“Good to see you, Paul,” said Madruga, “but we have something of a situation here. It seems that Dick Silva over there is just as bound and determined that nobody be allowed to vote.”
Burchett looked over at Silva and his men, and then back at Garcia. He pointed at the latter. “Those guys on Silva’s side?”
“Yep.”
“After our conversations, Manuel, I anticipated something like this. That’s why we’re all armed. Silva and his gang are in front of you, so you take them on. We’ll take on those hoodlums in front of us.”
As he walked back, Silva called to him. “I advise you to leave. This is a private affair.”
“No,” said Burchett, “it’s a public affair. It’s about our right to vote.”
“You’ll all die.”
Burchett looked around. “No, not all of us. It looks like our side has more people and more guns than your side has, so what will happen is, you’ll all die, and only about three-quarters of us will.”
“That’s stupid,” Silva sputtered. “What will those few who live gain?”
“Just the chance to vote, I guess,” said Burchett.
“C’mon, this isn’t even a real election,” chided Silva. “Is it worth dying for?”
“We won’t be the first to think so, and I’m sure we won’t be the last.”
* * * * *
Chapter 55
BEFORE any of the foes could get in position to initiate the battle, the near-deafening sounds of an approaching helicopter seized everyone’s attention. It was the first aircraft they heard since the war ended, and all activity stopped while they waited to see who it was. Their eyes turned toward the sound.
The orange and white helicopter came into view. When the pilot spotted all the people near the intersection, he flew the craft over them and hovered thirty feet over their heads. Zach Arthur climbed down a rope ladder from the belly of the chopper. He carried a walkie-talkie.
“Who’s Campbell?” Zach yelled so he could be heard over the noise of the whirling chopper blades.
“Over here,” said Campbell.
Zach went over and talked with the former newspaper editor. As Campbell answered Zach’s questions, he pointed toward Madruga and West, and then toward Garcia. Finally, he pointed at Silva.
Zach nodded and walked over to Silva. “I needed to get the lowdown on who are the good guys and who are the bad guys,” he told the would-be governor. “It seems that you’re the bad guys.”
“I’m the governor of this state,” Silva protested.
“I understand that this election today will determine the governor,” said Zach. “Personally, after what your thugs tried to do yesterday, I would just as soon forget the election and do you all in. But, I was sworn to uphold the law before I was sent here, and that I will do. The election will continue.”
Silva again started to protest but Zach cut him off.
“Here’s the deal,” said Zach, pointing up. “Above you is a U.S. Coast Guard Helicopter. It is here to back me up in ensuring that the election is held as planned. I have been appointed to represent the government of the United States, which at this moment is the U.S. Coast Guard.”
Silva started to protest once again and once again, Zach stopped him. “There is no need for conversation,” Zach stated firmly, “except that I am going to talk to some people on the aircraft. They will give you a demonstration that I believe will capture your undivided attention, Mr. Silva.” He spoke briefly into this little hand-held radio in his hand, and the pilot maneuvered the large craft so that it was at an angle, facing both the streets on which Silva, Garcia, and their men waited.
“Okay, Mur,” Zach continued into his walkie-talkie, “let’s give Mr. Silva a small demonstration. Knock a piece of the sole off his right shoe.
A second later, a shot rang out. It hit at Silva’s feet and dug into the pavement, taking a small piece of the barely visible right shoe sole with it.
“That’s the first part of the demonstration,” said Zach. He called to Campbell, “anybody living over there?” He pointed to an area away from the main section of town.
“No,” said Campbell.
A second later, there was a burst of machine gun fire. The zinging lead shot through the air overhead between the streets Silva and Garcia were on. The shots sounded loud and lethal.
Zach turned to Silva. “The shooting out a bit of your sole and the rat-a-tat-tat of the machine gun, of course, was for your benefit. You should know that, in addition to Mur, there are two other sharpshooters up there. Mur is the only one with a precision rifle, but the other two could knock the eye out of a sparrow at a hundred yards with a squirrel gun. The machine gun has several thousand rounds. It can kill one hundred people in about a minute and a half. Probably every one of you in less than three.”
He continued. “Here is what’s going to happen. You are going to tell your people to lay down their arms and allow the election to take place without interference.”
Silva started to say something, but Zach put up a finger. “I’m going to count to ten. At ten, if you have not ordered your people to lay down their arms, Mur is going to shoot you between the eyes.” He pointed at Venable. “This guy looks like one of your top lieutenants, so another sniper will shoot him in the eye at the same time. Another will take out that fellow over there who appears to be in charge of those folks. Not sure where he’ll get it. In the skull, maybe, or in the neck. The shooters are pretty innovative.
“At the same time, the man on the machine gun will kill most of the men behind you, and then, before they can run, he’ll swing the gun around and kill those over there. In less than two minutes, almost all of you will be dead. Some will get away, of course, but we’ll hunt them down. When that is done, we’ll get on with the vote. Naturally, it would be better for you if we didn’t have to kill you all. Your choice, though.”
“You can’t. . . ”
Zach paid no attention to Silva, who had once again tried to protest. “One. . . ” the ex-ranger said, raising one finger.
* * * * *
No one moved as Zach counted out the first four numbers. By “five,” Garcia looked desperately at Silva who stared angrily ahead, his lips in a tight, even line. At “six,” several men behind Silva put their rifles down. Silva’s eyes flicked upward toward the helicopter for a moment, and then stared straight ahead.
At “seven,” Garcia put his weapon down and motioned for his men to do the same. At “eight,” Venable nervously said, “Dick. . . ?”
Silva still stared straight ahead, but his lips were trembling.
Zach called out, “nine.” He had nine fingers up. His tenth finger began to uncoil from his palm.
“Okay; okay!” Silva screamed.
“Okay, what?” asked Zach. The tenth finger was still ready to uncoil.
“Drop your weapons,” Silva called to the people behind him.
There were audible sighs of relief. Those who hadn’t already done so were quick to put their weapons on the ground.
* * * * *
Chapter 56
IN THE next hour, all those closest to the intersection voted. Bright sunshine nudged the drizzle away, making it a more typical California day.
Silva insisted his men vote first. Campbell, Madruga, and West agreed, and Silva was the first in and out. Once outside, he took a stance facing the people with Madruga and West.
“While my men are inside voting for the rightful governor,” he blared out, “I feel I must tell you that this so-called election is illegal. Do not waste your vote on that phony newspaper man. If you want to fritter away your time, at least vote for me, the real governor.”
“Electioneering is not permitted at the polls,” Madruga told him, taking him by the arm and moving him over to the other side of the intersection.
“I’m just giving the people the facts,” said Silva loudly over his shoulder as he was ushered away; but he made no attempt at any more speeches.
The people wh
o laid down their weapons retrieved them, and most carried them to the voting place. Madruga and West took possession of them outside the polls and held them while their owners went in to vote. They returned them all back to their rightful owners.
The helicopter hovered most of the early election hours, the gunners’ eyes on Silva’s men. When they had voted and were off to the side, their weapons either at their sides or once again on the ground, the chopper slowly descended and settled onto a large parking lot that was mostly empty. One by one, the people from the aircraft went inside to vote. The machine gunner went first. He returned quickly and Mur followed.
Then Hector, the sniper who was aboard Zach’s boat the day they sank part of Slaughter’s “navy,” voted. Next was the sniper who was on the craft the day before. Glen and Denise definitely stayed home this time. Finally, the pilot cut the engines and went in to vote. The engines weren’t turned on the rest of the day, but the men stayed at their posts until well after the election was completed.
Surprising many, especially Richard Silva, Mary Ambrose made her way through the crowd to the polls.
“Mary, we’ve been worried about you,” said Madruga. “Where have you been?”
“They found out about me and locked me up,” she told him, pointing at Silva and Venable. The two watched disconsolately as people voted. Silva shot her an angry look but said nothing.
“Locked up? How did you get away?”
She held up her master key. “Those guys aren’t as smart as they think they are,” she opined. “As soon as the guard left me alone this morning, I just let myself out.”
“You better get in there and vote,” Madruga told her.
“That’s what I came for,” she said, “but first I need to tell you that they have some people at a motel by the freeway. They probably don’t have guards right now, either, but they have food and shelter and may not even know they were prisoners. I’m sure they don’t know about the election.”
“They will soon,” said Madruga. He sent four pickups to the motel to get the people. All were bewildered when they arrived at the intersection and saw what was happening. They were reasonably content at the motel, receiving much needed food and lodging at no cost. They were not aware that Silva planned an environment of virtual slavery for them. There were rapid-fire questions at first, but when they had the answers, they fell silent. All voted.
Friends talked to friends and word spread well beyond where the “newspapers” were delivered. Stragglers from towns as far away as Madera to the south, Antioch to the north, Modesto to the east, and Santa Cruz to the west, showed up to vote. The clouds returned in the early afternoon, and it rained for an hour. No one voted during that time – Californians never learned to cope with rain – but more showed up when the clouds went away and the sun shinned once again on the town.
The polls closed at seven p.m. Nine hundred and twelve people had voted. Ninety-four voted for Silva – apparently, eight of his own men didn’t vote for him – and Larry Campbell received eight hundred and eighteen votes.
* * * * *
“I’ll be moving some things into the Tracy Inn tonight,” Campbell told Silva after the ballots were tallied and a panel confirmed the count. The two were standing outside the polling station. The helicopter hadn’t moved and the gunners still manned their posts.
“No you won’t, Silva blurted. “That’s my headquarters.”
“Was your headquarters. . . but, no more. The one smart thing you did while you were playing governor was select it as the ‘capital building.’ We’ll need to have meetings, many with representatives from other areas. With the guest rooms upstairs, the large room in back for general meetings, and lots of rooms and offices for smaller meetings, it is perfect.”
“I’ve got a lot of things in there,” Silva argued. With the helicopter so close by, he maintained a civil tone.
“We gave that some thought,” Campbell said, “and Manuel has lined up five trucks to take you, your men, and whatever supplies you need, to your new headquarters.”
“What new headquarters?”
“We were thinking the Barnes Occupational Center. It’s big and has all the facilities a large group needs. Besides, a large number of you are familiar with the premises.”
Silva started to protest. . . but when he thought about it, Campbell was right. It was really big, and when they added people, there would be space and facilities to handle them. Besides, it would be fun to leave prison any time he wanted. “Sure, why not?” he mumbled.
“One thing you better know before you leave,” Campbell warned.
“What?”
“We intend to keep this place guarded at all times.”
Silva cast him a belligerent look, but didn’t reply.
* * * * *
The lookout at BOC spotted the convoy coming. When he recognized Silva in the lead vehicle, he rushed back inside the prison to warn his colleagues, and they conferred. It took only a minute to decide they should set the prisoners free before Silva saw them. Slim, the man who took the election notice to the Tracy Inn for Silva to see, took the captives to the back gate and opened it for them to leave.
“When you get to the river,” Slim said, “turn left. When you get to a freeway, turn left again.”
Where will that take us?” one asked.
“Tracy,” Slim replied. “I think that will be the safest place to be right now.”
Chapter 57
RAINS CAME. They weren’t the occasional fall showers that had fallen in the past. It rained every day. As happened when the winds ceased unexpectedly on Catalina the day of the attack, there were opposing opinions regarding the cause of the change.
“All that bombing resulted in massive changes in atmospheric conditions,” many argued. There wasn’t a single meteorologist available to verify or deny that theory.
“It’s a good omen from above,” claimed others. “Look what it has done for us.”
There was no doubt that it benefited those in the Central Valley. The irrigation system was a wreck, but the increased water supply, interspersed with California’s still reliable almost daily sunshine, brought about increased fall crops of much needed fruits and vegetables.
On Catalina, those who in the past had ferried water from the missile cruiser to land every day were relieved of that duty and used their newly found time to repair devastated buildings at Two Harbors. Others were no longer required to tend to livestock daily, for the showers created ponds, and grass had begun to grow everywhere. The animals wandered freely throughout the island.
* * * * *
One of the key outcomes of the first meeting of the new “state government” at the Tracy Inn was a communications network between all the communities via ham radio. Zach personally made weekly contact with each of the community representatives.
While talking with Paul Burchett in Santa Cruz about a month after the election, he heard unusually happy sounds in the background. “What exactly is happening there?” he asked.
“The music?”
“And laughter. I thought I heard children laughing.”
“Those are the sounds of our country starting to rebound,” said Burchett.
“What?”
“It’s something I once told our friend in Tracy. After we put all the horses put back together; when the organs work once again; when lots of kids are riding and laughing on our merry-go-round; we’ll know that we’ve rebounded. I have some of the horses back on the carousel, and one of the organs is playing now. My children and some of their friends are having a ball on their horses.”
“So, we’ve come back.”
“Not there yet, but it’s definitely a good beginning.”
* * * * *
The next day, the people from Two Harbors joined those in Avalon for a general meeting following Sunday services in the fabled casino on Avalon Harbor. Because of the rain, all of the outside functions that might last until afternoon were now held indoors.
Many
were still bandaged from wounds received during the assault by Slaughter and his men. One had lost half an arm and one a leg below the knee. Others had broken bones. Some had bullet or shrapnel wounds. Yet, everyone was there.
Harry Peckham opened the meeting. After a few opening remarks, he introduced Zach.
“As you recall,” Zach said, “at our last meeting, before the attack, my two teenagers came up with what seemed like a novel idea. Applying it directly to our situation may seem like an attempt to simply avoid a lot of heartache and trouble, but what they suggested is actually almost as old as our country. They’ve been making copies the last few days, and now you will have the opportunity to read the document through in its entirety. It’s definitely worth your time.”
A side door opened. Glen and Denise led the youngsters Mur had saved into the room. Each had a stack of papers stapled into packets. The youngsters handed them out to all in attendance.
“You can read through this in half an hour,” Zach told the group as they started to thumb through the packets, “but there’s so much there, it will take longer to digest the meaning.”
“Hey,” Barry Goldman cried out with contempt after he glanced at his packet, “this looks like the U.S. Constitution.” Goldman had professed profound gratitude for not being exiled with his friend Marcus, but there was no discussion about his withholding his views. A few people hissed at his comment but he ignored them.
“That’s exactly what it is,” Zach replied.
“In that case, I have a serious question,” Goldman said.
The hisses became boos and several voiced objections to allowing him to speak.
Zach held up his hand to quiet the crowd. “We agreed to listen to all ideas and answer all questions. We need to stand by that.”
Others in the crowd asked their neighbors to tone it down so they could hear. Muffled whispers continued but, otherwise, the room was quiet.
“Go ahead, Barry,” said Zach.
“What good is an ancient document like this to us?”
Again, Zach had to quiet the crowd before he could answer. “It is what we lived by in the past, and what we will live by when the country is put back together.”
Seeking a Sane Society: Nothing is the Same (The Seeking Series Book 2) Page 23