Resurrection America

by Jeff Gunhus

  “You were in Iran?” the man on the left asked, sounding surprised.

  “Iran, Saudi, Jordan, Syria, Turkey,” Rick said. “Throw a dart at a map of the New Caliphate and chances are I spent time there courtesy of Uncle Sam’s travel planners.” He looked back at the AAV. “We could have used something like this beast though. She’s beautiful. Range?”

  “One charge, five hundred clicks,” the soldier on the right said.

  “No shit?” Rick said, noticing the soldier’s guns were pointed at the ground now. “Heavy arms?”

  “.50 cal on the top, guided RPG gives a three-hundred-sixty-degree target access, even two anti-aircraft guns for the low-flying stuff.”

  As the soldier was talking, Rick looked the machine up and down. As he did, he saw something that nearly caused his legs to buckle. He dropped to a knee to tie his boot lace, even though it wasn’t loose. He needed a chance to process what he’d seen.

  “But the camo-function is really the main attraction,” the man continued.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” the soldier in the middle said.

  “Not like it’s classified or anything,” the soldier on the left said. “He could find it online.”

  The middle soldier stared the other man down until he looked away. “Think you might want to mosey back to the civilians now, Sheriff.”

  Rick stood and held up his hands, hoping his expression didn’t betray anything. “I’m not trying to cause any trouble. I was just interested.” He tipped his head toward the two soldiers with the guns. “And I appreciate the courtesy given to an old guy who used to wear the uniform.”

  It looked like the men wanted to say something in return, but the guy in the middle had them rattled. Still, they acknowledged the comment with a slight nod as he turned away.

  His mind raced as he walked back to the center of the square. He didn’t know what he expected to find out from looking at the AAV up close, but not this.

  First he’d noticed overspray on the AAV’s paneling and tires. The armored assault vehicle had been recently painted. That in itself wasn’t too odd. But with the light at just the right angle, glinting off the door panel on the driver’s side, Rick had seen the symbol that had been painted over.

  The crescent moon and star of the Jihadi army.

  27

  Rick tried not to let his body language betray his rising sense of panic. His brain was reeling at the implications of what he’d seen. What if the entire operation was a Jihadi operation right in the center of the United States? He’d suspected Keefer of lying, but what if the lies were designed to cover up an impending terrorist attack?

  He needed to find Cassie and run this new information by her. She’d been two steps ahead of him from the beginning in her suspicions. He needed an ally to think this through with, someone who was already over the initial fear of the crisis and ready to think critically.

  As he walked purposefully through the square looking for her, he thought through all the data points using this new information.

  If these were jihadists, the communications blackout took on a more sinister purpose. What if it wasn’t to keep panic from spreading but instead to seal off information so that law enforcement and the US military weren’t tipped off? What if the blockade outside of town didn’t actually exist? But they would have had to do something to keep new traffic from coming into Resurrection once the operation started, so they likely had some kind of perimeter set up.

  Rick rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. It was how the migraines used to start back when the flashbacks to the war caught up with him, back before he got a handle on things like that. A soft, cruel voice whispered the suggestion that had been building in the back of his mind: that the whole thing, the soldiers storming the town, the deadly virus, seeing the crescent moon and star, all of it, was just in his head.

  Some massive delusion and relapse into the PTSD that used to control his life.

  He almost wished that were true.

  But when he opened his eyes, the nightmare was still there. And it was real.

  “Rick. Over here.”

  It was Dahlia. She was pushing against the plastic cords that roped off her area, looking like she might slip through to chase after him. Two soldiers were already stepping quickly toward her.

  “Step back! Now!” the soldier barked.

  A few people around Dahlia reached out to tug on her.

  “All of you, back up!” The second soldier had his gun up to his shoulder, scanning the crowd in the pen through his scope.

  “Wait,” Rick called out, running over.

  The more amped-up soldier whipped in his direction, gun raised at Rick’s face.

  Rick stopped immediately, raising his hands in the air. “It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s be calm. Be calm.”

  The people on the other side of the plastic cord were on their feet, watching the interaction with wide eyes. Dahlia took a step backward into the holding area, shaken.

  “See? She’s stepped back,” Rick said. “No one’s going anywhere.”

  “This is the sheriff,” the calmer of the two soldiers said. “Ease up, man. C’mon.”

  The man lowered his gun but then took a look over his shoulder at the people in the pen. He spun and pointed the gun at the crowd. Everyone ducked. Some screamed.

  “C’mon, man. If the colonel sees you doing that shit, he’ll take you out.”

  The soldier lowered the gun and Rick saw that he was grinning. The response from the crowd seemed to satisfy him as he turned and walked away.

  Rick watched him warily as he approached the holding pen. Dahlia stepped closer, but kept a respectful distance from the boundary.

  “Are you all right?” Rick asked.

  “That’s the first I’ve seen of anything like that,” she said. “But, yeah, I’m all right. Charlie is over there playing with two kids his age. I’m just glad he didn’t see that happen.”

  Rick looked down at her wrists. No green band yet. “Listen, I’ve got to go, but do something for me.” He glanced around to make certain no one was near enough to hear him. “I want you to wait on getting your shot.”

  “Why?” she said, suddenly looking scared. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure yet, just … just … do what you can to hold off. When it’s your turn, make some excuse to go last.”

  “You have to tell me what’s going on, Rick. You’re asking me to risk Charlie––"

  “I’m trying to save Charlie,” he snapped, a little too loudly. Heads turned in their direction and he shot them a look to mind their own business. He took her hand in his, but when he looked into her eyes, he didn’t like the way she looked at him. Like he was coming unhinged. He lowered his voice, searching for the softest tone he could muster. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I think something might be off here. It might be nothing. I’m not saying don’t do the shot, just wait as long as you can.”

  “What do you think’s going on?” she whispered.

  He pushed past the question. “They’re going to get to everyone, so you’ll still get the vaccine. Just wait. Give me some time.”

  “Time for what?”

  He spotted Cassie walking near Tent One. When he turned back he noticed Dahlia had followed his line of sight and seen her too.

  “Does this have something to do with her?” she asked. “Does she think something’s wrong too?”

  Before he could answer, Charlie ran up and wrapped his arms around his leg. “Where have you been?”

  Rick bent down. “Been working. Someone’s got to tell people what do to around here. You been taking care of your mom for me?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I guess.”

  “You guess? I’m relying on you, little man.” He poked the badge he’d put on Charlie’s shirt earlier. “This badge comes with a lot of responsibility.”

  Charlie nodded, but Rick saw tears welling in his eyes.

  “Whoa. Hey, it’s gonna be okay,
” Rick said. “What’s going on?”

  Dahlia knelt to the ground. “Charlie, what happened?”

  Charlie’s chin quivered as he tried to hold back his tears. “I was playing with some kids. And they said … they said …”

  “It’s all right,” Dahlia said. “What’d they tell you?”

  “They said we were all going to die,” Charlie said. “That we’re gonna catch a disease and die when that clock gets to zero.” He turned to Rick. “Were they telling the truth? Are we going to die?”

  Rick took both of the boy’s hands, held them tight and looked him in the eye. “Now you listen here. No one’s going to die. You got that? No matter what, I’m going to take care of you and your mom. I promise.”

  Charlie dragged the back of his hand across his face, wiping his nose and tears all at once. He nodded.

  Rick squeezed the boy’s hands tighter. “That’s a promise from me to you. There’s nothing stronger than that.”

  Charlie leaned forward and Rick wrapped him in a hug. Dahlia joined and they held Charlie together.

  Reluctantly, Rick let go of them and stood. “I’ve got to go check on some things. You good now?”

  Charlie nodded.

  Rick mussed his hair. “Good boy. You hang tough.” He looked at Dahlia. “Both of you.”

  “How long will you be?” she asked, standing up.

  He hugged her and whispered in her ear, “I’ll come back as soon as I know anything, one way or the other. Keep Charlie close to you from here on out.”

  “Be careful,” she said.

  He stepped back, gave Charlie a wink, then turned and jogged after Cassie, praying that his worst suspicions about what was happening in the town were wrong. He looked at the clock on the stage just as it ticked down to under an hour.

  “Cassie,” he said, waving. She turned in his direction, casting furtive glances at the soldiers around them. Judging by her body language, nothing had happened since their meeting with Keefer to make her feel better about their situation.

  He must have looked just as tense because she took one glance at him and asked, “What happened. What did you find out?”

  He told her about his walk over to the AAV. She listened quietly, her lips pinching together when he told her about the Jihadi symbol.

  “Jesus, you think this whole thing is some kind of Jihadi attack?” she asked.

  Rick shook his head. He recalled how ridiculous the idea had seemed the night before when Bertie had suggested it. Resurrection wasn’t a high-value target, but killing over two thousand civilians in the heart of America would still be a victory for the Jihadis. In fact, it was exactly the kind of psychological blow the Jihadis loved. Americans would wake up knowing that no community, no matter how small, was safe from the Jihadi violence.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But I’ll tell you one thing, the timing of how everything has gone down today makes no sense to me.” He walked her through his questions about why the sirens were needed, and how quickly the helicopter and the quarantine troops had arrived into town. Looking at it objectively, it all seemed designed to create panic and fear, not reduce it.

  She heard him out, nodding in agreement. Then she described to him the selection of the vials for the syringes and the exact timing the soldiers were using, all of them giving the injections based on the master clock.

  “Why would they do that?” he asked.

  “Maybe, there’s some kind of time-release component to the inoculation, but I’ve never heard of such a thing. Not only that, but each person would have been infected at a different time so it doesn’t make sense.”

  His stomach turned over on itself. He turned, taking in the sight of so many people all around him. He’d never before felt so helpless. The hazmat-clothed soldiers looked even more ominous now. He wondered if under the reflective visors, the faces would be Middle Eastern, all with the pointed black beards of the Jihadis. He felt a tremble in his leg and his knee buckled just enough to make him reposition his footing. Cold sweat covered his real hand and he wiped it on his pants. “None of this proves anything definitively,” he said. “But what if … what if …”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “What if?”

  His hand went to his holster. He still had his gun, whatever good it would do them against the massive firepower in the town. But it was better than not having it.

  “Come on,” he said, pulling her with him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my office,” he said. “I have a feeling I’m going to need more ammo.”

  28

  “Try not to look so nervous,” Rick said.

  Cassie forced a smile. “You’re the one walking like you’re trying to hold a penny between your ass cheeks.”

  Despite everything, he burped out a short laugh at the description. But she was right, he was wired tight; frosty, they used to call it. He felt like he was back in a war zone. The difference was that he used to have an entire team backing him up. Not only that, he was used to the enemy hiding in shadows and laying traps to kill him. Now they seemed to have found a way to hide in plain sight.

  “Remember, we’re supposed to be goodwill ambassadors. Probably Keefer’s way to keep us occupied and reined in. Sharing his concerns and a few extra details, all to make us feel like part of his inner circle.”

  “Worked on Bertie.”

  “Almost worked on me too,” he said. “We’re sure as hell not going to let them get away with it.”

  Cassie put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m as suspicious as you are, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said. “All we have is a bunch of questions. There might be reasonable answers. We haven’t proven anything.”

  She was right, but his gut was telling him something different. These men in his town were bad. They were the enemy. He kept seeing that faint outline of the crescent moon and star under the paint job, a change in the sheen only noticeable in just the right light. That symbol wasn’t allowed to be here. Not in his town.

  “Rick?”

  He turned to Cassie, and she looked concerned. He imagined his fears and anxiety were painted all over his face. His pulse was jackhammering and his breathing was coming fast and rough.

  Just like the old days.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Come on.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way to the sheriff’s station, both of them doing their best to smile and wave to people they passed. Rick was stopped by the women from Old Pines Retirement home, all sporting green wristbands, explaining to him that they were part of the committee formed by Mayor Bertie to organize food for the two thousand people camping that night in Town Square. As Rick expected, the ladies were a little tipsy, the smell of bourbon floating in the air. Rick did his best to encourage them, even cracking an easy joke about old man Roberts’s cooking, but moved on quickly. There was a giant clock on the stage in the center of town and it was waiting for no one.

  Finally, they made it to the sheriff’s station. An armed guard with a reflective visor held up his hand and blocked them from entering.

  “What can I do for you, sir?”

  To Rick’s ears, the man had the barest trace of a Middle Eastern accent. But with the electronic distortion from the speaker, it was nearly impossible to be sure.

  “I need to get something from my desk,” he said. His own face was reflected on the soldier’s facemask. The curved surface distorted his image, but even to his own eyes he looked nervous and shaken. He was certain the soldier would turn him away and he wasn’t sure what he could do about it.

  “What do you need?” the soldier asked. “I’ll have someone get it for you.”

  “Colonel Keefer said we had access to this area,” Cassie interrupted. “If you want, we can go find him and bring him over to tell you that. I’m sure he’s not busy right now.”

  There was no way to read the soldier’s reaction without being able to see his face. He stood, unmoving, for a few long seconds.

  �
��All right,” Cassie said, turning. “We’ll go get him.”

  “Wait,” the soldier said. He stepped aside. “Make it quick. One minute.”

  Cassie led the way, pushing past Rick. “Good call,” she said to the soldier. “Your boss is kind of an asshole.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the soldier said, the statement briefly giving him a little bit of humanity. Rick allowed himself a smile as they walked into his office.

  He was surprised to find the front room of the station empty. With prisoners in the back holding cells, he figured there would be more guards on duty. But with a town full of soldiers and every other adult on lockdown, why waste the manpower guarding people who were already under lock and key?

  Rick crossed over to a gun safe against the wall behind his desk, dialed the combination and swung open the heavy metal door. There wasn’t a lot inside. It wasn’t like there was a need for riot suppression gear in sleepy Resurrection. But he did keep a shotgun, his hunting rifle, and three additional Glock handguns in there. The shotgun and rifle were no good, too conspicuous, but he grabbed the handguns and extra magazines of ammo.

  “You think we’re going to shoot our way out?” Cassie said.

  Rick handed her a handgun. “You remember how?” They’d spent a few afternoons in the mountains shooting targets with guns, but that was years ago.

  “Point and shoot,” she said. “I think I recall. But did you see the guns the other guys have? I don’t think your peashooters here are going to do any good.”

  Rick stuck additional magazines into his jacket pockets. “Maybe. But it’s better than not having them.”

  Cassie went to his desk and picked up the landline phone. Even from a few feet away, Rick heard static blast through the line. She hung it up. “The guys in the back are sure quiet.”

  Rick went to the door that led to the holding area and peered through the window. “Oh shit.”

  He yanked the door open and went inside, fumbling for his keys. The men were still in the holding pen, but they were sprawled out in unnatural positions, slumped against the walls or against one another in the small space. One thing was for sure, they weren’t taking a nap.