HOMELAND: Falling Down (Part 1 of the HOMELAND Series) (18 page)

“Contact front!” The radio sounded.

A moment later, Cole saw a motley mob armed with everything from steak knives to shotguns barring the way from behind make-shift blockades a few blocks south of the ruined state capitol building. The whole battalion stopped without orders. Both sides eyed each other in silence. They were about to cross a line. A damn big one and they all knew it.

Cole said to Hicks, “They’re pissed.” He made sure his radio wasn’t broadcasting before adding, “And I don’t blame them. They went to sleep in Tennessee and woke up in FEMA Region Four. No warning. No vote. No choice.” These days, troopers who openly expressed unapproved opinions disappeared in the middle of the night. “Protesting is all they have left. It’s their right. That’s what free people do.”

Captain Prescott’s voice erupted from the radio again. “All Renegade elements, this is Renegade Six. Do not engage. I say again, DO NOT ENGAGE. This will all be fine. We just gotta stay cool.”

Cole hoped Prescott was right, but the knot in his gut told him differently.

This was the worst part. That infinite moment before it all hits the fan. That time when Cole was suddenly and acutely aware of everything around him, the wind on his skin, the drone of engines, the mingled odors of diesel and his own sweat. He heard his heart pounding in his ears, tasted bile on the back of his parched tongue and felt his insides turn to watery knots. It was always the same. Cole just wanted to get on with it. Get through it. The storm he could weather. It was the calm before that made him crazy.

Time seemed to stop as he studied the eyes of the men manning the barricade. They painted a picture of anger, disbelief and, above all, sadness.

The radio blared again. This time it was Agent Piven. “Clear this rabble, Captain!”

“Negative. I’m going to talk to them,” Prescott replied.

“I order you to disperse this mob!” came Piven’s sharp reply.

Prescott didn’t respond.

Cole watched through binoculars as his commander dismounted and walked to the barricade. Prescott removed his helmet and spoke to a man in a dirty shirt and tie.

“It’s the Governor,” Cole said. “Most of the state officials, too from the looks of it.”

The tension abated slightly as machine gun turrets and hunting rifles lowered.

Piven’s voice rang out through the loudspeakers mounted on his black MRAP. “I declare this to be an unlawful assembly. You will disband or be shot!”

Muzzles perked back to attention.

Cole’s gut clinched as his bowels did their best impersonation of a Japanese bullet train.

I’ve never understood that part. I get the heightened senses and the rush of adrenaline. But why the mega dose of laxative? What purpose does it serve? We are wired for fight or flight. How does crapping your pants help you do either?

There was only one thing to do in times like that. He put everything below his waist on lockdown and tried to think happy thoughts.

Hicks was white as a sheet. He said, “Is this really gonna happen, Sarge?”

“I don’t know,” Cole answered.

 
Prescott turned to his men and gave the signal to stand down. Gun barrels drooped obediently.

“What are they saying?” Hicks asked.

“Do I look like a lip reader?” Cole studied the scene. “Looks pretty good, though. They’re both nodding.”

After a long moment of conversation, the two leaders shook hands and Prescott turned, helmet in hand, to walk back to his Humvee. He gave his eager troopers a thumbs up.

“Thank God.” Cole felt a thankful sigh rise from both sides.

The Governor raised a bullhorn to address the relieved crowd. Just as he began to speak, his head exploded into red mist. A stunned aid looked on as his chief’s intelligence splattered onto his face and chest.

“No!” Prescott looked back to see the Governor’s body hit the ground.

A volley belched forth from the barricade so intense it sounded like rending cloth.

Prescott was cut to pieces.

The Humvee gunners opened fire. Their heavy weapons cut through the barrier as if it didn’t exist, visiting bloody carnage on the soft flesh behind it.

Hicks vomited all over himself as Cole watched the scene in disbelief.

Piven came over the radio again. “All units advance!”

Lieutenant Young, Cole’s newly promoted company commander, keyed the battalion net. “Negative! Negative! All elements, this is Bravo Six. I am assuming command! Cease fire! I say again! CEASE FIRE!”

A moment of confused hesitation followed as the battalion decided which of the conflicting orders to obey.

The battalion frequency sounded. “Roger, Bravo Six. This is Alpha Six. We are standing down.” It was the alpha company commander.

Charlie Company followed. “Charlie Six here. Roger, Bravo Six. Standing down.”

Stillness fell over the scene as silent snow fell into pools of steaming blood.

Piven broke the silence. “Bravo Six, you will advance and eliminate all remaining resistance!”

Young said calmly, “Charlie Company, retrieve Renegade Six’s remains. We will cover your move. Alpha Company, prepare to lead the way back to base.”

Piven roared, “Bravo Six, either you open fire or I will!”

Lieutenant Young responded, “You fire a single shot and I will destroy you in place. Bravo Six out.”

Hicks watched as the bloody mass that had been the protestors began to writhe in agony. He heard the screams through the ballistic glass of his Humvee windows. “We have to help them.”

Cole shook his head. “This place will be a hornet’s nest in minutes. We have to get out of here before more people die.”

Pop! The window next to Cole’s head cracked as a bullet ricocheted inches from his face.

One of the soldiers loading Prescott’s body fell, wounded in the thigh.

More pops. Bullets rained onto the column like hail stones from windows and balconies.

“Do not return fire,” Young ordered. “Gunners take cover in your vehicles. Charlie Six, we move as soon as you are ready.”

Charlie Company quickly loaded the wounded and the dead and the battalion departed for Fort Campbell. It seemed that there was a rifle behind every tree and window that passed. Shots peppered the convoy all the way back to base.

“Who shot the Governor?” Hicks asked.

“Piven. I saw the muzzle flash from his gun turret.” Cole took a swig from his canteen to sooth his parched mouth. “Doesn’t matter, though. We just started a war. Whoever wins will say the other side started it. Always do. The winners write the history, the losers write the songs.” He took another drink. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Agent Piven just committed a war crime. If we can arrested him and bring him to justice, we may be able to stop this from escalating any further.”

“What if we can’t?”

“Then we just fired the shot heard ‘round the world.”

The Nature of the Beast

Agent Sanger and Mayor Duncan sat across the table from Hank in the mayor’s conference room. The dim generator-fed lights fought against the gathering twilight outside as Sanger laid out the future of Freeport and its citizens.

“As you know, supplies of everything from food to fuel and medicine are very limited.”

Hank eyed the mayor. “Even more so since we gave half our food to Dante.”

 Sanger said, “There will be no more deals with Dante and his gang. You will leave them to us.”

“Thank you,” said Duncan.

Sanger nodded her acknowledgement. “Until supply chains are reestablished, my team will take charge of all essential materials and ration them out according to need. With your help, of course.”

Hank asked, “Exactly what do you mean by essential materials?”

“As I said, mostly food, fuel, and medical supplies.”

“Mostly?”

Duncan rolled his eyes. “Why do you always have to be so damn difficult, Hank?”

“It’s okay, Finbarr. Hank is just looking out for his constituents.” Sanger smiled. “So am I. That’s why I’ve arranged for all chronically ill citizens and those requiring more than a week of hospitalization to be transported to the Advanced Care Center. We have already begun processing the patients at the hospital and nursing homes.”

“Where is this care center?” Hank asked.

“West. Near Nashville. Freeport’s hospital is already pushed to its limit, barely able to help the most routine sicknesses and injuries. The Advanced Care Center is equipped to handle even the most demanding cases such as patients with diabetes and heart disease.” Sanger looked at Hank. “Isn’t your wife on dialysis, Sheriff?”

“Yes.”

“We can help her.”

“I doubt it.”

“Dammit, Hank,” Finbarr interjected.

Sanger raised a hand to silence the mayor and said to Hank, “Remember, it’s just a temporary measure until this is over. You can’t give her the care she needs and the hospital hasn’t the resources. This is her only chance.” Her eyes softened. “I know how painful this must be for you, but I need you on our side. The people of this town look up to you. If you refuse, so will many of them. Then you and they will watch your loved ones die needlessly. And they will all blame you.”

Hank sighed. “I’ll have to talk to Betty. This is her decision to make. Not mine.”

“Fair enough.”

“When would she leave?”

“The busses arrive in three days, but we will have to process everyone by the day before departure.”

*****

            Hank pulled up to the hospital in the frigid predawn and helped Betty out of the car. “Are you sure you want to do this?” His breath hung steaming in the subfreezing air.

            She answered, “What choice to we have?” She leaned into the back seat and kissed Maggie as she slept, bundled in a quilt.

            Maggie awoke. “I love you, Mamaw.”

            “I love you too, sweet girl. Promise me you’ll be good for your papaw.”

            Maggie rubbed her eyes. “I promise.”

            Betty kissed Maggie’s forehead. “Now go back to sleep. I’ll be back real soon.”

            The hospital parking lot was packed with shivering patients of all ages waiting for transport. Some stood stoic while others wept and clung to loved ones in the few remaining moments before separation.

            A column of headlights appeared. The sounds of diesel engines soon followed. Brakes squealed as thirty white busses marked FEMA on the sides parked end to end, along with their armed Humvee escorts, in front of the crowd.

            The boarding began moments later. Agents scanned each patient onto the vehicles via the RFID chips implanted in their hands during in-processing the preceding days. Several busses were specially equipped to transport bedridden and wheelchair-bound passengers.

            A little boy cried and clung to his mother near Betty and Hank. The boy’s mother was also in tears, pleading with an agent to let her accompany her child.

            “Only patients are allowed on the busses,” the agent replied in a clinical tone.

            The mother sobbed, “Please. He’s only four. He has leukemia. Please…”

            “Patients only, ma’am.”

            “What’s the problem?” Hank interjected.

            “Thank God you’re here, Sheriff.” The mother pointed to the FEMA agent. “He won’t let me go with my son.”

            “Only patients are allowed on the busses,” The agent repeated, “No exceptions.” He started to pull the boy from his mother.

            Betty reached for the child. “I can take care of him. I’ll treat him like my own.”

            The boy put his arms around Betty’s neck and hugged her tight.

            “His name is Dillon,” the mother said and handed Betty a picture of her.

            Betty took the photo and looked at it. “We will talk to you every day. I promise.”

            “Thank you,” the mother cried.

            Betty and Dillon were scanned and boarded their bus. Moments later, they waved out the window until their loved disappeared from site. Dillon whimpered in Betty’s arms until he fell asleep. Betty drifted off to the rocking hum of the vehicle soon after.

*****

            The hiss of air brakes woke Betty hours later. She shaded her eyes from the morning sun as the convoy pulled into the gate of the Advanced Care Center. It was a massive facility made up of hangers, Quonset huts, and huge tents. The facility was bustling with forklifts, people, and covered cargo trucks going in all directions. A thick, dark plume of smoke rose from one of the buildings on the other site of the installation.

            The busses stopped in front of a row Quonset huts and disembarked their passengers. Agents were waiting to assist the patients into the buildings.

            One of them said through a bull horn, “Welcome to the Region Four Advanced Care Center Number Eleven. Please move into the Quonset huts in front of you for processing. We have food and warm beds waiting for you. Please move into the huts so we can check you all in and notify your loved ones of your safe arrival.”

            Betty carried Dillon into the nearest hut. When the last patient entered, the door was shut and locked from the outside. She looked around the building to see that there were no agents waiting to check patients in.

            “What’s going on?” one man yelled.

            “Take it easy,” responded another. “At least it’s warm in here.”

            A hissing began. It came from vents in the ceiling. Betty looked up to see a hazy fog pouring onto them.

            The people nearest the vents started to cough, then gag.

           
Oh, God.

           
Betty covered Dillon’s mouth and nose with her scarf, then she covered her own.

            People were twitching and vomiting now. The smell of human waste filled the air.

            Betty pulled Dillon’s mother’s picture from her pocket. “Look here, Dillon. Look at Mommy.”

            He complained, “My throat hurts.”

            “I know, sweetheart. I know.”