The Shadow Patriots Box Set

by Warren Ray

  “These sons of bitches have been killing off the volunteers. This is Cole Winters. He stumbled onto this whole thing yesterday and saved our lives this morning.”

  Elliott gave them a brief account. They stood dumbfounded listening to the story. They looked at Winters, who wasn’t sure how to respond and felt uncomfortable with all the attention. After Elliott finished, everyone walked over to shake hands with Winters to thank him.

  “Hell of a thing you did, Cole. I’m Scott Scarborough, but call me Scar.” A big right hand came toward him and Winters put out his own.

  Scar, a retired Marine was a big man with a heavy frame and stood a few inches over six feet. He was in his early fifties and kept himself in shape. He wore a camouflage ball cap bearing a Marine emblem. His blue eyes lit up whenever a big smile formed on his wide face. He loved to laugh and joke around. He put his hand on the shoulder of his friend Meeks and introduced him.

  “This here is my good friend Stephen Meeks. We like to go with one-word names. So it’s just Meeks,” said Scar.

  “Don’t let that big ole Jar Head fool ya. One word is all he can handle,” Meeks said with a smirk. He extended his hand to Winters. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

  Meeks, back in his youth was a running back and played football for the University of Iowa, he was of average height, though the same age as his friend, he was in better shape. He always wore a Hawkeye ball cap. Like his friend Scar, he was a jokester and always seemed to have a sly half smile on his face. If he had any gray hair, his blonde hair kept it hidden.

  “Nice to meet you. Hawkeye fan?” asked Winters.

  “Played for them back in the day,” Meeks answered.

  “Way back in the day,” laughed Scar.

  Meeks smacked his fist into Scar’s shoulder. He nodded to Winters. “Who do you think is behind all of this?”

  “The only name we got so far is a Colonel Nunn.”

  Meeks shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

  Scar turned to Winters. “What are we going to do about this?”

  Déjà vu, Winters thought, remembering Elliott asking the same question. “What do you mean? We already did something. We took out the train station and this Patriot Center.”

  “Yeah, but someone needs to pay. Maybe even this Colonel Nunn. You don’t think they’re going to just stop do ya? They’ll have this place up and running again in no time. We can’t let them do that.”

  Winters felt like he was being sucked into something he didn’t want any part of. “We don’t know if Colonel Nunn is involved. Maybe he’s the one we need to be telling this to.”

  Scar crossed his arms over his big chest. “You sure you want to go up to this guy without knowing for sure. I mean you did, just killed a bunch of their guys. You think he might be a little-pissed off?”

  Winters sighed. “Yeah, I’d already given it some thought and I still don’t know. I’m not even sure how we can distinguish the good guys from the bad ones.”

  “Well, the bad guys will be pointing guns at you,” said Scar.

  “Really, thanks for the heads up.” Winters was starting to dislike this guy.

  “No seriously, we’ll have to watch them,” Scar said. “It’s the only way we can tell who’s who. We’ll just have to see who comes after us. Hey, if no one comes for us, then we’ll know you got them all. Until then, we don’t have much choice in the matter. I mean it’s not like any of us can really go home now,” said Scar.

  Winters gave him a quizzical look.

  “If they’re willing to murder us, then what are they going to do next? At some point, they’ll come after our families and neighbors.”

  Winters let out another sigh. Damn. He hadn’t thought about that.

  Chapter 6

  Cole Winters had signed up to help fight the war against the Chinese. Instead, he was now fighting an unknown enemy. It was an unsettling thought, not knowing who the other side was. Not knowing what or where an item was, made the bookkeeper in him stress out.

  After listening to the retired Marine, his guilt for wanting to run away had returned. Would he be able to live with himself if he ran off and did nothing more? He felt pressured into taking this fight further than he had intended.

  Winters studied the volunteers still standing in the parking lot. He envied them because most of them were friends. He desperately missed his friends and being able to confide in them. Their advice would be appreciated right now.

  The men gathered in small groups, some were talking to one another, and others were staring at Winters. He wondered if they thought he was some kind of superhero or a cold-blooded killer. He wished he had the nerve to jump into his car and drive away.

  Considering his situation, Winters decided to stay with this group of volunteers, at least until they got some answers. He wondered where they could go to get them, and how long would the journey last.

  Ever since the economy collapsed everything was in limited supply, especially fuel. Also, there were no more cell phones or Internet service. The regular phone lines were spotty at best. All the conveniences you took for granted were gone. It was like living in the seventies again.

  “What’s next?” asked Meeks.

  Winters looked at him trying to remember his name. “We should probably find out who’s coming with us.”

  “Who’s us?” asked Meeks.

  Winters remembered he played football for Iowa. “Our group.”

  “We can’t just be called us, we need a name for our little band of merry men,” replied Meeks gesturing to Scar for an answer.

  Scar started thinking aloud. “We have an enemy we’re planning to find and probably kill, and they don’t know we’re coming for them. So, we’re like in the shadows trying to avenge our friends and neighbors.”

  Meeks interrupted. “We’re Avengers then.”

  “Avengers…no that’s taken and it doesn’t sound right. We’re more than Avengers, I mean we came together as patriots.” Scar clapped his hands. “I got it…we’re the Shadow Patriots.”

  The name hung out there for a second before everyone started nodding their heads and smiling.

  “Shadow Patriots it is then,” replied Meeks patting his friend Scar on the back. “You always come up with something good.”

  Scar acknowledged the compliment.

  “Now let’s figure out who all want to be members of the Shadow Patriots,” said Winters who then remembered Meeks’ name.

  “You got it, Captain,” said Scar, looking at Winters.

  “Captain?” Winters asked.

  “Take it from an old Marine, every group needs a captain. From what I’ve seen and heard about you, you’re him.”

  The other men nodded in agreement and came forward to congratulate Winters and shake his hand. He wasn’t pleased but couldn't turn them down at this point.

  Scar jumped up on the bed of the pickup. “Listen up. Captain Winters here needs to know who wants to join the Shadow Patriots and go kill the sons-of-a-bitches that are behind all of this.”

  In unison, they yelled out, “Hell yeah!”

  “Well, I’d say you have an enthusiastic group, Captain,” said Scar.

  Winters flinched at being called Captain.

  “Don’t forget there’s more coming in right behind us,” said Scar.

  “How many?” asked Winters.

  “I know of a few coming up from my area.”

  Winters meandered back into the building and looked at the two dead bodies bleeding on the vinyl floor as he contemplated their predicament for a moment. If this Colonel Nunn is in charge that probably meant the military was somehow involved. This meant they could trust no one.

  More importantly, how would they be able to fight them? Most of them were out of shape, they had no supplies, limited weapons and they were about as organized as a shoebox full of receipts. “Shadow Patriots, yeah, we’ll be keeping to the shadows alright,” Winters chuckled to himself.

  Then an idea hit him. The name, Shadow
Patriots, gave him an idea for subterfuge. As of now, no one knew of their existence. Why not use it to their advantage?

  He headed back outside.

  “Whatcha need, Captain?” asked Elliott.

  Winters shook his head after being called Captain. He hoped he wouldn’t have to put up with that for too long. “I’ve got an idea on how to keep us in the shadows. Let’s load up the dead and clean this place up like nothing happened here.”

  Elliott gave a knowing nod.

  “Whoever is in charge might think Decker and his men just took off. Maybe just because the train station burned to the ground.”

  “Good call,” said Scar. “Hey, also, some of us live close enough where we can go home and bring back our own weapons.”

  “Yes, great idea.”

  “I know of another Patriot Center up in Minnesota,” said Elliott.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, we should head up there and check it out,” Elliott said. “So, we can keep an eye on them.”

  Winters liked the idea. Being in northern Iowa would make it an easy drive to Minnesota. He gathered the men together and instructed anyone who lived in the vicinity to go home and grab any weapons they owned and get back as quickly as possible. They could then leave for Minnesota and check out that Patriot Center.

  After most of the volunteers took off, Winters decided to tend to the wound he’d received at the train station. Finding a first aid kit, he headed to the bathroom. Slowly taking his jacket and shirt off, he started to remove the kitchen towel he had hastily used to stop the bleeding. He unwound the cloth, which had gotten heavier from being soaked with blood. The last bit of towel stuck to his arm, so he gently pried it off trying not to rip open the wound. The towel fell off to show he was missing an inch-long strip of flesh, but not too deep. Some of it had started to dry, scabbing up in the process. Blood still oozed out in other parts. Stitches were in order but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He cleaned the wound by gently dabbing it with a wet towel. He grabbed a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured it on his arm. The liquid began to bubble up into a foam as it cleaned the wound.

  Better than rubbing alcohol, he thought to himself.

  He laid a three-inch white pad over the wound, wrapped gauze around a few times and taped it on. He opened a bottle of aspirin, shook a bunch out and swallowed them, stuffing the bottle into his jacket pocket.

  Within two hours, everyone had come back bringing with them quite an assortment of firearms. It included everything from shotguns and rifles of varying calibers to an amazing variety of handguns.

  With everyone back and the dead buried outside of town, the Shadow Patriots were ready to leave for Minnesota. Winters glanced around at the vehicles filled with men eager to start their adventure. They all stared at him with excitement in their eyes. He began to walk across the lot as he contemplated various ways to ensure they would be able to recognize who the enemy was. Reaching the street, he looked at the empty houses lined up in rows and while staring at them was struck with an idea.

  He turned around and searched the maze of vehicles to find Scar. Winters spotted him and Meeks alone in an F-150. He navigated his way between two cars full of men and finally reached them.

  “Hey Scar, you said we’ve got to watch these guys right.”

  “Yepper, which is why we’re headed to Minnesota.”

  Winters grabbed Scar’s arm. “I’ve got a little something else in mind for you.”

  Chapter 7

  Rock Island Illinois

  Sergeant Owens knocked on the open door of Colonel Nunn’s office and waited for permission to enter. Colonel Nunn waved the young sergeant in. The office was uncharacteristically sterile, no family pictures on the desk, no awards on the walls, only a map of the Midwest and a lone American flag standing in the far corner. The one thing that gave it any character was an umbrella stand, sitting by the entrance, which held two umbrellas. Owens had been working for the colonel for three months now. Not only did he not know anything personal about the man, but he also wasn’t comfortable talking to him.

  Colonel William “Champ” Nunn had a barrel chest and was in his late sixties with short white hair and bushy black and gray eyebrows. His droopy eyes told a story of the many years he had spent in the army. Not all of them were stellar, especially of late. He was court marshaled for black-marketing excess supplies. The charges warranted a dishonorable discharge and jail time, but this happened during the calamity which had befallen America. Once the government had been nationalized, he had low moral friends in high places who were able to pardon him and in exchange, order him to Rock Island Illinois to oversee the Patriot program in the Midwest. His fall had been especially hard for a man with the nickname, “Champ,” which was a play on his last name. At first they had called him “Second to Nunn,” but if he was second to none, then he was always the winner henceforth the name, “Champ.” It was a perfect fit for a man who had always won in his early days.

  However, Nunn was far from his early years and figured he didn’t have too many left. Running this operation not only got him out of jail, but his employer also paid him handsomely. Supervising the Patriot Centers was much easier than wheeling and dealing in the black market. The workers at the centers were scum, but he was used to those types in his underworld trade. You just had to know how to handle them. They were useful, provided they kept their mouths shut about the centers' real purpose. He figured a few would more than likely get a little loose with the lips, and this meant he’d be required to step in and eliminate them. Since secrecy was priority one, that wouldn't be a problem for him.

  “Colonel, we haven’t been able to reach Bravo Patriot this morning and they didn't check in last night either,” said Owens.

  Colonel Nunn looked up surprised, “Bravo Patriot, that’s Decker’s place, right?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Has he ever not called in before?” he asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Seems a bit odd, are the phone lines down?”

  “We haven’t had any problems with any of the other centers sir, plus we’ve been trying to contact him on the radio as well.”

  “Okay, get Major Green in here,” he ordered.

  Colonel Nunn did not think highly of Major Green. He thought the man to be a squirrelly ass kisser and Nunn didn’t like ass kissers. Over his career, he’d dealt with people like him. They would take no responsibility for any screw-ups and would maneuver others to take the blame. All they wanted were promotions and a cushy office job in Washington where they could hobnob with the important people.

  Five minutes later, Major Green knocked on the door of Colonel Nunn’s office.

  Green was in his mid-thirties, average height, with a muscular build that indicated he worked out consistently. He wore fatigues and a sidearm. He had an eagerness about him that had not been beaten down by the rigors of working for Colonel Nunn.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes, Major Green. We’ve not heard from Bravo Patriot this morning or last night, so I want you to go and check it out,” said Nunn.

  “Yes sir, I’ll leave right away,” replied Green.

  “Yes, you will,” said Nunn not looking up at him and shooing him away with the back of his hand.

  Green turned on his heel and left the office muttering to himself. “Yes, you will. Friggin jackass. The man doesn’t deserve this position.”

  Major Green marched over to the mess hall to locate Lieutenant Crick, his friend, and right-hand man and instructed him to round up some men for a trip to the Iowa Patriot Center.

  Twenty minutes later, they took off with his men a couple of transport trucks. Green, along with Lieutenant Crick, led the way in a Humvee.

  Chapter 8

  Victor Iowa

  Scar looked over at Meeks. They were hiding in the attic of an old two-story house. It sat opposite the Patriot Center where they would have met their fate, had it not been for the
bravery of their newfound friends. Winters asked them to stay behind and keep an eye on whoever showed up.

  “You hear that?” Scar asked Meeks.

  “Sounds like we got company.”

  Scar looked out the small window. “Ah, LMTV’s,” said Scar.

  “LMTV?”

  “Light Military Transport Vehicles, just like the three sitting across the street,” said the retired Marine.

  The two leaned closer and saw a Humvee and two LMTV’s, come up the street and park a block away.

  “So, the Army is involved. Boy that about fries my ass,” fumed Scar.

  “Well, we can’t say for sure they’re directly involved.”

  “Oh really?” asked Scar in disbelief.

  “Not positively,” said Meeks peeking out the window.

  Scar shook his head.

  “They sure are taking their time,” said Meeks.

  “Probably want to make sure there’s nothing wrong not having heard from Decker. So, they’re being cautious,” said Scar.

  “One of them is getting out.”

  Scar grabbed his binoculars and focused in. “Got ourselves a major.”

  Soldiers jumped out of the vehicles and ran to the back and front of the building.

  “This will be entertaining,” said Meeks.

  The soldiers entered the building and several minutes later, a few stepped back outside and waved to the major. He walked to the entrance and they took a moment to talk to them before walking inside.

  “Wonder how long they’ll stay,” said Meeks.

  “Well, there’s nobody home so I wouldn’t imagine too long. Surely, they’ll want to check out the train station right away.”

  Some of the soldiers came out and lit cigarettes. Three others moved the vehicles up the street closer to the Center. More strolled out to smoke and await further directives. Ten minutes later, the major walked out and issued orders to his men. The soldiers fanned out in different directions.

  “This doesn’t look good,” said Meeks.

  “No, it doesn’t. They probably want to question some of the townspeople,” said Scar.