The Mechanics: A Post-Apocalyptic Fiction Series

by Bobby Akart

  “The cyber attack took away those tools,” said Donald.

  “That’s true, but his presidency was nearing an end,” said Sarge. “The collapse of the grid has presented him with new opportunities to reshape America in his vision. The President will bring America back online, but he’ll do it by rewarding his constituency.”

  Sarge gave Julia a kiss on the cheek as he approached the broadcast room to prepare for his Friday night address to his fellow patriots.

  “How does RADICS play into all of this?”

  “The President has been restoring power to areas loyal to him,” replied Sarge. “I have Donald comparing the information we’ve received to the voting results of the last two presidential elections, but it appears he’s playing favorites based upon voting districts that overwhelmingly supported him.”

  Donald added, “It’s very strategic. Northern California, parts of Oregon and Washington are the primary West Coast areas. Chicago is the only Midwest city. On the East Coast, New York and Washington are getting power restored. Nothing in the South or Southwest.

  “The heartland has been left behind,” said Julia.

  “Tie it all together for me, Sarge,” said Brad.

  “First, we have to anticipate the President’s next move,” began Sarge. “I’ve been reaching out to people loyal to us within the government. Donald has been establishing a pattern. The President has been establishing power in regions within the country that are strategically located.”

  “Let me add this,” said Brad. “My friends are telling me troop movements have escalated toward the West Coast. I’ll inquire about more activity.”

  “Good,” said Sarge. “Listen, I’ve got to get ready, but let me say this. The President used the media to stifle dissent before the collapse. I think he plans to use the military and those citizens who are willing to support him to stifle dissent in the post-collapse world. We have to be ready for the inevitable war between Americans.”

  *****

  Sarge was bringing his broadcast to a close.

  “Fellow patriots, revolutions are brutal affairs. In most cases, they don’t end well. But in America, free men will always succeed. Our forefathers shed blood for us. The result was a stable and prosperous nation.

  “Today, our freedoms are under attack by an oppressive and controlling federal government that is picking and choosing who it wants to survive. For those of you in the Southwestern United States and throughout the Southeast, you are to be commended. You’ve acted bravely and with conviction. You’ve taken back your homes, your communities, and your states.

  “For the rest of the nation where hope is in short supply, look to your patriot brothers in Little Rock, Tallahassee, Atlanta, and Nashville. They recognized the clear and present danger posed to our freedoms by the Citizen Corps. Patriots across those regions rose up despite being hungry and ill-equipped. They had pride and commitment. They overcame a greater force using their love of country.

  “Start at home by making sacrifices for the country we love. Talk to your neighbors and other members of your community. Reach out to surrounding communities and then establish a network within your state. Seek out like-minded patriots whom you can trust. There are more of you than you might realize. The successes I’ve described today will be your successes tomorrow.

  “Be inspired. Be brave. Choose freedom!”

  Chapter 39

  Saturday, November 5, 2016

  3:00 p.m.

  Belchertown, Massachusetts

  “Hey, take it easy up there, driver!” shouted Sarge as he playfully cajoled Steven about the bumpy ride to Belchertown. It had been five weeks since the failed raid by the Belchertown residents. They had captured one of the group, the teenage son of the town’s leader, Ronald Archibald. Following last night’s Choose Freedom broadcast, Sarge decided to try diplomacy close to home. He intended to make peace with Belchertown by returning the boy and extending an olive branch. Just in case, he brought a contingent of heavily armed Marines to back him up.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Steven. “Remind me to file a formal complaint with the road commissioner while we’re in town. That’s if, of course, we don’t get our asses shot up while here.”

  “Let’s hope that isn’t the case,” said Sarge. “J.J. has bonded with the boy. In fact, it was borderline Stockholm syndrome. There have been several occasions when J.J. has suggested his release. I believe the time is right for a dry run of our big prisoner swap on Tuesday.”

  Katie and Julia sat in silence as they rode along Daniel Shays Highway southward into Belchertown. Shays, a farmer and Revolutionary war hero in the 5th Massachusetts Regiment, became famous for leading Shay’s Rebellion against controversial tax policies instituted after the Revolutionary War. This country needs more patriots like Daniel Shays.

  Steven looked at Sarge in the rearview mirror. “You got your body armor on, Chief?”

  “I do.” Sarge was wearing his usual kit with ballistic plates installed. When in public, he wanted to blend in with the rest of the group, although today he planned on taking a risk by dealing with Archibald directly.

  Steven continued. “I’ve never been a big fan of protection.”

  “It’s amazing I’m not an uncle,” said Sarge, drawing a laugh from Julia and a sharp glare from Katie.

  “They didn’t hesitate in their attempt to kill us all five weeks ago,” said Katie dryly. Nobody responded, creating an awkward silence in the truck.

  The convoy, led by two Humvees equipped with fifty-caliber weapons mounted on their turrets, approached the meeting point established by Donald and Archibald. Donald, and then J.J., assured Archibald the intended meeting was strictly peaceful and that no harm had come to his son. Over the past five weeks, Archibald and his wife had cautiously approached the front gate of Prescott Peninsula to inquire about Nate on several occasions. J.J. had established a rapport with them on the last two visits, which prompted Sarge to arrange this meeting.

  They passed a looted hospital on their right as they approached the intersection of Shays Highway and, ironically, Sargent Street. A welcoming committee was set up in the parking lot of a small shopping center containing a CVS Pharmacy, a Dollar Store, and the newly opened, and now closed, Frozen Yogurt store.

  “Look, Sarge,” whispered Julia as she pointed to McDonald’s across the street. “The American flag is still flying proudly.”

  Sarge shook his head. Should I have reached out to these people sooner? Could the attack have been avoided and lives saved?

  “I don’t like this,” said Steven as he slowed the Humvee to a stop several hundred yards behind the lead vehicles. A third Humvee sped around them, which contained Donald and J.J. with the boy.

  Archibald and his wife stood directly under the traffic signals in the center of the four-way intersection. With their hands held high, the parents slowly turned to reveal they were unarmed. For a tense moment, nobody moved. The gunners manning the fifty cals slowly surveyed the crowd, pointing their powerful weapons menacingly at the entire contingent.

  “We’re ready, sir,” came the voice of CWO Shore over the comms.

  “Okay, Sarge,” said Steven. “You know the drill.”

  “I do,” said Sarge as he leaned over and kissed Julia. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I know,” she replied. “Sarge, one person, one town, one state, one country at a time.” He kissed her again.

  Steven and Katie exited the vehicle first and scanned all sides of the intersection with their M4s. Steven rapped the fender twice, indicating to Sarge that it was safe to exit. As he exited and began walking towards the intersection, Marines exited the front vehicles and shielded J.J. and Donald as they emerged as well.

  Steven said to Sarge as he passed, “You know I’ve got your six.”

  Sarge hesitated and looked Steven in the eyes, probing. “I need to know that you’ve got me around the entire dial.”

  Before Steven could answer, Archibald yelled, “Where’s my s
on?”

  His wife added, tears streaming down her face, “Where’s my Nate?”

  Sarge didn’t wait for a response from Steven and began walking toward the intersection.

  Donald, standing behind two of the soldiers, responded, “Mr. and Mrs. Archibald, your son is safe and with us. But there are a lot of people here. We need assurances from you that there won’t be any trouble.”

  “No trouble! No trouble!” yelled Archibald. “They just came because, well, we’re a tight-knit community. We’re not armed. They’re not armed.”

  Sarge caught up to Donald and J.J.

  Archibald turned to the townspeople. “Show them. Everybody! Show them we’re unarmed!”

  Nearly three hundred people standing at the Mobil station on the right and across to the McDonald’s on the left slowly raised their arms and spun around in unison.

  Contrition, thought Sarge. “Remove the boy’s restraints and let him go,” instructed Sarge to Shore. “I don’t want his mother to see him in wrist cuffs.”

  He walked past the Marines and into the open intersection. The soldiers immediately raised their weapons to thwart any potential trouble.

  “My name is Henry Sargent,” he said as he extended his hand to greet Archibald. Mrs. Archibald was sobbing. “They’re getting your son now, ma’am.”

  She nodded and calmed down somewhat. Nervously, she said, “This is Sargent Street.”

  “It’s probably named after my family.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied Sarge, but Mrs. Archibald was off in a flash, running toward her son, who ran past the Marines and into her arms.

  “Mom!” he shouted as the two crashed into each other in an embrace. Archibald tried to restrain himself and maintain some sort of leadership decorum, but he broke into tears and ran toward his teenage boy as well. Sarge stood alone in the intersection bearing his family name and surveyed the crowd. They were weak. Eyes were sullen. Clothes hung on them like rags. Their faces screamed despair.

  The tearful reunion continued for another moment while young Nathaniel introduced his parents to his captors. J.J. and Donald spoke a few words to the Archibalds before the group returned to Sarge.

  “Mr. Archibald—” started Sarge before being interrupted.

  “Please, call me Archie,” he said. “All my friends do.”

  “Are we friends, Archie?” asked Sarge, who towered over Archibald by six inches. “We got off to a rocky start, as I recall.”

  “Let me explain. I am very sorry that—”

  Sarge cut him off by raising his hand. “Mr. Arch … Archie, we’ve put that day behind us. Have you and the rest of Belchertown?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Let me ask you this,” started Sarge as he surveyed the crowd once again. “What’s the population of Belchertown?”

  “Before the lights went out, around fourteen thousand. Now we’re down to a little more than a thousand.”

  Sarge ran his fingers through his beard but resisted the urge to scratch it. This has to go. He wondered if the CVS store had any razors.

  “We’ve used up the harvests and removed anything from the local stores.”

  “How are you surviving?” asked Sarge.

  “We’ve sent groups into Amherst and Northampton to barter markets on Saturdays. After we attacked, um …” Archibald became emotional and then composed himself. He whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  Sarge reached out and placed his hands firmly on the man’s shoulders as his wife and son watched Archibald break down.

  Containing himself, he spoke again. “We began trading our weapons and ammunition for food. It’s all anybody wants at these things. A handgun might bring a bag of rice in trade. Fifty rounds of ammo gets you a bag of beans.”

  Sarge waved Shore over to the group and whispered in his ear, “Call them up.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Shore, who double-timed it to the Humvees.

  Within moments, two five-ton M928 Cargo Trucks drove along the shoulder past the parked Humvees. Sarge waved them in front of the Mobil station, where the onlookers parted to make way.

  “What’s this?” asked Archibald, who had overcome his emotions.

  “Archie,” said Sarge, “we’re neighbors now. We’re no longer enemies. We want to help our neighbors the best way we know how.”

  The soldiers inside the M928s lowered the side gates and removed the canvas covering of the oversized six-by-six military vehicle, revealing boxes of food, bottled water, hygiene supplies, and medical necessities.

  “Is that for us?” asked Mrs. Archibald.

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied Sarge, which earned him a big hug from both Archibalds.

  “God bless you, Mr. Sargent,” she said tearfully.

  He repeated Julia’s words in his mind—one person, one town, one state, one country at a time.

  “Call me Sarge. All my friends do.”

  Chapter 40

  Sunday, November 6, 2016

  8:30 a.m.

  310 Washington Street

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Dubbed the Sanctuary of Freedom in the eighteenth century, the Old South Meeting House still stood in the heart of downtown Boston. The Puritan meeting house, or church, had been an important gathering place since it was built in 1729. Sons of Liberty leader Samuel Adams and Founding Father Benjamin Franklin were some of the more infamous members of the church.

  In the early morning hours of December 16th, 1773, Samuel Adams called upon thousands of colonists from the region to attend a political meeting at the Old South Meeting House to discuss the British Crown’s onerous tax on tea. As ships entered the harbor loaded with tea, they were told that the tax must be paid, or they could not be unloaded. For days, colonists from all walks of life listened to Samuel Adams as he protested the actions of the royal governor. When the third ship arrived and was refused its request to unload, the colonists unloaded.

  Whipped into a frenzy by Samuel Adams, hundreds of colonists, led by the Sons of Liberty, left the hall and made their way to Boston Harbor. The story is well known. The tea was thrown into the harbor in open defiance of British rule. The covert gatherings at the Old South Meeting House sparked and ignited a revolution. Historians will always look to the Boston Tea Party as the catalyst and the turning point in the history of America that led to its independence.

  Steven began to rotate the meetings of the Mechanics from one location to another each week. He chose churches because they were exempt from the martial law declaration’s prohibition on large assemblies.

  O’Brien, out of sheer laziness, signed an order that permitted church services in any designated house of worship between eight in the morning and noon on Sundays. O’Brien appointed four of his men to act as designated agents to supervise the program. The Mechanics kept tabs on their activities each Sunday morning and quickly learned that the agents rarely reported for duty.

  The Old South Meeting House, while operating as a museum, was technically designated as a church. It provided the Mechanics the perfect cover for their own form of revolutionary meetings. This morning, no fire-and-brimstone preacher was necessary to inflame passions. They came in the door with smoke coming out of their ears.

  “We can’t let this stand!”

  “When are we gonna take the fight directly to those UN bastards!”

  “Screw them, I wanna take out O’Brien!”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “Choose freedom!”

  “Steven! Where’s Sarge?”

  It was this last outburst that caused Steven to quieten the crowd.

  “Listen up. Hey, calm down, everybody. This is an old building. We don’t need to bring the roof down.”

  Steven surveyed the room. This was by far the largest group of the Mechanics assembled to date. Nearly six hundred sets of eyes stared at him for guidance and leadership. He wanted to give them what they demanded—O’Brien’s head on a pike.

  “Okay, thanks. Listen up. L
ike I’ve said, Sarge will not be attending these meetings anymore.”

  “What are we gonna do? Tell us!” shouted a voice from the rear of the room.

  “I know you guys are pissed off and anxious to do something,” replied Steven. “Just hear me out. We’ll get to all of this.”

  The room was filled. Makeshift Rebellious Flags had been created out of torn sheets stapled to tree limbs and split two-by-fours. The five red and four white vertical stripes were created with paint, permanent markers, and in one case, the blood of some type of animal. The crowd wanted blood and Steven desperately wanted to give it to them.

  “Steven, the people are with us. Right, everybody?”

  “Yeah! Choose freedom!” The demonstration continued again.

  “Let’s storm the State House. We outnumber those UN bastards!”

  Screams of approval filled the Old South Meeting House.

  Katie beckoned him over while the Mechanics rallied. She cupped her hands over her mouth and spoke into his ear. “They need this.”

  “Katie, Sarge was pretty direct. He doesn’t want a bloodbath out there.”

  “Can you do it without a bloodbath?”

  “Maybe,” replied Steven. “We still have a couple of days to plan it out.”

  Steven looked at Katie seeking guidance, who began to smile. She mouthed the words, “Go for it.”

  “I will. Does he think he can do this thing without me? Does he think Tuesday’s prisoner swap is gonna be some kind of lovefest like Belchertown?”

  Steven stood up and returned to the lectern. The time for debating the use of force versus diplomacy was over.

  Chapter 41

  Sunday, November 6, 2016

  7:00 p.m.

  Western White House

  Honolulu, Hawaii

  This was only the second nationwide address by the President during this time of crisis. His other public appearances were confined to one-on-one interviews with foreign news media. The White House press corps was starved for information. Press briefings were minimal and particulars were scarce. When the President’s chief of staff announced this national speech, rumors were plentiful. Homeland Security briefings provided the most insight into how the nation was recovering.