Everyone was again quiet for a while. Amy and Gerri ushered the kids outside to play some more until the sun went down. The rest of the adults all sat at the table, wondering who would break the silence first.
Stacy spoke up. “Scott, the Bishop who came up here to tell you about... um. Anyways, do you know how to get a hold of him?”
Dale answered before Scott could. “I'm sure I can get a number for him from our Bishop. They know each other.”
“Good. Okay, Bishop Christensen is one of the few people we trust much. He doesn't even know where we live, but he can get messages to us. I know it's not ideal, but that's one way we can try to keep you all in touch better from now on.”
“Well our Bishop's father-in-law knows where you live,” Dale said back with a snide tone.
“Who - oh, Phillip?” Stacy said as Dale nodded. “Phillip wouldn't dare tell you where we live,” she laughed. “He respects our privacy more than that. Stick with sending messages through Bishop Christensen for now, and I'll talk with my husband to see what better arrangements we can make, alright?”
The next afternoon, Mike, Jessica and Taylor were all enjoying the last afternoon of quiet. He was on the verge of taking a nap while they were taking advantage of their last chance to lay out without kids around.
“What the hell... Is that... Oh, shit! Taylor go grab my rifle! Y'all get your robes on. Stacy's driving back like a bat out out hell.”
“Oh my God! I hope she doesn't wreck. What the hell is she doing going that fast?” Jessica said, as Taylor ran as fast as she could.
Mike was quickly setting up his new Barrett on it's bi-pod and found the Suburban in his sights. “Oh no! No, no, no, no. They've been shot at. Do you see anyone following them?” Mike yelled.
“It's hard to tell in her dust trail. I can't tell. I don't think there's anyone behind them,” Jessica answered.
“Dammit, Stacy, slow down,” Taylor mumbled softly as she watched the speeding truck.
Mike had stopped watching the Suburban and was focused on the clearing dirt road, eager to empty his magazine into anyone that was following. Taylor ran back over to where the Suburban would soon be coming up the hill, and Jessica went inside to start getting towels, water and first-aid supplies ready in case anyone was hurt.
The Suburban came up the hill by their house full speed, and skidded to a stop, hitting one of their trailers. Jason jumped out of the driver's seat screaming for help. Taylor was running as fast as she could barefoot, falling to the ground screaming as she got there.
“Is anyone following you?” Mike yelled at the top of his lungs. No one heard him over all the screaming and crying.
Jessica came out with her arms full and set everything down, putting her hands over her mouth in horror. She looked over to Mike as he was yelling again, trying to watch the road below. She heard him, but no one else did. So she hurried as best she could manage, shaking Jason by the shoulders to get an answer. He couldn't speak. Jessica leaned into the door and yelled at Brad, who she saw in the back on top of the fuel tank with his gun in hand.
“No, mom, nobody's following us.”
Jessica yelled out to Mike, who immediately rushed as best he could once he knew he didn't have to watch the road.
“Oh my God!” Mike yelled, as he too started crying.
“Come on, baby, we've got to get everyone out and taken care of. Mike, get yourself together,” Jessica said to both Taylor and Mike.
The three of them began pulling everyone out of the tattered Suburban, trying to figure out who was hurt, and how severely. Taylor used some broken glass to cut her robe for bandages. Jason just sat on the ground in shock. They could tell he hadn't been hit, but couldn't get him to help. Brad had been shot in his left shoulder, and was up using his right arm to help hold a piece of cloth on Anna's leg.
As she finished getting the last wound's cleaned and bandaged, Jessica began to break down, sobbing and crying uncontrollably. Stacy, her best friend for fifteen years, was dead. Taylor, crying just as hard, crawled across the ground to cuddle up with the body of the woman who'd taken her in and raised her.
Brad and Amy had the most minor wounds and were trying to keep an eye on everyone else. Steve and Jacob's bodies were lying beside Stacy's outside. Amy had been hit in her thigh and cut up badly by the broken glass. Anna was shot in the stomach and both legs. Stephanie had a hole in her upper right chest. And Brad's left shoulder wound tore down his arm, exiting near his tricep.
Mike sat near Brad and Amy, stone-faced and emotionless.
“Daddy, we shot back. I shot two of them. We tried, Daddy,” Brad said as he started to cry.
Mike glanced over at Amy, his dead-looking eyes scaring her some. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.
“There was a road block in Newcastle as we were coming back from Modena. They were taking people out of their cars, taking everything, and making people kneel on the roadside. Stacy decided to run around the barricades and they just started shooting,” Amy said. She was in too much shock and pain to cry.
“There were four of them, Daddy. I shot two of them. I shot them. But I couldn't hit the other two,” Brad said, feeling like he should have been able to save everyone.
“Son, you did perfect.”
“I shot the two. And the others got in their truck to chase us. Steve's Grandpa was behind us on the road and he rammed his truck into them for us.”
Brad, Taylor and Jessica eventually cried themselves to sleep that night. Mike was able to get Jason inside. He seemed to be coming out of his shock, but was still showing no emotion and wasn't talking. Mike thanked him for taking over and getting everyone back, telling him he saved the lives of those who were still living. Mike and Amy never slept, and never spoke. They both stayed up all night watching over the the injured kids.
The next morning Taylor was still sitting in what was left of her shredded robe. Amy hadn't moved in hours. Everyone else was asleep when they woke up in fear to the loud boom of a gun shot. A second loud shot followed quickly, prompting Brad and Jessica to both grab guns sitting near them.
“It's Mike,” Taylor told them. “He got up and went out with the new guns.”
Jessica stood staring out the window in the direction of their gun range.
“What's he doing?” Jason asked, speaking his first words since yelling for help.
Taylor and Jessica both answered him. “He's getting ready to fight back.”
He took his time practicing, spending nearly two hours to fire off twenty rounds. He was dreading returning home, knowing he needed to get his tractor out to dig a hole to bury the bodies. As bad as he wanted to, he didn't have the time, nor materials, readily available to build them caskets.
Mike dug out a hole opposite his road from the house, eight feet deep, ten feet long, and six feet wide. Jason helped him to carefully lay the bodies out, with Stacy lying between Steve and Jacob. Amy used Mike's crutches to come out, with Taylor and Jessica at her side. All three women were fighting their tears, and starting to feel the rage that Mike felt. Brad was staying inside with the other injured children so he could call out for help if one of them needed it.
Jason took the lead as they all stood around staring down in the hole at the murdered remains of their loved ones. He began talking about his fond memories of each, following the example of what they had done at Scott's house just days ago. Jessica started to go next, but again broke down crying, falling to the dirt underneath her feet.
Taylor knelt down to try to comfort her when Jessica very abruptly stopped crying. Mike watched from across the hole as Jessica's emotions seemed to just disappear. Her tears stopped and she reached down, firmly pressing her hand against her lower abdomen.
“Oh, no,” Amy said, knowing exactly what was happening.
Mike hurried around the hole to them asking “What's wrong?”
“We've got to get her inside. The baby is coming,” Amy told him.
Mike couldn't tell if his heart ha
d just stopped, or was beating too fast to feel it. Jason rushed over to help him pick her up, only to be pushed away by Jessica. “I can walk. Just help me get up,” she told the two, who were terrified of doing anything slightly wrong.
They got Jessica inside and on the bed while Taylor helped Amy make the walk. Jessica threw off her robe as she laid back on the bed, sending Jason running from the house. Mike did all he could to help make her comfortable. Amy made her way in to the room and sat on a chair Taylor brought in for her.
Mike all but froze up as he sat near Jessica's head, not moving at all during the three-hour labor. He had helped deliver countless animals over the years. Goats, sheep, cattle, dogs and cats. He had even once rescued a baby deer whose doe had died. But this wasn't an animal. This was a human, and it was one he had a part in creating.
When the screaming from Jessica, and loud talking from Taylor and Amy, had all stopped, Mike's house, that had for so many years been his quiet refuge, was filled with the sound of a baby crying. Taylor carefully held up the pale little body for them all to see. “It's a boy!” she announced.
She got up and brought the newborn over for Mike to see. He just stared at his little son, scared and amazed. He'd never seen a baby up close like that. Jessica reached up and took the baby in her arms, cuddling him against her warm body. Mike held the same blank face he'd had since last night. Only now it wasn't blank with rage, but with fear, confusion, and elation.
“You can touch him, Mike. It's okay,” she told him.
“No, not yet,” Taylor said. “Go wash all that dirt off your hands first.”
Mike had forgotten to clean his hands of the dirt and dried blood from moving the dead bodies. He looked down at his hands. Some of that was bits of Stacy's dried blood that had rubbed off her body on to him. His beloved Stacy, not able to see or hold this beautiful new member of their family.
Mike walked away, wanting to cry again, but where the others wouldn't see him. Taylor couldn't let him miss these first moments of his son's life and went outside with him. He wrapped his arms around her and wept onto her shoulder for a little while, then told her he'd be in to see the young boy after he finished filling in the new grave. He turned to walk over, and saw that Jason had already done the job for him. Something to occupy his teen-aged mind and keep him out of the house.
Brad was standing in the kitchen when Taylor brought Mike back in. He had spent more than an hour working with only his right arm to fix everyone a salad while they were busy bringing his new little brother into the world. Mike gave him a kiss on the forehead, told him he could come see the baby soon, and thanked him for preparing lunch.
Jessica was emotional when Mike came in. The newborn was nursing for his first time, and she had seen Mike crying through the window.
“She should be here,” Jessica said to him. “It's just not right.”
“I know. I know,” Mike agreed, as he cracked a slight smile at his new son. He leaned over and gently kissed the boy's hand.
“What do you think of the name Anthony?” Jessica asked.
“I was thinking Alexander,” he smiled.
Taylor chimed in, “I think Anthony Alexander is a perfect name.”
The proud new parents nodded. Anthony Alexander Williams it would be.
They sat and soaked in the joy of new life for most of the afternoon before the rage over the loss of life began to creep back in. The three of them were laying there silently watching young Anthony sleep when Jessica whispered “I want you to kill them. I want anyone wearing a uniform, like the ones Stacy's murderers wore, dead.”
Mike and Taylor looked in each others eyes, sharing Jessica's feeling exactly. No more words had to be said.
Chapter 14
Justice & Liberty
The next morning, Taylor and Mike were loading up their little S-10 truck with their new Barrett rifles, a pair of AR-15's, and their 9mm handguns on their hips. Jessica, Amy and Jason had all helped to load up ten extra magazines per gun.
Jessica pulled them both to the side as they were about to leave. “You listen to me. You kill.... you kill every Guardsmen you can find. And then you get back here. You come back here to me alive and well. Am I understood?”
Taylor's eyes were cold, now devoid of any happiness. “No Guardsmen in this area get to wake up tomorrow,” she said
Mike just squeezed Jessica's hand and walked away.
They first headed down to Mesquite, NV, where the Guard station had been setup as a barricade on the west end of town right in the middle of Interstate 15, at the top of the exit at Riverside Rd.
The resistance was closer originally, but had lost a man to a single shot fired from 1,100 yards. They had backed away to a mile east of the station on the Interstate, and had a few men stationed at their own barricade south on Riverside Rd.
Mike and Taylor pulled up behind the men who were posted there in response to his radio threats. As one of the men approached, both quickly got out of the truck. Taylor set up a wind gauge, range finder, and spotting scope almost as quickly as Mike was able to climb into the bed of the truck, and set up the Barrett M107A1 on the roof of the cab.
“Identify yourselves,” the man called out to them, as the rest of the men and women there started surrounding the small truck, curious about the man and the rifle.
“Light winds, south, three miles per hour,” Taylor said.
“I said, identify yourselves,” he repeated himself.
Mike gave the man a hard stare.
“Please,” the man added.
Taylor continued, “Range is 1,790 yards. There's a fuel tank in the rear to the right. What looks to be a propane tank just to the left behind the tent. Two guardsmen, prone, aiming our direction. Two other guardsmen entered the tent, and one walking around.”
He adjusted his scope based on Taylor's information, then looked around at the group staring at them.
“Sir,” the man spoke up, wanting to know who he was talking to.
“How many guardsmen are up there?” Mike asked as everyone stared on in awe.
“Oh my God. Sir, it's you?”
“I said how many!” Mike demanded.
“Eight, sir,” a woman spoke up. “There's eight that we know of.”
“Listen up,” Mike said as everyone stood up straight, all eyes focused on him. “Their oppression is over. When I give the order, you are all going to rush that station. You will not leave anyone stationed there alive. Everything there now belongs to you. Use it well to defend the people of Mesquite from any attempt by the Guard to reestablish a base here. Any questions?”
“Thank you sir!” several people shouted out.
“Get in your vehicles. Guns ready. When I yell, you go. Reclaim your liberty!”
Mike leaned over and braced himself against the rear of the trucks cab and sighted in on the men out front aimed at them. First on the man on the right. Mike squeezed his trigger, sending the first shot of the organized resistance.
“About eight inches low, but the ricochet got him,” Taylor called out.
The man on the left immediately jumped up and started backing up.
“You're a bigger target standing up. Thanks dumb ass,” Taylor mumbled as Mike squeezed the trigger again, dropping the man in his tracks.
“Four just came out of the tent. Two kneeling and firing what appear to be M-16's. Their shots are way short.”
Mike missed his third shot, but quickly eliminated the two men shooting, then took aim on the fuel tank and sent fuel pouring out of it on to the ground. The propane tank was next. Nothing visible happened, but Mike was confident he had hit it. As a guardsmen jumped into a truck parked around back, there was an explosion. Something sparked and set off the propane, followed by the fuel tank.
“Two more guardsmen, running to the left,” Taylor called out.
Mike swung around and fired two rounds. Both missed, but hit close enough to get their attention. The men knelt down with their hands in the air.
“Two rounds left,” Taylor said, setting another magazine on the roof for him.
“GO!” he screamed. The local resistance fighters slammed on their gas pedals and followed his order.
Mike and Taylor grabbed their stuff, and headed straight for Saint George, UT. The guard station there was setup in the middle of town at Vernon Worthen park. There were two resistance positions: one on Red Hills Parkway, and one at the old airport. Mike headed to the one on Red Hills first.
Arriving there, these fighters seemed better organized. They had the road blocked and guarded. Mike pulled to the barricade and slowed down as a young man raised his gun and ordered them to stop. “Get out of your vehicle,” he demanded.
Mike wasn't moving. The young man called over his shoulder to an older man who appeared to be in charge, then again demanded, “Get out of your vehicle.”
Mike again didn't move.
As the older man approached the young sentry, Taylor recognized him as one of the men who came with Bishop Christensen to pick up livestock from them. She opened her door and got out, yelling to the young man, “Lower your weapon and get out of my way!”
The young man aimed straight for her, and the older man swiftly disarmed him and ordered him to let them through. Taylor walked up along side Mike as he drove. “Thank you,” she said to the older man.
“Yes ma'am. It's an honor to have you two here,” he said
Taylor stared down the younger man who was guarding the barricade, then walked over to a central area.
“Did I do something wrong, sir?” he asked.
Crashed: The Death Of The Dollar Page 15