Contents
Defy and Persist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Operation Black Mariah
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About this book
Season 1, Episode 1
Planes come the day Jolene Riley decides to end her life, checkerboarding the sky with deadly white trails, and the fight for survival begins.
Still despairing the death of her young son, recovering alcoholic Jolene Riley is on the verge of putting a bullet through her temple when a neighbor asks Jolene to watch her daughter, Mags, for a few hours. It isn’t long before planes begin to fly overhead, dropping chemtrails that kill anything exposed. In a matter of moments, the rural Indiana town is wiped off the map while Jolene and Mags huddle in a storm cellar. Trained in disaster preparedness, Jolene becomes the unwilling leader of a small group of survivors—including Siri Queen, the woman who ruined Jolene’s marriage.
Jolene struggles to stay sober as her world begins to unravel, especially when word trickles in on her ham radio of more attacks on nearby towns. She wants nothing more than to put an end to her pain, but now she must fight for her own survival—and for the little girl she promised to take care of. When a mysterious voice on her radio known only as “Crow” claims to have inside information and a safe place for them to go, Jolene and her group question if he can be trusted —and, even more terrifying...if the things he is saying are true.
Operation Black Mariah has begun.
Black Mariah
Season 1, Episode 1
Marie D. Jones
Morris, Indiana
Defy and Persist
Every day, we killed them by the millions. We controlled, eradicated, exterminated, and culled them, because to us they were unnecessary.
They were problematic.
They were pests.
To eradicate something is to pull it up by its roots and do away with it completely.
Never in a million years did we think it would happen to us.
Never did we imagine that one day someone or something would do the same thing to us. Never did we imagine we would become the pests.
When the first wave began, like a black wind of death they filled our skies with trails of chemicals our bodies could not fight. They put poison into our rivers and oceans and lakes.
They attacked our cities, our suburbs. They even came to our doors, thousands and thousands of them, and sprayed toxins.
We didn’t know who they were or what they were or where they came from—or why they were doing this to us—but as we stood on the brink of extinction enough of us decided to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and find a way to organize, to defy, to persist.
And that is exactly what we did.
On a quiet Thursday afternoon in the year 2025, the eradication of the human race began…and so did our fight for survival.
–Jolene Riley, “Defiance”
Indiana
To my sun and moon and stars, my son, Max. And to the Jolenes of the world, fighting the good fight for truth, no matter the consequences.
1
Jolene Riley stared at the floor in a trance as she pushed the vacuum back and forth over the same spot. Each time, the machine failed to pick up most of the visible dirt. She sighed deeply, pushing wavy dark hair behind her ears and wiping a bead of sweat from her brow.
“Piece of shit.” Jolene turned off the machine and picked the largest offenders on the carpet by hand. She started up the vacuum again and maneuvered it around the corner table near the couch, knocking a picture frame to the floor.
Damn it.
With another sigh, Jolene turned off the vacuum cleaner and bent to pick up the frame. She stared at the image of herself just shy of twenty-four, holding a small boy of about two years tightly in her arms—both of them smiling and happy. Her hair was so much shinier then, and her skin so smooth and bright. Even though the picture had been taken only two years ago, she felt old now. Shortly after that picture was taken, she stopped smiling so much. There was little reason for happiness.
A tap on the bay window pulled Jolene’s gaze up to the pest control guy outside, waving the bill. She waved back, pointed to the door. He nodded and left the bill on her doorstep.
Outside noises filtered in from an open window near the front door. Neighbors talked and laughed. Children shouted as they played in the street. This was a typical weekend morning in Morris, Indiana, which was itself a typical close-knit, rural town.
Just another day, Jolene thought as she set the picture back on the corner table. Just another twenty-four hours to white-knuckle through before the pain started all over again. The image of a hamster wheel flashed across her mind, only she was the hamster and she couldn’t get off. She walked down the hallway to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
She stared at herself in the mirror, her gaze moving from her expressionless brown eyes to her thin, unsmiling lips. The crow’s feet around her eyes, the dark circles under them. She pushed back a strand of wayward hair and took a deep breath, then she opened one of the vanity’s small drawers and pulled out a handgun. Jolene stared down at the Glock as she loaded the magazine. She put the gun in her mouth, angling it upward, and closed her eyes. The house’s deathly silence closed in around her.
The Glock’s light trigger wouldn’t take much effort to pull. Then it would all be over.
A loud rap on the front door down the hall blasted Jolene out of the silence and back into the bathroom, into the sounds of her neighbors enjoying the day outside.
She squeezed her eyes. Pull the damn trigger once and for all, she begged. It’s nothing. The rapping persisted. Jolene exhaled, lowered the gun, and then removed the magazine and put it all back into the drawer. She wiped away tears of frustration with the palm of her hand and walked into the living room.
Her neighbor, Anne Greene, stood at the front door. Anne was a pretty blonde, always fresh-faced and youthful even though she spent most of her time chasing around her five-year-old daughter, Maggie. Today, Anne looked tired and harried.
“Jo, I am so sorry to do this last-minute, but can you watch Mags for about two hours? I have to go to urgent care for my back,” Anne pleaded. Behind Anne, Jolene noticed the pest control guy and his truck were gone. She picked the bill up off the doormat.
“Not a problem at all, Anne.”
Anne’s voice was strained. “Are you sure?”
Jolene looked at the adorable child with her tousled, baby-fine hair and big blue eyes. Maggie, known to all as Mags, held a tote bag full of toys and a large stuffed dog in her free hand.
Just like he used to do, Jolene thought. She held back tears, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “Damn allergies. Anne, you know I adore Mags.”
“I feel so awful, but the pain is relentless. Tylenol just isn’t cutting it. Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”
Jolene forced a smile and shook her head. The image of the gun flashed through her mind. “Nothing that can’t be done later.”
“You are a Godsend.” Anne let out a deep breath as she pressed her palm into her lower back, rubbing into the ache. “Hopefully I can get some muscle relaxers. This sucks.”
With a kiss and a wave goodbye, Anne was off. The little girl followe
d Jolene inside and she shut the door. The wood felt good against Jolene’s back, hard and solid, as she leaned against it, eyes closed. Still fighting back tears, she then turned to face Mags.
“So, Pumpkin … you want some juice? I have cookies, too.”
Mags bobbed her head in an enthusiastic yes.
A tear had escaped down Jolene’s cheek and she wiped it away, making her way to the kitchen as Mags settled on the couch with her toy bag.
Jolene had left the small TV on. National news. She turned down the volume and poured a glass of orange juice for Mags, casting side glances at the screen. Massive protests in Los Angeles and New York City had resulted in police opening fire on the crowd. The ticker at the bottom of the screen pronounced over a thousand people dead and thousands more injured as the protests turned into full-scale riots against the recent militarization of state police. Jolene felt a chill crawl slowly up her spine. It was one of many similar news stories over the last two months, where protests erupted into riots as the government cracked down on rebellious citizens who didn’t like their plans to globalize away American businesses and innovation.
Millions had lost their jobs over the last several years. A new, progressive president, Sharlene Ross, had promised to bring back made-in-America policies, but everywhere she turned she encountered red tape and resistance. Including from former allies who loved the idea of a one-world economy and centralized power, as long as they were part of the center.
President Ross was black, female, and tough as leather. She’d run as an independent and won by a landslide, despite attempts to rig voting machines. Too many people wanted change. Jolene, a die-hard conservative, had voted for her, which showed how Ross could reach across the aisle like no other candidate. Then again, not even the goodhearted President Ross could seem to budge the trajectory of the relentless push toward a long-heralded New World Order run by the rich and powerful that reared its ugly head during the 9-11 terrorist attacks, fortified during the Covid pandemic years before in 2021. Draconian anti-privacy laws, total surveillance, digital wallets that were controlled by the central banks, forced vaccines, and censorship that harkened back to the Nazi era were just the beginning. And those who warned against the coming centralization of power into the hands of a few wealthy psychopaths were banned, blocked, and canceled like a bad TV show.
Jolene hadn’t been very political until she had Robby. Then she started to give a shit about the future. When Robby died her hopes did, too. Without him, she couldn’t care less if the world erupted in flames or got obliterated by an asteroid.
She closed her eyes and inhaled. Why hadn’t she pulled the damn trigger? It would all be over now. The pain, the fear, and most of all, the oppressive sense of sheer loss. It would be over. The whole fucking world was going to hell anyway.
She turned the TV off just as the president herself was coming on to make an announcement, no doubt pleading for level heads and calm. Jolene shook her head. In the retail world, the customer was always right. When it came to the government, the citizens were always wrong. She was far away from the riots, but smaller protests were springing up in Indianapolis and Gary. Those hit closer to home.
Thank God I’m a country girl, she thought, carrying the juice and a bag of cookies out to Mags. Since she got sober, she always had at least four bags of cookies on hand to battle the sugar cravings. She’d put on a few pounds, but promised she’d take up running again one day soon.
She switched on the larger TV in the living room, careful to quickly navigate away from the news channels, and settled on some cartoons. Mags smiled as she gobbled cookies, her eyes glued to the TV. Jolene sat down next to Mags and the girl leaned her head on Jolene’s shoulder as they ate. Jolene marveled at how cartoons lifted her spirits, even if they did bring back memories of her son.
Jolene shook the memories out of her head before they could swoop in and immobilize her. She had a little over three months of sobriety under her belt, despite missing most of her A.A. meetings the last week due to a nasty sinus infection. Her alcohol addiction had been an ugly road, but she had to walk down the path, and she made herself a promise to get to a meeting as soon as Anne picked up Mags. The cravings had subsided, but had not gone away—the disease was always there, just like her sponsor Noreen kept telling her. “All it takes is one drink and you’re right back where you started.”
Jolene believed her.
Her cell phone rang and Jolene got up to fetch it from the kitchen. Speak of the devil.
“Hi, Noreen. I know, I know ... I’m going to one tonight, I promise,” Jolene said into the phone. She noticed Mags about to nod off on the couch. “I’m watching a neighbor’s daughter, but as soon as they leave I can head out to the Downtowners. I will see you there ... Yes, promise. I’ll bring cookies.”
Jolene hung up the phone and returned to the couch, laying Mags in a more comfortable position and covering her with a small crocheted blanket she had made herself. She sat down in the easy chair near the couch and quickly changed the channel to the 24-hour news. She hated watching it, but couldn’t stop. It was like watching a plane crash or a train wreck. You couldn’t look away from the chaos, the violence, and bloodshed.
Noreen told her she could yell, scream, break things, cry, run naked through the streets and shoot up the woods…but never take a drink. The minute she took a drink, Jolene would be right back in the hell from which she had fought so hard to escape. Who was she kidding? She was still fighting.
Three months ...
The television screeched as an Emergency Broadcast Notice blared. Jolene jumped and Mags woke with a start, holding on to Jolene for dear life.
“It’s okay, Mags, it looks like it’s just a test.” Jolene stroked the child’s flaxen hair until Mags calmed down.
“Why is it so loud, Jo?”
“Well, because if it was a real alert, they want to make sure we can hear it if we are outside or in the other room,” Jolene answered, keeping her voice light.
“What would happen if it were real?” Mags’ eyes were wide as saucers.
“It depends on the emergency. If it was a tornado, like the ones we had last year, we would all get into our storm cellars.”
Mags looked satisfied and leaned back, clutching her stuffed doggy.
The emergency test ended and Jolene switched back to cartoons. She sat with Mags, thinking about how often the emergency tests had been coming on lately. Much more so than in the past. She was a fully trained member of the government’s community program, PERT—Public Emergency Response Teams—and knew all about how to prepare and respond to just about any disaster. She loved the free training and had started her classes in California, where she and Rob lived for two years before coming to Morris. She had loved the feeling of empowerment, being able to take care of her family in any emergency. Often, she would be called upon to help with state disasters, and she had gotten her ham radio license as part of her training.
Jolene had always been a leader, even in school. But she never wanted to go into business or politics. It was enough just being able to lead her community in a disaster. That’s why the increase in those annoying tests bugged the shit out of her. In the last six months they had gone from monthly to weekly, to every other day. A chill ran up her spine. Did the government know of something big coming down the pike? She would ask the fire captain, Will Bremer, at the next PERT meeting if he had any inside scoop.
A knock at the door made her jump. Mags ran to the door.
“Hey hang on, little one. First check to see if it’s your mom,” Jolene said, realizing it was way too soon to be Anne back from the clinic.
Jolene answered the door and smiled. Janey Sweet stood covered in gardening soil. Janey was in her mid-50s but looked a lot younger, probably from all the hiking and running, her after-work passions. She was a nurse at County Med and so nurturing and caring Jolene thought of her as a second mom, especially since her own mother had died years ago. It was Janey’s nature to mother
everyone in Morris. Jolene couldn’t remember a time when Janey wasn’t there if she ever needed anything, even if only a shoulder to cry on.
“Hey honey, I see you got little Mags with you today.” Janey smiled down at Mags. “Sorry to bug you, but I just got home from work and wanted to do a quick watering and am out of Miracle Grow. You got any? I’ll get down to Home Shed tomorrow and buy you a box.” Janey rubbed her face with her work glove and Mags cracked up as the older woman left a splotch of dirt on her nose.
“Sure, Janey. Hang on, it’s out in the back,” Jolene said, leaving Janey and Mags to it. She headed into the kitchen and out the back sliding doors to a wooden tool shed. She opened the weathered and paint-chipped door and cringed at the veil of filmy spider webs hanging from top to bottom. Luckily the Miracle Grow was right in front. She got bags of it wholesale at her job at Home Shed. Came in handy, and she was always giving it away to neighbors.
Jolene grabbed a bag and closed the door. She heard the humming sound before she found where it came from, looking up into the baby blue, cloudless sky. She turned in the other direction and saw a group of small planes flying in formation towards Morris. It looked like at least eight or ten of them.
Jolene walked back into the house with the bag and handed it to Janey. “Use as much as you need. Not like I have a lot of flowers growing around here lately,” she said. Janey looked at the front of Jolene’s yard by the bay window.
Black Mariah: Morris, Indiana (Black Mariah Series, Season 1) Page 1