Liberty or Tyranny

by John Grit

  Nate wore his .44 magnum revolver under his jacket in a shoulder holster a former gunsmith had given him only the day before and had the 1911 .45 on his right side for fast access. He carried two speed loaders for the revolver and four magazines for the pistol. If someone killed him, it wouldn’t be for lack of shooting back. The thought he should put on his poncho lived and died in less than a second. He would rather get wet and cold than not be able to get to his handguns if needed. Besides, the courthouse was only two blocks away, and it wasn’t raining all that hard at the moment. His clothes might not even be soaked through by the time he got there.

  After slipping into his load bearing harness that held six magazines for his M14, he put on his boonie hat, grabbed the rifle, and quietly walked into the living room to wake Brian. He didn’t want both of the boys sleeping while he was gone. Someone needed to be awake and guarding the house, in case trouble showed up.

  Brian sat up and took a drink from his canteen. “I’m awake. Don’t worry about us.”

  Nate stepped out the front door, locking it behind him.

  Out on the sidewalk, he kept his eyes busy, looking for signs of trouble. The wind-blown rain hit him in the face, feeling like hot needles, a strange contradiction, since the rain was ice cold. He turned a corner and headed for the courthouse. The first item on his mind was to check his dead friend’s desk and maybe find a note or something that might lead him to Chesty’s murderer. The young man who’d killed Chesty Johnson while he lay in bed had himself been killed by his victim. They had shot at the same moment, each killing the other. But the assassin had been sent by someone, and Nate wanted to know who. He told himself once again that it was about protecting the townspeople from a terrorist group. It didn’t matter. He could lie to himself a thousand times, but he knew it was personal. What’s more, he knew Deni knew. Hell, his friends Tyrone, Mel, the National Guardsman, and old Atticus knew. They had the same mind-set. Trouble was he had little time to find the killer.

  Running most of the way, the wind driving rain at his left side and soaking him, Nate made it to the courthouse in less than three minutes. To anyone who might have been hiding in ambush, it may have appeared he wasn’t all that aware of his surroundings as he ran, but he had seen the man watching from a window on the other side of the street and was ready to jump for cover if he had seen any hint of a rifle in the man’s hands. He also knew Mel was watching from his own sniper’s nest, somewhere on his side of the street. Mel was a good shot, but it wasn’t the National Guard that had taught him the finer points of accurate shooting. It was his late father. Still, Nate rushed through the courthouse door and had it closed behind him as fast as he could manage it.

  The lobby was empty and dark, nearly as cold as outside, but a lot less wet and windy. There was no power in the building, of course. The only buildings with electricity were those the Army had taken over, including the clinic that had been turned into a small hospital, complete with three emergency rooms. Nate went through what had been the security guard station. A metal detector that people once had to walk through before getting past the security guards stood useless. Being a small town in a rural county, the courthouse wasn’t as large as most in the state of Florida. Still, it was three stories and contained many rooms. He headed down a dark hall and turned right, where he opened a door and stepped into the room that was being used as the temporary sheriff’s office.

  Sitting behind a desk in the dim glow of a kerosene lantern, Tyrone looked up and reached for a shotgun at the same time, not relaxing until he saw who had just barged in. His intense eyes appearing very white in his black face as he looked across the room at Nate, he was obviously ready to kill if need be. Recognizing Nate took only a fraction of a second, and he put the shotgun back on the desk without ever having actually aimed it at him.

  Ignoring his friend’s precaution and noticing that Tyrone was in the process of going through Chesty’s desk, Nate asked, “Find anything? I woke early to go through his desk for anything that might lead us to any others involved with his murder, but I see you beat me to it.” He took his hat off and slipped out of his load-bearing harness, then shed his wet jacket, hanging all on a hat rack standing near the entrance. The cold in the unheated room immediately penetrated his thin shirt.

  Leaning back in the seat, Tyrone took a few seconds to answer, “Nothing so far. I haven’t been here long.”

  Nate rubbed as much water from his face as possible with his bare hands and wiped them on the driest side of his jacket. “We have a few hours. The funeral’s not until 9 AM. I sure would like to know for certain if his murder was related to the terrorists or if it was something else entirely.” He walked across the room and stood beside the desk.

  Tyrone pulled a stack of papers out of the top right desk drawer and handed it to Nate. “Well, start with this pile. Maybe one of us will get lucky and find something. I don’t hold out much hope, though. We knew as much about the terrorists as he did, and if he was working on something he would’ve let me in on it. The fact is anyone could’ve killed Chesty and for any reason, sane or not.”

  “Yeah,” Nate said. “But it’s the first place to look, since we have nothing at all to go on.” He found a chair and went to work, scanning his dead friend’s notes. He spoke while he read. “You’re the only one here with law enforcement training and experience, and I fully understand that.” He looked up from the notes. “You and I both know you’re the boss here. I’m just trying to help out. Also, I may not wait two weeks before heading back to my farm. I’m sorry about deserting you, but that’s the way it is.”

  “I figured that.” Tyrone didn’t even look up. “I just hope I can find two or three good people before you leave.”

  Nate regarded Tyrone. “You don’t hold it against me?”

  He shook his head and looked up. “No. You said two weeks, but things have changed.”

  The two exchanged glances.

  “Something I don’t know about?” Nate asked.

  “No. Donovan has told me the same thing he told you. Said he has given Deni permission to leave anytime she wants. I guess he was warning me I’m going to be short on help soon.” He tossed a pile of papers aside. “A lot can happen between now and the time you leave. I hope what does happen is we get every SOB that was involved in Chesty’s murder. And I hope that’s all that happens. Deni’s not going to be too happy with me if you get shot.”

  ~~~

  Two hours later, the men had found nothing in Chesty’s desk that produced any useful information.

  “That’s the last of it.” Nate set a stack of paper on the desk. “Nothing there that could help us. It was mostly ideas on how to build a new sheriff department someday and how the deputies could patrol at least part of the county on horseback, if fresh supplies of fuel for vehicles never materialize. It appeared to me most of the ideas came from you.” He walked across the room to the hat rack and grabbed his load-bearing harness. “I don’t have a watch, but I expect it’s about time for me to go get my son and a few others, then head for the cemetery.”

  Tyrone’s chest heaved. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Yeah. It’s time to bury one of the best men I ever knew.”

  They stepped outside onto the sidewalk together. The cold rain had slacked off, but the wind had strengthened considerably, and the temperature, if anything, was colder.

  Nate pulled his boonie hat down tighter on his head and scanned the street in both directions. He took note that Tyrone had also taken a rifle with him, an M4. They walked to the next intersection, where Nate looked up at a third-story window and pointed at his left wrist, as if he were wearing a watch. He caught formless movement back from the window in the shadows of the room and knew Mel would be appearing at the ground floor door in a minute or two.

  “I wonder if he saw anything suspicious while he was up there keeping watch,” Tyrone said, thinking out loud.

  Nate kept his eyes busy, scanning the streets and peering into windows
. “He can give you a full report if you ask. Soldiers are trained to observe everything while on post.”

  “Just the important stuff. That’s all I’m interested in.”

  An office door with a broken lock swung open and Mel stepped up to them. He spoke before the other men had a chance. “Two hours before sunup, two skinny young guys wearing black hoodies came ambling along, trying to appear nonchalant. The fact they were out at night in this miserable weather tells me they weren’t out for a stroll. They kept their hands in their sweatshirt pockets, but they were damn sure casing the area. Seemed to be really interested in the courthouse.”

  Nate ignored his freezing ears in the howling wind. “I would suggest we move our little office to the Army base, or at least find a building that’s more secure. They could plant a bomb while we’re at Chesty’s funeral and set it off when we come back.”

  “Yeah.” Tyrone glanced down the street at the courthouse. “What we need most are more men. Several people to keep 24/7 watch on our base of operations.”

  Mel tilted his head in a futile attempt to get more wind protection from his helmet. “What you guys need is a real squad of deputies, not untrained civilian volunteers. There must be more cops who survived the plague, perhaps in surrounding counties. We just have to find them.”

  “Right now we have a friend to bury.” Tyrone walked away.

  ~~~

  Almost everyone who attended Chesty’s funeral was armed, despite the Army sending a squad to provide security. Many teens attended, but no small children. The cold and damp was too much for mothers to risk their children getting sick. Weather or no, the crowd of adults was large. There were not many in the town of Glenwood who didn’t feel indebted to Chesty.

  Deni had come with the squad. She wore her best uniform, worn but clean. It was all she had. She stood between Nate and Brian, her arms hooked in theirs. Kendell stood off to the side, looking around at the crowd for any sign of trouble. Mel roamed through the crowd, searching for two thin young men in black hoodies. Tyrone and Atticus stood by the grave, both crying unashamedly.

  Nate expected Lieutenant Colonel Mike Donovan to attend. Chesty and Donovan hadn’t known each other long, but they had worked closely together from the day the Army arrived in town until the night Chesty was killed, and they had grown to respect each other. The fact Donovan wasn’t there made Nate nervous. There could be something serious going on that had kept Donovan away.

  The preacher spoke of a life of service to others and years of dedication selflessly given. Then he read from the Bible. Nate didn’t hear much of his words. He thought of all the good people he had met and lost to both the plague and violence. Weariness seeped into his bones and chilled him more than the wind. He wished to God there was someplace he could take those closest to him, some place where they would be safe. But he knew there was no such place on earth.

  Deni gave his arm a squeeze, as if she had read his mind.

  Chesty’s closest friends grabbed a shovel and went to work. The crowd thinned as people quietly walked away. Nate and Brian had to finish the job when Tyrone and Atticus turned their faces into the cold wind and stood in quiet grief, their shovels forgotten.

  Brian handed his shovel to the man who had brought them, then turned to his father. “We seem to always be burying someone.”

  Nate put a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. “I know I’ve been saying this for over a year now, but someday it’ll get better.”

  “It’s not like it’s your fault.” Something behind Nate caught Brian’s attention. He nodded. “Soldiers. I think they’re looking for Tyrone or you.”

  Nate turned to look. “Yeah. There must be a reason why Donovan didn’t show. Something’s up.”

  Deni said, “My thoughts too. Never a dull moment around here.”

  Fifty yards away, a young private talked to Mel, who pointed toward Tyrone and Atticus. The soldier walked briskly up to Tyrone. “Sir, Col. Donovan requests that you come with me to his office to discuss an important matter.”

  Atticus had his shotgun slung across his back, out of the way. He soon had it in his hands. “Terrorists again?”

  Tyrone nodded toward Nate. “He’s the acting sheriff. You should be talking to him.”

  The soldier glanced Nate’s way. “Nate Williams is to come too. And Sergeant Heath.”

  “Did he say anything about a senile old man?” Atticus asked.

  The question seemed to throw the young soldier off his stride.

  “Uh,” Tyrone said, “we’ll follow you in our vehicles.”

  Nate, Deni, Brian, Kendell, and Mel hopped in one pickup. Tyrone and Atticus scrambled into a dirty white sheriff cruiser Tyrone had scrounged up. The soldier led the little convoy in a Humvee. The downtown streets had been cleared of nearly all abandoned vehicles and other debris, one of Donovan’s directives. This included only the downtown area, though, and just three miles out the streets were navigable only by threading a vehicle around many obstacles.

  ~~~

  Donovan watched from the window of his office as a Black Hawk helicopter lifted off, carrying a team of soldiers, armored up and loaded for battle. It was obvious they were heading to a trouble spot somewhere. Donovan turned to the others. “Sorry I couldn’t attend Chesty’s funeral. We’ve found the rest of that gang of punks you ran out of town a while back. My soldiers are… uh… pacifying them. Unfortunately, most of them are too stupid to just give up. It’s gotten bloody.”

  “They’re a bunch of idiots, alright,” Atticus said. “Real dead-end losers. I bet they’ve been giving people trouble wherever they’ve gone.”

  “Where did you find them, on the interstate near the Florida/Georgia line?” Nate asked.

  Donovan seemed surprised. “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “Just a guess. Are there many women and children with them?”

  Donovan tilted his head. He appeared to be wondering what Nate had on his mind. “Some. It complicates matters.”

  Nate nodded. “Yeah. At least it does for anyone with a conscience. It wouldn’t be near a big truck stop, would it?”

  The corners of Donovan’s mouth turned upward as he just nodded in silence.

  Nate continued. “The women and children with them wouldn’t be part of the terrorist group we’ve been dealing with lately, would they?”

  “Ha! I was wondering when you would get to that.” Donovan crossed his thick arms. “But I bet you haven’t figured it all out, though you may think you have.”

  Nate coughed and shook his head. “No, I do not presume to think I’ve figured it all out. The fact is Chesty’s murder has kept my mind busy lately. Besides, we’re dealing with people who aren’t thinking straight. It’s not easy to understand people like that.”

  Tyrone couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Figured what out?”

  “Yeah,” Atticus broke in, “How about letting us in on the mystery.”

  Brian and Kendell were all ears and eyes, as they looked around the room at the adults.

  Deni finally spoke up. “I’ll wager that no one here knows as much as he thinks he does.” She folded her arms. “But I would like to learn what has you two looking so smug.”

  “I had no idea that I was looking smug,” Nate protested. “Certainly, I have no life-changing revelation that I’m keeping to myself. I just connected the semis the terrorists have been using with interstate truck stops. They could’ve gotten stranded trucks at rest stops anywhere along the interstate, where they were abandoned when the traffic jams and massive pileups took place during the early panics. I also believe the terrorists and the youth gang we ran out of town are connected in some way.”

  Donovan sat on the front edge of his desk. “It’s no big mystery, when you think about it. Some of you have already touched on the problem, days, weeks back.” He looked around the room at the others. “People have been forced to adjust to living without government, with no rule of law whatsoever and no government services, no so-called safe
ty nets. They had to adjust or die, and by adjust I mean they had to toughen up and kill or be killed. The free-for-all that’s lasted over a year now has culled most of the weak, leaving behind the most vicious predators and the toughest survivors. The remaining predators will have to be dealt with, the survivors who kill only when they have no choice and do not take from others but work to survive and come by their food and other needs honestly are an asset, exactly what the human race needs to rebuild.”

  Donovan waited for a helicopter to lift off and fly away, so the noise would fade enough he could be heard without yelling. “There is another group of survivors who are almost as dangerous as the predators. They have grown accustomed to living without any rule of law and do not want any government to tell them what they can and can’t do. For over a year, they’ve been living in the wilderness, or the Wild West, so to speak, and they’ve grown to like their newfound freedom, despite its danger and hardship. They’ve managed to learn how to provide for themselves and they don’t think they need a government anymore, so they want their Wild West to remain untamed.”

  “That’s crazy,” Brian blurted out. “If we don’t rebuild the economy and government, we will run out of things that are already hard to come by, like medicine and fuel. Do they want to continue to see people die of sickness and injuries that could’ve been easily taken care of in a modern hospital? Do they want to live in a war zone the rest of their lives, forced to carry a rifle while plowing their fields behind a mule? Don’t they want life to be better for their children and the next generation? Why purposely go backwards?”

  “They’re not thinking like that,” Donovan answered. “The horrors of the plague and its aftermath have twisted their minds.”

  Deni said, “It’s only natural that some would blame the government for the plague and the lack of help for the people after. And it’s a given that some would blame technology, since there’s suspicion our own government manufactured the disease in a laboratory, or some other government did.”