“Ladies and gentlemen. I am Colonel Fielding. I am sure you are wondering what is happening. Please hold your questions. First I’d like to thank you for your patience and understanding while we are all going through this very unusual period.”
Two men and a woman stood up to ask something, but the guards rushed to them and pushed them back to the floor.
The Colonel continued. “I apologize for any inconvenience and for the rather uncomfortable setting. However, for your own safety and well-being it was necessary to relocate you and your families. People have already died from this brutal weather and we intend to keep the loss of life to a minimum. Since this disaster came upon us so suddenly, we have not as yet received our full supplies of food and water as you were promised. I assure you we have every intention to make your brief stay here as painless as possible. But under the tragic circumstances you can appreciate our position.”
Half the people in the room looked around. People have died from the cold? Maybe being taken to the high school was, although very unusual, the best thing that could happen to them. Others cast a suspicious eye toward their rescuers. The whole process just didn’t look right. They didn’t believe a word from this man in charge and were justifiably apprehensive.
“Since we have more residents being brought to these facilities than were initially expected,” the Colonel added, “we are forced to transport you to another designated location nearby.”
There was shouting and screaming from most everyone in the gymnasium. Most of them stood up as they heard the news. Questions bombarded the commander from all corners.
“What do you mean, you’re moving us again?”
“Where are you taking us?”
“But my children are hungry.”
“Will there be food and water there?”
“How will my husband find us?”
“You can’t treat us this way.”
The crowd was turning unruly. Several of the men appeared ready to charge the Colonel. There was outrage in the air which could quickly lead to mob action. This kind of behavior was not going to be tolerated.
Lt. Col. Fielding glanced at a guard nearest the main gymnasium door. In two seconds extra guards entered the room, their AK-47s ready at their sides. Fielding raised his hands to the group as if he were stopping traffic. “Okay people. Sit down now and shut the hell up or someone will get hurt.”
Four men from the group remained standing. They took orders from nobody, at least not since they had retired from the Army a long time ago. They weren’t going to be treated like common criminals.
“Who the hell are you to talk to us that way?”
“Do you think we’re your prisoners or something?”
“I demand you release us.”
“Well, I’m leaving right now, whether you like it or not.”
The Colonel had a smart grin on his chiseled face. He enjoyed this part of the game. He stood in front of the agitated crowd and stared at the troublemakers. He slowly lifted his right hand and gently scratched his right temple. All hell suddenly broke loose. Within a split second the guards raised their rifles, took aim, and shot the four standing men in their foreheads.
The blasts echoed in the closed off gym like several rounds of thunder. Every one of the two thousand evacuees in the room hugged the floor. Cries and screams and whimpers mixed with the reverberating gun shots. The dead bodies fell on people near them. Blood and brain matter splattered into the bunch. Some people went into silent shock, unable to accept what had just happened. All eyes grew wide with fright as they witnessed the brutal reprisal.
The Colonel smirked at the commotion. Just as expected. People could be put in their place so easily. A little pressure, a little assertiveness, a few dead bodies. Then when they realized the consequences, they would fall in line like cattle being prodded through the slaughter pens. So predictable.
“Now that we understand each other,” the Colonel said. “Please form a line and follow the guards to your new transportation. Oh…and thanks for participating in Operation Rescue.” He laughed to himself, then directed two guards to get rid of the mess on the floor. More folks were expected any minute now.
A long line of large Army green buses parked on the back side of the high school were being filled with detainees. They weren’t destined to another nearby facility. Instead, they were preparing for the two hour trip to a massive detention center southwest of Tucson, in the middle of the desert.
Region Nine, Camp 49, would be the new home for this first round of detainees, courtesy of FEMA and the Department of Homeland Security. The Colonel grinned as the people were being moved out.
Chapter 14
The red paint on the wood door was still wet and running. Cody tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Good, he thought. Then he called out again. “Robin, Robin. It’s me, open the door.”
No answer. He was getting frantic and dug in his pocket, but remembered he didn’t have his house keys. He banged on the door again, this time loud enough for the neighbors to hear. That is if there were any neighbors around. His family had to be home.
The back door, he thought. He dashed to the side gate and entered the yard. He ran past the firewood pile and went to the back patio. They never locked the slider except at night. He tried the latch, but it was locked.
“Robin, Robin,” he called out again. Cody looked through the glass door into the dining area. There was no movement. He grabbed the cheap handle and jimmied it up and down a few times. He had done this before and the door lifted off the track and easily slid open.
“Robin, Jeffrey, Jennifer, it’s Dad,” he said as soon as he entered his home. He ran through the house, slamming doors, tripping over throw rugs, knocking over a flower vase. He looked in every bedroom, the two bathrooms, the laundry area, then the garage. He rushed back toward the living room. Blankets and pillows were on the floor again. The coffee table was covered with coloring books and crayons. Some reading books were left open on the sofa next to half empty cocoa mugs.
There were hot embers glowing in the fireplace, but the fire had gone out. In the kitchen Cody found their Thanksgiving turkey on a cutting board, partially chopped up. They had planned on cooking it on the outside gas grill. Something or someone had interrupted Robin.
He was beside himself with worry. Where would they have gone? And why would they leave? He went through the entire house once again, hope against hope he would find his family. But they weren’t home. They were out in the cold someplace.
Then Cody noticed a piece of paper on the small table near the front door. In the tray where he kept his keys was a note. He picked it up and read it. It was from Robin.
Cody, The police came through the neighborhood and
insisted we be evacuated. They’re taking us
to the high school. Please come get us as soon
as you return home.
Love—Robin
A sense of relief swept over him. At least they were safe. But he had this odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. It seemed strange to him that the authorities would evacuate people after less than a day since the blackout occurred. There were too many questions left unanswered, but for the moment Cody let them pass. It was probably nothing, though he still felt an unsettling sensation deep inside.
He decided to go see Nick. First he locked the back slider, and then he picked up his house keys from the tray and locked the front door as he exited.
Nick opened his door at the first knock. It had been sprayed red as well. “They’re gone,” Nick said. He was holding a scrap piece of paper from his wife with similar information about their being relocated.
“The high school,” Cody said with an intense look in his eyes. “Let’s try the van.”
“We can’t get there in that,” Nick insisted. “The high school is at least seven or eight miles away.”
“Let’s try anyway,” Cody insisted. “You want to walk that far?”
They went to the van. This time Cod
y got in the driver’s seat. He instinctively looked in the back and gazed at Zeke’s cold body. Nick slid over to the passenger seat as Cody started the VW. He slowly drove away from the curb and circled through the cul-de-sac in front of Nick’s place. The steering was difficult with the missing rear tire. The metal wheel grating on the pavement caused a shrieking sound. Then as Cody straightened out the van there was a loud pop.
The van fell at an angle in the middle of the road. The guys got out and inspected the damage. The ruined wheel had snapped off from the axle due to the added strain.
“Shit!” Cody screamed out.
“Now what?” Nick asked, not really expecting an answer.
Cody looked around. “Guess we’re walking. But first, let’s check out Jack’s house again.”
A white X was spray painted on the door. They entered the opened door into the frigid living room. In the back bedroom Jack and Edith rested undisturbed. “I should get the gun,” Cody said. He remembered the gang of punks on the loose and the fact that there were no police on the streets.
“Might be a good idea.”
They went into the closet and threw back the blankets covering the safe. Cody took the key to the safe from his pocket and opened it. He pulled the gun out and held it tight. He didn’t know how to handle a weapon, but now might be a good time to learn. He picked up the bullets, slid open the box, and dumped several into his hand. They felt like steel ice cubes.
“Open that part,” Nick explained, “then slide the bullets in one by one.”
Cody did that and spun the cylinder of the old pistol back in place. The gun was now loaded, although Cody hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. He stuffed the weapon in his jacket pocket. The dead weight of the loaded gun surprised him. He then put the boxes of ammunition in his other pocket.
“What about the coins?” Nick asked.
“What about them?” Cody wondered aloud. “I don’t need them. Not now. Besides they’re too heavy to carry.”
“Put them in your house. They’ll be safer there.”
“Well…I suppose.” Cody lifted the socks as the coins clinked. He handed two socks to Nick and carried the other two. It was amazing how much they weighed. The men left the house and Nick pulled the door tight again.
“Let’s drop these off, then we can go,” Cody remarked.
As soon as the men turned from Jack’s they saw a truck in Cody’s driveway. “Who the hell is that?” Nick asked.
It was a 1965 Chevy pickup, most of its paint faded and bleached away from years of sitting in the desert sun. The hood and roof were iron red from decades of rust. Stuck on the rear bumper were remnants of ancient bumper stickers endorsing the NRA, denouncing the FED, and promoting Liberty. A gun rack in the back window held a hunting rifle.
“That’s Raz!” Cody said, somewhat excited to see his old friend, but also confused as to why he showed up now.
“Who’s Raz?” Nick wanted to know.
“You’ll see.” The two men went up to the truck, their arms loaded with socks full of silver coins.
The old man must have pulled up to Cody’s while they were in Jack’s house. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, thinking. Cody rapped on the driver’s window. Raz looked at him as if to say, “What the hell ya want?” He rolled down his window.
“This piece of shit still running?” Cody said, kidding.
Raz pulled at his gray whiskers. “This piece of shit, as ya call it, can save ya life, sonny.”
Cody laughed. Whatever Raz said, he was usually right. “Well, come into the house,” Cody invited his good friend. “It’s not much warmer, but it will do for now.”
Raz opened his door. The rusted hinges squeaked and the door rattled as he closed it. The three went into Cody’s house. He and Nick placed the heavy socks on the table near the door. Cody went to the fireplace and stoked the fire back to life. As he was stirring up the radiant embers he said, “Raz, this is my friend Nick. He lives a few doors down.”
Nick reached over to shake the old man’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, well, not so nice, considering,” Raz grunted. He shook Nick’s hand almost grudgingly.
“Yes, this damn weather is terrible,” Nick added, a bit put off by the unfriendly geezer.
“There,” Cody said as he stood up from the growing fire, “Should be better in a few minutes.”
“Ain’t ‘bout the weather, boy. And it ain’t gonna git much better, sonny. Fact ‘tis, gonna git worse. Much worse,” Raz grumbled through his beard.
Raz Hunter was a unique individual. At sixty-three years old he had been retired for five years. He had put in his twenty as an Army military intelligence officer and was stationed at the local Army base prior to his discharge. His specialty was interrogation, mostly with captured soldiers during the various wars which America had been involved in. He also used his honed skills to grill wayward U.S. troops who had been court-martialed. On occasion he had also sat across from legitimate spies, mostly foreign, but several home grown, facing espionage charges against the country. Later, in his second career, he worked as a contractor hired by the government to gather intel as needed.
Raz had grown up in the Appalachian mountain country, on the Kentucky-Tennessee border. His good ole boy manner of speech and laid back approach to handling people were treasured assets in his line of work. Although his back woods demeanor appeared to make him less intimidating and somewhat uneducated, he was extremely intelligent and hard-nosed persistent. He had a brilliant mind and could remember things that most people would take lightly. In a nutshell, Raz was an extraordinary ‘military consultant.’
During his entire career, and life, for that matter, Raz remembered every person he had ever met. He remembered every detail about that person, every conversation ever shared. He remembered every book, every story, every newspaper article, every report, every contract, every memo, every file, every piece of testimony, and every written assignment he had ever read. He remembered names and dates and times and events and locations and numbers. Like a simple flip of a switch he could access his computer-like mind and retrieve any or all information he had stored in that resourceful hillbilly brain of his.
Hunter’s ability to squeeze the truth out of his adversaries was uncanny, almost legendary. Barely a single one of his cases had failed to discover the hidden facts and agenda of each enemy combatant or subversive agent. Many American lives had been saved as a result of the hard-core determination, perseverance, and patriotic fortitude of Raz Hunter.
Eighteen more years as a highly sought after civilian ‘consultant,’ Hunter worked diligently in his pursuit and apprehension of active and suspected terrorists determined to annihilate the American population and wipe out the western culture. Since the attacks of 9/11, terrorist groups had rapidly grown in strength and numbers, supported and funded by American ‘allies’ in the Middle East and other radical Muslim cells scattered throughout the world.
Hunter had grown progressively suspicious of the ‘coordinated workings’ of his own government with known terrorist factions as well. He had revealed through his investigations that many of the sworn enemies of his nation were actually on Uncle Sam’s payroll.
Al-Qaeda rebels were trained by the CIA to protect the massive poppy fields in Afghanistan and to keep the Russians in check from expanding oil pipelines through the harsh terrain. Afghanistan insurgents fighting American troops were supplied weapons by mysterious sources controlled by the highest level of United States elected officials. Syrian ‘freedom fighters’ were funded by the American military-industrial complex to overthrow the standing leader in favor of one more open to American policies and commercial interests.
The list went on and on.
Billions and billions of dollars passed hands from the American government to brutal and corrupt dictators within strategically significant third world countries. Plane loads of money were funneled through hundreds of charitable groups with unassuming names like, Save the
Afghan Children, Peace for Africa, Better Living for Southeast Asia, and People of the World, and more.
There was always more.
The entire geopolitical process of starting wars, promoting internal civil unrest, establishing debilitating trade sanctions, assassinating troublesome and uncooperative leaders, allowing widespread poverty and starvation, even civilian massacres, and pitting allies against allies could all be attributed to the one source. The people Raz worked for.
Hunter was disgusted by what he had learned. There was no mistaking the fact that, funded by the Congress, the U.S. government and its top leaders were in the thick of things for the obvious benefit of the few running the country and their politically wealthy and powerful supporters. Hunter felt the work he had been involved in for nearly forty years had all been a farce, a front to defraud the American people, a hoax to steal trillions in order to line the pockets of the social elites and to maintain their power over global forces.
When he could finally verify all that he suspected, he had resigned his position and retired for good from government service. From then on, he had been preparing for this eventual catastrophe.
“I’ll go over that later,” Raz said about things getting much worse.
Cody eyed his old friend. “So why do you all of a sudden show up here?”
“Figured ya might need some assistance. Got some things ta take care of too. And ya boys are gonna help,” Raz grunted.
“We have to get our families, Raz. They were evacuated to the high school while we were gone,” Cody informed him.
“We need a ride,” Nick said almost apologetically to the gruff old guy.
“Suspect ya do. That’s if ya don’t mind ridin’ in a piece of shit.”
“Sorry about that,” Cody answered.
Raz eyeballed the two men. He couldn’t do this alone. “Well, git ya asses in the truck. We have places ta go.”
Treasonous Behavior- in the Beginning Page 10