Burning Nation

by Trent Reedy

  —• The world’s most powerful superstation, broadcasting with five hundred thousand watts of freedom. AM 1040, RIR.”

  “Greetings! Greetings, fellow patriots! You’re listening to the one, the only Buzz Ellison! In peacetime or wartime, freedom-loving people everywhere tune in to the Buzz man, a shining beacon of truth! If comms are functioning in your area, the number to call if you want to be on the program today is 1-800-555-INDY. That’s 1-800-555-4639.

  “You know, I’ve been getting some criticism lately, and … Believe me, I’m used to dealing with criticism, particularly from liberals who have a political and financial interest in stopping me from getting the truth out to the world. But these days, I’m facing accusations that I’ve lost my credibility, that I’m just a propaganda mouthpiece for President Montaine. I’ve also heard from listeners who are outraged by these accusations, who are rushing to my defense. And I appreciate the support, but folks, this is nothing new! This is the same old, tattered, yellowed page from the liberal playbook. These are the same people who said I wouldn’t have much of a show when Obama finally, finally left office. People say I don’t have much of a show here in the Republic of Idaho where we’re at last free of partisan bickering. But those people don’t understand that the Buzz Ellison Show has never been about one man, never about one politician, and never about one political party. It’s not even about me! This show is about the solid, unfailing principles of conservatism. That’s what brings us together, folks, our love of freedom. Our desire to live without the United States federal government watching us all the time, telling us every single thing we can and cannot do, say, or think.

  “So now liberals want to discredit me, say I’m reading President Montaine’s script? I will tell you that in general I do support Montaine. I think history will justifiably remember him as a hero, a modern George Washington. But I will also tell you, I’m a little pissed at him right now. In fact, I’m mad as hell, because this effort to negotiate with Lazy Laura Griffith over the Federal Spy Card Act is an utter crock of shit! And it stinks of deceit. Laura is never going to make good on her side of the bargain. She’s never going to pardon Idaho soldiers, citizens, or people like me, who have the audacity to go on the air and call that woman the lying bitch that she is! Woo! I love true freedom of speech without the FCC threatening me with fines! And Montaine should fight to keep that freedom, not make a deal with that liar. •—

  —• THANK YOU FOR VISITING THE OFFICIAL WEBSITE OF THE ANTI-DRAFT COALITION. The Anti-Draft Coalition is a growing organization determined to resist all efforts to reinstate the draft that would force civilians into military service in the United States.

  We believe that the draft has no place in a civilized modern society, and that forcing someone into military service violates the Thirteenth Amendment, which prohibits slavery.

  While we may ally with anti-war groups in pursuit of our goal to resist reinstating the draft, we do not oppose necessary wars.

  We advocate maintaining a strong, all-volunteer force and demand Congress return our armed forces to the level of troops we enjoyed in the first decade of this century.

  We believe that our once-adequate all-volunteer military has been reduced to a level that renders it ineffective for dealing with modern challenges, and that by reversing these cuts, the so-called need for a draft could be avoided entirely. •—

  Later that first day in Shiratori’s basement, I bent the one-person-at-a-time rule and followed Cal to the bathroom.

  “What? You gonna hold my hand?” Cal said when I slipped in and closed the door behind us. “Seriously, man, I’d rather be alone.” He leaned over the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Dried blood was caked on his face, in his hair, and on his clothes. He laughed. “Damned Feds made a mess all over me.”

  “Yeah. Hey, buddy. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  He frowned and looked at me in the mirror as he turned on the water and let it warm up. “I know. You’re pissed that I wasn’t covering on machine gun. But I thought I could save the ammo when my sword would do the job just as well.”

  How could I say what I needed to talk to Cal about when I couldn’t even straighten out my own thoughts about the whole thing? I hated the Fed. But Cal had been out of control. “I’m worried about you,” I said. Whatever had happened in his head while he stabbed and slashed those Feds hadn’t been good for him. I understood a little of how he must have been feeling. Could I snap and go all animal the way he had?

  Cal scrubbed his face. “I’m fine. By the time they saw me, they didn’t have a chance.”

  “I know. You got ’em. But Cal, maybe you shouldn’t use the sword anymore.”

  “What are you talking about? That sword is badass. Sharp as hell.”

  I sat down on the toilet lid. “I mean, maybe it’s not right. Maybe it’s too cruel.”

  Cal leaned over and dipped his whole head under the faucet. The water in the sink went orange-brown. When he stood up, the water ran down his face and dripped on his sweatshirt. “You don’t think I should have killed them?”

  “No, you did what you had to do,” I said. Cal wouldn’t really listen if he thought I was bashing him. Maybe I could get through to him if I made this about tactics. “We were all shooting them to stop them. But shooting them, killing them as quick as we can … It’s, like, more humane. Slashing them with the sword makes them suffer more.” Cal reached for a towel on the rack, but I snatched it away from him. “You didn’t get all the blood off.”

  “Who gives a shit how they die? Dead is dead.” Cal went back to scrubbing. He used a squirt from the hand soap dispenser.

  “But there are rules, and I’m worried about—”

  “And don’t you want these bastards to hurt after all they done to you?” He turned to me, the top of his head still under the stream from the faucet and soapy water running over his face. He blinked against it in his eyes. “We gotta stick it to ’em. Show them we ain’t messing around.”

  “I’m worried about you, Cal. You know, I worry that if we get too deep into this, the violence, the killing, that maybe we won’t come back out.”

  Cal grabbed the towel and dried off, even though bits of dried blood still clung in the folds of his ears and a little around his eyes. “Really, Wright. I’m okay.”

  “Just promise me you’ll take it easy. Necessary targets only, and then take them out quickly and professionally. Like soldiers. Not animals.”

  Cal shook his head and laughed a little. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Okay, buddy. I know. I’ll do my best.”

  I waited there silently, trying to figure out what to say to get through to him. I knew he didn’t get my point, but he was agreeing with me, so what could I do? Call him a liar?

  Cal lifted a leg a little and ripped a big fart. “Now will you get the hell out of here so I can take a dump?”

  That was more like the Cal I had grown up with. I laughed a little as I walked out, but my smile was a cheap cover for my worry about my friend.

  * * *

  We spent the next four days in Shiratori’s closet. It was a little like being back in the dungeon. He brought us food and a flashlight, and we could sneak out to the basement bathroom. But other than that, there was nothing to do and not much room. I tried my best not to get close to Becca.

  Then one day the door swung open, blinding us in the light. I reached for my rifle in case this was the Fed.

  “Come on,” Mr. Shiratori said. “Time for you all to go. Hurry up.”

  There was an edge of panic in his voice. “What’s up, Coach?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Just, well, an Army truck full of supplies for civilians broke down on Main Street, and there’s trouble brewing with people trying to get food.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” Becca said. “How many people are there?”

  “A lot. A whole bunch of kids who always think they’re invincible, but dozens of adults too,” said Shirato
ri. “While the soldiers are distracted with this, you all can make your move.”

  I stood up. “We’ll go, but Coach, those people gotta get out of there. The Fed won’t put up with that kind of disturbance for long.”

  “I know!” Shiratori yelled. “I’ll get people to go home. Just move it.”

  One cold thought whispered through my mind. “Coach, is JoBell at this thing?” Shiratori turned away from me. “Shit. She is there!”

  He spun back to face me. “I think she’s trying to talk people into leaving, but … don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it. This is your chance. Everything will be fine.”

  “I have to make sure she’s safe,” I said.

  “Yeah. We take care of our own,” said Cal.

  “Wright, more and more soldiers are moving down there. It’s probably over by now. If not, then it is absolutely not safe for you to be there.”

  “He’s right, Danny,” said Becca. “I’m worried about JoBell too, but we can’t go there. Mr. Shiratori can help her.”

  “Wright?” Sweeney asked.

  Damn it. I had to get my head on straight. This was a war, and people’s lives were on the line. “Thanks for helping us, Coach.” I picked up my rifle and pulled back the charging handle to ready it for action. “Let’s go.”

  “Wright! I mean it. Don’t go downtown.” Shiratori called out as we left his house, but we were already headed that way.

  “Danny, this is stupid,” Becca said.

  “We’ll stay far back, out of the way, and only get involved if shit falls apart,” I said.

  “Wright, I’m kind of with Becca on this one,” said Luchen. “Odds of getting spotted and in trouble are real bad on this.”

  I stopped. “Fine! If you all want to bug out, then go!”

  “Hell no,” said Cal.

  “I’m with you,” said Sweeney.

  “We’re going to need to get out of here. There’s no way Kemp and the others left our snowmobiles out in the woods for this long. Luchen, Becca, get back to the rally point where we were supposed to pick up our sleds.” I ignored the hurt look in Becca’s eyes as I handed my radio to Luchen. “Don’t key the mike for long. Call Kemp and Crocker and tell them to bring some snowmobiles to get us out of here. We’ll be there as soon as we’re sure the situation is cool.”

  “Danny,” Becca started.

  I patted her arm. “Seriously, Becca. We’ll need you two to provide cover in case we’re followed on the way back. See you at the rally point.”

  About ten minutes later, me, Sweeney, and Cal had used a dumpster and wooden pallet to climb up on the flat roof of the post office. The roof had a two-foot wall around its edge, which provided ideal cover. Shouts and chants came from down the street. We crawled up to the front of the building and peeked over.

  “Must be half the school out there,” Sweeney said.

  A mob of just about everyone we’d grown up with had surrounded a bunch of soldiers on an Army five-ton truck loaded with food supplies. Dylan Burns’s dad pushed past a soldier to slip around the side. He pulled away with a cardboard case of MREs, and the roar from the crowd got louder. One soldier fell down, and seven or eight people reached the back tailgate. Newly arrived Feds were taking position at the edge of the street.

  “This is just like Boise,” I whispered. The soldiers had formed a circle of death around the riot all over again. Except now I saw JoBell, in the middle of it all, waving her arms and trying to get people to calm down.

  “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”

  “What do we do?” Cal asked.

  I didn’t have a clue. If the Fed messed this up as bad as we did in Boise … I wanted to run into the circle, grab JoBell, and get her the hell out of there. But the Fed would light me up, and probably everybody else with me, as soon as they saw me. Maybe we shouldn’t have come down here. My hand throbbed like someone had spiked a nail through it. It was going to go to shit again, be my fault all over again.

  We waited a long time while the crowd yelled and soldiers tried to keep people away from their truck. How long were the Fed going to let this go on?

  “Hey, check it,” Cal finally said, pointing to the roof of the hardware store down the street from us. Two uniformed Fed snipers were setting up positions, watching through high-powered scopes and scanning the whole area. Same thing on the roof of the Fed HQ in the old cop shop and the abandoned thrift store across the street. We watched for another fifteen or twenty minutes as more and more Feds took up positions.

  I remembered rule number three. “Sweeney, cover our six. Make sure some sniper doesn’t come up behind us.”

  An armored Humvee drove up from the Fed HQ and stopped about a dozen feet from the protest. Major Alsovar got out and surveyed the scene with his hands on his hips. I tightened my grip on the rifle. “I could shoot that bastard right now,” I breathed.

  Then Coach Shiratori climbed out from the other side of the Humvee, holding a powered megaphone. “What the hell?” I said.

  “Geez, Coach. Work with the Fed much?” Cal said quietly.

  Alsovar nodded to Shiratori, and Coach took a couple steps forward, holding the megaphone to his mouth. “All right, listen up! I know you’re hungry. I know times are tough. I’ve talked to Major Alsovar about this, and he says that if insurgent activity dies down, meaning if it is safe enough, we’ll get more food convoys so we won’t be in this position. But for any of that to happen, we have to cooperate and let these soldiers do their jobs. We need order so they can get this food to the distribution point without anyone getting hurt. We have to work together. Right now, in the interest of safety and security, these kinds of assemblies are not allowed.”

  Some people in the crowd started to boo.

  “He’s right! We should go home!” JoBell shouted.

  “It’s not up to him what we do!” someone yelled from the crowd.

  “Come on, guys!” JoBell tried again. “We need to break up this crowd.”

  How could she be this dumb? Alsovar wasn’t playing around. He wouldn’t put up with this mob. Worse than that, why was she out there saying exactly what he would have wanted her to say?

  “No, it’s not up to Major Alsovar!” Coach said. “It’s up to President Griffith —” Now the crowd drowned him out with their shouts and booing. “Up to President Griffith and the United States Congress. Please, for your own safety, you have to—”

  His words were lost in the roar from the crowd. I ducked down behind the wall. “Guys, what the hell are we gonna do?”

  “I don’t like this, man,” Cal said.

  A gunshot blasted through the air. I peeked over the edge of the roof and saw Alsovar holding a nine mil above his head. The protestors had all dropped to the snow-packed street. The major reached a hand out to Shiratori without taking his eyes off the crowd. Shiratori handed over the megaphone, and the major spoke through it to the group.

  “This assembly is in violation of the Unity Act. I do not care what you think of this law. I myself have no opinions about it. But I will do my duty to obey it and to stop the insurgency in and around Freedom Lake. I am authorized to use all methods, up to and including the use of deadly force, to stop or prevent any activities that might bring aid and comfort to the rebel insurgency, or that might encourage insurrection in the future. My duty does not require that I provide you with any warning, but because so many of you are young, and because above all I value peace and unity, I have allowed your voices to be heard. I have allowed a trusted teacher and coach to politely encourage you to obey the law and return to your homes.

  “But I will not play games. I have fourteen more rounds in this gun, and I will not miss at this range.” Some of the Fed soldiers looked at one another, tensing up on their weapons. Maybe they weren’t as comfortable with threatening civilian kids as this sicko Alsovar. “You have sixty seconds to stand up, put your hands on top of your heads, and begin walking home. If you do not, I will shoot fourteen of you, one at a time. Then I will
reload and shoot another fifteen. Which of you will die first?”

  “Get out of there,” I whispered to JoBell, to everyone. But I was ready with my rifle. If Alsovar fired, I’d take him out.

  The crowd looked confused, mumbling to each other. A couple girls were crying.

  Alsovar pointed his gun at the crowd. “Forty-five seconds!”

  They all stood up now and put their hands on top of their heads. Even JoBell did as the man said. I let out a little breath of relief as the crowd silently began to break up. Most of them walked down Main Street away from Major Alsovar. The soldiers in the circle opened up on that side to allow the group to walk through.

  “Okay,” Cal said. “This is all cool. I think we can bail now.”

  The two of us ducked down again and started crawling back across the roof toward Sweeney.

  Three gunshots went off. Screams came from down below. More shots.

  “What the hell!?” I crouched-ran to the edge of the roof and caught a glimpse of the major diving into his Humvee. The bodies bleeding on the ground were Feds. Coach Shiratori was kneeling, his arms covering his head. Someone down the street was shooting at the Fed. Other resistance fighters? Everyone from school ran in all directions. Some Feds fled while others returned fire. I caught a look at some of the resistance shooters. A few wore black armbands. One or two raised their left fists up over their heads the way I had the day Mom had been killed.

  Tucker Blake was running like hell when he took a round to the back. It bent him backward almost in half and he fell. I saw a sniper aiming in the direction of the fleeing crowd.

  “The Feds are shooting our guys!” I aimed my rifle at the rooftop snipers and dropped one with a bullet through the neck. Sweeney and Cal were at my side, opening fire on the Fed. The other hardware store rooftop sniper tried to turn and draw a bead on me, but I hit him once in his chest plate and again in his unprotected lower gut.