by R. A. Mathis
Contents
Front Matter
Night and Fog
01 HANK
02 COLE
03 HANK
04 MARTHA
05 EDUARDO
06 COLE
07 HANK
08 MARTHA
09 COLE
10 HANK
11 EDUARDO
The Blood of Patriots
Thank You!
EXECUTIVE
ORDERS
Part Two of the Homeland Series
by
R.A. Mathis
Text copyright © 2016 Robert Mathis
All Rights Reserved
Thank you to my wonderful friends and beta readers, Steve, Sam, and Claire. I couldn’t have done this without you.
In addition, thank you, as always, to my loving family for your help, love, encouragement, and support.
This goes doubly for you, Missy.
“The death of one man is a tragedy. The death of millions is a statistic.”
-Joseph Stalin
Night and Fog
Residence of Congresswoman Martha Jefferson
Brentwood, Tennessee
20 Miles South of Nashville
Tuesday, November 10th
One Week After Indefinite Postponement of the Presidential General Election
“How are you feeling?” Medhavin asked.
“Good…Better,” Martha responded to her chief of staff, “Thank you for being here.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” The house was cold, so cold Martha could see her breath. The chill bit into her flesh, making her shiver in spite of the turtleneck sweater she wore. The national power grid went down ten days ago at midnight on Halloween and showed no sign of coming back up.
“You should be with your family.” She looked around her living room at the rest of her staffers buzzing about, writing speeches and speculating about when the power would come back on and the election resume. They were a diverse group, a cross section of age, race, and economic status. “They should all be with their families,” she reiterated.
“Our families are all taken care of. We are here because we believe in you. It’ll all be worth it once everything gets back to normal and we win the election.”
With a wide lead in every national poll, Martha was the favorite to win the White House—unheard of for a third party candidate. But last week’s election was postponed indefinitely by the blackout and ensuing chaos. It was the first time in history. For more than two centuries of disasters, depressions and wars, the peaceful transition of power had always prevailed. Until now. The new President, former director of Homeland Security, Karl Tophet, took power under the Emergency Powers Act and hastily amended the Presidential succession laws after a terrorist attack destroyed the Capitol and wiped out much of the Federal leadership, including the former Commander in Chief and his Vice President. Tophet promised that elections would be conducted as soon as possible once electrical service and order were restored.
Medhavin smiled. “We’re with you to the end.”
“Thank you for everything.” Martha’s husband said as he arrived with two cups of hot coffee fresh from a camp stove set up in the kitchen. He handed one to Medhavin and the other to Martha “Here you go, sweetheart.” He kissed her on the forehead.
“Thank you, honey.” Martha smiled.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I made enough for everybody. I better go before it gets cold.” He set off for the kitchen.
“You’re a lucky woman,” Medhavin said as he cupped his hands around the hot mug.
“I know.” Martha took a sip of her coffee. Its welcomed warmth chased the chill from her bones. “I don’t know what I would do without him.”
Martha watched the steam rise from her cup as she pondered the timing of it all, imagining what might have been—what should have been. “I still can’t believe they think I had anything to do with the attack.”
Medhavin made a dismissive sweep of his hand. “That was just the media talking. Don’t listen to them. Besides, everyone has bigger problems now with the electric out.” He chuckled. “At least one good thing has come from the blackout; it shut the media up for a while.”
“But you saw the news reports. The Justice Department wants to question me about the attack on the Capitol.” Martha shook her head. “Just because I wasn’t in D.C. when it happened.”
“Has anyone from the government contacted you?” Medhavin asked.
“No.”
“Exactly. It’s been over a week since the last report and we’ve had zero contact from the feds. If they really wanted to question you, they would have already done so. It’s not like they don’t know where to find you.”
Martha’s face relaxed. “Yeah. You’re right. It just feels like…”
“Someone’s out to get you?”
“Yes.”
“Welcome to Presidential politics.” Medhavin laughed. “When the government really wants to see you, you don’t go to them, they come to you.”
*****
The government came that night.
Martha and her husband awoke to the sound of shouts and breaking glass a few hours past midnight. Then the shooting started. Automatic fire, shotguns, even grenades.
Medhavin and five staffers burst into Martha’s bedroom and shut the door behind them.
Medhavin said, “You gotta get out of here.”
Martha’s husband replied, “What in the hell is going on?”
“They’re killing everybody,” Medhavin panted.
Martha saw blood flowing from Medhavin’s arm. “Are you okay?”
Boots stomped up the stairs toward the room.
“This way.” Medhavin ran to the window and threw it open. “Hurry!” He looked outside. They were on the second floor, but it looked clear. “Let’s go!”
More shots rang from somewhere in the house.
Martha and her husband threw on their shoes and the eight of them jumped from the window to the frosty ground.
Crack!
One of the staffers, a young man named Riley, yelled and grabbed his leg.
Martha tried to pull him to his feet.
Riley cried out and fell back to the ground. “I think it’s broken!”
Black uniforms ran at them from the corner of the house, faces covered, flashlights mounted on their M4 rifles.
“This way!” Medhavin led the group toward a building across the frozen yard.
Martha’s husband grabbed her arm, yanking her grip from Riley’s arm. “Let’s go!”
“Run!” Riley shouted.
They sprinted across the open ground as bullets ripped the air around them.
Another staffer, an intern name Lydia, fell dead.
“Ooof!” Martha’s husband doubled over.
“You’re hit!” Martha grabbed his arm.
“I’m okay. Let’s go.” He started running again.
The agents caught Riley as he crawled across the frosty grass toward the others.
“No!” he screamed.
Pop!
He fell silent.
Martha and the others finally reached the building. The cold air tore at their tortured lungs. Medhavin led them around back to a car and grabbed a set of keys from his pocket.
He unlocked the doors with the push of a button. “Get in.”
Tires squealed as they sped off into the misty night.
1
HANK
Freeport, Tennessee
230 Miles East of Nashville
Hank stood in the predawn chill of his kitchen, trying for the fifth time to open the pull-tab on the canned meat he
was trying to fry for breakfast. It was another in a growing of frustrations he’d encountered since the recent loss of his left arm.
The sheriff wedged the can under the stump of his shortened limb, trying to steady it while he worked the pull-tab with his remaining hand. The container slipped free and crashed to the floor.
“Dammit!”
He briefly considered shooting the thing open with his service revolver, then took a breath before picking the can up to try again.
Plop!
I fell back to the floor.
“Mother F—”
“Good morning Papaw.” It was his ten-year-old granddaughter, Maggie.
Hank jumped with a start. He thought the child was still sleeping, but she was already dressed and ready for her first day of school since the grid went down. He quickly regained his composure. “Good morning, sweet-pea.”
“Let me help you.” Maggie took the battered can from Hank, opened it, and shook it’s contents onto the counter top. The meat oozed from the tin with a sloppy sucking sound.
Hank struck a match and lit the gas cook top. “I was going to surprise you with a hot breakfast.”
“Now we can make breakfast together.” Maggie smiled up at him. “I like this better.”
“I’ll cook the meat if you want to get us some bread. Just one slice for me, please.” Hank was hungry enough to eat an entire loaf, but their daily food ration was barely enough for one person. He cooked the meat, putting half of it away for super. He kept a thin slice of the remaining half for himself and put the rest on a plate for Maggie.
She looked at the two plates and said, “You need more food than that, Papaw. Here, take some of mine.”
“Nope. You need it. You’re a growing girl.” He held up his meager ration. “This is plenty for me. I’m done growing. Besides,” He nodded to his missing arm with a smirk. “There’s less of me to feed now.”
Maggie blessed the food and they sat down at the kitchen table to eat.
“Have you heard anything about Mamaw?”
Everyone in the county with chronic illness or conditions requiring more than a week of hospitalization were bussed off to a FEMA Advanced Care Center outside of Nashville several days before. Hank’s wife, Betty had gone with them.
“Nothing yet. The FEMA folks say it might be a while. We probably won’t hear anything until after the power comes back on and the phones start working again.
Maggie frowned. “I really miss her.”
Hank put his arm around her.“I know, sweetie. Me too.” He checked the wall clock. “The bus will be here any minute.” He looked back to Maggie. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to school?”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t want the other parents getting mad at you.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Fuel was now being apportioned with such strictness that each household was allowed only a few gallons for emergencies. Wasting the precious liquid by using his squad car to take Maggie to school would likely be seen as an abuse of power. Many citizens were already hostile toward him over his enforcement of the rationing measures.
Hank walked his granddaughter down their driveway to the road as headlights came into view. “Here it comes,” he said to Maggie. They stood, holding hands, as the yellow bus drew near.
The vehicle reminded Maggie of the one her grandmother boarded that cold morning to go the Advanced Care Center. At night, when it was quiet and still, Maggie could still feel Betty’s gentle breath on her forehead as she did when the sweet woman kissed her goodbye.
She wondered where Mamaw was now. Was she okay? Did she miss her family? What was the Advanced Care Center like? Maggie hoped to visit her grandmother soon, but school was her destination today.
Hank asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? I can take you to school on my way to work, or you can just come to work with me if you want.”
Maggie looked up at her grandfather. “I want to do this. I’m ready.”
The bus stopped with a hiss of air brakes and the door folded open.
“Mornin’ Sheriff,” the driver said to Hank.
“Mornin’ Sandra,” he replied, “Take good care of my little girl.””
The driver smiled. “Like she was my very own.”
Maggie kissed Hank on the cheek and boarded the bus. It was almost full, be she found a seat next to a boy her age.
The door closed and the vehicle started back on its route, throwing Maggie off balance as she got to her seat.
“Hi, David,” she said to her classmate.
David didn’t answer.
“You okay?”
David shook his head.
“What’s wrong?”
David wiped his eyes. “They took my daddy away.”
“Who took him?”
“The men in black. They had guns. They took him last night.”
“Why?” Maggie asked.
“They said he was an enemy of the state.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I don’t know. They said it was because he was a preacher. They told Momma to keep her mouth shut and that I better go to school and keep my mouth, too. Or else they’d come back for the rest of us.”
“Where did they take him?”
David shrugged, “I don’t know.”
The bus squeaked to a stop in front of the school.
“It’s them!” David pointed to a man and a woman dark tactical uniforms standing by entrance. ‘FEMA’ was stitched in yellow letters on their chests. Both carried assault rifles. “They took him!” He began to shake. “They’re going to take me too.”
“I won’t let them.” Maggie took his hand. “We’’ll go in together.”
The two stepped off the bus, hand in hand. Both trembled as they approached the school entrance. The agents barely glanced at them as they walked by.
Maggie felt as if a weight was lifted from her chest as she and David walked the familiar halls. They found their classroom, but the woman in it wasn’t their teacher.
This lady was very young with black-rimmed glasses, short hair, and a piercing in her lip. She wore a red jacket, zipped to the neck, and khaki pants. The jacket had a round patch on the left breast with the words, FEMA Corps stitched in bold letters underneath.
“Welcome back to school, citizen.” the woman said cheerfully.
“Where is Miss Clark?” Maggie asked the woman.
The young lady smiled. “She doesn’t teach here anymore.”
“Why not?”
The smile wavered. “Please take your seat.”
“Is Miss Clark okay? Where did she go?”
The smile vanished. “I said take your seat.”
Maggie obeyed, still confused by the new teacher. She sat at her desk and looked around the room. It had also changed. The old map of the fifty United States was gone. A new map of the ten FEMA regions was in its place. A picture of a severe looking man hung atop the map.
Maggie leaned over and whispered to the girl in the next desk, “Who is that?” She pointed to the picture above the map.
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The flag was different, too. It hung on the wall next to the map. The stripes were still there, but the stars were gone. A wreathed blue and white globe took their place.
The bell rang. Nervous students quietly settled into their seats.
“Good morning, citizens. My name is Ms. Dawkins” the young teacher said with a sickly sweetness that turned Maggie’s stomach.
The roll was called and the teacher volunteered two children to hand out little green books to the class.
Maggie examined her copy, turning it over in her hands. The title read, ‘The New World.’
Ms. Dawkins held up her own copy. “This is your new textbook. It is the only textbook you need. It is also your law, your life and your Bible.” She opened her copy. “Please turn to the first page, face the flag and recite the pledge.”
The class read alo
ud under Dawkins’ watchful eye.
“I pledge allegiance to the Party and to the State which we serve, one People, in total obedience, with equity and sustainability for all.”
*****
Hank passed the Food City as he drove to his office at the courthouse. The former grocery store was now the county’s food distribution center. Hank saw the need to conserve vital resources such as food, fuel, and medicine the moment the power went out. A rash of robberies at local stores and pharmacies confirmed his fears. So he ordered all inventory from every grocery store, gas station, and pharmacy consolidated in one spot to make it easier to secure these supplies and make them last as long as possible. Otherwise, most of the county would starve before Spring.
The lines outside the place got longer every day. It got worse when the mayor gave half the county’s food to Dante, the newly emerged warlord in the next county, in exchange for not looting the town. Rations were cut then cut again, but Hank knew they still wouldn’t have enough food to last the winter. They needed more food, but how?
Hank pulled into his parking space in front of the courthouse to see a crowd there waiting for him. There were at least fifty of them. They didn’t look happy. He got out of his patrol car and asked, “What’s going on?”
“We’re hungry, Sheriff!” one of the people exclaimed.
“What are you gonna do about it!” shouted another.
“We’re all hungry,” Hank replied in soothing voice, “but our food supplies won’t last the winter without rationing.”
“The ration ain’t enough. We’re gonna starve if we don’t get more food.”
“Look, folks. We have two choices: hunger now or starvation later.”
“Tell that to my kids! They cry every night ‘cause they’re so hungry.”
“I’m truly sorry,” Hank tried to calm the crowd. “Like I said. We’re all doing without.”
An agitated man put a finger in Hank’s chest. “You don’t look so hungry.” He said to the others, “He’s feeding his face while our kids go to bed hungry!”
“I get the same ration as everybody else.” Hank jabbed his finger back into his accuser’s chest, causing him to retreat several steps. “If you’re pissed about not having enough to eat, talk to the mayor. He’s the one that gave half our food away.”
