by Joe Nobody
Looking around the crowd, she began. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce General Owens? He is in charge of the delegation from Washington that has been negotiating a trade agreement with our community. This morning, he delivered terrible news. There has been a mass killing at the edge of our territory, and the general has requested a public hearing to present the evidence gathered by the army investigators. General, you have the floor.”
Owens stood, initially facing the council. “Thank you, Madam Chairman,” he stated calmly. His next action surprised Diana. Instead of speaking to the governing members of the Alliance, he turned and faced the gathered crowd.
“My fellow Americans,” he began, and then paused, eyes sweeping the room. “I don’t use that opening lightly. It was not an accidental statement. I honestly believe all three words. All of you… are Americans.”
The speaker paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before continuing. “As most of you know, there has been a disagreement between the federal government in Washington and your locally elected officials. There have been threats exchanged, as well as a few overt actions that have served to escalate the tension.”
The general again swept the room, clasping his hands behind his back. “No one wants a war. No one wants to abuse the rights and privileges of any freeborn American citizen. Our disagreement involves material assets and perceived liberties. That is the key word to this entire debacle – perceived.”
Diana watched the crowd, their attention rapt like a jury, willing to hear the man out.
Owens continued, his voice clear, his tone honest. “The president of the United States ordered me here. I’ll be blunt, I didn’t want to accept the mission. In my heart and mind, I am more closely aligned with your leaders than anyone in Washington. During countless meetings held at Camp David, I was always the voice crying out for the protection of each individual’s rights. So why did my Commander in Chief send one of the few dissenting voices on such a critical assignment? Why did he choose me to lead our delegation? Because I have seen the results of American fighting American with my own eyes. These hands… my own hands… have spilled American blood.”
After waiting for the shock of the statement to wear off, he continued. “I commanded the rebel forces at Scott’s Hill, my friends. I ordered men to fight their brothers and cousins. Why? Because of how strongly I felt about a cause… my sense of right and wrong. So it was with this knowledge that President Moreland ordered me to lead these negotiations. He confided in me that if anyone had the motivation to avoid a civil war, it was me. I’ve been there, I heard the screaming of the wounded, watched the life fade from men’s eyes. I know what war would mean.”
Oh, he’s good, thought Terri. He’s very good. But where is this going?
After taking a drink of water, the general cleared his throat and resumed. Sweeping his hand toward the council table, he said, “And we were there. We had an agreement that avoided war and benefited both parties. Not everyone on my side of the table was happy, I’m sure these fine people behind me had their issues as well. Evidently, some people within your community were seriously displeased. Evidently, there were factions among you who decided reaching agreement with Washington just wasn’t in the plan, and took it upon themselves to sabotage our proceedings… to kill the deal.”
Owens then stepped to the table occupied by his men. He reached down and picked up a single sheet of paper.
“Two nights ago, at 0100 hours, this man attacked a forward operating base that was in the process of being constructed,” he said, holding up an 8x10 photo of Bishop. “This base was outside of your alliance’s territory, the location agreed to only three days before by your own council. This base was staffed by the unarmed soldiers of the New York National Guard. Medical personnel, ladies and gentlemen – doctors and nurses who were staging there in order to treat your friends and neighbors.”
Moving back to the table, Owens then picked up a stack of photographs, walking to the edge of the crowd and holding the first up for everyone to see. “Private First Class, Mitch Benton, Medic” he announced, displaying a gory image of a dead man lying on the ground. “Captain Henry Phillips, Internist,” he continued, showing another blood-filled image. “Major Becky Holland, Nurse,” the general announced, presenting the image of a dead woman, her uniform blouse covered in purple.
“In total, 21 of our people are dead. Butchered.”
Again a pause for effect, giving the audience time to absorb what he was saying. “So why do we believe this was the work of the Alliance? Why am I here addressing you? Because we were monitoring the construction of the camp with an observation drone. This is common practice when forward bases are being constructed in distant locales. We have pictures of the culprit; we have video of the man executing this crime. And that man is the husband of one of your most important leaders. That man, Bishop, has been involved in the assassination attempt of an American president. He has had multiple warrants issued for his arrest, and is still a wanted man associated with crimes committed on a federal installation. He has committed assault against a treasury employee and is known throughout the territory as a man capable of killing. Even if we hadn’t been monitoring this location with an observation drone, we would have suspected this individual. As it is, we have proof who committed this atrocity.”
Turning to one of his subordinates, Owens nodded. The sergeant reached to the table and turned on a projector, a large, illuminated square appearing on the front wall of the chambers. Turning back to his now-captive audience, the general continued. “I know you don’t trust Washington. I know there is a long and difficult healing process ahead of us all. For this reason, I’m not here asking anyone to take my word for it. I want you to see the evidence and judge for yourself. Sergeant, play the video, please.”
The projector displayed a series of still photos, all of Bishop. The accused was cleaning his weapon, loading magazines, and adjusting his gear. Then the display changed to motion video, taken from a thermal camera. There was Bishop stalking toward the camp, carrying two milk jugs, moving toward a tent.
The brightness of the footage suddenly changed. The clear outline of white-hot flames was visible in the center of the tent, the image of Bishop nearby, raising his rifle.
Other human shapes began to appear, rushing as if to look at the fire. Bishop’s rifle began firing, the barrel glowing thermal hot in the images.
The soldiers, responding to the fire, began to fall. Some clutched their chests, others simply dropped to the ground in disheveled shapes. After several had fallen, the survivors began to run away. The image of Bishop chased them down.
The last ten seconds of video evidence showed the clear outline of a woman, holding up her hands in surrender. The rifleman walked up and calmly shot her in the head, a geyser of hot liquid spray graphically depicted on the wall of the courthouse.
The women of Alpha turned their heads away, the audience filled with gasps and moans. A few of those gathered whispered prayers.
After a nod from the general, the projector was switched off. He gathered himself, clearly touched by the evidence. His voice was shaky, a Herculean effort required to keep the anger from dominating his next statements.
“Ladies and gentlemen, put yourselves in our place. What would you do? The president is irate, his advisors begging that we immediately send tanks, gunships and infantry into West Texas to avenge our causalities. Wouldn’t most of you do the same?”
Several heads were nodding in the audience, many of the citizens casting hard glances at Terri, a few at Nick and Diana.
“But hope is not lost. If this man is apprehended and turned over to us, there is still a chance that war can be avoided. If the good people of West Texas see fit to accept the legitimate government in Washington, and immediately cease all of this Alliance nonsense, then death and destruction on a massive scale can still be avoided.”
The crowd interrupted the speech, murmurs, side conversations, and rumblings sounding
throughout the room. The general was patient, remaining statuesque and expressionless.
Diana’s gavel was required to restore quiet, her voice sounding above the din. “Order, please! Order in these chambers!”
The general nodded his thanks to the chairperson, and then returned to address his audience. “Tomorrow, I’m going to arrive here at zero-eight-hundred with four busses. I will take anyone who still has doubts to the scene. After that, if this situation doesn’t come to resolution, the next time any of you see me, I will be riding on a tank, and I won’t be alone. I will now leave you all to decide your future. I don’t want to use critical assets to take more American lives, but I will do so if ordered. As I stated earlier, I’ve done it before. God help us all if it comes to that.”
And then the army officer turned to his comrades and said, “Let’s go.” After a quick gathering of their paper and equipment, the four-man procession filed down the center aisle and exited the building.
The place erupted. Voices rang out and fists shook in the air, some pointed at Terri, others gesturing where the general had just passed. Everyone seemed to want to voice an opinion at once, some at the top of their lungs.
A few people, trying to be heard above the throng, tried to approach the council’s table, but Nick and three of the Darkwater contractors were there, keeping the agitated citizens back.
Diana, her hammering gavel doing little more than adding to the dismay, slammed the device down so hard the handle broke.
It was a single gunshot that broke through the chaos, producing immediate silence. All eyes turned to look at Terri, standing on her chair. One of her arms was pointed to the ceiling, smoke still rolling out the pistol in her hand, the other hand covering Hunter’s ears. “Enough!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “You can run us all out of town later if you want, but we will have order right here, right now. Take a seat. Everyone will get a turn.”
And they did.
The meeting lasted into the wee hours of the morning, with three intermissions. Two of the breaks were to feed Hunter, the third for bathroom necessities.
As the sleepy team of Diana, Nick, and Terri walked home, the new mother summed it up best. “Our people are divided into three camps,” she stated. “One group believes my husband is a villain and that the entire council ordered the attack so we could keep our jobs. The second group thinks the government is lying and wants us to hold our ground, even if it means war. The third group is undecided. I bet we’ll see a lot of the third group on the busses tomorrow.”
Nick had been practically silent most of the evening, as if something was on his mind. Without warning, his head popped up, “Terri, how many rifles did Bishop take with him?”
“Oh… I don’t know, Nick. It seems like so long since he left. Two, I think.”
The big man seemed to ponder the answer for a moment, Diana interrupting his thoughts. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know… it’s probably nothing, but, those videos the general showed… something just wasn’t right about them. I can’t put my thumb on it, but something was strange.”
The trio continued to trek toward Terri’s home, Hunter fast asleep in his papoose. As they got closer to the bungalow, Nick’s frame went stiff, his hand reaching for the rifle strapped across his back.
“What’s wrong?” Diana asked, her head scanning all around.
Nick nodded toward Terri’s front porch. There, along the front wall, someone had written “Killers!” in red.
The two women stayed back while Nick cleared the premises. The graffiti was still wet. Nick poked his finger in the runny substance and then held it up to his nose.
“Chicken or pig blood,” he announced. He then turned to the girls and said, “Terri, I think you and Hunter should sleep over at our place tonight. I’ll send someone over to wash this off tomorrow.”
Terri seemed in shock, the cumulative effects of the day finally catching up with her.
Diana took her friend by the arm and said, “Come on, girlfriend, I’ve been hoarding some hot cocoa. I’ll make you a cup while Nick gathers up some things for you.”
Alpha, Texas
July 17, 2016
Bishop’s knees and back were singing a song of pain with every step, the blisters on his feet adding to the chorus. The tune kept repeating over and over again, a seemingly permanent fixture of the morning.
He was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, he almost didn’t notice Alpha’s small airport, only a few miles north of town. It was the first sign of civilization he’d seen in two days. The song of punishment faded, its jingle replaced by an upbeat rhythm inspired by almost being home.
He managed another half a mile when the sound of a car engine caused him to turn. There, sure enough, was a citizen of the Alliance rolling into town. Bishop stuck out his thumb, more as a joke than an actual signal that he wanted a ride. Normally, passersby would stop and offer him a lift, even if he were on a short stroll around Alpha.
The driver, who he recognized as one of the church volunteers, slowed as if preparing to stop and offer a lift. When she was close enough to identify the pedestrian, she looked straight ahead and sped on by.
Bishop was initially shocked, but then justified the woman’s reaction by his appearance. He knew he would not be making new friends with three days of beard, two rifles, and clothes that were soiled, to put it mildly. Maybe she got a whiff of me, he thought. I probably smell so bad a pig farmer wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t want to offend the swine.
He had forgotten about the incident by the time he reached the outskirts of town. The hour was still reasonably early, not many folks up and about just yet. He encountered the first pedestrians a few blocks north of the courthouse.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. James,” he greeted with a cheery voice. “A fine morning, isn’t it?”
The older couple stopped, turning to see who had spoken to them. The husband’s eyes betrayed a flicker of recognition, and then something totally unexpected happened.
Rather than a greeting, a frown flashed across Mr. James’s face. Pivoting without a word, he pulled his spouse closer and then began walking off at a brisk pace, almost as if Bishop were some sort of criminal eyeing his wife’s purse.
“Odd,” he whispered to himself. “I wonder if they’re mad at Terri over something the council did while I was gone.”
As he turned to continue home, his question was partially answered. There, tied to the pole of a stop sign, was his picture. Above the black and white photograph were the bold letters, “WANTED.” Beneath the image was the statement, “By the US government for murder. Please contact any US representative. This man is responsible for the massacre at Chamber’s Valley. He should be considered armed and dangerous.”
At first, Bishop just stood and stared at the poster. It has to be a joke, he told himself. Nick’s really getting sophisticated with his stunts. He even looked around, expecting to see a couple of guys with a video camera filming his reaction.
But then, it began to tie in with the morning’s unusual events. The volunteer who wouldn’t give him a ride. Mr. James’s reaction.
He turned back to study the photograph, trying to determine where the picture had been taken. “Chamber’s Valley?” he questioned to no one. “I just left Chamber’s Valley. Oh, shit… Nick would have no way of knowing I was there… nobody would.”
Not wasting any more time trying to dissect the “Wanted” poster, Bishop hurried the remaining few blocks to the bungalow. He noticed the truck was gone before entering the house. Another weird thing… Terri rarely drove anywhere, and he’d just passed the courthouse, checking the parking lot to see if anyone was at work just yet. No Terri and no truck.
Bishop entered, finding an empty nest. Most of their possessions were still there, but the bed wasn’t made. She must have been in a hurry to get somewhere, he reasoned.
He tried to make the best of it, convincing himself it was actually a positive
thing. He would have time to take a shower and change clothes before seeing his wife for the first time in days.
He had just finished dressing in clean duds when the squeaky brake of an electric golf cart sounded from the driveway. Poking his head out the front screen door, Bishop smiled to see Nick and Diana exiting their ride.
“Good morning,” he greeted. “Would you folks know where my wife is?”
“Bishop,” Diana said sharply, “What the hell is going on? What happened out at Chamber’s Valley?”
Puzzled, still trying to fill in the blanks, he responded honestly. “Nothing happened up there. I left two days ago, and everything was just fine.”
“So you were there?” Nick asked, his voice more worried than accusing.
Bishop shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I was there. What the fuck is going on, Nick? Where’s Terri?”
Diana pointed south, “Terri left yesterday for the ranch. Things were getting a little testy around here… there was even a protest of sorts. She and Nick thought it would be safer if she stayed out there.”
The look on Bishop’s face was helpless. “Testy? Safer? Protest? What the hell is going on, guys?”
Diana replayed the story of the military arriving two days ago. She repeated their claim that Bishop had butchered a bunch of military doctors, killed them in cold blood.
“No one believed it at first, Bishop,” Diana continued, “We all thought it was preposterous. Then they showed us the video of you going into the camp with your rifle.”
“I still didn’t buy it,” Nick chimed in. “So they took a bunch of us up there in a bus. I saw the dead with my own eyes. The pictures they had matched the background and landmarks.”
Bishop was in shock. Turning away, he started blurting out unrelated statements, his arms waving in wild gestures. “I was there, but I didn’t shoot anyone. The guy at the Circus… he told Grim… they were going to assassinate the council and Terri. They were going to take over the electrical sub-station. But all I found were medical supplies… not a Special Forces Team. I just assumed something had changed… that they had called off the mission after you guys had reached a deal. So I just left and walked home.”
