by T W Powell
“Yep, Tom, my grandfather started our ranch.”
“What do you think The Collective will do for you?”
“They’ll take my land and bring in a bunch of city people who don’t know jack shit. Then they will divide my triple-wide into three, maybe four apartments and we can all starve together equally.”
Tom was shaking his head in approval, “Yes, they are coming. They will either kill or enslave all the White folks, then they will tar and feather Juan as being a traitor to ‘People of Color’. I know that we have some Latter-day Saints families with us tonight. You rank just above Jews on The Collective’s Social Quotient scale.”
Someone in the audience spoke up. “But what can we do?”
Tom answered bluntly. “We can do what we should have done 15 years ago. Instead of fighting, we hid in this Valley. We watched from afar as the Tabernacle was burned in Salt Lake. We did nothing as they rounded up the Jews in New York. But now they are coming for us. We must fight.”
Someone else interrupted, “How can we fight those helicopters?”
Tom replied. “Smartly. We must fight smartly. But the operative word is ‘WE’. Every family must agree on this. What we have witnessed tonight should be enough.”
Juan Hernandez stood up, “We should vote now!”
The small crowd erupted, “Vote now!”
Thomas calmed the gathering, “We can vote now, but before we vote, consider this. If we fight, some of us gathered here will pay with our lives, maybe all of us. Our homes could be destroyed. And, after all that, we may still lose. This isn’t a game. Let’s take a few minutes before we vote to allow families a chance to talk this over and give everyone time to pray to Almighty God as they see fit.”
Fifteen minutes later, Pastor Williams called for the vote, “Everyone in favor of, in favor of? Just what do we call this?”
A voice from the crowd shouted, “Declaring war on The Collective.”
“Everyone in favor of declaring war on The Collective please raise your right hand.”
Every hand was raised.
“Since there is no opposition, I guess we are now at war with The Collective. God help us.”
Thomas spoke again, “I suggest that you remove all valuables and keep-sakes from your homes and stash them in a remote location. It would be best if you don’t sleep at home tonight. Better move up the canyon a ways and camp tonight in whatever is available, abandoned buildings, dugouts, camper trailers, whatever. No fires, zero noise. Don’t bunch up, spread out. From now on, all adults carry, at all times. And if that chopper shows up again, don’t get yourselves killed shooting at it. It’s going to take more than what we got to bring down an Apache. Let’s meet back here tomorrow at 8 a.m.”
The Appointment
Member Academy Administrator welcomed Member Brown and Member Block Coordinator into her office for an early morning meeting, “Good morning Members, how can we better serve The Collective today?”
The Block Coordinator began speaking as she was taking a seat. “Member Academy Administrator, as you may know, Block Coordinators have been tasked with identifying potential Facilitators for the Freedom of Sexual Expression and Identity Program.”
“Yes, Member Block Coordinator, I am aware of your role in this program.”
“Last evening, Member Brown and I were discussing the importance of this program. We are new neighbors.”
“Congratulations to you both. You both now have a very professional and dedicated Member of The Collective as your neighbor.”
“Yes indeed, we are fortunate. During our discussions it occurred to us, virtually simultaneously, that a Program Coordinator at each Academy could possibly expedite the Program.”
“Interesting concept. Please continue.”
“This Program Coordinator position would be voluntary and would not interfere with the Volunteer’s other duties.”
“So, the Coordinator would report to the Academy Administrator and handle much of the administration of this new program?”
Natasha and the Block Coordinator nodded their heads in agreement.
“Do you have any potential candidates in mind?”
Tasha spoke up. “Member Academy Administrator, not to be presumptuous, but I would be honored to volunteer.”
“Member Brown, have you considered the problems that your
Whiteness may present?”
“Member Academy Administrator, yes, I have. Despite that terrible handicap, it’s common knowledge among the Faculty that I embrace all sexual orientations and constantly work to recompense The Collective for my Whiteness.”
“Member Block Coordinator, I take it you would have no objections to working closely with Member Brown?”
“Absolutely not, Member Brown will be an excellent Program Coordinator. If I may elaborate, Member Academy Administrator?”
“Please continue.”
“When you present your new concept to the District Education Administrator, Member Brown and I will be most honored to fill in the details.”
The Academy Administrator was clearly pleased as she rose from her seat, “Excellent meeting. Member Natasha Brown, pending approval of the District Education Administrator, I appoint you Sexual Program Coordinator for Academy #7.”
Tasha was oh so pleased with herself as she cycled home. She bolted up the stairs and into the apartment, “Beth, guess what?”
“Something good I hope?”
“Yes, I have been appointed Sexual Program Coordinator for Academy #7.”
Beth quickly decided to let Tasha run with it. “Wow. That’s a big deal.”
“It sure is and our new neighbor helped me out.”
Beth continued to pump Tasha for information as they ate supper.
The Conference
Once beautiful San Francisco had become a cesspool. It literally stank. Delvin hated going into San Francisco. Luckily, his meeting today would be near the San Francisco International Airport. He could avoid driving his truck through the heavy Oakland and Frisco traffic by coming in from the south. He would take the San Mateo Bridge across the Bay, then shoot directly up the 101 to what was formerly The San Francisco Airport Marriott.
Most airports in the PUS were either shut down or handling very few flights per day. After all, airplanes burn fossil fuels and kill birds. Air travel was considered a manifestation of Whiteness. The San Francisco International Airport was a glaring exception. It was busy with direct flights to and from China and Korea.
Most hotels in the PUS had been seized and converted into apartments to house the masses of immigrants pouring into the country. The Marriott was no exception, it had been seized and converted into luxury condos for high level Chinese technocrats. The lower floors with waterfront views were converted to plush offices. The meeting rooms were available for the endless conferences, workshops, and lectures promoted by The Collective. Delvin had been summoned to the “Fidel Castro Room” that afternoon on official Collective business.
The former Marriott, now Peoples’ Airport Plaza, was immaculate. The doorman was multi-lingual, fluent in Chinese, Spanish and English. Delvin cringed on the inside as he watched Chinese nationals drive up in new Teslas, straight off the Shanghai Factory floor.
“Now’s not the time.” Delvin kept telling himself.
As Delvin made his way to the Castro Room, he was stopped several times by both Chinese and PUS officials who were among his host of “special friends”. Inside the meeting room were about a dozen PUS and PRC technocrats seated around a huge, elongated, oval table. Two older Chinese men were seated together at the far end of the table. They nodded to Delvin as informal introductions were made, but they were not introduced. Nobody in the room had any idea that Delvin knew exactly who the two old men really were. Both were People’s Liberation Army officers. Delvin couldn’t match names to their faces, but he knew they were PLA.
Delvin’s mind raced. “Why is the PLA at this meeting? What in the hell have I gotten myself into?”
The Collective Coordinator for California opened the meeting, “Comrades and Members, welcome to The Bay Area. Our discussions today are confidential and must not leave this room.”
Each attendee was then formally introduced. Delvin was introduced as a West Coast Logistics Specialist. The two Chinese generals were introduced as “PRC Humanitarian Observers.”
After introductions were complete, a thin, thirtyish Chinese virologist gave an Executive Summary of the situation, “Several months ago, a new virus was identified in rural areas of Western China. Due to the low population density and the quick action of local health officials, the virus was contained.”
The virologist went on to explain the very persistent and contagious nature of this virus and its’ other potentially devastating properties. Other speakers confirmed that the virus had been isolated, characterized, and a vaccine had been developed.
The Collective Coordinator for California, sort of like a Governor, then stood and laid out the action plan. “The People’s Republic of China and the Peoples’ United States are steadfast allies, not only militarily, but also in humanitarian endeavors.”
Delvin noticed that the CCC would periodically glance back at the two PRC “Humanitarian Observers” who would, in return, nod and smile back.
“The PRC will immediately send an emergency shipment of vaccine to the PUS. The vaccine will arrive via air freight. This shipment must be swiftly and secretly delivered to an Operations Center in the Bay Area. Member Smith will handle the logistics as he has refrigerated trucks with supplemental CNG fuel tanks for extended range. Most of you know Member Smith quite well and know that he never fails to complete an assignment. The preeminent infectious disease specialist, Member Dr. Ho Pham, will coordinate all operations. Member Dr. Pham could not arrange transportation to this meeting on such short notice, but he is being briefed in detail by the Louisville Collective.”
The meeting droned on for another hour with details of how the shipment of vaccine and antibody test kits would arrive at Peoples’ Bay Area International (formerly SFO), how Member Doctor Ho S. Pham would inspect the vaccine and test kits, organize and supervise the testing and vaccination programs, and how Member Smith would deliver the vaccine and test kits to the Operations Center.
The subject not addressed at this meeting was that the shipment would contain two different types of vaccines, green and red.
After the meeting adjourned, Delvin managed to have a few words with the CCC. The CCC’s real name was Alexis Jones. Alex was an elegant, attractive, slender, Asian woman in her late 30s, and almost as tall as Delvin.
Her demeanor immediately changed when speaking to Delvin. “Well Member Smith, what do you think of our project?”
“I think there are some details we need to work out.”
“I agree. I have reserved a suite here for this evening. It's 5 p.m. now, so let’s say 7 p.m., Suite 728.”
“See you in a couple of hours, Member Coordinator.”
Delvin made a couple of quick deliveries in the Burlingame area, not far from the airport, then headed back to Peoples’ Airport Plaza. It was 6:57 p.m. when Delvin got off the elevator on the seventh floor and strolled down the hall to Suite 728. Two Peoples’ Militia bodyguards were milling about outside Suite 728.
As Delvin approached, he pulled a bottle of wine from his duffel bag. “Members, I have an appointment with the CCC at 7 p.m.”
The taller Militiaman replied, “Yes Member, she is expecting you.”
As Delvin entered the Suite, he paused, “Members, I just made a delivery down in Napa and a gracious Member gave me this bottle of wine. It would be completely capitalistic not to share this with you. So, drink up Members.”
The shorter Militiaman grabbed the wine and thanked Delvin profusely in whatever language he was speaking. Delvin smiled and nodded as he closed the door behind him.
A distinctly feminine voice welcomed Delvin, “Delvin Smith, right on time as always.”
The CCC was almost unrecognizable. Dressed in a silky red pantsuit, almost see through, Alex was a very elegant and beautiful woman.
Alex stuck her head out the door, “Members, we will be working late tonight. Feel free to take the rest of the evening off and enjoy your wine.”
Alex turned, locked the door, and dimmed the lights.
Coincidences
“We should make it to Shelbyville by this evening. Once we get past Shelbyville, we’ll be in the Greater Louisville area. So, watch yourself, Bobby Ray.”
“Ok, Darius. Can you finish telling me about the war?”
“Well, Bobby Ray, I could, and I will, but I think there’s something else we need to talk about before we go any further. Don’t you think it’s a little strange that we should meet up on an interstate in Eastern Kentucky?”
“Yeah, like I said the other day, it’s like The Twilight Zone.”
“Bobby Ray, I think it’s much spookier than any TV show. I think He’s up to something.”
“Who’s up to something?”
“What are the chances that Chinese infiltrators would try to kill my Pop-Pop in a field hospital in Korea, then 75 years later the same thing would happen to me on Okinawa?”
Bobby Ray was trying to calculate, “A million to one?”
“He’s definitely up to something. I’ve seen it before. It has all His trademarks.”
Bobby Ray stood there completely perplexed as a light spring shower
began to fall.
“Junior, who in the hell are you talking about?”
“Hell is not the right word Bobby Ray. Who in God’s heaven would be more precise.”
“Hold on Junior, you’re not telling me that God is behind all this. You know The Collective says there is no God. After losing my family, I’m not a big believer myself.”
“He works in very strange ways, Bobby Ray. His ways are not our ways, but I have come to recognize at least a little of His handiwork.”
“Junior, you killed a man a couple of days ago, why would God choose you, and how could God possibly use me?”
“Did you ever go to Sunday School, Bobby Ray?”
“Yes, but I was very little when The Collective shut down all the churches.”
Darius then told Bobby Ray one of Pop-Pop’s favorite tales about King David, how God had called a scrawny shepherd boy to face an armored giant with nothing but a slingshot.
Then Junior continued, “Bobby Ray, I hear tell that you’re mighty handy with that slingshot. Later, David became King. Can you even believe a shepherd boy could become King? Once King, he committed murder and adultery, but God still used him for his purpose.”
“So. what can we do, Darius?”
“I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you what I did. The night after I killed that Militiaman, I had a little talk with God. My guilt went away, and I slept like a baby. I don’t know what comes next, but I do know that God has a special place in his heart for America.”
“I hope you’re right because right now I could use something to eat, I’m sure getting hungry.”
Just then, as a truck passed on the interstate, the rear door blew open and a cardboard box bounced out onto the shoulder.
“Bobby Ray, check that out, but stay low.”
Bobby Ray slid through the tall grass alongside the road. Since the Revolution, the road right of ways were never mowed. Bobby grabbed the box and beat a hasty retreat back to the tree line.
“What’s in the box, Bobby Ray?”
“Man, oh man, we got a case of canned corned beef. Let’s eat.”
As the shower let up, a bright rainbow arched across the interstate.
“Some coincidence, hey Bobby Ray?”
By late afternoon, Bobby Ray and Junior were approaching the Waddy/Peytona Exit, just east of Shelbyville. There were abandoned truck stops on either side of the interstate. They carefully approached the truck stop off the westbound side of the road. The door to what once had been the Driver’s Loung
e was unlocked, so Junior and Bobby Ray checked it out. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was not bad.
Since the Revolution, with so many people homeless, or on the run, a sort of “Rules of the Road” had developed. Places of refuge, such as this abandoned truck stop, were not trashed. The lounge sported two long, wide benches where Junior and Bobby Ray spread their bedrolls. They had a filling dinner of corned beef, then turned in.
“Junior, I remember a little bit of a story about a man named Samson. Do you know that one?”
“Sure do, Bobby Ray. Another one of Pop-Pop’s favorites.”
Junior began telling the Samson story exactly as he remembered Pop-Pop telling it to him. Bobby Ray dozed off to sleep just as the Philistine temple came crashing down.
Preparations
Being a Marine, Tom Jackson was a fan of military history. As he slept on the pool table in the Saloon that night after the Town Hall, he had a strange dream. In his dream, he saw visions of the Battle of Britain, then the Normandy landings. He saw the barrage balloons floating in the sky over London and Omaha Beach. At first light, a cock crowed, and Tom jumped up off the pool table.
Tom bowed his head, “Lord, thank you.”
Then he set about the days’ business, “Tommy, Adam, you boys saddle your horses and pack up Miss Daisy. Leave one BAR and half the ammo with me. There’s a bright yellow saddle bag I want left here. Get out of here and head straight home. Stay high up on the fan and stick to the scrub as much as possible. If you hear a chopper, take cover. Move fast and you’ll get home before dark. Tell Grandpa and your Mom what happened up here and to get ready for a fight. I’ll be home late tomorrow, Lord willing. Now haul ass and don’t put up with any of Daisy’s bitching.”
The Kingston citizens assembled again at the Saloon at 8 a.m.
Tom started organizing the crowd, “I need the women and children to start moving food, water, medical supplies, and firewood to the hideouts up the canyon. Some of you women start cooking lunch. You ladies divide up the work, you know each other’s talents.