Melanie smacked Chinn on the arm, then felt herself freeze. I just hit a Marine. Not smart! She heaved a subtle sigh of relief when Chinn laughed again, even more loudly this time.
The Explorer made its way down Highway 28, then turned left onto Highway 74 toward Bryson City. They passed an abandoned fire department, a gas station that had been overrun by vines and other plant life, and an empty grocery store. So barren, she thought as Chinn swerved to avoid a large pothole. So desolate. No longer a shining city on a hill.
Melanie spoke up they turned left onto Spring Street. “By the way, what do we have to do here?”
“There is someone I need to see.”
“How do you know them?”
“I don’t,” he said. “General Cloos does.”
The Explorer turned right onto Main Street, then left onto Everett Street and crossed the Tuskegee River. They wound their way through Bryson City, then traveled north for several miles on a narrow two-lane road before turning left onto a dirt road that led to a large house in the edge of the woods. Two smaller houses sat off to the left, and a large metal building was positioned behind the main house. Chinn drove around the homes and parked near the front door of the metal building, where he was greeted by two belligerent pit bulls. The dogs’ deep, guttural growl made the hair on Melanie’s neck stand up.
“Stay in the vehicle while I calm the dogs down.” Chinn unhooked his seatbelt.
“Don’t worry.” Melanie locked her door.
Major Chinn stepped out of the vehicle and stared down the two dogs. The pit bulls’ growls became more high-pitched, and Melanie’s jaw tightened as the one on the left lunged in Chinn’s direction. Chinn faced the dogs, took a step toward them and uttered a deep, authoritative “BACK OFF!” Appearing startled by Chinn’s boldness, the dogs maintained their constant growl but did not approach him.
The front door of the metal building opened with a loud, slow creak and an old man wearing a black U.S. Marine Corps World War II Veteran baseball cap slowly stepped out. The man whistled sharply, and the dogs immediately assumed a submissive posture, turned around and retreated behind the building.
“Good afternoon, son.” the man spoke with a slow, subtle drawl. “Are you from Shanghai?”
“No, sir. I’m from Tianjin.”
The man smiled. “Oorah! Come on in.” He motioned toward the Explorer. “You too, young lady.”
Melanie cautiously exited the vehicle, keeping her eyes peeled in case the pit bull greeting party made a repeat appearance. Her heart jumped into overdrive when her peripheral vision picked up a sudden, quick movement off to the right, but immediately retreated to a normal pace when she realized it was a cat, not one of the dogs. She exhaled and quickly made her way inside and closed the door behind her.
The interior of the building looked like a museum of man-cave artifacts from the past century. The wall to the left was adorned with numerous hunting trophies, including several large bucks, an elk, a bear and a Cape Buffalo, as well as several large fish. The wall to the right featured numerous axes and other yard tools, many of them antiques, as well as several swords and other exotic weapons.
A huge sheet of plywood with a target painted on it hung from the wall. A throwing knife was stuck near the center of the target, a hatchet was embedded near the bottom right corner, and a smaller dart board hung on the wall several feet to the right. Numerous antique signs and pictures, as well as a huge American flag, hung on the back wall. A lip about five feet up the walls had been converted to a makeshift shelf, which was covered with old kerosene lanterns, mason jars, and other collectibles that could have easily been for sale in a mountain gift shop prior to the fall of the republic.
Four classic cars and five trucks, each of them appearing to date back to the 1950s, 60s and 70s and seemingly in mint condition, were scattered throughout the building. Sunlight penetrated the building through plastic windows that circled the entire structure near the top of the walls, and several lighted kerosene lamps were strategically positioned throughout the building.
The man slowly made his way to four chairs positioned near an old pot belly stove. The glow of flames and accompanying warmth emanated from the stove, and a flu made its way from the stove to the ceiling. “Have a seat.” The man gestured toward two of the chairs, then claimed the one closest to the heater and removed his hat.
A Chocolate Lab slowly rose from a straw-filled basket near the wall, meandered to their position and curled up on the floor at the old man’s feet. Melanie jumped when the man whistled so loudly that it seemed to echo within the confines of the metal structure. A boy who appeared to be about 16 years old emerged from behind one of the old cars near the back of the shop and trotted toward them. “Ricky, get these fine folks some coffee.” The teenager nodded and departed in the direction of a second wood stove, atop which sat two old, aluminum coffee pots.
“That’s a fine young man. One day he might be as sharp as his great-grandpa.” The old man chuckled. “So, you know Sammy?”
Chinn’s brow furrowed. “Sammy?”
The man cocked an eyebrow. “Sammy Cloos.”
Chinn nodded. “General Cloos. I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard anyone call him Sammy.”
“Heh. I’ve called him a hell of a lot worse than that.”
Ricky returned and handed large, stainless steel cups full of steaming hot coffee to Chinn and Melanie. Melanie took a sip of the brew and grimaced. This was how she imagined used motor oil would taste. “Do you guys have milk?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ricky disappeared into the back of the building.
“Where did you get milk?” Major Chinn asked.
The old man chuckled. “From the barn. Bessie does her job well. So do the goats.”
Ricky brought Melanie a small cup of milk and then returned to whatever he had been doing prior to their arrival. She hoped and prayed that the milk was from a cow, not a goat, but chose not to verbalize her concern.
Chinn leaned forward and fixated his stare on the old man. “How long have you known General Cloos?”
“I’ve known Sammy since the day he stepped onto the base as a wide-eyed, wet-behind-the-ears newbie. He’s one of the few I stayed in touch with. Had the chance to get to know him over the years. Never would’ve thought he’d make it to Major General.”
Chinn leaned back and took a sip of the coffee. “Tell me more.”
Melanie watched as the man leaned forward and focused a laser-like stare on Chinn. “Don’t be stupid enough to think you can push him around now because of what he was back then.”
“That was not my intent.” Chinn shook his head. “By the way, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Lester Wade. Colonel Lester Wade.”
“I’m Major Michael Chinn.” He gestured toward Melanie. “And this is Melanie Blanchard.”
“Chinn, huh?” Lester said with a chuckle. “I served in the European theater, so I probably didn’t kill any of your people.”
Chinn chuckled. “Interesting. Most Marines were in the Pacific.”
“I was one of the few in Europe. Was attached to a Navy unit. Conducted covert ops in Europe and North Africa.
“Colonel Wade, were you General Cloos’ CO?”
Lester chuckled as he slowly rose up out of his chair. “Yes I was. Long time ago. Near the end.” He retrieved a piece of split wood from a large metal tub, opened the door on the front of the stove, tossed the log into the flames, closed the door and slowly ambled back to his seat. “Sammy’s come a long way since then. Just like I did.” He pointed at Chinn. “Just like I’m sure you did.”
“Yes I have, sir.”
“When you talk to Sammy, tell him he only made it to Major General because I taught him everything he knows.”
Chinn chuckled. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
Lester leaned forward in his seat. “So what brings you way out here? How can I help you?”
“We’re trying to find someone,” Chinn said. “Someo
ne we think might be in danger.”
“Who is it?”
“Someone named Drew Thompson. Do you know him?”
Lester leaned back in his seat, removed his cap and scratched his head, tracing his finger along a scar that ran up the right side of his neck, in front of his ear, three-fourths of the way up his nearly bald head, then donned the cap once again. “What kind of danger do you think this fella might be in?”
“You’ve probably heard that the Armando administration is trying to blame him for the attack at Watts Bar Lake.”
Lester let out a grunt that sounded partly like a belch, partly like an expression of frustration. “Yep. Heard that. The attack that killed Harper, the guy from Texas. Damn shame.”
Melanie felt her eyes fill with tears. She swallowed hard and tried to fight them back.
“Yes it is, sir,” Chinn agreed.
Lester sat up straight and gestured toward Chinn. “You said Armando is blaming this Thompson guy for the attack. What do you think?”
Chinn polished off the coffee. “I was there when the attack happened. The attack came from a drone. I think they’re using him as a scapegoat, and they’ll try to take him out.”
Lester relaxed in his seat again and chuckled. “Sounds like Sammy taught you at least some of what I taught him.”
“Maybe a little. But I’m a better learner than him.”
“Sounds like the humility lessons didn’t take,” Lester said. “But I agree with your instincts. I’ve met Drew Thompson.” He gestured toward Chinn. “He’s been in the chair where you now sit. No question he’s on the right side of things. He’s actually become a bit famous in these parts.”
Chinn cocked an eyebrow. “Famous for what?”
“He’s holed up with some folks that have established a camp that could be a model for settlements all over the place.”
Chinn scratched his jaw in his hand. “You have my attention. How so?”
“Nothing fancy. Him and a fellow named Joshua put together their own constitution. Haven’t read it, but from what I hear it’s all about personal responsibility and private property rights. Many of the same things in the U.S. Constitution, but they actually seem to follow it. The feds are trying to act like Mussolini, and the state basically got wiped out. Local is all we’ve got, and they seem to be doing it right. Thompson has built a network that covers quite a bit of territory out here, and he’s helped lots of little settlements replicate the organizational structure they’ve set up.”
“Interesting. Do you know anything else about him?”
“He’s bankrolled a lot of things out this way. And he seems to have access to a bottomless pit of gasoline.”
“Any idea where he gets his resources?”
“Nope. Figure if I need to know, he’ll tell me.”
Chinn nodded. “Thanks for the insight. What do you know about this Joshua?”
“Not much, but from what I hear he’s a humble leader. Right motives, right values. Not all about himself.”
“Any idea where their camp is located?”
“Not sure.” Lester snorted loudly and spat on the concrete floor. “They’ve done a good job of staying below radar. And I figure I’m better off not knowing.”
“Do you have any idea where I can find Mr. Thompson?”
Lester pushed himself up out of his chair and began slowly walking toward a wooden cabinet next to the coffee counter, using his cane for balance. “I don’t, but I know someone who might.” He motioned for Chinn and Melanie to follow him. He had to jerk on the cabinet door twice to open it, then pulled out an old, worn map of Swain County. He pulled out an old sharpie, then threw it aside when it failed to make a mark. Three sharpies and two pens later, he finally found a writing utensil that worked and circled a spot on the map. “Be here this Thursday night at 6:00. There will be a bunch of guys with grills and cookers in an old barn.”
“Do you think they’ll be welcoming to a stranger?” Chinn asked.
“Nope,” Lester said.
Melanie cocked an eyebrow.
Lester chuckled. “Ask for a fellow named Ray. Tell him I sent you.” He scribbled a note on a sheet of paper, folded it up and handed it to Chinn. “And you’ll need this.”
Chinn unfolded the note, quickly scanned it, then folded it and put it in his pocket. “Thank you, Colonel, and will do.” He extended his hand to Lester. “It’s always a privilege to meet a member of our Greatest Generation. Thank you for your service, Colonel.”
Lester returned the handshake. “I can’t help when I was born. My generation just did what history demanded.” He jabbed Chinn chin in the chest with his index finger. “Make sure yours does the same.”
Chinn nodded, and they exited the building. Melanie quickly made her way to the passenger side door, cautiously surveying her surroundings for any sign of the pit bulls that had greeted them upon their arrival. A bolt of terror shot down her spine when she heard a deep bark. The bark was followed by a deep belly laugh from Major Chinn.
Melanie felt her heart pounding as she pointed at Chinn. “Was that you?”
Chinn laughed and unlocked her door. “Get in.”
“Not funny!” Melanie clenched her teeth, and Chinn continued snickering as he started up the Explorer and began driving toward the road.
She shook her head and looked out the window, trying to tune out his obvious amusement at her expense. She took a deep breath as they reached the road and changed the subject. “Weren’t you offended by what that man said to you?”
“No. What did he say that you found offensive?”
“He asked you if you were from Shanghai,” she said. “I took that as an obvious jab at your ethnicity.
Chinn chuckled. “Did you notice that I immediately responded that I was from Tianjin?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not from Tianjin. I’m actually from Wilmington, North Carolina. That was a prearranged passcode established by General Cloos to ensure that we were talking to the right person and that Colonel Wade would welcome us in rather than shoot us.”
“Is that what was in the envelope Wade handed you back there? A passcode for Thursday?”
Chinn smiled. “You catch on quickly.”
“Weren’t you insulted by his comment that he served in the European theater?” Melanie asked. “That also seemed like a direct jab at you.”
“Yes, it was a jab, but no, I was not insulted. Colonel Wade was testing me to see what I’m made of. Thin-skinned people who are easily offended wouldn’t have made it in his era. America was tougher then.”
***
2:47 p.m. – Fontana Dam area
The darkness imposed by the bag over Joshua’s head was amplified by the abrupt bumps, stops and turns as the U.S. Department of Homeland Security SUV in which he was imprisoned snaked its way through the North Carolina mountains. Dictators in years past had used trains and other means of transportation to move prisoners to the location where they would be executed. Joshua had no way of knowing if the current administration had stooped that low – yet – but he had no doubt that those who had taken him captive were Armando administration enforcers. He also had no doubt that Armando and those in his inner circle fancied him as the first American dictator.
Joshua felt the SUV slow down and then turn left. The ride went from smooth to bumpy in an instant, and his teeth felt like they were being shaken out of their sockets. Dirt road, he thought. Remote location. Not good. The bumps were so violent that Joshua wondered if the driver was intentionally trying to torture his prisoners. The vehicle mercifully slowed to a stop. He heard the car door open, and someone grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the car.
Joshua heard a minor commotion from the other side of the car, followed by Jack’s voice: “Ease up, jackass.”
A deep, authoritative voice answered: “Move and do exactly what I tell you, or you’ll regret it. And I don’t want to hear you speak again.”
Joshua swallowed hard and spoke up. “Jack,
do what he says.”
The person holding Joshua’s arm shook him, and he heard another male voice: “And I don’t want to hear a word out of you, either.”
Joshua felt gravel beneath his feet. Then a more solid surface. Then he heard a key being inserted into a door ahead of him. Then a door opening. The Homeland Security goon escorting him jerked him forward. “Move!” His right arm brushed against what felt like a wall. He was pulled forward. Then turned left down what must have been a hall. Then shoved into a room. He felt the bag being yanked off his head. The room was dark, other than a few specks of light that managed to sneak past the covered windows. As his eyes adjusted he realized Rebecca, Jack and Thomas were in the room with him.
The agent at the door pointed at them. “Stay here and don’t try anything stupid.” He slammed the door behind him.
Jack snorted like an angry bull. “If I ever—“
Joshua motioned for him to be quiet, then embraced Rebecca and ran his fingers through her shoulder-length brown hair. “I was afraid they’d take us to two different places.” He paused for a moment. “That we might not see each other again.”
Rebecca stroked the back of Joshua’s neck, giving him goosebumps. “I’m here. And hopefully our government hasn’t fallen that far.”
“I fear it has,” Joshua released the embrace and kissed her. “And that they’re just getting started.”
Reassured that his wife was okay, Joshua turned to Jack and Thomas. “Guys, we’ll get out of this. I don’t know how yet, but we have to be calm.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow and silently nodded, albeit unconvincingly.
Rebecca planted herself at Joshua’s side and grabbed his arm. “So what’s your plan?”
“I don’t know yet, but we’ll figure it out.”
Everyone turned toward the window as sound of voices from outside penetrated the room more clearly than they should have. Joshua motioned for everyone to be quiet, then whispered. “Window’s open. Let’s see if we can hear what they’re saying.”
Joshua quietly seated himself on the floor near the window and listened intently. A male voice spoke with a hint of confusion: “The Joshua Winston I knew in Raleigh would never work against the United States of America. He loves this nation and would do anything to preserve it.”
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