After the Republic

by Frank L. Williams

  February 21, 2017 will be remembered in infamy alongside December 7, 1941 and September 11, 2001 as days on which the United States was brutally attacked, without provocation. America was knocked down yesterday, but as we did after Pearl Harbor and 9/11, we WILL get back up. That’s what Americans do.

  Armando adopted a stern tone and leaned forward toward the camera. Those who executed yesterday’s attacks want to bring America to its knees. They want to destroy our freedom, our way of life. They want the United States to be a thing of the past. To those who did this, I say to you. YOU WILL FAIL. America will find you, and America will bring justice to your doorstep. You can run, but you cannot hide. You will NOT break us. He pointed at the camera and slammed his fist on the table at which he was seated. Make no mistake. America will NOT be broken apart, and we will not crumble. Not on my watch. I will do whatever it takes to keep this nation together. Period. Thank you, and may God bless America. Armando disappeared through a side door without taking questions.

  Joshua turned off the TV. “Well, he said all the right things. I just hope he means it. Regardless, I’ve got a really bad feeling about where we’re headed. We have to get ready for the absolute worst. I’m going to head out to the barn.”

  Around 2:30 that afternoon Joshua and Reagan emerged from the red barn, which was topped by a black gambrel roof and accented by white trim. He had been so lost in thought that he didn’t realize how late the hour was until his growling stomach alerted him.

  Rebecca handed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as he entered the house. “Make any progress?”

  “Made a few calls and did some thinking about what’s going on. Still need to get up with a few people. I tried to call Thomas, but couldn’t get him on the phone and his voice mail was full.” After wolfing down the sandwich he looked at his watch. “I’m going to go ahead and take care of the cows.”

  America may have been attacked yesterday, but the cows still expected to be fed.

  “I’ll ride with you.” Rebecca grabbed her purse and donned a tan baseball cap, pulling her ponytail through the back.

  Joshua chuckled. “You’re taking your purse to feed the cows?”

  Rebecca pulled her compact Beretta .380 pistol out of the purse. “Thought we could shoot a few targets while we’re out. It’ll help get our minds off of what happened yesterday.”

  “Good idea.”

  Joshua reached for the power window switch in the old Silverado, but thought better of it. The window wouldn’t make it halfway down before I’d be hearing ‘It’s cold!’” He smirked but wisely kept quiet.

  The smell of freshly cut hay permeated the barn, offset only by corn dust as they loaded the truck. Rebecca tossed a couple of old milk jugs into the back. “Targets.”

  The cloudless, clear-blue sky stood in stark contrast to the interior of the dimly lit barn. The bright sun more than compensated for the chilly winter air. Reagan stood on Rebecca’s lap as they drove down the short dirt road to the pasture behind the barn, where the cows greeted them at the gate. They weren’t the smartest animals on the planet, but they knew this truck brought food with it. Joshua cut the strings on the hay bale and spread it out while Rebecca dumped the ground feed into the troughs.

  The pond was about 100 feet long, 40 feet wide and stocked with catfish. The dirt from the pond made a nice berm, which provided the perfect backdrop for target practice and helped ensure that no stray bullets ended up anywhere they shouldn’t. Joshua admired Rebecca’s slender, athletic figure as she set up a milk jug about three feet up the berm.

  “Josh, you go first. Three shots each.”

  “Becca, you just want to know what you have to shoot to beat me.”

  “You know I beat you every time.”

  Joshua didn’t acknowledge the dig, as that would only have encouraged more of the same. He took aim with his Beretta 9mm and fired his first shot. Dust flew up from the berm above the jug, which remained unscathed. Reagan yelped, bolted for the other side of the truck and nervously peeped around the back tire.

  “That was still close enough to cause damage.” Joshua took aim for his second shot.

  “Uh huh,” she said sarcastically.

  His second shot was closer, grazing the top left corner of the jug. A few rocks scattered, but the jug remained upright. “He’d be down by now.”

  “Close doesn’t count.”

  Joshua felt a drop of sweat forming on his forehead as the smell of gunpowder penetrated his lungs. He squared up and took aim. I’ll NEVER hear the end of it if I don’t hit this one. He swallowed hard and fired off his third shot, hitting the jug closer to the top than he had hoped and tipping it over.

  “’Bout time you hit something.” Rebecca moved into position.

  “Okay, Miss Trash Talker, let’s see what you’ve got. Time to put up or shut up.”

  Rebecca smirked and calmly fired off three quick shots that pierced the jug in a tight pattern grouped near its center.

  “Any questions?” She walked toward the berm to retrieve the jug. “If not, this concludes today’s lesson.”

  Joshua felt his cheeks flush red for a moment. “Good shooting.” He loved her competitive side, but sometimes it got under his skin. Better left unsaid, he thought.

  Just as Reagan cautiously re-emerged from behind the truck Joshua’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was Thomas Page, the general contractor who had built Joshua’s farmhouse and barn. Thomas was a laid-back man who rarely got excited or upset. He was also a jack-of-all-trades who seemed to know a little about almost everything. They had become good friends, and Joshua’s gut told him Thomas would be someone good to keep close in the coming days. “Thomas, I’m glad you called back.”

  “Hey man. Heck of a two days,” Thomas said. “Can you believe what’s happened? Kinda scary, ain’t it?”

  “Scary is an understatement. That’s why I called you. I’ll cut to the chase. You may not remember it, but a few years ago you said that you felt like America would go through tough times one day. You said that when those times came you would most likely find a quiet, out-of-the-way corner and watch history unfold.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Kim and I were talking about it this morning.”

  “Well, history is unfolding. I know you guys like your privacy and like to be left alone, but it’ll be a lot easier to make do in that quiet corner if you have the right group of people with you.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Joshua described the beginnings of a plan. “I’ve been thinking through a list of people I think we can trust, and who can contribute something in the new world we are about to face. I’m just not sure where we should go.”

  “I think I know just the place. We were already making plans to go there.”

  “What are you up to this afternoon? If you can, come over here around 5:00 or 5:30 and we’ll talk about it.”

  “Man, I can do that,” Thomas replied. “I’ve got some leftover BBQ sandwiches I made for a cookout on Monday. I’ll bring 'em with me.”

  After the call ended Joshua and Rebecca made the short drive back to the house.

  “I’m going to the store to pick up some things,” Rebecca said.

  “Want me to go with you?” Joshua asked.

  “No, you need to make your calls.”

  “Be careful. It could be crazy out there. Take your pistol with you.”

  “Josh, you know I never leave home without it.”

  ***

  Tension hung over the grocery store parking lot like a dark, angry storm cloud. Nearly every space was full. A fistfight broke out between two would-be shoppers as Rebecca drove back and forth searching for a parking spot. This is nuts, she thought. People are already losing their minds.

  She spotted an empty parking place one row over. As she maneuvered toward the spot a beat-up green Pontiac station wagon with a missing hubcap abruptly cut her off and rattled into the space. Rebecca instinctively blew her horn. Her heart jumped violen
tly as a man wearing a white t-shirt under a denim jacket shot out of the car and began yelling obscenities at her. A heavy-set woman with curlers in her hair and wearing pink tights at least two sizes too small exited the passenger side and shot Rebecca the middle finger.

  Rebecca’s right hand tightly gripped her pistol as she partially rolled down the window with the left. The man menacingly approached her, gesturing wildly and screaming obscenities as the sun glistening on the gold chain around his neck.

  “I didn’t mean to blow the horn,” Rebecca said. “The space is all yours. I don’t want any trouble.”

  He continued yelling obscenities and gesturing wildly, but turned and walked toward the store. The woman followed him, glaring at Rebecca with venom-filled eyes as she passed. Rebecca gripped her .380 tightly until they were out of sight. Relieved, her shoulders relaxed as she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. I really don’t want to shoot anyone today.

  Rebecca apprehensively entered the store, checking her purse three times to make sure she had her trusty firearm. She gripped the cart tightly, avoiding eye contact with other shoppers. People gathered to watch two women fight over the last steak in the meat department. Rebecca took advantage of the distraction to load her cart with soup and other canned goods. While others were competing for the last loaves of bread she snagged several jars of peanut butter, numerous bags of flour and a hefty supply of coffee, sugar, salt and pepper. Think long term, Rebecca. What will we need to MAKE food?

  The clerk spoke up as Rebecca pulled out her debit card. “I’m sorry, but the network is down right now.” Rebecca looked around nervously as she handed the clerk cash.

  Outside, she quickly unloaded her cart into her dark gray Explorer.

  “Looks like you’ve got a wad of cash in that there purse. Hand it over.”

  Rebecca turned and came face-to-face with the same man in the blue denim jacket. His scraggly mullet appeared to have never encountered shampoo and his white t-shirt featured several prominent brown stains. His stench was more putrid than anything her cows had ever produced.

  “I don’t want any trouble.” Rebecca smoothly slipped her hand into her purse and squeezed the grip on her Beretta, her index finger resting on the barrel. “Just go on your way.”

  “GIVE ME YOUR MONEY, WOMAN!”

  As Rebecca tightened her grip and started to draw her pistol, two tall, muscular men in their early twenties appeared from behind a van two spaces away. The first man removed his sunglasses and brushed his wavy blonde hair back. “Is there a problem here?”

  “None of your business, punk. Get out of here.”

  The second man, a clean-cut African-American, removed his red and white jacket and tossed it on the ground, revealing bulging biceps and an “N.C. State Football” t-shirt. He clenched his fist and took an imposing step toward the would-be robber. “Leave the lady alone.” The troublemaker took a half-step toward him before turning and walking away, cursing.

  Rebecca exhaled and slipped her hand off of her pistol and out of her purse. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.” He picked up his jacket, the back of which was emblazoned with a strutting wolf. “We’ll stay here until you’re out of the parking lot.”

  “Thank you so much,” Rebecca repeated, her voice still shaking. “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need money for groceries?”

  “No, ma’am,” the blonde football player answered. “We’re just glad to help.”

  “Thank you again.” Rebecca locked the doors, fired up the Explorer and got out of the parking lot as quickly as possible. I’m sure glad those guys showed up or that could’ve been a real mess. I should’ve brought Josh with me.

  Joshua met her in the kitchen when she returned. “How was the store?”

  Rebecca shuddered. “A madhouse. People are really freaked out. They’re buying up everything. There were even a couple of fistfights.”

  Joshua shook his head. “That’s what I was afraid of. And it’s only going to get worse.”

  Should I tell him I almost got robbed? She wondered. No, that’ll just give him one more thing to worry about.

  ***

  Group Claims Responsibility. The anchor expounded on the unsettling details behind the scrolling headline: A terrorist group calling itself ‘AIS’ is claiming responsibility for yesterday’s attacks. The following is from a video the group posted online this morning.

  “Who the heck is ‘AIS’?” Joshua wondered aloud. “Never heard of ‘em.”

  The newscast cut away to the video clip, which featured a seated terrorist in a black robe and balaclava mask flanked by two men in similar attire brandishing machine guns. One of the men also had a large sword. A flag featuring bold blue, green and white horizontal stripes and red Arabic lettering underscored by a black sword hung behind them.

  The seated terrorist’s voice was disguised. AIS conducted the attacks against the American infidels yesterday. This was just the beginning. The United States has bombed our countries for too long. Now it is your turn to know what it feels like to be attacked in the night, where you thought you were safe.

  Joshua leaned forward and clenched his fists. The terrorist continued: Now you will know what it feels like to see your women and children suffer and die. We will destroy your cities. We will destroy your government. We will wipe you from the earth. We will own your land. Your country will burn like the depths of hell. The United States will be no more.

  White-hot rage surged through every inch of Joshua’s being. He uttered a rare expletive.

  The newscast broke away from terrorist leader and the anchor continued. Ominous words. AIS is short for ‘American Islamic State.’ Sources tell us that this group gained inspiration from both Al Qaeda and ISIS. One intelligence analyst who wishes to remain anonymous describes AIS as a hybrid that has adopted the worst traits of both terror groups. Additionally, British intelligence sources tell us that AIS is methodical, organized and brutal, and that they are planning more attacks on American soil. The weapons used in yesterday’s attacks appear to have been suitcase nukes. No word yet on how they got the weapons into the U.S.

  Joshua wondered if the anchor was quoting British intelligence because there were no American intelligence sources left to quote. He clenched his teeth as the newscast cut away to clips of young men burning American flags and holding up pictures of mushroom clouds in street celebrations in middle-eastern cities.

  ***

  Reagan barked incessantly as Thomas’ white Suburban turned into the driveway. Thomas rang the doorbell, and then entered before Joshua or Rebecca could make it to the door. “How are y’all doing?”

  Thomas was a tall man, just over six feet, and had short, light brown hair. His tan baseball cap had seen better days and he wore faded jeans and beat-up brown work boots. Joshua envied his laid-back approach to life.

  Thomas handed Rebecca several BBQ sandwiches. “Leftovers.” A well-worn toothpick twisted between his teeth as he spoke.

  Reagan continued growling until he realized Thomas had food with him. Rebecca poured three glasses of tea and everyone wolfed down their sandwiches.

  After the meal Joshua looked at Rebecca. “This was excellent. Nobody cooks barbecue like Thomas.”

  “Thanks, man.” Thomas chugged his tea. “Given how many fish I helped you put in that new pond a few months ago I’m sure it’s overcrowded. My fishing poles are in the Suburban. Let’s kill two birds with one stone and talk out there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Joshua said. “Rebecca, we’ll be back in a bit.”

  Outside, they grabbed their fishing poles and Thomas pulled a bait bucket and roll of papers out of his Suburban. Reagan followed them to benches near the edge of the pond as the sun faded into darkness.

  After they dropped their baited hooks into the water Thomas unrolled a sheet of paper and handed Joshua a flashlight. The light illuminated a map of the Great Smoky Mountains in Western North Carolina, near the Tennessee
border.

  “Man, you know how I’ve always said I would like to move out to the mountains?” Thomas asked.

  “Yes, but I was never sure if you were serious about it,” Joshua answered.

  “Well, last year I started getting serious about it. You remember that land I sold back in 2007, right before the market tanked?”

  “I think I remember you mentioning that.”

  “Well, about a year and a half later, right after the market crashed, I used the money from that sale to buy about 300 acres of mostly wooded land here, near Fontana Lake and the Little Tennessee River.” Thomas used his index finger to circle an area on the map. “It was a foreclosure, so I got a good deal. Paid less than what I got for the land I sold. We’ve just been sitting on it waiting for the right time to do something with it. Last year I started working on plans to live on part of the land and sell or develop the rest. The plan was for this to be our retirement.”

  Thomas used his toothpick to point out several different areas on the map. “Kim and I are planning to keep this section for us and the kids. It’s out of the way and secluded, just like we like it. And this is where we had plans to sell a few lots and maybe build some houses. It’s a bit closer to the road, but still out of the way and can’t be seen from the passing vehicles. It’s fairly remote and the terrain is pretty rugged. Would be a good spot for y’all to get away from all the craziness.”

  “That sounds great, but I don’t expect you to just give this to us.”

  “Man, don’t worry about it. It’ll all work out.”

  “I’m serious. Everyone who uses a piece of your land should compensate you somehow.”

  “Man, I’m sure everyone will chip in.” Thomas rolled the toothpick between his teeth.

  “I’m not going to assume that. Everyone we invite to come will have a clear understanding that they are going to somehow compensate you for the use of your land.”