Jefferies and Maes, joined by numerous other officers, surrounded and slowly approached the van on foot anyhow, weapons aimed. Jefferies ordered the driver to exit the van, and to lie on the ground, keeping his hands where they could be seen. The driver began to exit the vehicle, screaming for them not to shoot.
As the driver’s feet touched the ground, his hands up, the four propane tanks, between two IBC totes of ammonium nitrate, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes of nuts and bolts, were detonated by three sticks of dynamite.
4
Mike Thor:
Ass Crack of the Thumb, Michigan
4:00 p.m. Wednesday, Dec 23rd, 2015
Despite the warning call from the mysterious electronic voice, I don’t have time to pack everything from the shop. The truck just isn’t big enough. I prioritize what I take, based on the price tag and the item’s highest perceived usefulness to me where I’m going. As soon as the as the back of the cube truck is full, I leave everything else. I tell Sisco to lock up and split, and then I get the hell out of there. The plan had been for him to take anything he’d wanted, and get away in my pickup. I pray for Sisco and his family as I drive, hoping he’s gotten out of there too, because from what Diesel had told me when he’d called, my pickup truck was still there, in the big parking lot we share with the rest of the stores on the strip.
As I drive, I tune in Will’s favorite talk radio station, from Port Huron. They have a very strong signal. I listen incredulously to the news anchor describe what’s gone on in the city over the last hour. He mentions that the Muslim protester mob has grown larger than it’s been for the last few days. He speaks about a second group of protesters, from Black Lives Matter, forming up separately, off to the side of the Muslims. Then he mentions that a third armed group, who some suspect may be my loyal band of customers, arrived shortly after I’d left. Dressed in various hunting clothes, and armed with obvious hunting guns of all kinds, they’d formed a picket in front of the store, facing the Muslims. He says that they’d stood there silently, while being jeered by both groups of protesters, and egged on by Marie Krantz and crew. Then, when the Muslim protesters began throwing firebombs on the shop, they had opened fire and started shooting. Before it was over, every one of the Muslim protesters was dead, but not a single Black Lives Matter one.
I was already upset, now my are hands shaking. Will is dead and my shop is on fire. Then the news anchor announces breaking news of several small explosions on Hamtramck streets, and a large explosion at Keyworth Stadium that has killed a large, but as yet unknown, number of police and civilians.
I hit a dead spot for signal for that station, and have to switch to another. Apparently that news is nationwide. The terrorists who had shot and killed Will are the same ones that are driving the suicide van bomb.
The President is getting set to address the nation. It will be the second time in little over a week that he’s done so over Hamtramck.
First, the Mahmoud family had opened fire in the church, killing over a hundred, and then there’d been their execution… I can make an educated guess who’d done that, but no personal knowledge.
Now, there’s armed counter protesters showing up to defend my shop! Who are they? The reports said they were all wearing normal clothing, some in hunting outfits. The masks were all of presidents, past and present. That made me think of the old movie Point Break, but it’s not the same thing. The police are still reeling from Will’s execution, and many of their own officers who just died in the van explosion.
In short, it’s a fucked-up situation, and in the 70 minutes I’ve been driving north, it’s only gotten worse. The shop I can re-build. I wonder if terrorist attacks are covered under insurance? The loss of my friend, I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that. The only thing that gives me some grim pleasure is knowing now that his killers didn’t make it either. Suicide mission or not, I hope those bastards died badly. I know that isn’t a very Christian thought, but I’m not thinking many Christian thoughts right at this moment.
I turn west onto Peck Rd from Lexington, and then north, to go past Croswell a ways before starting to look for the turn-off for the old farm road. Of course I miss it first try, and have to go another half a mile to turn around.
When I finally make it onto the old farm road, I realize that I’m going to have a hard time in the wooded section between the old farmer’s house and Will’s place. The canopy of trees could easily hit the top of the truck and damage it, or worse yet, I could get stuck under one. Honestly, all I want to do is stash it all and hide out for a while, so I can think.
I creep slowly down the road, staying right in the middle. I hit every pothole there is doing that, and cringe listening to the contents of the box behind me shift around. There’s enough ammunition and guns back there to outfit an army. All my ‘scary black guns’ had gotten first priority because of their worth, then the expensive custom guns. I’d literally taken every box of ammunition I could pack in there. The truck’s setting kind of low. The radio starts to fuzz out again, so without thinking, I lean over to change it back to the AM station that Will has his home unit set to, and immediately regret it as something scrapes and bangs overhead. I have to stop. I check the side view mirrors to make sure nobody is behind me, and then shift the truck into park. I get out and look. A large branch, about 4” in diameter, has left a long furrow in the top of the box, but hasn’t ripped it open.
I step on the bumper, and then trailing edge of the hood, by the windshield, turn around, and sit on my butt on the cab. Standing on the cab, I push straight up on the branch. At first it barely budges even though I’m giving it everything I have. When it did give, I almost fall over backwards. As the downward pressure of the branch is relieved, it springs back to its original position, leaving only some scratch marks in the paint. What a relief! From this elevation, I can see that the rest of the drive will be smooth. I almost fall off again as I slide on the slanted windshield, but I finally make it down with my dignity intact. After a couple of deep breaths, I get back in and start creeping forward again, listening to the nasty scraping sound until I clear the branch. I look back at it in the side view mirror, and notice an old man, probably Will’s neighbor, standing at the end of his drive watching me.
Will had given me a set of keys to the cabin, just in case. Now I’m glad he had. I know he wouldn’t mind me hiding out at the cabin, and besides, it’s the only place I can think to go. If whoever it was that killed Will had been planning to, I have to assume that they have similar plans for me.
So many emotions, so much to process. I can feel myself getting numbed by the overload. Finally, I find myself at the two posts with the heavy chains between them, and the ‘No Trespassing’ sign hanging off the padlock that joins them in the middle. I get out and undo the lock, drive the truck through, and then lock it back up behind me.
I debate where to park, but in the end, I pull up right next to the northeastern side of the cabin, between it and the woodshed. I hope it will be shielded from view from the driveway there, because it’s fixing to be parked there for a long time.
I kill the motor, and walk around to the back of the truck, checking to make sure I’d padlocked the roll up door. I had, but in the fear and confusion of leaving like that, I hadn’t been sure, and had had to resist the urge to stop and double-check it the whole way up. I walk around to the front of the cabin, undo the padlock on the door, the deadbolt, and then the door handle lock, and head inside. Will had believed in security!
I flip on the lights, and am greeted by the familiar surroundings of the cabin I had just left earlier today. I throw my keys on the counter, turn off my cell phone, and go back to the door to lock it. I hope I won’t need to be opening it anytime soon.
The morning’s dishes are still in the sink, and I start running water. I don’t want them to stink up the place, and until somebody comes out here, I’m on my own. I feel a mixture of fear, anger, grief and anxiety. I remember teasing Will about being par
anoid the last time he’d talked to me about prepping. He’d told me that it wasn’t paranoia if somebody really was out to get you. Funny then; not so much now. I put the dishes, now washed and rinsed, in the drying rack and look around, wondering what to do.
I’m hungry, yet feel sickened by everything that has happened. I don’t feel like I can help but turn on the radio, and go to the fridge, pulling out one of Will’s beers. The news guy makes it sound like all hell has broken loose. It sounds like he’s describing something out of a war movie.
Not since 9/11/2001 has such a large explosion and loss of life affected the country. The explosion is being called an act of terrorism by everyone but the authorities. The media are calling what happened at my gun shop, “two protests that turned deadly when one started throwing firebombs at the other”.
Despite the grim circumstances, I let out a soft chuckle. The FM stations are reporting things with a whole different slant than NPR. NPR is telling it without an agenda. I’d always suspected that most of the media had a slant, but now it is obvious to me. The stark contrast is shocking.
The National Guard has been officially put on alert by the Governor, and first responders from everywhere nearby are rushing to help. The Red Cross is in high gear, but it’s still too early to count casualties. I wince, hearing that glass had been blown out of windows for almost half a mile radius, and anyone or anything within two blocks of the van had been completely obliterated.
Without warning, the broadcast is interrupted.
“My fellow Americans,” the 44th president’s voice booms out of the speakers, “I would like to speak today about some tragic events that have happened, and some that are still happening, in the city of Hamtramck, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit. Approximately an hour and a half ago, a mass execution of Muslim protesters occurred. They were reportedly lawfully assembled, across the street from Thor’s Gun Shop. This is the very same gun shop whose recent controversy caused and encouraged hate and bigotry against Muslim-Americans. The video I’ve seen of this incident is both horrific and shocking.
“A heavily armed militia group, wielding the very type of assault weapons sold at this store, singled out and gunned down the Muslim protesters. Incredibly, those not immediately dead, soon were at the hands of two of the militia men, walking among them, shooting them in the head.
“This kind of thing cannot continue happening in this country! Once again, I’m urging Congress to immediately approve the bill drafted last week, placing a ban on all assault rifle and handgun sales.
“Failure to pass this bill, will of course force me to take drastic measures with an Executive Order. This bill is only a first step, of course. I think it’s time to redefine, or to repeal entirely, the second amendment. No one outside of local, state, or federal law enforcement needs to have a rifle or pistol capable of high capacity and rapid fire. It is with these instruments of war that so many of these mass shootings take place!
“Without these dangerous firearms in the hands of the public, we would immediately see a reduction in the number of events such as this. Despite what the NRA says, more guns does not equal less crime. The latest statistics show that a civilian armed with a concealed weapon is more likely to be injured by his own weapon than the assailant, should an altercation take place. Once again, if professionals were the only ones carrying these weapons of mass destruction, we would not be burying our wives, daughters, sons and husbands in such great numbers.
“Also approximately an hour and a half ago, a large explosion at Keyworth Stadium on the south side of Hamtramck, possibly caused by a gas main, has injured or killed an unknown number of people.
“My thoughts and prayers go out to all families that are affected by these tragedies, and I personally pledge the help and support of the federal government to get to the bottom of this, and to root out the militia responsible for this explosion, and the execution of over 100 Muslim-Americans.”
“What the fuck?” I say out loud.
I sit there dumbstruck. What the hell had I just heard? The President is either delusional, or off the deep end. Personally, I’d always thought he was a bit of both, but to ignore the fact that the protesters had thrown Molotov cocktails at my store, and the men with guns protecting it was ridiculous. They were not unarmed citizens. They came with fire; they threw chunks of rock and cobble. Some of them were probably armed with guns as well. The only group that seemed to totally stand on the sidelines was the Black Lives Matter movement. They’d literally stood there with their hands in the air. ‘Hands up, don’t shoot!’ took on a new, literal meaning. Why the hell were they there anyhow?
I finish the Michelob, and get another. My head is spinning. Somehow, they’re blaming the controversy on the gun shop for selling the Jihawg ammunition, and blaming me by proxy. I turn off the radio, feeling sick.
Will had told me he kept his papers in the big gun safe. I walk over, needing to get my mind off everything, and punch in the code. It’s easy to remember, because I know how much Will loved the big bore rounds. 454357. I punch it in and swing open the huge door, and freeze in shock.
It’s crammed full of guns. I recognize a lot of them, as he’d worked for me for years. I just hadn’t put two and two together and realized how many he’d bought. I knew he had put a few guns through the back of the shop, run by my master gunsmith, but I was blown away by the variety.
What immediately catches my attention is on the top shelf. It’s a binder, and on top of that is a large stack of papers. I grab both, close the safe, and go to sit on the couch. The binder has a handwritten spine that says, ‘In case of zombies’. The papers, on the other hand, blow me away. They’re Will’s last will and testament, naming me as the sole beneficiary.
“Succession planning indeed,” I mutter, and take a long pull on my beer.
5
Dharma Bednarski:
Hamtramck, Michigan
12:45 a.m. Thursday, Dec 24th, 2015
I lay in my bed alone, in the dark. The faint glow of the streetlight, two houses down, is coming through my window just enough to make shadows of everything in my room on the opposite wall. My eyes roam from shadow to shadow constantly, making sure none of them move.
I wish Jade was here. It’s after midnight, so it’s officially Christmas Eve Day now. My first one with no family...
I’m exhausted, but my mind has been far too busy lately to allow for much sleep, so I just lay here, under two blankets and the comforter, folded up in the fetal position, hugging my big body pillow, while my mind plays the same movie over and over.
What happened bothers me. No… It haunts me. It had to be done though. This is war. These people have to be stopped...
I’m taking on something so big, so complicated, that I can’t afford to miss a step. Going to prison for life would certainly suck if the cops catch me, but that’s nothing compared to how bad it’ll be if the radicals find out who I am. Who we are. They’d kill us, probably in a terrible way. That thought makes me shiver. I dig deeper into my covers, trying to think of something else.
Judging by the acts of extreme acts of violence that were dealt out to the protesters at the gun shop by the followers of Anonymous Justice, I know we’re onto something big. Something powerful. Every bit of what happened was the result of posts made by AJ on Facebook. We - Jade and I - are AJ. In the posts, ‘AJ’ showed definite proof-of-guilt that the Mahmoud family planned, practiced for, and carried out the mass shooting at the church. He’d published still picture after still picture, stolen from the HPD Crime Scene Investigation department’s computers, which they’d taken inside the church. He’d shown images of the twisted bodies, in impossible positions, lying over and under each other, in pools of their own blood, with looks of horror frozen forever upon their faces. There were pictures of the EMTs rolling victims towards waiting ambulances. Both the victims and the EMTs had been crying uncontrollably, wailing, even puking as they fled from what they’d witnessed inside. There were pictures of bodies
lined up, shoulder to shoulder, on the floor of the morgue, that had been taken by their surveillance cameras near the ceiling, and then stolen from their computers.
Next, there was a picture of a computer screen with the words ANONYMOUS JUSTICE on it. He’d shown video of the Mahmoud home, imploded into the basement, burning itself out. There were pictures of five bodies, in a heap, in the center of the basement, burned beyond recognition, that had fallen from above.
He’d shown proof that the Mahmoud's were also the ones who’d instigated and organized, the first day of protesting, over the Jihawg Ammo being sold at Thor’s Gun Shop. He’d shown a compilation of video showing the angry mob of protesters outside of the gun shop. He’d pieced together the true facts that preceded William David having to use deadly force to preserve his own life, when attacked by that same mob as he left work. He did that by showing a compilation of translated close-up video clips, taken of the mob, by the mob, with their own cell phones, while William’s beating was taking place, and then posted on YouTube. He had pictures, again stolen from HPD CSI, of the three dead Muslims laying on the concrete of the parking lot.
Next was another compilation of translated video, also taken of the mob, by the mob, the next day. They’d laughed and joked about their plans to burn down the gun shop.
Last had come an appeal by AJ; those that could were asked to demonstrate to the Islamic community at large that the American silent majority are now both capable and willing to throw away the rules, behave the same as they do, and to show them what ‘an eye for an eye’ looks like, that our Holy Book talks about. He stressed that those planning these terrible crimes against America are counting on the ‘infidels’ being afraid, while striving to remain politically correct, and especially counted on them to play by their own rules of law. AJ suggested that ‘those who could’ use their assumptions against them.
SILENT MAJORITY (Anonymous Justice Book 2) Page 3