by Trent Reedy
They had the funeral a few days after it happened. I didn’t watch it. Maybe I hadn’t wanted Rodriguez shot like that, and in my head I knew it was terrible he’d been murdered, but my heart wouldn’t let me be sad for that son of a bitch who had sent his soldiers to Idaho and gotten my mother killed. I heard Mr. Morgan had brought in grief counselors and everything to talk to everyone about their feelings. I was glad I wasn’t going to school anymore. I tried to avoid it all. Instead, after my hand healed, I worked long hours at the shop with Schmidty, making repairs to the Beast after she’d been hauled in on a flatbed trailer.
That Saturday, as I returned from a walk, I came into Sweeney’s living room, draped my coat over the back of the couch, and took in the scene. Sweeney was sitting back in his recliner. Cal was stretched out on the couch. JoBell … was pacing the living room with her arms folded.
Oh no. This was absolutely not what I was in the mood for.
“You’re not doing it! It’s insane! Look what happened —” JoBell saw me and dropped whatever she was about to say. She smiled. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey.”
“Hey, supper will be ready in about twenty minutes.” Becca came in through the archway between the living room and kitchen, but stopped when she saw me. Ever since the party on the night of the assassination, she had been acting really weird around me. I couldn’t quite explain it, but there was a definite tension. “Oh, hey, Danny. How was your walk?”
“It was … good. What’s going on here?”
“Burgers and fried potatoes tonight.” Then she went back into the kitchen.
“Cheeseburgers?” Cal called.
“Everybody’s out of cheese,” Becca yelled back.
“Can I get a double?” said Cal.
“Cal, no. There’s a shortage of everything. We have to ration,” JoBell said.
We wouldn’t have any meat at all if Becca hadn’t sold her herd, filling two deep freezers in Sweeney’s garage with some beef from cows she’d had slaughtered just for us.
“Will somebody tell me what you were all arguing about?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Sweeney said. “Don’t worry.”
I leaned against the back of the couch. “No, really. Come on.”
“We have to tell him,” JoBell said. “These two idiots want to join the Idaho State Militia.”
Last week, the Idaho Civilian Corp had begun arming and training some of its members for combat. Governor Montaine had renamed it the Idaho State Militia. JoBell walked up and put her arm around me. “And we are not getting involved in any of that stuff again. Look what it cost …”
Nobody moved or said anything. It was tough. I’d been doing a lot of thinking on my walks. Even though my unit had put me on extended leave after Mom died, I wanted to rejoin the Idaho Guard. When it came right down to it, yeah, Mom might still be alive if I hadn’t driven into Washington for her. But I wasn’t the one who had shot her. It was the Fed who had attacked us, and for no greater crime than trying to go home. It was the Fed who had killed my mother. It was the Fed who should be made to pay. If I went back to the Idaho Guard, then the next time they tried to invade Idaho, I’d make sure they got more than a warning shot.
“Maybe it’s worth considering,” I said.
“What?” JoBell dropped her arm. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s decent money,” I said. “And Idaho needs more soldiers.”
“For what?” she said. “All of America needs a lot fewer soldiers so we can put a stop to all this!”
Cal stood up from the couch and stretched. “I’m joining, and there ain’t nothing you all can say to make me change my mind. I’ll either join the fighting ranks of the militia or I’ll drive truck for them, smuggling supplies over the Canadian border. I already talked to my dad about it. He thinks it’s a great idea. I gotta do something. We can’t let the Fed keep pushing us around like this.”
JoBell wiped her eyes. “Guys, please. I’m asking you, begging you, not to do this.”
“I know what you’re saying, JoBell,” Sweeney said, “but here’s the thing. I’ve always had everything. The best toys when I was little. A sweet car now. Boats. Snowmobiles. A Jet Ski. I live in this awesome lakefront house that costs a fortune …”
“Yeah, everybody knows your parents have money, Eric,” JoBell said. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that my parents have money, or at least they used to have money. Idaho real estate is about the worst business a guy could be in right now. Even if my dad were here, he couldn’t work any deals, because the market is flooded with people trying to sell and nobody’s buying.”
“What does that have to do with joining the militia?” Cal asked.
“I’m getting to it,” Sweeney said. He took a deep breath. “All my life I never had to work for anything. I never had any real goals. I always thought I would go to college because that’s what my parents expect of me. I’d party there, get with a bunch of girls, learn a thing or two about business, and basically avoid growing up. Then I would come home and go into business with my dad.”
“Charming,” JoBell said.
Sweeney stood up. “No, listen to me for a second. I’m serious. I’m trying to say I want to do something more important than just partying and chasing women.”
Coming from Sweeney, this was big news. I could hardly believe he was saying it.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said. “But when we were over there in Washington rescuing the girls from the Fed, I was scared and it was terrible, but also I felt … alive, like what I was doing really mattered. I want to do something that’s real, something important. We’re heading toward war, and right now I can’t think of anything that matters more than helping Idaho by joining the militia.”
“It doesn’t have to be a war just because bad things have happened,” JoBell said. “It doesn’t always have to end in violence. If enough people decide to stay out of this, it can work out. You want to do something important, Eric? Then help to convince others to work for peace. Doing something important doesn’t always mean doing something violent.” She shook her head. “We have like six months of high school left. We’ve worked this whole time so we could go to college. And when this is all over, you’re going to want a high school diploma, a college education. I know things seem crazy, but now more than ever, we need to work for a better world.”
“The world has changed,” I said. “Everything has changed.”
A high-pitched tone went off. It was loud, irritating.
“What the hell?” Sweeney said.
The image on the living room screen had switched from the skateboarding show he’d been watching with the sound muted to the seal of the president of the United States over a blue background.
“Can you stop that sound?” Cal asked.
Sweeney picked up his comm to change the living room screen volume. “It won’t turn down. It won’t turn off. It’s on the comm too.”
“Same here.” JoBell held up her comm. She tried the power button. “It’s stuck.”
We all checked our comms. They were all the same way.
“Hang on.” Sweeney ran to another room and came back with an old, emergency hand crank–powered radio. He cranked it a little and then switched on the radio, adjusting the volume and spinning the station dials. No matter what station he tuned to, he could only pick up the same high-pitched whine that was coming from everything else.
“It must be playing on everything, everywhere,” Becca said.
JoBell moved closer to me and took my hand.
“If someone doesn’t turn that sound off, I’m going to start smashing screens and comms,” Cal said with his hands over his ears.
The noise stopped. The seal of the president was replaced by an image of the new president herself, sitting behind her desk in the Oval Office.
“Good evening.” President Griffith folded her hands on top of her desk. “This is the second time I have spoken to the nation
, and on both occasions, I have done so with a heavy heart under the weight of tremendous responsibility. I did not seek or request this office, and I am keenly aware that you, the American people, have not elected me to this position. Nevertheless, I will not avoid or neglect my duty as required of me by our Constitution.
“It is regarding that same document, that foundation of American democracy, that I address you tonight. For the past several months, our Constitution and our nation has faced a crisis the likes of which we have not experienced for over one hundred and fifty years. The governor of the state of Idaho, along with the Idaho state legislature, have taken it upon themselves to disregard Article Six, Clause Two of our Constitution.
“This clause, known as the Supremacy Clause, dictates that if federal law conflicts with a law passed by a state, the federal law will be supreme. The state law must be amended or set aside. This basic operating principle is what has allowed our states to remain united for nearly two and a half centuries. Without it, states could determine for themselves which national laws they choose to obey and which they want to disregard. Chaos and disunity would be the inevitable result.
“It is the position of the government of the state of Idaho that certain laws recently passed by the United States Congress are not consistent with the spirit or the letter of the Constitution. That opinion is their right, and our democracy allows them the opportunity and a legal process whereby their congressional representatives and senators can work to pass amendments or even to repeal the laws to which they object.
“However, they most certainly do not have the right to, by force of arms, refuse to allow Constitutional authority to take precedence in their state. This is what they have attempted to do, and entertaining arguments toward the legality or legitimacy of this practice only serves to prolong it, escalating the problem.
“I have, therefore, reluctantly been forced to declare the state of Idaho to be in a condition of rebellion, and by the authority vested in me as the commander in chief of the United States military, I have ordered our armed forces to end this rebellion.
“All Idaho military, law enforcement, and militia personnel are ordered to immediately and unconditionally surrender. All Idaho residents are ordered to disarm, remain in their homes, and obey all instructions from federal authorities. These demands are not open to negotiation or debate.
“This is a dark and dangerous time for our nation, but the United States of America has overcome difficult times before. Our people will persevere through this current crisis. We will be united once more.
“Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America.”
The screen and our comms switched to the presidential seal for a moment. Then they cut out, displaying the “no signal” message. I fiddled with the setting on my comm, trying to see if I could connect to anything, but it was cut off. No cellular feed was available.
Then the power went out, plunging us into darkness.
I squeezed JoBell’s hand.
“My God.” I reached for my gun. “They’re coming.”
TRENT REEDY served in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a year’s tour of duty in Afghanistan. Based upon his experiences there, he wrote Words in the Dust, which won the Christopher Medal and was chosen for Al Roker’s Book Club for Kids on the Today show. His most recent novel for children is Stealing Air, a Junior Library Guild selection. Trent now lives in Spokane, Washington. Please visit his website at www.trentreedy.com.
Text copyright © 2014 by Trent Reedy
All rights reserved. Published by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and the LANTERN LOGO are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Reedy, Trent.
Divided we fall / Trent Reedy. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Danny Wright joined the Idaho Army National Guard to serve the country as his father had, but when the Guard is sent to an antigovernment protest in Boise and Danny’s gun accidently fires, he finds himself at the center of a conflict that results in the federal government declaring war on Idaho. ISBN 978-0-545-54367-5 (hardcover : alk. paper) [1. Government, Resistance to — Fiction. 2. Idaho. National Guard — Fiction. 3. High schools — Fiction. 4. Schools — Fiction. 5. Mothers and sons — Fiction. 6. Idaho — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.R25423Div 2014
[Fic] — dc23
2013016368
First edition, February 2014
Cover art © 2014 by Shane Rebenscheid
Cover design by Christopher Stengel
e-ISBN 978-0-545-54369-9
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
