“Okay, I’ll do that,” Bradley said. “Just curious, why aren’t you writing any of this down?”
“I have an amazing memory. Just kidding. I have body cam on, and I’m too tired to take notes,” Jenz pointed at his chest. There was a device there no larger than a ball point pen point.
“That’s slick,” Andy said.
“Yep. Real slick. Have a day, folks,” Jenz said and headed back to his cruiser.
“That was the weirdest thing I have ever seen in my life,” Andy said.
“You and me both,” Bradley scratched his head. “Is this a sign of what’s to come?”
“I think you already know the answer to that. If it’s just him and his silent partner, where are all of the other cops in town?” Andy said.
As the cruiser pulled off the curb and drove away, Bradley barely resisted the urge to wave. Instead, he closed his mouth and went back to washing the blood off his walkway.
Strange times were here, stranger were on the way.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was the third day of occupation. That’s what Skip kept calling it.
On the first day, they had been greeted like friends. Cars had stopped at intersections for them, and people has shown some respect.
Then last night, just before curfew, a faded yellow 70s Buick had nearly run them over. The worst part was that it seemed to have been the driver’s intention. They were cursed at while the Guard patrolled, people spit on the streets near them and, on more than one occasion, something had sailed out of the air and nearly hit them.
“Can we just shoot people?” Sanders said.
“Really, Sanders? You want to shoot people who don’t see the work we’re doing for the city?” Skip said.
“Just one or two. Set an example,” she said.
“I heard some Army regulars got into it a mile south of here. Gunfire was exchanged. They put down the shooters, and then confiscated every single weapon. I’ve heard rumors they’re now seeking out people with assault rifles and taking them,” Skip said.
“Confiscating guns is a goddamn death wish. I’d hate to be the one knocking on someone’s door and saying, excuse me, good sir,” Sanders switched to a pretty decent British accent, “do you have any Grey Poupon? And while I’m here, hand over your legally purchased firearms.”
“It may come to that,” James said.
“The hell it will. I’ll get out of this fucking outfit before I have to bang on doors. That’s some fascist bullshit right there,” Sanders said.
“When you get out of your outfit, invite me over,” Skip said.
Sanders threw a mock kick his way.
“Did they get that mess cleaned up at the pavilion?” Skip said.
“By mess, do you mean all the corpses, blood, and body parts?” Sanders said.
“Yeah. I mean, once that’s done and they get the pavilion clear, maybe we can call it a day.” Skip said.
“Gonna take a long time to process everything. I don’t know that it will change anything. We may be here for weeks,” Sanders said.
“At least we’re not in Houston. That was crazy,” Cooper said.
“Damn nightmare,” James said.
He had read about the newest attack and had been horrified. Someone had snuck a military grade .50 cal in to the city and mounted in the back of a van. They had stopped near a demonstration in which thousands had been protesting the president’s move regarding martial law.
“So how did they do it?” James said.
“I read about the whole thing on Reuters this morning. This van was custom fitted, and it had some UPS stickers on the side so I guess it looked legit. The back doors were flung open and there was a team of three. They had the gun covered with a big black cloth. They mounted the gun on this thing that slid out and was bolted to the base of the van.” Skip gestured with his hands as he gave the play by play. “So, these guys, dressed in black masks, cause that’s how they roll, start shooting. You ever seen a .50 cal? It’s like explosions, man. People flew apart. I read over on Breitbart, that they are having trouble matching up body parts with bodies. That shit is messed up.”
“How many?” Sanders said.
“Before we left, I read it was in the hundreds.”
“Hundreds? All from one gun? That can’t be right,” James said.
James and the rest of the squad had seen the carnage following the mass shooting in town. With multiple guns, it hadn’t been in the hundreds. Last he heard, it was ninety-two dead.
“I guess. Figure everyone’s bunched up. Let’s say it’s a Browning, and it’s an old AN/M2. You’re looking at about 800 rounds per minute, and like I said, those rounds can blast into one guy and then exit through another.”
“Gross,” Sanders said.
They’d been patrolling the same blocks for three days, and the changes over that time were interesting, to say the least. No one had picked up garbage, and it had been rotting for two days. There was a rumor that the refuse collection service was on strike as a way to protest the president’s orders. As a sign of solidarity, people had been hauling bags of trash out and leaving them on the street. Weird way to make a protest since it would stink up the neighborhood soon. Hell, it already was.
“You guys hear about the stuff down in Vicksburg?” Cooper asked.
“Looters?” James said.
“No. Some guy shot up his work the other day. Then one of the employees managed to get the gun away and he wasted the dude. Eleven people dead, of some shit. That was a few days ago,” Cooper said.
“Boston had another attack. Some kind of bomb,” Sanders offered.
The news was grim, and more and more cities were seeing military occupation. There was another rumor floating around that a lot of soldiers serving overseas were being recalled. There were also other things being whispered about. Camps where the detainees were removed to, and more immigrants were being rounded up.
Cooper had been quiet today. When James had asked him if there was a problem, Cooper had said everything was good. He was tired, but there was something he wasn’t telling the rest of the squad. In theory, that was fine. He should have his privacy, but if he was having an issue with the mission then he needed to be upfront because James needed to know if he was about to be a liability.
They rounded the corner and proceeded to Ravine. A bunch of guys in their early twenties, wearing black, saw the patrol coming and ducked between a restaurant and a CVS pharmacy that was closed.
“Think that’s trouble,” Skip asked.
James brought his M4 to low ready and moved to the location, but the men were long gone.
An LMTV rumbled past. In the back, seven or eight civilians in zip tie cuffs, sat looking miserable. James nodded to the driver, but the driver ignored him.
“Those guys are gone. I didn’t see any weapons, you all?” James said.
“No, but they were wearing light jackets. Kinda weird considering it’s in the sixties,” Skip said.
James considered following but not without backup. He made a call to Sergeant Wells, but Wells told him that if they weren’t under direct threat, they should proceed along their patrol route. He acknowledged and the squad moved out.
As daylight faded, the squad didn’t run into any more trouble.
When night fell, it would be a different story.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Several days passed and Bradley had made a lot of progress towards prepping his home.
Junior had spent most of his time since returning from Chicago in his room. Kirk hadn’t been by the house at all, but Bradley was sure the two talked on the phone. Bradley needed to sit down with Junior and talk about his son’s actions that had almost gotten them killed. He would do it soon. School had been canceled again, but things were going to return to normal soon.
Junior was useful at times, helping him measure and cut beams in the garage, but for the most part, he was quiet and sullen.
Bradley had rigged up a couple of supp
orts for beams across the back and front door. Then he’d cut down some plywood in his garage that would fit his windows. He’d purchased some 3M window film about a year ago but had never gotten around to installing it. When he opened the box and read the directions, he remembered why he had put it off. The film, which would make it harder for intruders to see into the house, also added an additional layer of protection to the glass. It would be harder to shatter, and everything he did to slow an intruder, make them think twice about raiding his house, was a good thing.
He spent most of the morning measuring, cutting, applying soapy water, and then squeegeeing on the film. First, the window had to be cleaned, then sprayed with more soapy water. Slap the film on. Spray on even more soapy water. By the time he had the large sun window in the front of the house installed, it was almost noon.
Chris had offered to leave, but Bradley said he didn’t have to.
“How’s your sister?” Bradley asked.
“I talked to her last night,” Bradley dug out a cell phone and wiggled it. “She’s about ten miles from here and feeling a lot better. I promised to make it over to her house as soon as I can. Didn’t want to hit you up for another ride.”
Chris didn’t bother them much, and never got on Bradley’s nerves. He stayed in the basement, and like the 3M film, added another layer of protection. He knew there was more to Chris’s story than the man was letting on, but after his help with the Reels, money, and assistance gathering supplies, Bradley felt indebted to Chris. Whatever he was hiding, or hiding from, would have to wait for another day.
So, the shit had not hit the fan and maybe it would not after all. He and his family were safe, and things had calmed down, according to the news. Bradley had even taken Chris to a local hardware store to pick up some thick boards in case he had to put plywood over the windows. They were out but promised to have them in stock in a day or two.
They drove by the Walmart the next day, but it was filled with empty shelves. Bradley did not see any trucks pulling in to deliver goods. He wished he had stocked up on more medicine. Tylenol, aspirin, and cold medication would be at a premium over the coming months if things really did go south.
Even the sporting goods stores were closed, which was a damn shame. He needed more ammo. He had four hundred and fifty 9mm rounds, and two hundred .45 rounds. What he also wanted to purchase was an AR-15 but he didn’t have the money for it.
More disturbing, he had seen a number of men roaming the streets and they didn’t look like they were interested in making friends. They openly carried assault rifles and belts covered in magazines. Maybe they were the new sheriff. Maybe they were there to keep law and order. Chris hadn’t been too impressed.
“Those boys are a walking fuck load of trouble. They come near the house and we’re probably going to have problems.”
“We’re too far away from them,” Bradley said.
“Won’t matter soon. People have about three days’ worth of food. Store shelves are bare. Like you pointed out, there aren’t any trucks delivering goods. That means we have a larger problem than what we’re seeing in the big cities,” Chris said.
“The news channel’s been on for damn near three days straight. Things are getting better.”
“Sure. Getting better. Have you noticed that the broadcasters are changing? They’re out sick or covering stories. There are less and less of familiar faces. Oh, don’t get me wrong, they have some good looking people on the tube with smooth voices. Lots of calm talk. The weather, local news, feel good stories. Where’s the coverage of Chicago?”
“They talked about it this morning. Said things were getting back to normal. They even showed people out on the street after dark. Did a few interviews,” Bradley said. “All above board.”
“Above board. More like above the average ability to question beyond a thirty second puff piece.”
“So you’re saying I’m a dummy,” Bradley scoffed.
“No, I’m saying you’re a consumer of the nightly news and whatever bullshit story that’s been approved for daily consumption. Only now it’s a lot worse. It’s all being manipulated on a scale that’s never been attempted before.”
“Sounds like a conspiracy theory to me,” Bradley said.
“Keep telling yourself that until boys like that,” Chris said and pointed at the armed militia. “Show up at your from door, rape your wife, steal your food, and then put a bullet in your skull.”
Bradley didn’t feel much like talking on the rest of the trip home so he kept his opinions to himself.
He dug out his cell phone and checked it for messages from Monica. Instead, he found another emergency alert.
“The hell?” Bradley said.
Chris glanced over at Bradley’s screen. “Everything okay?”
“They’ve temporarily disrupted cellular service in the state, except for 911, in an effort to find those responsible for the killings in Chicago.”
“The other shoe drops,” Chris said.
“What do you mean?”
“This is all coordinated. It’s a slow siphoning of your ability to get news from alternative sources than what’s on television and the radio,” Chris said.
Bradley nearly dismissed that as more conspiracy theory, but then the idea took hold. What Chris had said in the Bronco would be ludicrous on any day of the week, but the pieces were starting to fall together in Bradley’s head.
He had one other question that he decided to tuck away.
How did his new friend Chris know all this stuff?
* * *
For the last few days, Bradley and his family had put a dent in their supply of fresh vegetables and meat. He had a few pounds of beef in the fridge, and the night before he had made burgers and invited Andy over. His neighbor on the left side of his house had waved at Bradley so Bradley had invited him over as well.
“Haven’t seen you around much, Clarence,” Bradley said and shook his neighbor’s hand once the man crossed into Bradley’s backyard. Clarence had over half an acre, and it was well maintained by a crew that stopped by twice a month. Clarence was an attorney for a law firm in Joliet. He was also one of the few black neighbors on Bradley’s street that Bradley knew on a personal basis. It wasn’t because of the man’s color, Bradley simply tended to keep to himself.
Andy and Clarence didn’t engage in conversation. Andy, an acknowledge hater of minorities, and homosexuals, found he had forgotten to do something at his own home and excused himself a few minutes after Clarence had arrived.
Clarence had left his suit in the house and wore a loud Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. He also dressed in socks and tennis shoes, something Junior would have laughingly approved of.
“Truth is, I couldn’t get out of the city the first night. I heard about the gridlock and decided not to take any chances. So I slept in my office and tried to pretend like everything was normal.”
“I hear that. I had to go to Chicago the day of the incident. I only managed to get out, because I parked a few miles away from where I had to be,” Bradley said but didn’t elaborate.
“You got out of town, good for you.”
“So, is all of this stuff legal? I didn’t know the president could declare martial law without the approval of congress.”
“I’m not a constitutional lawyer, man. I just help people get their insurance companies to comply. But I don’t think congress would have held him back. They’re talking about expanding the president’s orders to larger sections of the states that were attacked. He’ll probably need approval for that, but when has he ever done anything by the books?”
“That’s why people like him. Does what he says. I was sick of politicians saying one thing and doing another,” Bradley said truthfully.
“If you say so. Hard to know what to make out of the news these days, especially since the attacks happened,” Clarence said.
“That I can agree with.”
* * *
He and Clarence talked for a while as th
e burgers cooked. Bradley kept an eye on them, but two burned on one side anyway. He had some leftover whisky from the a few days ago and mixed it with Cokes for himself and Clarence. He let Clarence in on the shootings he had been involved in, although he downplayed the one at his home a few nights ago.
“Guess I missed all of the excitement. I was out at my brother in law’s house drinking beer, and eating hot dogs.”
“Glad you weren’t around, Clarence. It was an ugly night.”
“I think we’re in for a few more ugly nights, before much longer,” Clarence said.
“I just want to float this by you,” Bradley asked after they had a couple of drinks.
“What’s that?” Clarence said.
“On the off chance that martial law expands, and we’re locked down here, would you consider helping Andy and I keep a neighborhood watch? We’d want to meet at one of our houses once a day.”
“Count me in. I don’t think Andy likes me too much, but I’m game,” Clarence said.
“Andy is old and set in his ways. I’ve tried, Clarence, I’ve tried.”
“It’s hard to kill old prejudices, you know? I could hate him, but I feel sorry for Andy. Still, man. I don’t think I can trust him,” Clarence said. “So, we need more neighbors to make this work, right?”
“Yeah. We’d want everyone on the street. That would be ideal.”
“Sounds good to me. I know Brent and Lisa next to me. They’re decent people, but I haven’t seen them around. They might have run off to hide out with family. He’s from Arkansas.”
“If they come back home, we can certainly try to recruit them.”
We shook hands like we were making a deal.
“You have weapons?” Clarence asked.
“Got a Kimber .45 and a 9mm for conceal and carry. Monica has been carrying it around,” Bradley nodded.
“Good. I have a hunting rifle, even though I’ve never been hunting. I have one other gun, but you’re going to laugh,” Clarence said.
DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1) Page 16