5 aircraft with most of those who had arrived at the base following close behind.
Fenwick Sage remained looking up at and speaking with Colonel Jones while the armed soldiers stood carefully monitoring the interaction between the two men. Soon after, the C-5 made its way down the runway, its massive grey metallic frame easing itself off the ground and then slowly ascending into the cloud cover above where it disappeared from view.
Then a second aircraft drifted downward and landed onto the runway. This one was a fully armed, AH-64 Apache helicopter. The chopper’s normal sand-green hue had been replaced with a fresh coat of blue paint accompanied by the letters EPA emblazoned in white on each of the rear quarter panels.
Sage gave Colonel Jones a quick nod and then made his way toward the chopper escorted by two of the armed soldiers walking on either side of him. The EPA official strutted like some modern Napoleon, his chin jutting upward in a show of absolute certainty of his own power and importance. Soon, just as the C-5 had done earlier, the Apache chopper drifted upward and then disappeared into the low-hanging clouds.
Colonel Jones gave the soldiers a quick salute while watching them restart the Humvees and proceed slowly toward the exit gate. He waited several minutes to make certain they were in fact gone from the base and then withdrew a small hand-sized walkie-talkie from an interior pocket of his officer jacket and communicated to the gate guards that no other non-base personnel were to be allowed entrance onto the base.
The colonel, grim-faced, then looked up at the general who remained peering through the blinds, and gave a quick nod indicating he was on his way back up to his office. When Colonel Jones closed the door behind him, General Thompson instantly sensed the aura of foreboding that accompanied the colonel’s arrival.
“What is it, Colonel?”
Colonel Jones turned around but avoided the general’s gaze. He appeared uncertain how to answer. General Thompson stood waiting until finally Colonel Jones took a deep breath and met the general’s stare.
“The rumors are true. Admiral Briggs is relocating Military Command to Cheyenne. He intends to focus entirely on the foreign threats in the hopes of avoiding all out war with the Russians and Chinese. Everything else civilian related, the militarized urban zones, the rural areas, the day to day economy, food and water supplies, energy production…everything falls under the direction of Dr. Sage.”
General Thompson felt himself inhale sharply, the air passing between his pierced lips like a cold blade.
“WHAT?”
Colonel Jones sat down behind his desk and shook his head.
“I don’t have the first hand knowledge of who this Sage really is like you, General, but in the short time I had to listen to him tell me what he intended, I can understand now why you wanted to kill him. The man is clearly a psychopath.”
General Thompson paced the small interior of the colonel’s office as his mind still struggled with the prospect of Fenwick Sage having carte blanche control over the entirety of the American civilian population.
“Why in the hell would Briggs promote Sage to de-facto dictator?’
Colonel Jones tilted his head slightly to the right.
“The admiral appeared terrified. I saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice. He doesn’t know what to do and apparently th
is Sage has convinced the admiral that he is the one who can restore order.”
General Thompson unleashed a barrage of whispered curses under his breath as he fought off an approaching headache.
“It gets worse, General.”
Thompson wasn’t surprised by the statement. At that point nothing about the extent of Fenwick Sage’s potential for evil would surprise him. Not anymore.
“Sage intends to initiate what he called a defense of resources program.”
The general gleaned from the title of the program its likely horrific implications even before Colonel Jones proceeded to elaborate.
“The primary component of that program is an immediate reduction in the population to more sustainable levels.”
General Reg Thompson was a student of human history. He knew all too well the inherent potential for brutality perpetrated by previous governments. Stalin’s USSR was said to have implemented policies that directly led to the deaths of nearly fifty million of its own people, a figure partly represented by a process the communist dictator brazenly termed a liquidation of undesirables.
During his thirty-year reign over China, the Mao Zedong government orchestrated what he called a cultural cleansing that included as many as seventy million deaths. Mao was so determined to carry out this cleansing policy he had annual execution requirements which forced the hand of government officials to meet death quotas throughout the civilian population or face possible execution themselves. Needless to say, those quotas were dutifully met and often exceeded, year after year.
Human nature contains inherent darkness within it, and men like Stalin and Mao did not work to overcome that darkness, but instead embraced it. It appeared Dr. Fenwick Sage was determined to carry on that terrible tradition of government mandated brutality and bloodshed.
“We’re going to stop him…or die trying.”
Colonel Jones nodded his agreement.
“You still want to start with the Gettysburg detention facility?”
General Thompson’s eyes blazed with the fires of impending conflict.
“Yes, that’s where this war will start.”
The general wanted but two things from what was left of his former world. The first was to find his family and the second was to kill Fenwick Sage.
With every fiber of his being he was determined to do both.
-------------------
EPISODE THIRTY-THREE:
Sabina Markson wondered where the sound was coming from. There was music, a single acoustic guitar, and a low, gravelly voice that drifted on the wind from some unknown location.
I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees
I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees
Asked the Lord above, have mercy now,
I went to the crossroad, mama, I looked east and west
I went to the crossroad, babe, I looked east and west
Lord, I didn't have no sweet woman, ooh well,
Babe, in my distress…
She followed the singing through a thick patch of trees until she came to a narrow, paved road across which stood what she first thought to be an abandoned, single-story gas station. The structure’s white paint was faded, cracked and peeling, the two green and red colored pumps out front indicated one for gasoline and the other for diesel.
A large, hand-painted sign hung above the single door entrance to the small store inside that read, Fuel and Such.
In front of the door sat an ancient black man in a handmade wood rocking chair with a guitar resting atop his faded cotton, blue jean covered thighs.
He looked up and stared across the road at Sabina as soon as she emerged from the trees and then gave her a wide, warm smile and motioned for her to make her way to him.
“C’mon, darlin’, I won’t bite!”
The old man appeared delighted by her presence as he pushed himself up onto his feet while carefully leaning the guitar against the front of the building directly behind the chair.
He shuffled forward several steps and extended his thin arms outward as Sabina walked across the road and then paused some ten feet from where he stood.
“Oh, you’ve seen plenty now haven’t you? It’s in your eyes! Such difficult days, my-my-my…”
The old man kept his arms spread as he gave Sabina another smile. She marveled at how his dark eyes twinkled with an abundance of cheerful energy even though they were housed within a face and body that had seen so many years.
“Well c’mon then, give me a hug! I’ve been waiting on you, young lady! Was worried you might not make it but here you are and such a pretty thing! My name is Moses. This here is my business and my home. Uppity folks call it a home-business!”
The mother of two couldn’t remember the last time someone had called her young or pretty and quietly admitted to herself how grateful she was to hear the words as she moved forward and allowed the old man’s arms to encircle her and hug her tightly.
He smelled of liniment and an aged book you might find that had been put away for many years in a box in the back of a closet.
With the hug completed, the old man turned around slowly and shuffled back toward his chair.
“I need to get off my feet. The days are getting longer but the time gets shorter.”
Sabina stood and watched Moses lower himself back into the chair after which he looked up and motioned for her to join him.
“Just inside the door is another chair, same as this one. I made them from an old birch tree that had fallen over yonder there after a wind storm. That was…1972. My-my-my where does that time go?”
Sabina reached just past the gas station entrance and withdrew the chair Moses had just indicated was there. She placed the chair a few feet from him and then sat down.
“So tell me, Sabina, are you on your way?”
How does he know my name? We’ve never met.
Moses chuckled, the noise a soft, dry crackle from deep within his narrow chest, a sound that reminded her of just-lit firewood.
“I heard your name from a friend. A very wise lady who wants very much for you to become better acquainted with some other folks she thinks you might like to meet. She talks to me like I’m talking to you, in the space between the now and the then. It’s easier for her to talk to me on account I’m halfway there myself. Would you believe it if I told you I have been on this earth for more than a century? It’s true, though I can hardly believe it myself!”
Sabina couldn’t help but smile at the old man’s natural warmth and kindness and then the smile vanished as she realized Moses had answered a question she had not actually spoken aloud.
“How did you…”
The old black man chuckled again like a clever child thinking they had discovered the secret to the universe.
“Oh, that’s nothing darlin’! It’s like I said, this is the space between the now and the then. Let’s not waste time on that though, because time already getting away from us. I need to know if you are on your way.”
Sabina’s brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry, on my way where?”
Moses’ eyes widened and he shook his head as if Sabina had just said something impossibly crazy.
“Well, on your way to where you’re supposed to be, of course!”
Sabina was about to respond when an ominous rumbling erupted from the darkening clouds that moved slowly across the sky above the gas station. Moses looked up with narrowed eyes and then issued a soft grunt that held equal parts fear and disgust.
“That’s death comin’ for all of us. You best hurry, girl. I’ll be waiting for you, but I don’t have long. It’s time you get to gettin’ before it’s too late.”
A terrifying thunderclap shook the ground beneath Sabina’s feet, causing her to cry out.
Moses stood up on unsteady legs and pointed with his right hand toward the road leading away from the gas station.
“You best be get going, Sabina Markson! If you want to keep your children safe, if they are to have a
chance for a life of their own, this is the path you must take.”
A brilliant flash of lightning dissected the sky, followed by another and yet another before the rumble of thunder returned.
Sabina screamed as she watched Moses lean toward her with a bullet hole oozing blood from the center of his wrinkle-creased forehead.
“Don’t mind that! Get moving! You got to hurry, woman! Drive that thing as fast as you can and don’t look back! They’ll want you to stay, and you might think it a good idea, but it ain’t! Keep on going! I’ll be here waiting, but my time is short, so don’t you go wasting it!”
Collapse Fiction: RACE WARS: SEASON SIX: Episodes 31-36: A Time For Choosing Page 3
