Two high school students, one male and one female, stood no more than forty yards behind both Jackson and Mika. The male student was holding a bolt-action hunting rifle.
They were both members of the Luttia Indian tribe.
The girl’s mouth was turned upward into an oddly manic grin, akin to a cat looking down at a defenseless bird before it pounced. She then slowly lifted her right hand to point at Sabina’s children while uttering two ominous words to the young man with the rifle standing next to her.
“Do it.”
The boy lifted the barrel of the gun upward and prepared to fire. Jackson covered his sister’s body with his own while pushing them both down onto the ground at the very moment the trigger was pulled. The bullet ripped a path threw the air, missing the back of Jackson’s head by just a few inches and then ricocheting off the sidewalk in a spray of splintered concrete. One of those fragments hit Sabina in the left cheek, though she didn’t feel it at the time. Her entire existence in that moment was devoted to keeping her children safe.
The teenage boy was having difficulty removing the expired shell from the gun. The bolt was jammed. Without thinking of the danger, Sabina reached back into the truck bed and retrieved a rusty tire iron while pointing to her kids to get into the front seat. With each step she took toward the two would-be murderers, the mother’s rage intensified until it burned white-hot and demanded consequences be delivered.
Brother and sister complied with their mother’s order making a sound as Sabina glared at the two teenagers who just tried to shoot her kids dead. The Indian boy continued to strain against the rifle’s bolt action while the girl smirked and then snorted her contempt for the seething mother.
“What are you gonna do, old woman?”
Sabina clenched the tire iron tightly in her right hand and swung it as hard as she could. The impact sounded very much like a wet rag hitting the floor as the makeshift weapon bounced off the left side of the boy’s face. His hands dropped the rifle as he fell backwards, stunned and bleeding from a deep gash just under his left eye.
The girl’s mouth fell open as her eyes widened, shocked to see a woman willing to fight back. Sabina showed the girl no mercy.
The tire iron slammed into the teen’s right forearm, causing her to cry out in pain. A second blow struck her right shoulder and then a third thumped the back of her head. The girl was curled up tightly into a ball crying and begging for Sabina to stop just as the boy began to try and reach for the rifle.
“I don’t think so.”
Sabina’s right foot collided with the boy’s mouth. He fell back and then remained there, unmoving. The Ford’s horn honked.
Sabina looked up and saw the same rock-throwing teenagers she had driven past just minutes earlier were now making their way toward the truck. Jackson was motioning for his mother they needed to get moving.
He was right.
Sabina grabbed the rifle and then ran to the Ford, throwing both the gun and the tire iron into the back as she did so. Mika’s eyes were streaming tears and her hands shaking while Jackson looked behind them at the approaching mob.
“What do we do now, Mom?”
Sabina looked over at her daughter and then put the Ford into gear, its tires squealing loudly as it catapulted itself back onto the street.
“We get the hell out of here…”
-----------------------------
EPISODE FIVE:
Office of the Mayor
Chicago, Illinois
“Reverend Dullton, this city needs you. Hell, you no doubt have seen the news reports. The entire country needs you right now.”
Reverend Albert Dullton took immense pleasure in seeing the mayor begging for his help. He took even more satisfaction in knowing the mayor was right – the country did need him.
The violence had quickly spread from Chicago to other major metropolitan areas throughout America. Now that same violence was finding its way to the smaller cities and towns.
Soon, none would escape it and reverend was convinced the America that once was would be no more, and those like him would sit atop a new throne of power looking out at a landscape transformed into one of their choosing.
“You have the senator on the line, yet?”
The reverend spoke in a tone of absolute arrogance. These politicians were nothing to him but reminders of his own quickly growing power and influence. They used to mock him. Then they tolerated him. Now they begged him for help.
“His office assured me he would be available for the conference call soon.”
Reverend Dullton nodded once and then looked out the largest window of the Chicago mayor’s expansive office. He could see the dark clouds of smoke still billowing from several areas throughout the city. The riots continued. Nearly seven hundred had already died and thousands more injured. Property loss was estimated to already have exceeded 100 million dollars.
“Hey, Mayor you check out what is going on down along the Mexican border? Damn if those beaners ain’t pissed!”
The mayor had in fact been watching some of the horrors in Texas, Arizona, and southern California. Two smaller border towns had reportedly been wiped out completely by fire and bloodshed. The Mexican government claimed it was the work of drug cartels, but rumors were spreading in Washington D.C. that the Mexican government itself was helping to arm and then protect those responsible.
“I heard they took out forty Texas National Guard soldiers? Is that true?”
The reverend was smiling at the thought of so many American soldiers losing their lives for nothing more than the fact they fought to protect a country he was more determined than ever to see destroyed. The immigration issue and the resulting controversy had served the reverend well in recent years, further dividing Americans against each other while the real threat continued to fester.
Mayor Roger Bloom had won his office less than two years earlier. At forty-one he was the youngest mayor in the city’s history. Tall, lean and handsome, he had risen to the highest ranks of city politics behind a brilliant white smile and a penchant for charming voters into believing he was the one to provide the kind of leadership a city like Chicago required. Though he despised figures like Reverend Dullton he found them a necessary evil in doing business in Chicago where friends were few and enemies many.
He didn’t count on the riots though. He remained stunned at how quickly they escalated in his own city and then spread throughout the country. Such a thing would have seemed impossible just a few months earlier, and yet, America was now finding itself literally pulled apart by its own people.
The Illinois governor was no help, demanding the Illinois Guard only be used to secure government buildings and not directly engage the population. So too was the federal government seemingly unwilling to more aggressively quell the violence. Mayor Bloom had recently been told Washington D.C. had already been separated into militarized districts to ensure the safety of the city’s political class. The rest of the city, like so much else in America, was left to the race war riots. Even more disturbing were the rumors that it was some within the federal government who initially encouraged the tensions to escalate, but then found the results unmanageable and now cowered behind the wall of military provided protection, the fires of dangerous discontent burning far hotter than they had anticipated.
Over the last week, nineteen Chicago police officers lost their lives fighting to maintain order in the city. Nineteen families had their lives turned upside down.
Mayor Bloom had slept very little during that time. He was desperate - desperate enough to finally turn to the race-baiting pile of shit sitting in his office as if he was the one in charge.
Hell, maybe Dullton is in charge.
The phone rang. It was Illinois Senator Lew Bryant. Unlike the mayor, Senator Bryant was a political old-timer, approaching his seventy-eight year of life – nearly half of which had been spent in Washington D.C. as a member of the senate.
“Hello, Senator, thank you for getti
ng back to me. I hope things in D.C. are safe.”
The senator uttered a profanity under his breath.
“Let’s get to this, Mr. Mayor. I understand you have Reverend Dullton there with you?”
“That’s correct, Senator, he’s right here.”
Dullton sat up in his chair with a chest full of self-importance and his multiple chins jutting outward in an attempt to show supreme confidence in his own magnificence. The reverend wore a purple, crushed-velvet track suit and a large gold medallion over his ample, overly-fed chest. He was nearly as wide as he was tall, and had for years been viewed as a minor and comical annoyance among Chicago’s political elite. Dullton spoke out often against the alleged abuses of the Chicago police against the city’s minorities, ignoring the fact much of the department was in fact made up of those same minorities and the longtime Chicago Police Superintendent was African American.
“Uh, Senator, I am here and ready to help out in any way I can.”
The reverend was using his public sermon voice, making it both lower and louder, and extending the vowels.
“Good, Reverend Dullton, good. I understand you have a rally scheduled for later today?”
The reverend nodded his head as he sat in the chair with his short, thick-fingered hands folded atop his purple clad and grotesquely fleshy thighs.
“Yes, I am, Senator. We expect at least a thousand in attendance, possibly a great many more.”
The senator was heard clearing his throat before continuing.
“And can we count on you to calm the mob, Reverend? That needs to be our priority. It needs to be your priority, understood?”
Reverend Dullton scowled, clearly unhappy with the senator sounding as if he was issuing him an order.
“How about you tell me what I get out of this, Senator, uh, Bryant?”
Dullton had a habit of often placing the word “uh” throughout his sentences.
“I assume you’re talking about the tax issue, Reverend? If so, I assure you I have assurances from the White House itself that any outstanding amounts will be waived as soon as we get these riots under control.”
Reverend Dullton grunted his annoyance while rolling his eyes.
“I want your, uh, assurance, Mr. Senator, or I have no interest in playing errand boy on all this. You and I both know that if I say the word, this city will go down in flames. Am I, uh, making myself clear?”
The tone of the senator’s response left little doubt that if he had been in the room with Dullton he would have gladly wrapped his hands around the quivering neck that sat underneath the man’s many chins and squeezed for as long as it took to silence for good what had long been the city’s most divisive and dangerous voice.
“I understand, Reverend – perfectly. You have my assurance. The question that remains is if I have yours. None of us should want more lives and property lost. It is my hope that if we are able to calm the chaos in Chicago, other cities around the country will then follow our example. I was just told at a committee meeting this morning there’s been at least seven thousand deaths nationwide, including that terrible mess along the Mexican border. And now we have a situation brewing in Detroit with a bunch of Islamic radicals targeting Christian churches.”
Reverend Dullton’s shining round face broke into a wide grin.
“I suppose that makes me not only the savior of Chicago then, but this whole mess of a country! Might make me popular enough to run for, uh, office!”
The reverend began to chortle happily at his own implied threat disguised as humor. The senator did not sound impressed.
“Whatever plans you have, Reverend, I’m sure you’ll be successful. For now I hope that success is focused on helping to quell the violence in Chicago. Do we have a deal?”
Reverend Dullton crossed his arms across his chest and then looked at Mayor Bloom from across the mayor’s desk.
“Just one last thing, Senator…I’ll need some of Chicago’s finest to act as my personal security detail. I want five of them standing on either side of me during today’s speech - shoulder to shoulder. Figure that would make for a good visual showing, uh, unity between the city’s minority community and the police department.”
The senator sounded somewhat confused by the request.
“I don’t see a problem with that right, Mr. Mayor?”
Mayor Bloom knew the senator lacked the first-hand experience of just how deep the animosity was between the reverend and Chicago law enforcement. Reverend Dullton had for years, berated Chicago police as thugs and racists, accusations that had made the reverend a reasonably wealthy man as he played the role of a modern-day civil rights leader.
“No, Senator, I’m sure we can provide the reverend ample security today. I’ll be happy to oversee that.”
The senator for the first time during the phone conversation sounded pleased.
“Good, then I wish you well on your speech today, Reverend and let’s all hope the people listen to what you have to say. Take care.”
The call was ended.
“I’ll message Superintendent Porter, Reverend and have him assign you a security detail for your speech today.”
Reverend Dullton wagged a mini sausage-sized pointer finger at the mayor.
“No-no-no, I want the superintendent there too. I want him standing right next to me on that stage.”
Superintendent Herman Porter despised Reverend Dullton even more than the mayor did. As a third-generation Chicago cop, Porter saw Dullton and his ilk to be nothing more than a sideshow charlatan who would happily see peoples’ lives destroyed if it furthered his own.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Reverend.”
Dullton shook his head while jutting his chin out even further.
“You ain’t the one in charge here, Mr. Mayor. This is my show, my help you need, so it’s gonna be done my way. You really want to call the uh, Senator back and say you squelched on our deal here? If so then you go right on ahead.”
The Chicago mayor felt another horrible headache building inside his skull.
“Ok, I’ll have Superintendent Porter oversee your security detail personally, Reverend Dullton. Is there anything else you need from me today?”
The reverend stood up with a smirking grin.
“No, I think we’re good for now, Mr. Mayor. You have yourself a nice day. I’ll be in touch.”
Thirty minutes later…
“I won’t do it, Roger. No way I stand on a stage with that fat prick. You do realize he’s been nothing but gasoline on the fires out there, right? That man has been pushing for this kind of mess for years. Years! This city has lost nineteen officers because of people like him. Nineteen families I made calls to offer my condolences to and now you want me to put my own life at risk to keep him safe? No, I won’t. Let him hire out his own security. He can afford it.”
The mayor understood Porter’s disgust over what he was asking of him. He also knew there was no choice. Promises had been made from powers far higher up the political food chain - promises the mayor knew must be kept.
“I’m sorry, Herman, it has to be this way. Get nine of your best, deliver the reverend to that stage, and then drop him off at his residence when he’s done. I know it’s a bitter pill but if we have any hope of getting this city back from the brink, Dullton can help us to do that.”
The Chicago police superintendent’s face tightened into a disgusted grimace.
“He’s the one who helped push us to this brink, Mayor! Why should we be waiting on him like some peasant servants? How in the hell am I supposed to convince my officers this is right? Nineteen of us have died trying to stop what that man helped start!”
The mayor felt he had no choice but to pull on the chain of command, even though he hated doing so.
“If you don’t do this, Superintendent Porter, the city council can vote to reduce or even revoke your retirement benefits. Hell, you might even find yourself facing endangerment charges from the District Attorney
’s office. I’m sorry to have to put it to you this way, but you will be providing security for Reverend Dullton today. This isn’t a discussion – it’s an order.”
The fifty-nine year old Herman Porter stood up from his chair, the shoulders of his six-foot frame slumping slightly under the burden of what the mayor required of him. He intended to retire from his position next year and be done with the murky mess that was Chicago politics. He no longer had the stomach for any of it.
“Ok, Mr. Mayor, if that’s your order. Let the son-of-a-bitch know we’ll pick him up at his apartment twenty minutes before the scheduled rally. We’ll have a pilot vehicle in the front and a safety vehicle following behind – three vehicles total. Standard procedure with ten officers, myself included providing security as requested by you. Anything else?”
American Survivalist: RACE WARS OMNIBUS: Seasons 1-5 Of An American Survivalist Series... Page 5
