The plan was cheered extensively by voters from both parties, as well as from those who considered themselves Independent. The overwhelming positive reception of her proposed Health Care Reform drove the Republicans crazy. They immediately began labeling her a socialist, spending hours decrying the principles of Socialism during segments on their chosen right wing news channel. The President began personal attacks on her, labeling her ‘Messy Martinez’ and sharing pictures of her that were doctored to make her appear three shades darker than she was.
None of this phased her, because after four-plus years of the President’s antics, her team already had a game plan in place. She took the high road, refusing to engage, focused on the campaign’s message and the causes she was championing. Behind the scenes, the groundwork was being set.
When she hit the campaign trail in earnest, her team set up comedians who would precede her rallies. The suggested intent was to provide entertainment while the crowd waited. In reality, it was a chance to strike back through the use of an intermediary. The comedians would ridicule the President’s missteps, hypocrisy, bigoted views, and excessive bravado. While they worked to provide humor, they each were asked to focus on one or two of the more offensive views or actions attributed the President, thereby reminding the audience that it was more than just entertainment, there was a reminder that the country needed to get away from the toxic environment the man in the White House had created.
Throughout all of this, the candidate kept her hands clean. When asked about the views of the comedians, she simply replied that they were there for entertainment and were not endorsed by the campaign.
News channels stayed away from the comedian’s jokes, but social media picked up the slack. Twitter, YouTube, and Facebook were the perfect platforms to fight back against the President’s attacks on Senator/Presidential Candidate Martinez.
Having his own technique of attacking an opponent through personal insults used against him was too much for the President to handle, and soon he showed signs that he was beginning to crack. Late night tweets had already been the norm, but soon middle-of-the-night tweets became common, leading people to realize he was actually losing sleep over it. With the lack of sleep came more missteps, and more outlandish claims, which only fed the comedians more fuel. The cycle was in motion, generating better results than the candidate’s team could ever have hoped for.
It all came to a head when in late July of the election year, the President made the fatal mistake of tweeting:
This President doesn’t care what a dirty Mexican thinks of him.
The line, which had been moved further and further to support him, had finally been crossed. Within hours, major corporations pulled advertising from the right wing news outlet, stripping their funding. The bleeding continued for them as more moderate conservatives walked away, refusing to be associated with a news outlet that was supportive of a President with racist views.
The news outlet was forced to condemn his statement, which led to him lashing out at them, and resulted in them turning on the President.
Without the sole major right wing news media putting a positive spin on his normally offensive actions, his support slowly faded.
Voters were still excited by the prospect of health insurance that was designed to be affordable anyway, and no longer felt loyalty towards the incumbent.
In capturing over 340 electoral college votes and 72% of the popular, Jessica Martinez won the Presidency with the biggest margin of victory over a sitting president in history, leaving the man who had referred to her as ‘Messy Martinez’ humiliated.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Before Daniel moved the car out to the street, he grabbed a step stool and stood it by the garage door, stepping up onto it so that he could look out the windows at the top of the door. He watched for several minutes, looking for signs of people - especially those who showed any of the violent tendencies their neighbor had. Try as he might, he couldn't get the vision of their neighbor throwing his wife into the glass door out of his mind. Or the way the man had broken their dog’s neck. Pit bulls were big and powerful, with muscular necks. Aside from the cruel nature of the action, it should have been physically impossible.
Finally satisfied that there was no one on the street, he folded the ladder and set it aside before getting in the car and hitting the button on the remote to open the door. It slid up noisily, making him wish he’d taken the time to get a tune up for the door by one of the many companies that dropped off flyers in front of his house.
With the door up, he quickly reversed out of the garage, not slowing until he was on the street, where he put the car in drive and pulled forward, lining it up next to the curb in front of the neighboring house, which had been empty for the last six months as the owner had tried to find new tenants.
He grabbed the remote off the visor and hopped out, his head on a swivel as he looked for signs of danger. Seeing none, he motioned for Paul to join him, pressing the button on the FOB to unlock the family’s third car. The kid hurried out of the garage, angling towards where the Toyota Prius was parked. Daniel hit the button on the remote as he walked over to the car, looking back and forth between the closing garage door and the small car as he did so. Once the garage door was fully closed, he opened the driver’s side door and slid into the vehicle.
Paul got into the car as well, handing Daniel his Glock 19 handgun before putting on his seatbelt in a rehearsed motion, still looking everywhere for signs of danger. Daniel appreciated the vigilance. He put the gun in the door storage pocket, started the car, released the parking brake and put the vehicle in drive, pulling away from the curb slowly as he turned hard, making a u-turn in one smooth motion.
The street was eerily quiet as they coasted down the hill, the hybrid engine silent as they did so. Daniel rolled down the front windows a few inches so that they could hear anything coming, but all they heard were the sounds of tiny rocks being crunched under the car’s tires.
Rounding the corner, he didn’t bother stopping at the stop sign. This was hardly the time to worry about traffic laws. He continued coasting down the hill, passing a large condominium complex.
“Damn, look!” Paul exclaimed in a loud whisper, pointing down the long drive that led into the part of the complex on the right side of the street. Daniel gently applied the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a stop. About halfway down the drive, a woman was on top of a fat man, pummeling him repeatedly, her hair flying wildly as she did so. The fat man wasn’t moving, let alone trying to fight back. Daniel had a gut feeling that the man was already dead.
He released the brake, slowly moving forward so as to not gain the attention of the woman. ‘It’s best if she stays where she is’ he thought, returning his focus to the road ahead as they made their way down the hill.
The road curved to the left, and as they rounded the curve, they could see smoke rising somewhere ahead. It looked to be close, and as they drove a bit further, they could see it coming from the parking lot at Costco. Daniel kept the car at a minimal speed, choosing stealth and vigilance over speed and brashness. When they got closer to the big box store, they saw cars smashed into each other in the driveway. A Corolla had been knocked sideways into the fence by a large Chevy Suburban, which had clipped a steel safety pole and been knocked onto its side. A Mercedes had run into the back of the Suburban, its front end obliterated and partially hidden in the cargo area of the big SUV. Daniel and Paul didn’t see any drivers or passengers in the cars, but there were splashes of blood all around the vehicles doors.
The parking lot itself was worse. Numerous bodies laid motionless on the pavement. Vehicles had collided in multitude, some still smoldering, lending smoke to the dark column that rose from the store.
The main entrance to the store was a three way intersection, and, like the side entrance, cars had smashed into each other in their haste to escape. A Ford Mustang convertible was closest to them, having shot across the intersection too fast to make the left tu
rn, even in the high powered performance vehicle. It rested on top of the guard rail along the side of the road, tipped downward, its interior out of sight.
An ambulance had arrived at some point, attempting to turn into the parking lot before being rammed by a massive 4X4 Ford 450. In a test of gross tonnage, both vehicles lost, leaving each a blackened mass of twisted metal. Neither showed signs of life.
In multiple spots, vehicles had simply driven over the curb at the edge of the parking lot and driven over the shrubs and down the slight embankment to get to the street. Daniel guess the first one or two vehicles had been big trucks or jeeps, and were probably successful but other cars had tried as well. Some had failed, getting stuck in the bushes, and were abandoned. At least two or three had made it but damaged their vehicles in the process, as evidenced by the pools of transmission fluid on the street. It was unlikely they made it too far after that, and as he looked further down the street, he saw vehicles haphazardly parked along the side of the road with their doors open. Apparently their drivers had been relegated to fleeing on foot after that, but at least they made it out of the parking lot.
Fortunately, with the exception of the Mustang, the cars had all collided on the side of the opposite side of the street from where they were driving, leaving them room to get by. Daniel eased through the intersection, carefully avoiding the car parts that littered the road, then put on speed as they left the disaster at Costco behind. No longer worried about noise, he was focused on getting to their objective before it ended up like what they’d seen at the grocery store and now, even worse, at Costco.
The road was empty of other drivers, but cars lined the sides of the street, abandoned by their owners. Daniel glanced over at Paul, who was staring out the window at the small businesses that lined the road. Most were dark, and the few that had lights on appeared empty. One of the latter had blood splatters on the inside of the glass, with a handprint smear sliding down its surface.
Worried that Paul may start to lose his composure, Daniel stepped on the gas, accelerating along the roadway. At the stoplight, he slowed briefly before driving on. The road looped down and to the right, dumping them onto what was normally a busy street but currently remained mostly empty.
Leaving the terrible scene behind them, Daniel almost relaxed too much before spotting a car stopped on the side of the road, resting partially on the curb.. He swung around it only to be surprised by a loud honking sound from behind them.
Apparently they weren’t alone.
An older truck passed by them, its driver glaring in their direction. The man in the passenger seat glared over as well, looking them up and down. Two more men were in the bed of the truck, holding rifles in their hands. The man on the driver side leaned around the cab and said something to the driver, looking over at Daniel and Paul as he did.
Suddenly the truck cut back across the street and swerved in front of them, coming to a stop. Daniel slammed on the brakes to avoid running into them, leaving bits of rubber on the road as they skidded to a stop.
Daniel felt Paul tense up next to him. “Easy.” He watched the men climb out of the truck and walk over, carrying their guns loosely. There were four in total. The driver, a pot-bellied man with a receding hairline who looked to be in his early forties, wore a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and jeans, which were held up by a brown braided leather belt. A large pistol hung loosely from a holster at his waist. The passenger appeared to be similar in age and was also heavyset, though not quite as fat. The hair on his head was non-existent, but he sported a bushy beard to make up for it. He wore a loose fitting t-shirt with the sleeves cut off which read “America, Love It Or Leave It”, along with a pair of stained khaki colored cargo shorts, which extended down past his knee caps, leaving four inches of leg bare above his white athletic socks and brown work boots. Like the driver, he had a gun in a holster at his belt.
Unlike those two, the two men that had been riding in the back were rail-thin. The one who’d been talking to the driver was tall, lean, and looked to be seven to ten years younger than the heavier men. He wore a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and loose black pants with cargo pockets. He carried a shotgun, which he held up against his shoulder as he walked over. The other man was shorter but just as thin. He wore a button up flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off and blue jeans. Daniel noticed a tattoo that read SWP on his arm.
Having done the paperwork to process out one of the enlisted Sailors that worked for him for that same tattoo, Daniel knew it meant ‘Supreme White Power.’ This man had an AR-15 rifle slung over his shoulder and a cocky grin on his face.
‘Oh boy,’ he thought. Moving his left arm slowly, he reached into the pocket on the door, withdrawing the Glock 19 and flicking the safety off without looking away from the men as they approached the car. He kept the gun low, out of sight, his finger on the trigger. Although he was right-handed, he’d spent enough time at the range shooting with his left to be proficient. He also figured that if he ended up shooting with his left hand, it would probably be at very close range.
The driver came over to Daniel’s side of the car, flanked by the thin man in the black shirt, while the other two men stood in front of the car, the heavy man with his arms crossed, the thin one cradling his rifle.
Daniel rolled down the window. “Hey, I’m really sorry about that. I honestly didn’t think there was anyone on the road.”
The driver stared at him for several long moments before replying. “Where you two going?”
Daniel jabbed his right thumb towards Paul. “My nephew and I are going to look for some food. We’ve got nothing left at home.”
“Nephew, hunh? He don’t look nuttin’ like you.
“Yeah, his mother was married to my brother.”
“So she’s white.”
“Yeah, well, she was.”
“Was?”
“They both died from this flu virus that’s going around.”
At that, the two men stepped back. “He contagious?”
“No, this was several days ago. He’s OK.”
The man nodded. “She probly got it from your brother. I heard them Mexicans brought that shit into our country.” With that, he turned and spit on the ground for emphasis.
President Denton, who’d been in office before President Martinez, had long blamed the challenges the country faced on immigrants. During his term, he’d try to blame a breakout of E. Coli on the Mexicans who picked fruits and vegetables, claiming that they weren’t being required to wash their hands. None of it was true, but that didn’t matter to his supporters, of which these men obviously were.
The thin man behind the driver stepped forward, bringing his shotgun off of his shoulder and holding it with both hands across his body, his finger on the trigger.
Daniel gently squeezed the trigger of the handgun, shortening the distance between resting and firing. From experience, he was confident he could get at least two shots off quickly, most likely killing or injuring two of them, but after that, things would get ugly fast. The two of them would be unlikely to survive.
The man with the shotgun spoke, staring at Daniel with hate in his eyes. “Whatta ya say, Earl? Want us to take these guys out?”
The driver continued staring at Daniel and Paul for a bit, then leaned over and looked into the back seat and cargo area of the little car. “Faggot car.” He muttered before looking back at Daniel. “Wha’ ‘bout you? You messin’ with a white girl, too?”
Daniel shook his head. “Nah, I’m single. Haven’t been able to find anyone.”
The thin guy grinned, showing teeth blackened from overuse of chewing tobacco. “Probably a fag, right Earl?”
“Shut the fuck up, Jamie.”
The skinny guy recoiled as if slapped, muttering, “It’s Jimmy, man…”
Ignoring the protest, the fat man stared at Daniel a bit longer before speaking again. “Get the fuck outta here, and don’t come this way again, ya hear? I see you again, you’re dead.”
> Daniel nodded. “Got it. We’ll find another way.”
The man looked over at the other two and jerked his head to the left, indicating they should move aside, which they did. He stepped back, watching as Daniel put the vehicle in reverse, backed up, and drove around the men and their truck before getting onto the on-ramp for the freeway.
He watched them in the rear view mirror, certain that they would change their minds and come after him, but they didn’t. As he began coming out of the curve at the top of the on-ramp, he saw the truck driving down the street, continuing in the direction it was originally headed.
Daniel realized he still had a death grip on the gun, and gently released pressure from the trigger before flicking the safety back into position.
Letting the tension out of his body, he yelled, “Fuck!”
Paul exhaled loudly, then leaned forward and put his head between his hands. “Why did they do that? What was their problem?”
“They’re racists, Paul.” Daniel began slowly navigating through the mess that was the 5 South. The young man stared at him, waiting for further explanation. “That’s it. They’re fucking racists.”
Overall, the road had plenty of room to get through, but there were a number of cars abandoned where they’d stopped, their drivers nowhere in sight. A few still vibrated, their engines running on what remained of the vehicle’s fuel. Numerous cars had smashed into one another, either by being rear-ended, or by what looked to have been extreme lane changes, with cars T-boned on the freeway, a bizarre sight. Like the Costco parking lot, there were bodies on the pavement, though not in the concentration they were in the confined parking lot. Daniel made a concerted effort to avoid driving over bodies, partially out of respect for the dead, and partially because he had no idea how the virus was transmitted. As long as he could help it, he’d steer clear of blood and other human remains.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 14