That plea went unanswered.
Instead, the Apache slowly lifted itself another hundred feet above the cabin, paused for a moment, and then fired two Hellfire missiles in quick succession.
The cabin structure was obliterated.
The force of the detonation lifted Dolan off his feet and sent him crashing back against the trunk of a large oak tree where he then lay gasping for breath as he struggled to keep his eyes focused on the mechanical terror that continued to hover above him. The chopper remained in place over the space where the destroyed remnants of the cabin smoldered and then abruptly turned toward the left and then back toward the right.
Get the hell out of here you prick and leave me the hell alone!
Dolan lay as still as possible on the slightly wet ground of the leaf-laden forest sensing that if he were to try and run those inside the chopper would more easily locate him. There would be no escaping the Apache’s firepower.
A minute turned to two and then to three and still the chopper remained hovering over the cabin’s burnt out husk. And then finally, just as quickly as it had arrived, the Apache helicopter was gone.
They’ll likely be sending others back out here on foot.
The former police chief pushed himself back onto his feet while his lower back cried out angrily for his having done so. It felt as if a deep bruise was already forming from the impact with the tree.
If you get hurt, take it like a man – and then give some back.
It was the very same advice he had given his son only this time, Tom Dolan heard it being told in Max’s voice and not his own. Dolan winced as his first step sent a deep, stabbing pain that originated in his back and then travelled down both his legs. He took a deep breath and then willed his feet to keep moving. Tom had no idea where he was going beyond the short-term destination of Lusk’s Ferry, but knew it was going to be a long journey to get there.
He paused one last time to look back at what little remained of the cabin structure – the place he had hoped to keep his family safe from whatever hell the world beyond had turned itself into.
“I’ll do my best, Max. I’ll do my best…”
Chief Tom Dolan had every intention of keeping that promise to his son.
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EPISODE FIFTEEN:
Macy, Indiana
Sarah Clement silently admitted to herself how nice it was to wrap her arms tightly around Preacher’s incredibly firm torso while seated just behind him on the fully restored 1965 Harley Electra-Glide as they rode together down State Route 16 just a few miles outside the small town of Macy.
Akrim was to their left atop the scooter Preacher had taken on his earlier escape from Texas. It had been several days since they had left Dearborn, Michigan at the urgent request of Preacher’s aunt and uncle. In that time the unlikely trio had grown closer – a pregnant twenty-seven year old white woman, a thirty-nine year old former African American boxer, and forty-year old Muslim-American who like Sarah, had barely escaped the madness of Dearborn with his life.
At Preacher’s suggestion they avoided all major urban areas. They didn’t have a specific location yet, but rather had decided to simply “go west” and see if perhaps the chaos they knew to exist in places like Dearborn, Chicago, and many parts of Texas were less dangerous in the country’s interior.
They saw other vehicles from time to time with people who stared out at them with frightened, suspicious looks. All of America was on edge, having grown increasingly wary of strangers who might attempt to do them harm. The three travelers would simply pass them by and ride on until they found a safe place to pull off the road and set up camp to get some rest. Then they would awake and do it all again. It was during that time Sarah had come to look forward to settling in behind Preacher during the early morning hours with her arms wrapped around him. He would glance back to make certain she was safely situated on the bike and that her helmet was strapped on, give her a quick smile, and then ease the beautiful, rumbling American-made Harley onto the road toward whatever destination awaited them.
What kind of world would greet the life growing inside of Sarah Clement’s belly gave her the most worry. Even as the sun shined down upon them during their daily travels she sensed the darkness of the time she found herself living in. The America of her youth had vanished, replaced by a far more dangerous and deadly world. As bad as it was, she could not help but worry that it might yet get much-much worse.
Preacher glanced over at Akrim and then pointed toward a road sign indicating Macy was just a few miles ahead. The map they carried with them indicated it to be a town of no more than a few hundred residents. Preacher had decided it would be the place they would look for more gas. The Harley’s tank was nearly empty, as were the two additional cans they had taken with them from Dearborn.
A few minutes later found the three driving slowly down the center of the little town’s main street and finding it completely abandoned. Storefront windows had been shattered, leaving remnants of glass covering much of the sidewalks. Some of the buildings showed signs of fire damage, while others had their front doors broken down and the interiors ransacked.
Preacher brought the Harley to a stop as Akrim did the same with the scooter. Both men scanned the area looking for any signs of life.
“What the hell happened to this place, Preacher?”
Preacher took off his bike helmet and then shook his head.
“Don’t know for sure but it looks a lot like what was happening in the bigger cities, and along the Texas border.”
Akrim grunted and then looked over at Preacher and spoke in an almost whisper despite their being alone in the middle of the street.
“The Race Wars disease is spreading, isn’t it? All of the hate-fueled destruction of the urban areas is spreading like a metastasized tumor until it will cover every inch of the country. There will be no escaping it.”
Sarah didn’t realize it as she sat quietly on the bike, but her grip around Preacher had tightened considerably. Feeling the strength of his body made her feel safer.
Preacher noticed though and admitted to himself he didn’t mind. Having someone to protect somehow made him feel safer as well.
“So what do we do now?”
Preacher glanced down at the Harley’s fuel gauge which indicated empty. The bike was running on fumes.
“We try to find some gas, but stay alert. This place doesn’t feel right.”
Akrim agreed - it didn’t feel right at all.
“Over there.”
Sarah’s right hand pointed to a newer looking car that sat behind a large pine tree and in front of a small, single-story light blue home with an immaculately-manicured front yard of deep green grass and flower beds.
“Maybe it has some gas in it.”
Preacher slowly moved the Harley toward the parked car while he also remained ready to take off at the first sign of trouble. He saw the old woman after moving past the pine tree. She appeared to be Hispanic and at least seventy years of age with wide swaths of grey hair interspersed within her long black hair that hung just over her narrow shoulders. Her dark eyes regarded the three strangers moving into her front yard with near indifference as she moved herself back and forth in a decrepit, black paint-chipped rocking chair on the home’s covered front porch.
Preacher, Akrim and Sarah stared at the old woman for several more seconds wondering what to do next. Finally the woman eliminated that uncertainty by abruptly motioning for them to come closer. Her voice was somewhat high-pitched and friendly, a sound that complimented the cheerful nature that was her front yard.
“Well come on then, I suppose you need something. Nobody stops by here anymore unless they need something. You best hurry though, won’t be the only ones out in the street before too long. The workers will be here soon. Besides, it’s time for my program. You’re welcome to come in and listen with me if you like. I just made a fresh batch of lemonade. You all look a touch thirsty.”
S
arah was the first to get off the bike so she could stretch her legs before she replied to the old woman.
“My name is Sarah Clement. This is Preacher, and that is Akrim.”
The woman smiled with a mouth missing several teeth as she again motioned for them to come inside. She wore a long, navy blue dress that hovered just over the tops of her sandal-clad feet.
“Hello, Sarah, my name is Lucia Pinckney. Quite a threesome you have there. A black man, an Indian, and a white…why look at you! You’re pregnant!”
Akrim opened his mouth to correct his being called an Indian but then decided not to bother. He wanted some of that lemonade.
“Yes I am, Lucia. Could you tell us if you have any gasoline we might use?”
Lucia Pinckney stood up from her rocking chair and looked both ways to see if anyone else was coming down the street.
“I’d get to hurrying on up. You can hide those bikes in the back. There’s an old blue tarp you can cover them with. At least a few of those workers almost always pass through here around this time and you don’t want to be found outside when they do. They’re looking to stir up more trouble. Wasn’t enough they run off just about everyone else who called Macy home. No sir, they just want to do it again and again and again. Filthy bunch of animals every one of them!”
Lucia’s eyes suddenly widened as she pointed an arthritic finger to the east.
“Hurry now, they’re coming! Get those bikes and yourself out of sight!”
Preacher tilted his head toward where Lucia pointed and confirmed the sound of an approaching vehicle.
“C’mon, do as she says. Put the bikes in the back.”
After her three guests had placed a tarp over their two bikes, Lucia opened the home’s back door and urged the others to get inside.
“They’re almost here! Sit down in the kitchen and stay put!”
Lucia’s small kitchen was much like her front yard, a clean and cheerful place that emanated both pride and warmth. Lace curtains hung from a small window over the antique white sink, and next to it was an electric wall oven that Sarah realized was similar to the one used by her own grandmother years earlier. A small two-burner stove top sat alongside a massive white refrigerator that appeared to be at least as old as the wall oven. The kitchen’s floor was white and black linoleum squares that reinforced the room’s bygone era tone.
Preacher stood up and squinted his eyes as he attempted to see through the home’s front window that overlooked the covered porch and yard outside. A decrepit, rust-battered pickup truck came to a stop in the street and then three young, Hispanic men emerged and began making their way toward Lucia’s house. Lucia greeted them with a friendly hello and a brown paper bag which she carried in her right hand.
Akrim whispered to Preacher.
“You understand what they’re saying?”
Preacher frowned as he tried to follow the conversation between Lucia and the three men. He crouched low and moved several feet into the adjoining living room.
“I picked up some Spanish when I was in prison. Sounds like Lucia is giving them…cookies.”
Sarah’s face tightened as she questioned whether Preacher had understood what was actually being said.
“Cookies? You sure?”
Preacher nodded.
“Yeah, definitely gave them some cookies. Those men don’t sound friendly, though.”
Akrim grunted. Even though he didn’t speak Spanish the tone of the three men’s voices made their aggressive, unpleasant nature easy enough to understand. He knew their kind all too well, having so recently escaped men just like them in Dearborn.
“Should we trust the old woman? Why is everyone else in this town gone but she’s still here?”
Preacher held his large, heavily-knuckled right hand up for the others to be quiet as he began making his way back into the kitchen.
“They’re leaving. If she wanted them to know we were here she could have told them. I’d say until we see different we have no reason not to trust her.”
Lucia returned from outside and yelled for the others to join her in the living room.
“You can come out now!”
Preacher, Akrim, and Sarah walked into the sparsely furnished, low-ceilinged living room. The dark brown carpet was old, but clean. The dull white walls were covered with framed photos of Lucia’s long-gone family and friends. Atop the wood and marble coffee table in front of the brightly colored pastel couch was what appeared to be, an old radio attached to a car battery. Lucia sat directly in front of the dark-metal contraption and flicked on a switch.
“I don’t mean to be a poor host but it’s time for my program. You are all welcome to sit with me, or get yourself a glass of lemonade from the fridge. I don’t have electricity – that went out weeks ago, but it stays a little cooler inside there. Cups are just above the sink.”
Sarah told Akrim and Preacher to sit down while she went and got them each a glass of lemonade. Preacher sat on one side of the old woman and Akrim the other.
“This here is a shortwave. When we still had power I would use the regular radio in my bedroom, but then I had to drag this out of the shed. It was Douglas’s, my husband. He died of cancer a few years back. He would listen to this damn thing for hours every Saturday afternoon. Voices from all over, he’d say. The world’s conversations! Now it’s just me and my program but thank goodness for that! Gives a silly old woman something to look forward to!”
The radio emitted a series of crackling electronic pops before a faint voice was heard. Lucia turned up the volume as both Preacher and Sarah instantly recognized it as the same low, baritone voice they had listened to while driving through Dearborn. Sarah handed Akrim his lemonade and then did the same for Preacher, her eyes lingering for just a moment on the former boxer’s handsome and still smooth-skinned face.
The voice was bellowing a greeting to his listeners before proceeding to update them on the day’s events.
Hello again everyone from parts unknown. At least I hope so because I know for a fact there are those who want this voice of mine silenced forever. Our old studio was destroyed by fire, and so we have hit the road, call it a travelling road show of shared knowledge if you will.
To my dying breath I will keep you informed.
Lucia lightly clapped her age-spotted hands together as she grinned to herself and then to her newly-arrived guests.
“I just love it when he says that. And he means it too! You can tell when someone isn’t being genuine, but with him it’s the truth!”
From coast to coast and Canada to Mexico this once-great nation has fallen to its knees, pushed and pummeled by the very people we gave the keys of power to! And while the cities no longer suffer from the rampant violence of weeks earlier, the people there are living in a police state whereby the government rules over them with absolute authority. The masters of this Race War hide behind their tanks and soldiers in Washington D.C., their towers of wealth and privilege in New York and elsewhere, while everyone else is forced to comply or die.
Comply or die, ladies and gentlemen, that’s what our day to day existence has become in so many parts of this place we once called America.
I have it on good authority there are now food shortages in some of those same cities the government has taken over. Thousands are starving and the government is looking to take from others in order to feed those they deem worthy of life. Those others are men and women who made lives in the wide open spaces of the United States – farmers, ranchers, and those who simply wanted to live with a little peace and quiet and the ability to be left alone if they so chose.
They are coming for you – all of you. They will take your crops, your food, your cattle, your very livelihood and destroy it and leave YOU to be the starving ones. Think about it, folks why has so much focus been on restoring order to the urban areas while rural America has been left to suffer entirely on its own? Why were the prisons emptied of their contents from one state to the other, prisons that were loca
ted throughout the countryside far from the same cities the federal authorities now control with iron fists?
I propose those prisons were emptied for the sole purpose of ensuring chaos to the smaller cities and towns of America! The Race Wars masters want you to suffer, they need you to suffer and ultimately turn on yourselves until you are begging to be delivered the same safety and protection that is now being provided at gunpoint to the large urban areas.
They will break your spirit and break your essence until nothing of it remains. Only then can they rule the entirety of this country, having made slaves of us all.
American Survivalist: RACE WARS OMNIBUS: Seasons 1-5 Of An American Survivalist Series... Page 18
