by R. A. Mathis
Cole cut a hole in the tarp covering the truck bed and peeked out. “He’s headed for the gate! Get down!”
Guards ran in every direction amid the pandemonium.
An armed sentry put up a hand to halt the truck as it approached. Alex accelerated. The guard jumped aside as the hulking vehicle smashed through the perimeter to forest-lined road beyond.
Cole raised his head and stole a look out the back of the vehicle. He spotted something on the dust covered road behind them. A black MRAP was on their tail. It was topped with a machine gun turret which was aimed at them.
“What do we do?” Amber asked.
“Stay down and hang on.”
Machine gun rounds peppered the truck, sparking and popping all around them.
The MRAP soon overtook their vehicle. It pulled even with the driver seat and unloaded a burst of .762 caliber rounds into the cab. The cargo truck jerked, then served off the road and into the woods.
“Hang on!” Cole yelled. He covered Amber’s body with his. The vehicle leapt into the air as it careened down an embankment. A splintering crunch sent Cole and Amber crashing into the front of the cargo bed with corpses. Amber’s screams were drowned out by the shriek of rending metal and shattering trees. The truck flipped. She and Cole were buried by cold, clammy bodies.
Then it ended. The truck rested on its top up against a tree.
Cole lay, dazed among the dead. The rhythmic ticking of cooling engine parts was the only sound.
“Amber,” he whispered. There was no response. “Amber?”
He felt around among the dead. A warm cheek brushed against his fingers. He shoved the cadavers off of Amber and grabbed her face. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes slowly opened.
Heavy tires skidded to a halt on the road above. Cole heard two passengers dismount and climb down the wooded embankment to the wrecked truck. He caught sight of the black pants and boots of the DHS agent as she stepped around to the cab. Two pistol shots rang out, ending any uncertainty of Alex’s fate. The second agent walked to the back of the truck.
“Stay down,” Cole whispered. He went limp as the man ducked to look into the cargo area. “Hey!” he called to the female agent. “Two Green Guards are back here!” The agent crawled in, pistol in hand. He grabbed Cole’s coat and tugged.
Cole mumbled something just above his breath, his eyes half open. He beckoned to the agent.
The DHS man crawled closer and put his ear to Cole’s lips. He never saw the knife.
Cole drove it deep in the agent’s throat, just as he had the teen-aged greenie. The guard kicked and gurgled, then went still. Hot blood covered Cole’s face and arms up to the elbows. Its sticky heat reminded him of the summer his father taught him how to change the oil in his car. He could still hear Hank’s laughter as the car’s fluid ran all over his head and hands in the hot gravel driveway of their country home.
“What’s going on?” The female agent looked into the back of the truck.
Cole clenched the male agent’s pistol, the grip sticky against his bloody hand.
The agent raised her pistol and entered the hold.
Pop! Pop!
The woman dropped.
Cole held his breath, listening for more footsteps. None came.
“Help,” Amber grunted, trying to free herself from the tangle of dead flesh.
Cole pushed the cold flesh off of her. “Are you hurt?”
“I…I don’t…” She vomited, then groaned, “My head hurts.”
“Hey! What’s going on down there?” a voice called from the idling MRAP.
Cole looked through a rip in the tarp to the road above as he pocketed the female agent’s pistol and ammunition. The gunner had his turret aimed at the truck. “We gotta get out of here!” He asked Amber, “Can you walk?”
Amber nodded. “I think so.”
Cole helped her from the wrecked vehicle.
“Hey!” the gunner called from his perch.
Cole froze.
“What happened?” the gunner asked.
No shooting. Not even an order to put their hands up. Cole was amazed until remembered he and Amber wore the coats and arm bands of the Green Guard.
He waved to the black-clad man. “Those bastards took our truck! Thanks for the help!”
The gunner waved back, tilting his head like a confused dog.
“Let’s go,” Cole whispered to Amber. He put her arm over his shoulder and led her away from the black gun truck into the woods as fast as they could walk. He was careful to keep the wrecked hulk between them and the gunner.
“Hey!” the gunner yelled, “Where are you going? Where are agents Adorno and O’Donnell?”
“They’re in the truck!” Cole spotted a wooded ravine ahead. He scooped Amber into his arms and picked up the pace. Dead leaves crunched under their every step.
“Hey! Get back here!”
They were almost there.
“Stop!”
Just a little further.
Bullets splintered the trees above them as Cole dove into the gully. He and Amber rolled down the far side to the sound of curses and automatic fire. They landed in a muddy creek bed. Cole got Amber to her feet. “We have to keep moving. This place will be swarming with DHS before long.”
The pair hobbled deeper and deeper into the woods. The sounds of the scene behind them grew faint and muffled.
“Freeze!” a voice commanded from behind them.
Cole’s hand inched toward the pistol in his belt.
“He said to freeze,” another voice said from somewhere to his left.
“Hands in the air.”
Cole and Amber complied.
“Identify yourselves.”
“You first,” Cole replied.
Leaves crunched behind them. Unseen hands forced them onto their bellies, disarmed them, bound their hands behind them with zip ties, and stuffed sacks over their heads.
They were then pulled back to their feet and marched through the woods.
“So, where are we going?” Cole asked.
“Shut up,” came the reply.
“Sorry. I’ve been cuffed, stuffed, and locked up a lot lately. I’m starting to not give a shit like I used to. So who are you guys with? Green Guard, FEMA, DHS, NSA, CIA, KGB, KKK?”
A rifled shoved Cole in the back, almost tripping him.
Amber elbowed him. “Shut it.”
They treaded on in silence. The sounds of rustling branches grew louder, telling Cole they were going deeper in to the woods—away from the camp.
A familiar sound caught his ear. Clops and whinnies grew louder ahead.
“Horses?” Cole asked. “You guys can’t be DHS.
“Up you go.” Cole and Amber were tossed across horse saddles and tied down.
“Be easy with the lady,” Cole said, “She has a head injury.”
“Who are they?” a new voice asked.
“They came from the camp,” a captor answered.
The party mounted up and took off at a gallop. Riding cross country on his belly with his head hanging from the side of the horse made his head throb and his stomach lurch. For once, Cole was glad nothing was in his stomach.
After what felt like hours, the horses stopped. Cole and Amber were pulled from their mounts and walked into a warm, hollow space.
They entered a room full of echoing voices. Their handlers ordered them to halt.
“Who do we have here?” a familiar voice said in a calm, commanding tone.
“We’re not sure, sir. They came from the camp. Maybe Green Guard.”
“Take off their hoods.”
Cole blinked as his eyes adjusted from the blackness of the shroud to the dim light of a cave. The room was full of people. Some wore Army uniforms. Other wore civilian clothes. More than a few had body armor. All of them were armed to the teeth and looked to be in a foul mood. To his front was a face he knew all too well. The tan skin. The almond eyes. The close-cut, jet-black hair.
“Colonel Lee?” Cole couldn’t believe his eyes as he looked upon his former battalion commander.
“Sergeant Sexton?” The colonel opened Cole’s coat and read the name tape on his uniform. “You look like shit.”
“It’s been a tough month, sir.”
Colonel Lee pointed to Cole’s bloody coat and armband. “Would you like to explain why you’re wearing this?”
“Part of our escape plan. It didn’t go as smoothly as we hoped.”
Lee looked at the crimson caked stains on Cole and Amber’s skin and clothes. “I guessed that much.” He pointed to Amber. “Who’s this?”
“My name is Amber.”
“It’s okay. She’s on our side,” Cole added.
“You sure about that?”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
Lee gestured to the others in the room. “Sergeant, if you’re wrong, you’re risking all our lives.”
“I trust her. We met before…She was a nurse at Vanderbilt before the trouble started. She was a prisoner, too. We escaped together.”
Lee stared at the two without a word. He finally said, “Cut ‘em loose.”
Knives severed their ties.
“Thanks.” Cole rubbed his wrists, massaging the blood back into his dirty hands.
“How long were you at the camp?” Lee asked.
“Long enough.”
“We have intel that a high-valued prisoner is being held there.”
“Martha Jefferson,” Amber said, “Congresswoman Martha Jefferson.”
Lee nodded. “That’s the one. How did you know?”
“I was captured with her. She is…was my mom’s best friend. I’ve known her all my life.”
“Good.” Lee nodded to himself. “Very good.” He studied his guests once more. “You two get cleaned up and get something to eat. Then report back here so we can get started.”
“Started with what, Sir?”
“Taking our country back.”
10
HANK
Freeport Jail
An Hour Before Dawn
Hank lay, shivering in the small, cold cell. He stared into the abyss, replaying the events of the last month, trying to make sense of them. His thoughts moved to his family, but that proved too painful. He searched for something else to monopolize his mind.
The jail door creaked open in the darkness. A silhouette approached his cell.
The visitor spoke. “Good morning.” It was Sanger.
“Damn,” Hank said from his bunk. “Agent Sanger. I hoped you were dead.”
“Come now, Hank. I think we’re beyond formalities.”
“You’re right. I hoped you were dead, bitch.”
Sanger laughed. “Not quite.” She stepped close enough for Hank to see her clearly. The right side of her face was severely burned. A patch covered the eye. Her right arm was heavily bandaged and bound in a sling. It had been amputated a few inches below the elbow. “You’re little stunt killed five agents.” She held up her mangled limb. “You almost got me, too. I must admit I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“You bring it out in me.”
“It’s not going to change anything. You can’t win. Even if you killed me, it wouldn’t matter. You are fighting something far bigger than me. It will squash you like a bug and forget that you ever existed. It cannot be resisted. It cannot be slowed. Our plans will proceed as scheduled. Nothing can stop that now.”
“What are your plans, exactly?”
“You should worry about your own future.”
“Humor me.” Hank got up from his bunk. “What’s the point of all this? You can’t arrest everybody. That wouldn’t make any sense. The people that remain here aren’t doing anything productive. You’re making sure of that. What’s the end game?”
“You’re thinking too small,” Sanger said, “Freeport is nothing, just a cog in the grand machine. Like I said, this is far bigger than us. I don’t matter. You don’t matter. Freeport doesn’t matter. The goal is all that matters.”
“And what is that goal?”
“It is the realization of a vision that began more than a century ago. We are the phoenix that rises from the ashes of the old America.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re the ones who set it on fire.”
“The tree of liberty was already dead, its timber dry and rotted from within. All we did was light the match.” Sanger continued. “The old America was corrupt from the beginning. Your founding fathers created a country that thrived on war, racism, sexism, and bigotry. It spent the next two hundred and forty years polluting the planet and oppressing innocent people under the yolks of capitalism, Christianity, and nationalism. My founding fathers recognized this. They knew the only solution to these problems was the elimination of private property, religion, and national borders. After all, how can the poor be oppressed if there are no rich? How can persecution exist without false gods and the illusion of free will? How can war exist without countries? After World War II, they realized America was the greatest obstacle to global equality. So they started chipping away. Year after year, generation after generation, we pointing out her flaws, divided her citizens, setting one group against another until the entire country was at each other’s throats.”
“Then came the crash.” Hank steadied himself against the wall. “And the grid.”
“The economy was a house of cards for years. We just stopped propping it up. The grid was a simple matter of a few computer viruses.”
“What about the American Constitutional Front?”
“Every revolution needs a villain, so we invented one. Those who control the message control the people. The pieces are almost set now. Dissent is all but silenced. The weak have been culled. The population depends on us for their every need.”
“Back up. What do you mean by culled?”
“I believe you know.”
“Betty?” Hank rasped.
“The new world has no place for the infirmed.”
“I put her on that bus.” Hank closed his eyes, his face a picture of sorrow. “I helped you kill all those people.”
“Would you rather I told you they were sent to a loving family on a big farm in the country with plenty of room to run and play?” Sanger laughed.
Hank gritted his teeth. “Damn you.”
“As for Maggie, she will learn to be ashamed of you. I don’t have any children of my own, so I will take special care to see that she is raised to love the Party as much as I do.” Sanger tapped the bars of Hank’s cell. “The last phase will begin soon. The remaining citizens of Freeport and a thousand towns like it will be moved to new homes in their assigned smart growth sustainable habitation zones. This land will be returned to nature.” Sanger looked on as dim light crept into the cell block from a small window at the end of the hall. “It’s time for me to go. I have a date with Dante. At first, I couldn’t decide what to do with him. Make an ally? Make an example? You made up my mind.” She held up her stump again. “You made me look weak, Hank. Not many people can do that. I am the State in the people’s eyes. If I am weak, the State is weak. Dante will give me the chance to demonstrate our strength. He gave an ultimatum: Deliver all our supplies to him at dawn today, or be destroyed.” She smiled. “I told him to bring it on.” Sanger turned to go. “After today, the good people of Freeport will follow me without question. They will be mine.”
Hank tried to speak, but could only choke out the word, “Why?”
“If you have to ask, you’ll never understand.”
Sanger left. The heavy jail door clanked shut behind her.
Hank sat on the corner of his bunk. Powerless. Hopeless. His face covered in tears.
*****
Douglas lake Bridge
Ten Miles West of Freeport
Sanger arrived with three agents in a single Humvee just before sunrise. The Freeport side of the lake was packed with hundreds of citizens bussed in to witness her showdown with Dante.
/> She looked back to the bridge. Dozens of vehicles approached on the highway from Dante’s lair to the west.
“At least he’s punctual,” Sanger said to the agent next to her, “Are we ready?”
The subordinate whispered something into his radio then nodded.
“Good. Wait for my signal.” Sanger walked alone to the concrete barrier straddling the near side of the bridge and climbed atop the obstacle. There she stood, daring the marauders to come.
Dante’s horde stopped on the far shore. Dozens of vehicles packed with bloodthirsty bandits sat ready to rape and pillage. The man himself stood tall in the bed of a pickup truck at the head of the pack. He waved to his henchmen. The crowd parted. A dump truck sped into the gap, heading onto the bridge at top speed.
The barricade on which Sanger stood was no match for the racing juggernaut, but the one-armed DHS agent stood firm.
Dante fell in behind the speeding truck. So did the rest of his band.
Cries of fear erupted from the crowd behind Sanger as the living nightmare rushed toward toward them. Panicked fists beat on bus doors. “Let us in! They’re coming! LET US IN!”
When the last of Dante’s gang was on the bridge, Sanger calmly raised her hand and snapped her fingers.
A pair of smoke trails wound down, like spider silk, from an distant, unseen point high in the atmosphere.
The truck raced closer.
Sanger stood defiant, her face to the enemy.
The smoke plumes grew thicker. Fire could be seen at their heads now. They were missiles.
The truck was fast. The missiles were faster.
The first warhead hit the dump truck. Searing wind washed over Sanger’s face as the massive vehicle was instantly immolated along with an entire section of bridge. Dante and his minions slammed on their brakes, stopping just short of the hell to their front.
The second projectile careened into the far side of the span, destroying Dante’s only chance of escape. The warlord looked skyward to see more white fingers of missile exhaust raining toward him.
Sanger turned to see the citizens at the busses cheer as their nemesis and his henchmen were vaporized in the conflagration that followed. She climbed into her black Humvee and drove up to the rejoicing crowd. She climbed through the gun turret and stood atop the vehicle.
