by J. L. Bourne
This place was, for me, the genesis of the resistance. From up here, I first witnessed the unadulterated corruption of the local tendrils of the United States government. College kids were gunned down just up the street on that grassy knoll. Through my binos, I could see wreathes and other items left in commemoration of those lives lost.
The clacking of hooves sent me ducking. I listened as the horse-drawn vehicle approached from the east and transited underneath me. Looking over the tall railing, I watched as a hay filled wagon continued west on MLK until it reached some side street in the distance, turning left where the old sawmill used to be. As I continued my reconnaissance, more wagons and foot traffic passed underneath. The pedestrians seemed to walk aimlessly west on the road, their posture projecting defeat.
I didn’t see one overweight traveler in the hour I observed the road traffic. So much for the obese American stereotype. I guess that trope disappeared with all the food.
I knew that the interstate was west from my position, so I decided to follow the others that way for a little while to see what else I could find out. I put on my glasses and walked my bike down the embankment to the road. Ice covered the shaded areas below the bridge, unmolested by the thousands of cars that passed through here every day before the collapse.
That wasn’t the only sign of drastic population culling that was evident as I observed my surroundings. I was used to being in remote rural environments over the past several months. I didn’t venture into the city unless I had to, so the noted difference in the number of people on the streets was obvious.
Fayetteville was a ghost town.
Where was everyone?
I continued west until reaching a checkpoint near the on-ramp for what I’ll always refer to as I-540. There were no feds; just what looked like a local county police officer. He seemed to be concerned with traffic going on and off the interstate and paid no attention to me. I didn’t really care about him either, but I did notice the hum of a generator powering the gas station near the checkpoint, so I went towards that, careful not to look directly at the police officer. He no doubt had a mugshot of my face burned into his memory.
As I dismounted, a wagon loaded with people exited 540 via the on-ramp. This seemed to get the officer’s attention, as he began to walk over to the vehicle. I took this opportunity to go around the side of the station.
Air pump.
Luckily, the gas station wasn’t cheap and didn’t make customers pay for air. The station was powered, so that meant that the compressor was as well, so I quickly filled my bike tires and got back on the road, avoiding the checkpoint and the on-ramp.
I pedaled back east and turned down the road where I saw the hay wagon go an hour earlier. I needed to use 540 to get to where Rich was being incarcerated, but didn’t want to ruin a good bicycling day by pulling heat on a cop to get there.
There were other ways.
I pedaled for about three miles up the road until I thought I’d found where the wagon must have gone. There were a few heads of cattle with their mouths crunching on hay that looked like it had recently been put down. The sound of jack brakes and revving engines was noticeably absent this close to 540; only the sound of wind and the impact of ice pellets on my hood.
The cattle didn’t pay any much attention to me as I lifted my bike over the fence and infiltrated the steep bank leading to 540. Miles of abandoned cars were pulled to the side nearly perpendicular to the road. That must have been a Herculean tow truck effort.
I headed north, beginning my long trip to Bentonville, Arkansas, and the fusion center where Rich was being detained without habeas corpus.
The sun was getting low and so was the temperature, but I wasn’t tired. I pulled my NVD from my kit and attached it to my helmet. I looked pretty shady wearing a night vision monocular mounted to a helmet, so I wouldn’t be sporting this look during the day. I strapped the NVD and helmet to my pack and kept going until it was dark enough to go night vision capable.
I saw no one on the northbound side of the road after night fell, but some horse drawn traffic moved in the opposite direction.
Progress was slow when I hit the outskirts of Fayetteville. The roads had not been cleared of derelict vehicles and the ice began to refreeze, making cycling a hazardous activity. I needed to find a place to hold up.
Through my NVD, I could see a large bright rectangle about a mile off the interstate on the right. I took the next exit and followed the off-ramp down below the interstate grade, turning right onto an empty road. I looked back over my shoulder at the interstate above; the IR light on my NVD reflected from the dozen or so abandoned cars. Pedaling up a small hill, I turned left at the large but dark neon sign that read 112 DRIVE-IN.
The large white projector screen stood tall and sterile in the distance. Only when I got closer could I see the small imperfections and tears in the screen. Dozens of posts rose up through the gravel dunes, once streaming sounds of drama, horror, and sci-fi into the car radios next to them. I hid my bicycle behind the large screen and walked back to the center of the sound-post forest. For a moment I closed my eyes and imagined all the cars sitting here, windows fogging up in some, smoke wafting out from others. I imagined the children playing on the monkey bars next to the screen and the tinny sounds of movies coming from the speakers mounted to the poles, or from the radios in the cars themselves, tuned to the proper drive-in frequency.
My pack was getting heavy as I approached the concession and projector building. The door was secure, but I made short work of it with the B&E tools I keep handy inside my pack. It’s a lot easier when you aren’t worried about making noise or being seen.
I was alone out here. Did I know for sure? No, but the feeling you get when you know eyes are watching you was not here, not in this place.
I entered through the steel door and locked it behind me before I began to explore. Keeping my NVD on for the moment, I looked for anything useful. The place was mostly intact, but there was nothing of any significant value remaining, unless you count the bank of popcorn machines and the candy wrappers all over the floor. Empty five-gallon water jugs littered the ground near the cash register. It looked as if someone had holed up here for some time, I guess, until they ran out of candy and water.
Checking all the accesses, I climbed the stairs that led to the projector room. Strangely, at least to me, this door was the most secure one in the whole place. It wasn’t locked, but if it had been, I’d have never gotten in without a blow torch and an angle grinder. I swung the steel door opened and stepped inside.
The sound of movement caused me to draw my Glock. Something hit my face and I nearly emptied a mag inside the room before I realize that it was a bird that had been using the room as a nest. It swiftly flew out of the projector opening and was lost to the night.
I raised the NVD and switched on my torch, illuminating the whole room in a burst of warm light. There were film reels sorted neatly on racks against the wall to my left. None of the movies were new, probably because everything had been digital for a few years now. There were some classics among the collection, many of which I recognized.
It was getting close to midnight, so I set up camp in the projector room after securing the door.
Only birds and ex-spies allowed.
At midnight, I tuned my radio to our preset freq and listened to the atmospherics play their random music on the radio. The pops and static yielded no discernible signal that I could tell. I waited until five minutes after midnight, then I gave up and switched off the radio to conserve the battery.
I unlocked the projector’s mount and swung it parallel to the opening. Peering out, I didn’t think about the bright LED light that spilled through the opening and onto the large screen in the distance. The sound posts cast an eerie shadow, like columns and rows of skinny shadow soldiers, all obediently marching to the screen ahead.
IRREGULAR WARFARE
I awoke to strange noises at around three in the morning. For a split
second, I actually believed that I was back at the cabin in Newton County. That feeling quickly went away as I reached for my helmet and NVD, bringing it down, bathing the dark room in a green glow over my right eye. Shaking off the desire to just go back to sleep, I crept up to the projector opening, which I forgot to close before racking out. Peering through, my heart just about stopped.
There were half a dozen armed men on horseback, all wearing NVDs, staring up at me.
“Come out, or we’ll light your ass up!” a voice yelled out from horseback.
Be captured or die. Not much of a choice.
I quietly chambered my sub gun and, for a moment, considered opening fire through the projector opening.
Maybe they’d bring me to Rich, I thought.
“I’m coming out the front!” I yelled down.
I quickly stowed my gun in the top of my pack and hid that in the ceiling above the square foam tiles.
Unarmed, I slowly went down the stairs. Rounding the corner to the concession area, I met one of the men, a bearded guy, face-to-face.
“Don’t move,” he commanded.
I stood there waiting to get shot, but it didn’t happen.
“Turn around and pull up your coat.”
I complied, showing the man that I wasn’t armed.
“Okay, come out. The boss is waiting on you,” the bearded man said matter-of-factly.
He signaled for me to walk in front of him, and I reluctantly did what was told. The steel door had been unlocked and now stood halfway open. I stepped through and out into the open area in front of the building.
“Where’d you get that?” said a different voice.
“Where’d I get what?” I responded.
“Well, you got it, might as well use it. Put your NVD down so you can see who you’re talking to,” the man said, his suggestion accompanied by some chuckles.
Fuck. I’d forgotten to stow my helmet and NVD with the rest of my kit. I swung the device down over my eye again and scanned from left to right, blinded a little by all the IR light blasting from their guns and other kit. They were running IR lasers, bright-ass IR flashlights, and other things I didn’t recognize.
“So, where’d you get that? I won’t ask again,” he said.
“Work. I got it from work before all this happened,” I said.
Vague is oftentimes true.
“What kind of work did you do before?”
“I worked for the State Department.”
Well, that was mostly a lie, but hey, the truth was complicated.
“Turn on the lights,” the voice commanded.
My NVD instantly whited out as the men switched on their visible lights, beaming me with everything from Maglites to 500-lumen tactical lights.
I was blind.
Someone behind me took off my helmet.
Gasps and a few “What the fucks!” could be heard amongst the horsemen.
“My God. It’s him,” the voice said.
—————
The trip took two hours on horseback. The leader called himself Mars. I don’t know if it was his real name and I didn’t care too much while I was bouncing around on the horse, trying not to fall off with a black hood over my head. Mars told me that the hood was for my own protection and that it was best I not know where their NAI cell was located. I didn’t really give a damn where the NAI hung their hat and didn’t want much from them. I just wanted to find Rich.
Along the way, Mars revealed how the patrol had found me.
“Your IR discipline isn’t very good, you know. One of our scouts saw you pedaling down interstate on NODs. He followed on horseback and watched you light up the drive-in screen a few too many times. He called in reinforcements and we showed up. We knew you weren’t provisional government. No vehicle, hiding in an abandoned drive-in. This is how we get most of our recruits, by the way. They’re hiding out on the run after having survived a year without a supermarket being stocked. Only survivors and government thugs are out here now.”
The loud sounds of hooves continued to thump on grass, clack on pavement, and sometimes splash through streams. I had no idea where I was; I just knew that the horses weren’t galloping full out. I wasn’t tied up or zip-cuffed. I suspect that we made about fifteen miles; we’d been climbing a particularly steep hill when the sounds of the horses’ footfalls stopped.
“You can take his hood off,” I heard Mars say.
Someone pulled the hood from my head and seated my helmet back down in its place. I readjusted my NVD, bathing the crest of the hill in green. A series of IR lights began to flash from the trees just ahead. After a few moments, Mars returned the signal with one of his own, again only visible in the IR spectrum. After a confirmation flash returned from the tree line, the horses began to move ahead once more. We entered the forest and came to a vast rock overhang, where I could smell some camp smoke and some type of tea.
“Dismount,” Mars said.
We all got off our horses and a group of young boys took the reins and tied them off to nearby trees.
The men led me inside the vast overhang of rock and I felt the trickle of water hit my back as I transitioned from trees to rock over my head.
“Please, sit.” Mars gestured, pointing to the nearby rock circle that surrounded a large fire.
The blaze heated the cliff wall, reflecting warmth all around the rock circle. I scanned the surroundings, noticing the guards. They carried M4s and faced outward into the darkness from where any threat might come.
Mars stood upon a large boulder like a great statue and spoke.
“NAI, we’ve found the man responsible for the university prison break, among other very serious crimes.”
A series of mocking boos were issued from the crowd. I could see Mars smile as he continued.
“Max, welcome to the mountain complex and the current NAI capital cell.”
A chant started with a low whisper, and eventually became loud enough that I could hear it clearly.
Long live the Republic
Long live the Republic
May the traitors pay the price!
Mars quelled the noise so as to not allow it to crescendo into a pep rally.
“What brings you back from the mountains?” he asked.
I was taken aback that he had even a clue as to my whereabouts over the past few months.
Before I could respond, he began to explain. “We’ve been monitoring transmissions, even decrypting some of the ones that they think are protected. There was a hit out on you a few months back, which is no doubt why you went dark. Now you’re back in the area, and I’d like to know why.”
I stood and approached Mars and his boulder and the crowd around the fire got quiet, accentuating the silence of the forest around us.
“I’m looking for a friend,” I said to Mars, and basically everyone else in the camp.
“At that old drive-in?” Mars asked jokingly.
“No, he’s currently a guest at the Bentonville Intelligence Fusion Center,” I said.
Mars’s demeanor went from jovial to serious in a split second. He jumped from the boulder, hitting the ground flat footed, and sharply asked me to follow him away from the fire and deeper under the overhang.
Safely out of earshot from the fire circle, Mars spoke rapidly. “Listen, this isn’t like the university. That place was the temporary holding facility for political dissidents. Bentonville is the final solution. The provisional government changed our Constitution under emergency powers. With martial law in effect everywhere, they’ll shoot curfew violators on sight within ten miles of the complex. They’ve made the center in Bentonville like the Green Zone, get it?”
“Yeah, I get it, but my friend Rich is inside, and he’d come for me, so I’m coming for him,” I said, leaving no room for negotiation.
“You’re Max! They’ll put your head on a goddamned pike in front of that complex! You know this.”
“Yeah, but if we leave our guys in there, what does that say ab
out who we are? You talked about our Constitution before, or was it just that? Talk?”
Mars was on the ropes, so I did what you do in that situation.
“How many of your people are in Bentonville?” I said, knowing the answer before I even asked.
“Too many.”
“So when all those people around that fire realize that you’re just talking and that if they end up in that complex, they’re in a black hole? No one is coming for them?”
KO.
“Okay, now you’ve got my attention,” Mars said. “Look, why don’t you stay for the night. We can talk more after you get some sleep. Sun’s coming up soon. The NAI doesn’t move during the day. Too dangerous.”
“Since you asked me about my kit before, I have one more question: Where did you get all your guns, night vision, and horses?” I said.
“From scumbags that didn’t need them anymore.”
—————
18 Dec
I awoke to sideways ice pellets hitting me in the face and to the faint smell of cooking meat. I climbed out of my bag and onto a freezing, moss covered boulder to slip on my boots. I quickly rolled my bag up and stuffed it back inside my pack, and then headed for the main fire circle as two boys dropped large logs onto the hot coals. The area near the fire and the overhang face was easily 20 degrees warmer than where I had slept.
Mars was picking his teeth with a whittled twig when I approached. “Good afternoon, Max. What say you and I head out on a little hunt? Horses are saddled up. Follow me.”
I followed Mars down a twisting trail consisting of a few switchbacks before getting to the NAIs makeshift horse enclosure. The ice pellet barrage began to lighten up.
“You can take Molly. She can handle a big guy like you,” Mars said, handing me the reins.
We set off to the west down an old camp trail, deep into unfamiliar woods. The trees and the terrain still felt like Arkansas, but it seemed that we might be closer to the Oklahoma border. I didn’t bother to ask and I didn’t really care.