by R. A. Mathis
The disgruntled gathering began to break up.
Hank noticed something odd in the front lawn beyond the crowd. A team of inmates was busy building something under the supervision of a deputy. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Mayor’s orders,” replied one of the prisoners as he sawed a board.
Hank walked closer, studying the structure. It was a long, wooden platform, stilted about eight feet off the ground. Large square holes were cut into the floor every few feet. Long, thick posts were laid out on the ground behind each hole, waiting to be raised into place. Hank suddenly realized the men were building gallows.
He started to ask why, but thought better. If he heard “mayor’s orders” one more time, somebody would get shot.
“Hank!” a voice called from the courthouse step. It was Gunny, a grizzled Marine Corps veteran and Hank’s chief deputy. “We got problems.”
Hank walked over to his deputy and asked, “What now?”
Gunny pointed into the courthouse foyer.
Hank looked in to see the ground floor filled with more angry citizens gathered outside his office door. He gave Gunny a puzzled look.
“It’s Sanger and her thugs,” the chief deputy said,”They went around arresting people all last night. Pulled some of ‘em right out of their beds.” Gunny was referring to Special Agent Lucy Sanger, the local FEMA agent-in-charge.
“Who did they get?”
“That’s the weird part. Agent Sanger didn’t go after anybody with a criminal record. They mostly took lawyers, teachers, and almost every preacher in the county.”
Hank screwed up his face. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sure it does.” Gunny raised an eyebrow. “Dictators always take political prisoners.”
“Dammit, Gunny. I said no more of that talk.”
An elderly woman spotted Hank and ran up to him. “Sheriff! Sheriff! They took my husband! They took Ray! He didn’t do anything wrong! Why did they take him?”
Hank recognized the lady. She was his pastor’s wife. He held her hands and tried to calm her. “It’s going to be okay, Edith. I don’t know why they took him, but I’ll get him back. This is just a big mistake.”
“But they kicked our door down.” The woman began to cry. “They punched Ray in the face and handcuffed him,” she sobbed. “In our own home!”
“Do you know where they took him?”
The woman nodded, saying through her tears, “The old drive-in theater. They took everybody there.”
“They will answer for this. I promise.” Hank raised his voice and addressed the rest of the frightened, enraged family members. “I’m going to sort this out right now. Your loved ones will be returned soon and the people who took them will answer for this. You have my word on that.” He turned to Gunny. “Get the names of every person arrested and why they were taken. I’m going to check out the drive-in, then I’ll handle Sanger. But first, I’m going to see Mayor Duncan.”
Hank marched across the railroad tracks to Duncan’s office.
The guards were still at the door. He took his pistol out of its holster and handed it over on his way in, slamming it into the deputy’s chest hard enough to leave a bruise.
“Finbarr!” Hank demanded as he stormed into the mayor’s office. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“How dare you talk to me like that in my own office!” The mayor stood behind his desk. “Who do you think you are?”
“I’ll ask you the same thing. Where do you get off arresting people in the middle of the night. And don’t tell me it was all Sanger’s doing. I know you helped her.” He pointed at the wall in the direction of the courthouse. “And why are you building gallows?”
“Yes. I helped her. I told her who the troublemakers are, the people most likely to resist.”
“Resist what?”
“The new order,” Finbarr said. “Things have changed, Hank. You must know that it will never be the same again. We have to think of the future and our place in it.”
“We were elected to serve and protect the people. You betrayed that trust when you gave up innocent men and women to save your own skin. That makes you a traitor.”
“I’m a survivor.”
“You are Judas.” Hank was suddenly glad the deputies took his pistol.
“The new world is here, Hank. Like it or not. You can climb on board or be crushed under the wheels of progress.”
“Progress?” Hank laughed bitterly. “You call arresting innocent people in the middle of the night progress?”
“Like I said, Hank. I’m just following orders, trying to survive. If you were smart, you’d do the same.”
“Where is Sanger?”
“She’s in her new headquarters.”
“Which is where?”
“First Baptist Church, downtown. She commandeered it yesterday. They chained the doors of all the churches in the county.”
“What the hell for?”
“So people couldn’t meet to plot against the new government.”
“You make me sick.” Hank couldn’t hide his disgust as he turned to leave. “One day you’ll hang from your own noose. I hope I’m there to see it.”
*****
Hank drove to the old drive-in on the outskirts of town. Hank and Betty took their boys here a hundred times when they were little. It was a family favorite. The place went out of business after the owner died, then sat empty for twenty years. Now prisoners lined the interior of chain-link fence surrounding it. Their loved ones crowed on the opposite side.
Sounds of sobbing filled the chill air as FEMA Corps workers erected a new screen over the broken-down remains of the existing one.
He approached the gate. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked an armed guard in tactical uniform and body armor.
“Special Agent Sanger,” the guard replied coldly.
Hank pointed to the prisoners inside the fence. “Why were those people arrested? What are they charged with?”
“All questions are to be directed to Special Agent Sanger.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why these people are imprisoned.”
Another agent appeared. “Return to your vehicle, sir.”
“The hell I will.”
The first guard leveled his M4 at Hank.
The second agent repeated, “Return to your vehicle, sir.”
Hank didn’t budge.
The guard jabbed the muzzle of his rifle into Hank’s chest.
“Return to your vehicle, sir. You will not receive another warning.”
The M4 raised higher to aim at the sheriff’s face.
Hank looked into the guard’s eyes. They were the eyes of a killer. He stepped backward, slowly, until reaching his car.
*****
Hank arrived at what had been the First Baptist Church minutes later. A strange version of the U.S. flag was draped above the entrance. The fifty stars were replaced by the wreathed blue globe of the United Nations. Hank’s hair stood on end as he was reminded of Gunny’s ‘crazy’ theories. More FEMA Corps workers were using a crane to fix an enormous video and sound system to the front of the building.
Once again, he was required to surrender his sidearm before entering—this time to a black-clad FEMA agent guarding the door.
He found Sanger in the sanctuary. The pews were gone, replaced by weapons racks and equipment pallets. The FEMA agent was instructing a subordinate as to how she wanted this new supply room organized.
“Small arms go here.” She pointed to a spot in the floor. “Leave space for heavy weapons and plenty of ammunition. We are expecting a major resupply in a few days.” Sanger pointed to the cross at the head of the room. “And get that out of here. I don’t want to see it again.” She noticed Hank approaching. “Hello, Sheriff. I thought I might see you this morning.” She checked her watch. “You’re right on schedule.”
“You can’t arrest people for no reason, Sanger.”
“Oh, I had a very
good reason. National security. Each detainee will be screened, questioned, and released as long as we don’t find any problems. If they have nothing to hide, they have nothing to fear.” She smiled. “Do you have anything to hide, Sheriff?”
“You don’t have the authority.”
“I have total authority.”
“You expect me to believe preachers are threats to national security?”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything, Sheriff.”
Agents arrived with a rack of M4 carbines, setting them where Sanger had instructed. She took a rifle from the rack and inspected it. She grabbed a magazine from a nearby stack, slapped it into the receiver, charged the weapon and leveled it at Hank. “I only expect one thing from you, Sheriff.”
“What might that be?”
“Complete and total obedience.”
Hank glanced down at the M4 aimed at his chest. “You’re going to be very disappointed.” He turned and walked away.
2
COLE
Fort Campbell, Kentucky
Fifty Miles North of Nashville
The members of Cole’s battalion were dead men walking as they went about their duties. Weapons were cleaned, vehicles maintained, latrines scrubbed. But not a word was spoken. Not a tune was hummed. No smiles. No life. No humanity. Their role in the Nashville Massacre, as it was now called, reduced these hardened veterans to husks of their former selves—automatons following familiar programming without thought or will.
Even the reports of more fellow soldiers being arrested for no reason did not elicit a spark in them. The few men who did speak did so in secret, in small groups, passing along whispers of labor camps and extermination facilities operating across the country.
One such group met in Cole’s quarters, at his request, as the sun sought refuge below the horizon. The lights were off and the windows covered in spite of the growing darkness outside. Unapproved assemblages were considered treasonous under the new regime. Cole stationed his two most trusted soldiers, Private Hicks and Sergeant Reyes, to stand lookout from far enough away as to give the participants time to scatter if Piven’s men came around.
Special Agent Piven was the political officer assigned to Cole’s outfit by the Department of Homeland Security. Every unit from battalion up had one.
“Piven killed the Governor,” Cole said to the gathered leaders of his battalion—what remained of them. The majority of the battalion’s senior officers and NCOs were killed, arrested, or had simply disappeared in the last week.
“That’s a serious charge. If it’s true, we have some tough choices to make,” said Lieutenant Young, now the unit’s senior officer. He asked, “Are you one hundred percent sure Piven fired the shot?”
“I saw the muzzle flash from his vehicle. The Governor went down, then all hell broke loose.” Cole relived the scene as he spoke. The thump of heavy machine guns, the screams of wounded civilians, the acrid smell of cordite. “The street ran red with blood. American blood. And every drop of it is on Piven’s hands.”
“We all heard him on the radio,” another sergeant added, “Even that wasn’t good enough. He wanted us to finish off the survivors.”
“He’s a criminal,” Cole said, “He has to be brought to justice.”
“He’s also a senior agent with the Department of Homeland Security and the battalion political adviser. He has more command over this battalion that I do.”
“You signed your death warrant the second you defied his order to finish off those civilians. And we signed ours the moment we followed your lead.” Cole looked around the room, meeting each man’s eyes. “We all swore an oath. Not to a person, not to to the government, not even the President. We swore to protect the Constitution and the American people. We violated that oath when we allowed ourselves to be manipulated into firing on American citizens. We are now faced with a choice. We can keep our mouths shut and follow orders to arrest and kill more innocent people or we can take a stand now. One choice makes us monsters, the other makes us men.”
His fellow soldiers nodded in agreement.
Cole pointed to the American flag on the shoulder of his uniform. “This still means something.” He held up another patch, the recently issued replacement in the new flag’s ‘globe and stripes’ design. “As for this…” He tossed it to the floor and stomped on it.
Every man in the room followed Cole’s lead by standing and symbolically tramping the new flag underfoot.
A junior lieutenant asked, “So what do we do?”
Young replied. “We get the rest of the division with us. We all have friends in other battalions. Once we are strong enough, we strike. Until then, keep your heads down. Gather ammo and supplies. Build support.”
“What about Piven?” Cole asked. “He won’t let our disobedience stand. We can’t arrest him. We can’t kill him without dooming ourselves.”
“I’ll take responsibility,” Young relied, “I’ll tell him that I contradicted his orders out of shock and that it won’t happen again. Maybe he’ll buy it. If not, it should at least give the rest of you some time to build the resistance.”
A cough sounded from outside.
“Somebody’s coming.”Cole said.
“Everybody out,” Young ordered.
Cole opened the door. Four armed Homeland Security agents stood waiting on the other side.
The agents ordered the room’s occupants outside, hands clasped behind their heads, and put in file side by side on the parade field next to the barracks.
“On your knees!” an agent yelled as he kicked Cole in the back. He and the other soldiers complied. Their hands were then zip tied behind them.
Agent Piven stood in front of the kneeling men. Two agents stood beside him, holding Hicks and Reyes at gunpoint.
Piven looked at Cole. “You should have chosen your lookouts more carefully.” He motioned to his agents. “Put him with the others.”
The agents bound Hicks, then dragged him to the end of the line of soldiers and put him on his knees by jamming a rifle muzzle into his stomach.
Reyes stood next to Piven, unguarded. Cole looked at his friend with confusion.
“I’m sorry,” Reyes said, his voice shaking, “He threatened my family. They were going to kill Maria and the kids.”
Cole kept silent.
“I’m sorry!” Reyes repeated.
Piven waved his hand. “Get him out of here.” Agents seized Reyes by the arms and stuffed him into a waiting vehicle. He turned back to the kneeling troopers. “You are all in big trouble.”
“They acted on my orders.” Lieutenant Young interjected.
Piven walked over to the officer. “You are a very brave man.” He drew his pistol and put it to Young’s temple.
Pop!
Young flopped to the ground. Gore gushed from the horrid wound in arterial spurts as the lieutenant’s heart futilely clung to life.
“No!” Hicks screamed. A rifle butt crashed into the back of his head.
Young’s comrades watched in helpless rage as the hemorrhaging slowed to a stop. The officer lay in a steaming pool of his own blood, his dead eyes staring into oblivion.
“The rest of you won’t get off so easy.” Piven called over a subordinate. “You take it from here.” He walked away, disappearing into the gathering gloom. “I have bigger fish to fry.”
Hoods were pulled over the prisoners’ faces.
Cole’s hot breath echoed in the smothering darkness of the sack that covered his head. He was still on his knees, waiting. He didn’t know what for. He just wanted to get on with it, whatever it was.
He felt someone standing behind him. His breathing came harder. His heart pounded in his ears. Sudden splitting pain thundered across the back of his head, then darkness.
3
HANK
Freeport, Tennessee
Hank’s Office
5:09 PM
Hank sat across his desk from his chief deputy as Maggie did her homework at a table
on the opposite side of the room.
“You were right, Gunny. They’re taking over. Sanger isn’t even pretending anymore.” Hank’s face looked old and tired in the dim light of the desk lamp.
“I knew it.” Gunny sighed. “Everything happened so fast. Too fast. The economy, the President, the attacks, the grid. It all lined up too neatly to be a coincidence. Then they put the blame on anybody with the guts to stand up to ’em and started workin’ their way down the list, eliminating them one by one.”
“Where do you think we fall on that list?”
“Sooner than later.”
“Yeah,” Hank sighed. “Question is, what do we do?”
“Papaw,” Maggie called softly, “can you please help me with my homework?”
“Of course, sweet-pea. What are you working on?”
“Social studies.”
He waved her to him. “Bring it here and let’s have a look.”
The girl climbed into her grandfather’s lap and handed him a worksheet. “It’s about the Constitution.”
Hank examined the paper. The heading of the sheet read, ‘The Founding Frauds.’ He read on…
Question 1. George Washington has been called the father of our country, but he was a rich, white, male, slave owner who presided over the creation of a constitution that excluded women, minorities and the poor. Does this sound fair to you? How can America’s Second Founding avoid the mistakes of the past?
Hank’s hand trembled as he read the rest of the questions in disbelief. Words like bigot, racist, sexist and obsolete caught his eye more than once. Stunned by what he read, he said simply, “This is a bunch of lies. George Washington was a great man.”
“I guess he used to be good, but now he’s not.” Maggie shrugged. “I looked all through our text book and couldn’t find any of the answers.”
“Where is your text book?”
She held up the little green book her teacher gave her. “Ms. Dawkins says we have to keep this with us everywhere we go, even when we sleep. She says we are in the Green Guard now.”
