by G. R. Carter
Another scream came from the other side of the grain bin, and Jim staggered to his feet. He considered going up to retrieve his rifle, but the screams pulled him towards the chaos. Instead he grabbed the scarecrow’s gun, attempting to clear the misfired shells.
Running around the corner his heart sunk. Flames were licking up from the ground floor windows of the farmhouse. A pair of men were dragging someone or something out of the machine shed. Adrenaline kicked in and for a moment he considered which way to go. Unable to determine how many bandits he faced, he knew the smart move was to make for the fields and get into town for help.
But he also realized there was no way he’d ever forgive himself for turning tail while his friends and family were dying. With the busted shotgun in one hand and his knife in the other, he began to run towards the hellish scene up ahead. Each step brought a clearer vision of what was happening; each sight fueled his rage.
The first bandit he caught by surprise, plunging his knife into the thin flesh of his back. The man arched in agony, freeing the person trapped below as he grabbed for the thing causing such pain. Jim brought the shotgun butt down on the attacker's head to finish him. He ignored the unmoving victim and moved to the next instance of carnage, marching now instead of running. The rain kept anyone from noticing him, and any who glanced his way assumed he was part of what was going on.
Jim’s knife found the back of another raider’s neck, and the man standing next to him turned just in time to have his teeth bashed in by the shotgun. One more twist and the knife plunged into the stomach of a bald-headed savage carrying a body in a nightgown out of the back door of Jim’s burning house. The tormented howl of the doomed bandit finally got the rest of his cohort’s attention. As he staggered down the steps under the weight of his victim, the bald man took the knife to the ground with him.
Jim was surrounded now, and he swung the shotgun wildly at anything that moved.
“Back off, he’s mine!” A man with a cropped haircut and a ragged policeman’s uniform stepped forward. Even in the dark Jim could see the fresh tattoos running up the man’s arms and across his forehead. The sharp bird-like features stared at Jim for a moment, sizing him up for prey.
“That was my cousin you just killed, farmer,” the former cop growled at Jim.
“And that’s my entire family you just killed, demon,” Jim shouted back.
“Not your entire family. Not yet. I know who you are, we’ve been watching you. After I’m done with you and your little group here, I’m going to find your pretty daughter and keep her for myself. Maybe I’ll keep you alive long enough to see her one last time,” the villain said, his gap-toothed smile visible in the firelight.
“You’ll starve long before you ever get to her. After what you’ve done here tonight, everyone’s going to be looking for you. There’s no courts anymore, no defense lawyers to get you off the hook,” Jim countered.
The man bust out laughing. “Don’t you get it, dirt man? I was the law before this all happened, and I’m sure as heck the law now! Those soldiers you and your buddies pissed off up north are keeping us well supplied. All we have to do is keep burning your stuff and killing your women, and they’ll keep us fed. Pretty freakin’ sweet deal. Guess maybe you should have taken their offer before, maybe then you would've lived a while longer,” the ex-cop finished.
Without another word he grabbed a machete from behind his back and lunged at Jim. The shotgun came up to block the overhand cut of two feet of metal. Arms raised to hold the slippery shotgun with both hands, Jim never saw the Bowie knife come up from underneath and slice into his stomach. A burning sensation followed by the worst pain he ever felt made him lose his grip on the shotgun and fall to his knees. Involuntarily he clutched the wound, looking down to watch his hands turn red with rain and blood. He stared for a moment, and then tried to regain his footing.
The former lawman walked up and lifted Jim’s chin to meet his eyes. “I told you, farm boy, I am the law. Maybe your wife and her pet police chief should have remembered that. I’ll make sure to remind her when I’m standing over her.”
One last drive of adrenaline gave Jim the strength to roar and knock the ex-law man into the mud. The cop’s bird-like features turned to rage as he regained his feet and picked up the machete. As Jim pushed himself up on the slippery grass, his last sight on earth was the blade as it arced through the air aimed at him.
*****
Coach Parker Mosely and Chief of Police Danny Cable stood over the covered bodies of twenty-three men, women and children. No one knew for sure how many people had been staying at the Ruff farm the night before. But the one thing they did know was that at least four young women who were members of the families represented here were unaccounted for.
Ten bulky young men with shotguns and rifles stood behind the two middle-aged authority figures. Their sharp eyes looked out towards the fields, scanning back and forth for any signs of movement. Another ten spread out and searched the nearby pasture and cropland looking for signs of any survivors.
One who clearly didn’t survive was the farm’s owner, Jim Ruff. His wife and daughter sat in one of the college’s maintenance trucks, waiting for the news they dreaded. Somehow, Coach Mosely managed to talk the two women into waiting for him to inspect the scene. He couldn’t hide the still smoldering buildings from their view, but at least he could keep them from having the image of Jim Ruff’s remains in their dreams for the rest of their lives. Coach Mosely knew he wouldn’t be so lucky, himself.
Clearly Jim had made a fight of it in the end, and received untold hacking blows from a blunt blade as a reward. A small American flag was shoved in his mouth, a clear message no one had an explanation for.
Both men were blessed with strong stomachs, allowing them to help clean up the faces of most of the victims. They carefully placed old sheets brought out from the campus dorms over the rest of the bodies. The faces allowed Julia and Rebekah to identify each person and then say a goodbye. Time for sentimentality was brief now, as both Moseley and Cable were anxious to get their leader out of this danger zone and back behind the relative safety of the campus boundaries. Julia stood looking down at her husband, a heartbroken tilt of her head pursed a teary smile. She remembered the good man she loved for so many years. A hopelessly devoted father and friend, his bravery in the face of death was to be expected; he was a faithful man with no doubt about where his eternal future lay.
Rebekah sobbed at her feet. Inconsolable at the loss of her biggest fan in the world, she screamed “Daddy, Daddy don’t leave me!” Julia crouched and put her arm around Rebekah. The younger woman thrust her face into Julia’s chest, repeating “Why, Mom? Why did this have to happen?” over and over.
With no answers to give, Julia remained silent, simply hugging her daughter. There was no reason for this senseless death and destruction. If someone needed food they could have asked, same with shelter. Old Main didn’t have enough to go around, but they tried to share with honest people.
The problem was, these weren’t honest people causing this. They were savages. Sub-human. In America before the Reset, nearly 25% of all people were on some kind of mood-altering drug, some illegal but most prescribed by the very government health programs supposed to help.
Just weeks after those drug shipments shut off, the addicted brains of many of those people were scrambled. Withdrawal symptoms ranged from total mental shutdown to extreme paranoia and rage. The results of the latter were clear on the ground here.
“President Ruff, we have to go. We don’t know if whoever did this is still around,” Coach Moseley said. “I promise the boys will give everyone a proper burial. Or we can bring them back to the campus if you want to bury them there.”
Julia shook her head. “No, Jim for sure would want to be buried here. I’m assuming the rest would want the same. They wanted to live here on the farm…” The pain of the choices they made now resonated with her. Maybe if I had been more understanding. Tried to see thin
gs his way, she thought.
“We’ll see to it. We won’t mark any of the graves for now. But we’ll make a map. When things settle down you can come out and make a proper stone for them,” Moseley said.
“Thanks, Coach. I’m so thankful for you and Chief Cable and your guys. You’re a real blessing to us.”
Julia took Rebekah around the shoulders and made her way back to the truck. She watched her daughter go from strong young woman to little girl and back again. Julia could feel her daughter’s back stiffening, willing herself to be strong in this moment of agony.
“We have to ask them for help mom. Coach and Chief Cable do what they can. But we have to ask the Shelby County guys for help. They’re better at fighting then we are. You saw those armored vehicles they drove over here last week,” Rebekah pleaded.
“I should have said yes to Walsh. If I had just swallowed my pride, none of this would have happened,” Julia sighed.
“Mom think about what you’re saying. Dad called Walsh a Nazi. Said he was some kind of dictator. I thought that’s exactly what you were against.”
“Your dad is dead!” Julia snapped. “No big ideas of how things ought to be are going to bring him back! How in the world am I supposed to worry about this kind of stuff when people are starving or getting cut to pieces by a bunch of outlaws who appear out of nowhere, Rebekah?”
Julia was white-faced and puffing breath in and out. Rebekah stood stunned, never having witnessed her mother lose her cool in such a fashion. But facing the death of her husband and so many cousins and nieces and nephews was too much even for her to handle.
Rebekah simply reached for the door handle of the truck and climbed in, slamming the door behind her. Julia turned to Cable and Moseley, who had walked up but were doing their best to appear not to be listening.
“Coach, Chief, I want a meeting with you as soon as you get back to Old Main, ok? I guess I knew things were bad all around, but it takes something like this really shake a person into reality,” Julia said.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Julia? I think we’d all understand if you took a little time to deal with things,” Cable said.
“This is how I deal with things, Chief. I try to solve the problems we’ve been handed. I’m not saying I’ll ever get over our loss. But the one thing my husband would want is to make sure this doesn’t happen anywhere else. He tried to warn me and I didn’t take it seriously enough. I won’t do that again,” she said. “Now if you could have one of your team take Rebekah and me back, there are some personal affairs I need to attend to.”
New America
Colonel Darian Walsh raised his field binoculars to inspect hastily-built earthworks around West Lafayette, Indiana. Walsh spanned the large semicircle, noting how it curved back around a portion of the city, protected by the river to its back. The mounds stood about six feet tall in most spots, though there was no uniformity to the structure from spot to spot. Walsh doubted the townspeople building the wall remembered that soldiers needed firing platforms to make those fortifications effective against assault. Maybe they thought that New America would bypass resistance and move on to easier places? West Lafayette clearly didn’t understand what the goal of Reconstruction was. At least, not yet.
Ironic that we’re facing a city named after a hero of the American Revolution. So much history in this part of the country, they ignored it even at the Academy. The American Revolution and War of 1812 saw pivotal battles around here. Tippecanoe…Could do a river landing behind the wall, where it’s unprotected, but I don’t have enough boats. Maybe insert a small force under darkness?
Walsh’s Legions experienced little organized resistance as they rolled up the small towns of eastern Illinois and western Indiana. Most communities they came into contact with were thrilled and relieved to see the Stars and Stripes flying once again. Small-town patriots assumed the American government finally had a handle on things and the lights would be coming back on soon. When townspeople finally realized that New American forces weren’t bringing relief but martial law, it was too late to do anything about it.
Most of them would have been dead by the winter without us. Pathetic discipline and no structure, he assured himself.
Walsh remained unclear if West Lafayette intended to fortify before learning about New America’s approach. Either way, the townspeople near the former Purdue University campus were working feverishly to complete their defenses around the small city.
“Why would they not accept Reconstruction when we just want to put the country back together?” his driver asked, sincerely confused.
“Fake news, Corporal. They believe we intend to conquer them. Whoever is leading the city now wants to keep control for themselves. Perhaps they think they’re part of a separate society. No longer part of America. Whatever the reason, I’m sure the citizens will understand once we’ve removed the liars who have misled them,” Walsh assured him.
Silently, Walsh was glad to finally test the training and tactics they had been drilling. His Centurions and Guardsmen were hungry for a fight. A few experienced small battles here and there with obstinate small towns that didn’t welcome Reconstruction. But his losses had been minimal, and any resistance usually ended with several dead townspeople and their selfish leaders executed.
Walsh wasn’t concerned about being able to overcome simple fortifications at West Lafayette, but he did relish the opportunity to teach some real-world lessons to his men without too many New American casualties.
“Get me Captain Eckert,” Walsh commanded over his shoulder to a young Guardsmen acting as his messenger.
Ridiculous, radios not working again. It was almost funny at first, but commanding a battlefield with runners and flags is like something out of the Civil War. Everything the radio techs try gets fried in just a few days.
Captain Tyler Eckert, Walsh’s battlefield Executive Officer, approached Walsh's position at double-time.
“The Legions stand ready for your orders, sir. We’ve deployed three columns, each prepared to strike the walls simultaneously,” Eckert reported.
“Thank you, Captain. Excellent work as always,” Walsh said. Eckert beamed at the praise, which Walsh only offered when absolutely warranted.
“Tell the men to hold position. I’ve decided to attack at dawn tomorrow morning. We’re going to work on night logistics, which shouldn’t be too tough with relatively flat terrain,” Walsh told the Captain.
“I understand, sir. And we look forward to the test tonight. But if I may, won’t that allow the rebels time to further improve their positions?” Eckert asked, earnestly wanting to know what his commander had in mind.
“Actually, that’s an excellent question, Captain. I would have been disappointed if you didn’t ask for clarification. What I have in mind is for our demolitions team to get some work in tonight, also. Can you bring them here, please? We’ll go over the plan together. Here’s how we’ll launch the attack…”
*****
Colonel Walsh could hear voices yelling above him – and a bright light cut through the fog as he looked up.
Why am I lying down? I’ve got so much work to do. And why is everyone else awake if I’m not?
Walsh’s work ethic was famous among his junior officers. He needed little regular sleep, just catching a few hours here and there.
Something must be wrong, why can’t I move?
Pain sharpened his focus as the fog began to drift from his eyes. He raised his head just enough to see doctors looking over his right leg. He could see bandages with blood, that was about it.
When did I get hit? I don’t remember a thing. Must be under sedation, was I that close to the fighting? Wait, how did we do?
Turning his head slightly, he could see Captain Eckert speaking with one of the Field Surgeons.
Walsh attempted to speak through dry lips, but the sound barely came out. Seeing the Colonel awake, Eckert nodded and leaned in.
“Please rest, Sir. You were hit pretty badly. Don
’t worry, Doc here says you won’t lose any motor function as long as there’s no infection. We doused it with enough sulfa to sterilize a moose as soon as you went down,” Eckert assured him.
“What, what…what happened to the attack?” Walsh rasped.
“You don’t remember?” Eckert asked.
Walsh shook his head weakly, imploring Eckert to explain with a waving of his hand. Walsh noticed for the first time the IV stuck into his arm.
“Well, sir, the attack went off like you planned. The demo team snuck into the town without a hitch. They set off charges all over just before daybreak, and then we hit them from each side of the wall. The transport trucks backed right up against the earthworks, and the Guardsmen went over the walls and into the city with hardly any casualties.
“What we didn’t know was that a couple companies of first line Service-Marines were in town. They got stuck there after Grapevine crashed. Escorting some VIP coming to visit her alma mater. We got that info from a journal one of the Marines had in his pocket. We’ve counted fifty of them dead so far. None were taken alive, so it’s hard telling if there was more that escaped. Colonel, the Marine commander inside knew his stuff. He had all his men ready, and had at least another hundred really well-trained militia men as well. Again, that’s how many we have counted out in the makeshift morgue we put up in the Get–Mart parking lot. That’s where we set up the detention area for any prisoners, but so far, all the armed resistance appears eliminated.