CHAPTER 1A

Chapter 1A

 

 

 

 Present Day

 

 

It felt as though he was blinking incessantly.

It’s the desert, he thought. The dry air.

His eyelid spasms subsided for the few moments he became caught in a stare at his feet. The tips of his hiking boots vanished as his mind drifted into reminiscent images that seemed near…real. The back of his sunburned hand appeared black in the dimly lit night air. It rose into view as he unconsciously reached out to touch the mirage of Rachels fingers sensually caressing his. An eye-scrunching blink, accompanied by a head shake and a hot dusty deep breath, brought him back to the present.

Impure darkness stretched before him. A nighttime with well-defined shadows cast from the light of an incredibly bright full moon. The adjustment of his formerly white, sweat stained ‘Rocky Mountain National Park’ cap on his bald head, released a flood of perspiration that had been trapped behind its band, some of which trickled into his left eye with a burning sting. A hard squint was followed by Shane’s resisting the urge to rub it out. It would only knead the drop of perspiration and some sand into his eye anyway, he reminded himself. Normally, sweat was non-existent in an Arizona desert. But reservoirs of it collected in clothing gaps and beneath hats and doo rags. He slipped a red bandana from his right rear pocket and mopped the entire circumference of his cranium. When cap and scarf were returned to their proper locations, he removed his eyeglasses and brought the binoculars up beneath his brow.

Shane Collins could survey the landscape for miles from this vantage point. Buttes and mesas rose into the dark star-studded sky and shadowed gullies and sandy ravines took on the appearance of ‘golf course like’ mown grass. Scattered juniper bushes and cacti created dark splotches on the slightly rolling desert floor. The expanse that lie before him offered no sound. An occasional whisper of the breeze as it caressed the face of the rock, gave relief to the deafening quiet.

Shane had spotted this niche in the butte from down below and was pleasantly surprised when he discovered a trail leading up to it. Made to order, he had snipped. It was right where the rugged face met the gravely sloped scree and would go unnoticed to most people. Although nothing could be called ‘home’ anymore, the cave-like alcove was now providing shelter and security… at least for a few days.

Glancing downward, Shane’s eyes once again fell upon his shoes protruding from the edge of the thin cheap hotel bed sheet that swaddled his entire frame. He had a sleeping bag. A good one. But it took a very cold night for its thermal rating to become advantageous, rendering it a hot-box otherwise. That was only part of the problem with using it though. The confinement it produced was what had placed it on Shane’s mental ‘rarely used’ list. Being zipped inside its ‘mummy-like’ form made it a hazard if someone would discover him while he was sleeping. Granted, it was highly unlikely anyone knew where he was or that anyone cared anymore.

But everyone did care at one point. And that tidbit of information was what kept him on his toes.

Shane Benjamin Collins was unquestioningly the most sought-after human being in the whole of the United States a mere 13 months ago. The more current events of his life bled into the daydreams of his wife and children and jumbled those pleasant reflections into a misty and self-condemning guilty indulgence. Nowadays, he rarely allowed himself to juxtapose these histories. There was no point. One seemed like a fairy tale or a wonderous story a grandparent would attempt to paint a verbal picture of to their grandchildren. The other was a harsh and cruel reality that stared every U.S. citizen in the face daily.

It had been nearly five years since cancer had claimed Rachel. Shane seemed to be struggling with her death more now than he had when it actually occurred. The two of them had felt the tension that was escalating between friends, neighbors, and even family members and saw clearly the imminent implosion of American society as they knew it. Shane had decided to do something about it. As painful as Rachels death was, he had felt a sudden ‘release’, as though any fear of consequences that had restrained him had vanished with her passing. She had always been the ‘voice of reason’, conservative action, and ‘steady as she goes’ influence in his life. But now, with their children scattered to the wind and Rachel buried and watching from above, Shane was free to act on his dreams for the sake of the nation he loved so much.

After sharing with his friend Rob his plans to retreat into hiding, Shane decided to attempt to pull others like him together and form a militia. He then authored a letter that was passed to carefully selected individuals, began the establishment of MICA… Militia for an Ideal Constitutional America, and attempted to recruit all who expressed interest. Shane knew there were still those who felt the U.S. had a chance to continue on. Had a future as it once was. Could still foster freedom, growth, creativity, and God-fearing religious ideals. This eventually hit the media and his name became a household item. Unfortunately, it also became an item at FBI headquarters. Shane had no choice but to plunge into obscurity, go off grid, and disappear.

Now roaming the Bureau of Land Management areas of Arizona, Shane stood hypnotized by the ghostly night scene before him. His head began a nearly undetectable shake as the disbelief of the events of the past 3 years once again pierced his soul. He, along with millions of others, were now running from the calamity the human race had deteriorated into. Political factions, in their efforts to jockey for power, had annihilated the functioning society that had taken centuries to develop. The phony pandemic, oil flow disruptions, and even increased UFO activity were all bolstered by the Leftist propaganda outlets in an effort to bring the United States to its knees. Soon, clear and well defined ‘sides’ became established and easily recognizable lines were drawn. Leftists occupied the urban areas. Right wing conservatives secured most of the outlying and rural areas.

Eventually it morphed into an ‘every man and woman for themselves’ type of war. As there were no “uniforms” to distinguish who was fighting for who, no ‘northern states and southern states’ to delineate your allegiance, the possibility of shooting one of your own had become very real. This individual survival based Civil War slowly proved to be difficult to monitor and storage areas containing food supplies and other necessities were under constant attack. One’s struggle to acquire sustenance was generally vicious.   

Shane moved to the other side of his rocky cove and sat down. The black silvery edged images of boulders and cacti moved through the field glass’ circular scene as he panned across the vista. His spine was uncomfortably mushed against his lumpy backpack that had for months now doubled as an even less accommodating pillow. Gravel and sand were oozing into everything and made any movement sound and feel gritty. Wiping the front of his teeth with his tongue reduced, but didn’t quite eliminate, the grinding of lip and enamel that always increased as the day wore on.

He silently thanked God for the slight breeze that offered an infinitesimal amount of relief from the heat. Although desert night air was generally cooler, the terrain and most geological features absorbed the sweltering inferno of day and retained it through much of the period from sundown to sunup. Putting oneself in direct contact with rock and desert floor brought this to your discovery.

One objectionable feature of his dwelling was the direction it faced. Southwest. The temperature inside climbed to intolerable by mid-afternoon, forcing Shane to scrunch himself behind a small, curved lip of the opening… a somewhat shaded area. Additionally, it was rather shallow. If it would rain, and that was a very big ‘IF’, he’d most likely be drenched along with all that he was carting around. It was a toss up as to whether this was an advantage or disadvantage.

His scanning did a sudden jerky backtrack as he spied movement. The front of the binoculars locked onto a coyote running at full gallop while occasionally trotting sideways to look behind itself at whatever had spooked it. Shane retraced its path, eventually spotting two more freshly frightened animals mimicking the gait of the first. He carefully scrutinized any possible rocks or scrub that could provide refuge for a survivalist or potential enemy. Remaining intensely focused was critical as any loss of concentration might cause him to displace where the animal had been, an error that could prove fatal.

Wait just a second here, Shane thought as he squinted tighter, jumped to attention, and allowed his blanket wrap to slip off onto the sandy ground. What appeared to be a baseball cap much like his own, was dipping and bobbing just above the upper edge of a rock cluster. Its owner was busying about doing something just out of Shane’s view. Keeping the binoculars trained on the potential nemesis with one hand, Shane hoisted himself to a standing position, his back now planted firmly against the rock wall. The lunar lit magnified picture that was in fact quite tiny to begin with, prevented him from making out any discernable features of this individual. But there was no doubt that he now had unexpected company. The big questions were… how many of them are there, had they already spotted him, and most importantly… who’s side are they on? Whether or not they were armed and dangerous simply came with the territory and the time.

The hat spun around to where the bill faced directly at Shane. He could’ve sworn he saw arms and elbows propped out to either side of the hat, as if they were looking right back at Shane with binoculars as well. But then the hat tilted slightly to one side in an all too familiar attitude. Through months of experience with this scenario, he could now accurately identify this as a person looking through a scope on a gun.

A flash of light confirmed Shane’s assessment as a ricochet sounded off nearby stone, followed shortly by the distant report of gunfire. He had quickly rolled back, tucking as deeply into the recess as was humanly possible. This afforded him the opportunity to switch from binoculars to rifle.

“How did they spot me at night?” Shane pondered in an audible whisper. This evaluation deliberated quickly in his mind, concluding that ‘hat guy’ must have spotted him during the day and determined that Shane’s high ground position was too advantageous to attempt a daylight attack. This brought an immediate feeling of gratitude that he had been scanning the desert just moments before that shot was fired at him.

“God, please let this person go on their way”, Shane prayed to himself. Killing had become a somewhat common occurrence, unfortunately. But he remained firm in his resolve to only kill when protecting his own life or the lives of the innocent and helpless. If there wasn’t an obvious threat, he would turn the proverbial other cheek. One thing was clear regarding this current engagement… considering how close that bullet had just struck… they knew where he was and firing back would only validate that.

As he once again faced another human like himself, struggling to survive, he felt deep in his very soul the insanity people can be driven to while under the oppression of tyrannical leaders. How had the United States of America come to this, he thought. As he searched for the cap through the crosshairs of his scope, he pondered what might be happening to his own children at this moment. At the time of his wife’s death five years ago, his relationship with them had slumped, leaving him far lonelier than he could have ever imagined possible. But just prior to CW2, a healing had begun and he now felt an almost ‘fatherly duty’ to locate them and keep them safe… preferably without them knowing this fact. They had developed a propensity to reject any offers or inclinations of assistance from their father and Shane had slowly but surely quit offering it. But he still loved them all, grandkids included, and he could not see himself abandoning them during this horrible moment in history.

It had now been several minutes since he had last seen the cap near the boulders. With the rifle tucked in close to his face, he could hear his own breathing rate increase. His muscles were tightening up and he had to remind himself to regulate his finger pressure on the trigger. In the absence of an infrared scope, the only method of brightening his view was a white/green flashlight attached to the side of the AR which, unfortunately, would be much too visible to his opponent and would paint Shane as an easy target. More than likely, cap guy was too far away for the light to be effective anyway. The moonlight would have to suffice.

When what seemed like an eternity had passed, Shane became anxious trying to figure what had happened to the unexpected opponent. In an effort to evaluate potential escape options should the need arise, Shane attempted to assess the opposite side of the cave. When he first occupied the notch two days ago, he had made note of how the trail continued on beyond it but had failed to explore it. At this point running in that direction in the dark, not knowing how far that path went and what kind of condition it was in, could prove very risky. He brought his attention back to his opponent. Swinging his aim to the trail that lead to his nook, Shane scanned it from his doorstep down to the bottom of the scree. Nothing.

Just as his line of sight through the scope swept away from the path, he picked up on some movement down near the trailhead. It was the cap guy. Shane fought to keep a bead on the jogging figure, scrunching his eyes open and closed to rinse dust and night blur from their surface. He was most certainly headed up towards Shane.

“Please… stop. Don’t make me do this.” Shane pleaded quietly. He sensed determination in the man’s physical mannerism, a kind of ‘forging ahead’ as though he had been ordered to ‘take the hill’. In the utter silence of the arid region they were in, Shane rarely missed what he shot at and considering the current circumstance, he wouldn’t miss cap guy. He was now able to hear the crunching of shoes into the steep gravel route. If there was one thing Shane had learned long ago, it was that shouting “FREEZE!” or “HALT!” only complicated things. They never halted and they ALWAYS leapt for cover, rebooting the whole search process.

Shane felt his adrenalin kick up a notch causing a slight jitter to surface. This, combined with his opponents jerky running movements, made it difficult to keep the character targeted in his scope. That dude must be pretty new at this or he would’ve realized how suicidal his actions are, Shane deduced.

“Heavenly Father forgive me for what I’m about to do” Shane prayed. Oddly, this prayer or mantra usually produced an eerie calm that enveloped all of nature and all of his being. Birds, crickets, coyotes, and even the wind would silence, seemingly defying time and science while Shane applied pressure to the trigger.

CRRRACK! The sound of the shot reverberated between buttes and mesas and trailed off with an almost growl-like sound that dispersed into the expanse of the desert. His target spun to the side causing them to lose balance and tumble down the rugged talus. The rag doll, end over end plunge, left Shane believing his foe was definitely dead. He flipped the gun around to his back, dangling by its shoulder strap, and quickly brought the binoculars back into play. The body had continued on, into a gulley near the bottom, veiling it behind a ridge. Although unhelpful, he yanked the glasses from his eyes and stepped forward a foot or two in a squinted effort to view the ‘big picture’ unaided and possibly spot the human form splayed below. No matter how bright a lunar lit landscape may seem, it was just simply not bright enough for the naked eye.

Shane crushed his eyes shut once more and pinched the bridge of his nose while he planned his next move. He opened his mouth and then bit down on his lower lip. An exhaustive breath released from between his chapped lips and turned into a yawn. He had not yet slept this entire night and fatigue was becoming more than an obstacle to conquer, it was inhibiting. There was a cool almost moist feeling around his eyes. It was that feeling that begged for sleep, a nap, anything that would slow metabolism down in order for true rest to do its healing magic. But right now wasn’t the time. A falling star that streaked across the flawless star spackled sky caught his eye. The left corner of his mouth turned up as he remembered lying on his back on the driveway of his home with his children… waiting and watching for meteors and satellites.

His line of vision fell back down to the gully below.

“OK bud. Now I have to locate you.” Shane said out loud. In recent months, he had found that verbally talking to himself had actually helped with the isolation heaped upon him. No one was around to hear him do it anyway… so who cares, he had thought. Since he had adopted a rule to never walk more than a few feet away from his pack and other possessions, he bundled everything up and weaved his arms into the backpack straps tightening the whole of it down snug and secure. He perused the rocky cavity with a flashlight one last time making sure nothing was left behind and then began the recovery trek.

Within only a minute or two, Shane reached the point where the aggressor had stumbled over the edge. Slowly sweeping the fan of light his flashlight produced, back and forth over the rock, he successfully discovered several small splatters of blood. This would definitely indicate thorough penetration by his bullet and, as it was a hollow point, the back side of the area of the body that was struck would have ‘blown out’ tissue damage. After locating a safe point to step over the edge, Shane started the steep and treacherous crawl down the scree, doing his best at determining foot holds by merely the beam of a flashlight. Adding to the difficulty was the fact that he was also trying to track the route which ‘cap guy’ tumbled down the slope.

Nearly 20 feet from the edge, lying upside down on the slope was the infamous hat that had triggered this entire scenario, giving Shane a sense that he was moving in the correct general direction. It had flipped, what appeared to be about 6 feet, off the beaten path inspiring Shane to just leave it be. At that moment he realized he hadn’t seen the gun this person would’ve been packing. Now, only a few feet ahead of him, was a large rock that would offer a perfect ambush hiding spot, should his ‘cadaver’ not yet be a cadaver. He positioned himself with his back against the forward side of the stone, rifle straight up in front of him.

“OK! Listen. I’ve got you covered right now! It would be best for both of us if you’d just come out with your hands up... unarmed” Shane shouted. As the man continued to rotate and check his back, the moonlight glinted on something long and shiny lodged in the branches of a juniper bush a short distance back up the hillside. When a minute or two had passed without any response from the opposite side of the boulder, Shane climbed towards it and immediately recognized a lever action 30/30 with an inexpensive low power scope mounted on it. Doesn’t mean he’s unarmed, he warned himself. A pistol in a holster could’ve survived the fall, he thought.

“I have your long weapon! I don’t think this will end well for you if you don’t surrender.” Shane shouted once again. He went perfectly still and silent, waiting to hear a vocal response, the click of a gun safety switching off, or any indication of movement.

Nothing.

He shouldered his AR and removed his pistol from its holster. Holding it out in front of himself in a ‘police officer entering a dangerous area’ fashion, he moved slowly forward sweeping the gun and his line of sight from side to side. The only noises were the slight breeze coursing through rocks and desert flora and Shane’s boots crushing down on sand and pebbles ever so gently.

Suddenly a form, unnatural to the geography, materialized in the fading lunar glow. Sprawled across the branches of a stubby Juniper bush was a lifeless human form… cap guy. I’m guessing right now it would be smart to fire a shot or two into the body to insure I’m approaching a corpse, he thought. But this just wasn’t in him. This ‘dog eat dog’ world he had been thrust into had not altered his compassion and respect for human life one iota. If that person over there was even barely alive, he knew he would have to nurse him back to health, regardless of the risk. All this created a conflict of interest in his quest for continued existence. Although he was not willing to risk his life by simply stepping out from hiding places and attempt friendly surrenders on any kind of regular basis, he whole heartedly refused to stoop to animalistic behavior to preserve it.

Moments later, Shane Collins holstered his weapon standing before the crumpled figure whose life he himself had ended. Shane glanced up towards the upper edge of the gulley he was now at the bottom of. He concluded that the dead man had rolled off the edge of the gulley, bounced once or twice and landed in this posture. Using the end of the barrel of his AR, he pushed at the lifeless form until it toppled from its perch, making a sandy thud in a puff of smoke-like dust.

Shane’s eyes went wide with shock. Although in the scheme of things it shouldn’t really matter, it was always more heart breaking for him to kill a woman. Instinctively, he began looking around in all directions. He had come to find that 50% of the time, a woman would be found to be guarding or protecting children. With a shaking hand, he closed the woman’s eyes and turned his head to one side, squeezing a tear with his eyelid. Even in this moonlit darkness Shane could see that she was American Indian. Young. Maybe 25. This was wrong on every level, he thought.

The moon was quickly setting, making a flashlight a necessity. In what had become a well-crafted routine, Shane searched the woman for any items that he might find useful. It became apparent she had left her essentials back behind the boulders where he had originally spotted her.  

About 30 minutes later, as he carefully laid her into a shallow grave he had scraped out, he hesitated before tossing the hole’s content on top of her. He had for some reason, noticed she wore an unusual beaded necklace that bore several claws and tiny well-worn feathers hanging around her neck. It was apparent this piece of jewelry was of importance to her as it seemed out of place to the rest of her apparel. Shane had sworn to never confiscate anything impractical. Excessive weight hinders mobility and mobility was everything. But something from deep within compelled him to remove the trinket from her neck and slip it into a pouch on his backpack.

Once the woman had been placed in the handmade impression and the extracted ground smoothed over her, Shane began his hike toward the cluster of boulders she had originally been hiding behind, praying all the time that there wasn’t a child, several children, or a baby over there. The walk took less than 5 minutes and he found the spot more difficult to pinpoint than the terrain along the way was to negotiate in the fading light. His hand had brushed a cactus en route collecting several needles and creating that annoying prickly feeling that he despised. As he drew within 12 feet of the hiding place, he slowed his pace to a tippy toed sneak. He had deployed his pistol once again and took up his ready to fire stance. As he jumped around the edge of the rock walled cove, he noticed a few items scattered in various places… but nothing appeared to be living.

He switched on the light clipped to the underside of his cap’s bill and began sweeping the area until… it paused on something. Once Shane had identified what he was looking at, his gun went loose in his hand as it first swung momentarily on his finger through the trigger guard, and then finally fell to the ground. Shane crumbled to his knees in tears, clutching his stomach and crying out.

“No! Not this! I can’t take anymore! This is just too much!” His emotional breakdown lasted till the sun began to faintly light the sky.

CHAPTER 1B

Chapter 1B

 

 

 

Three Years Earlier

 

Having woke up only one and a half minutes ago, Shane Collins rubbed both eyes in an attempt to bring them into focus. After propping himself up onto his elbows, he glanced around the bedroom. Then, as he had done so frequently over the past 3 years, he looked to his left at her side of the bed. It was, of course, empty.

Rachel was gone.

Final.

Nothing could change that.

Nothing.

Climbing in and out of bed had become the one activity during which he couldn’t escape the obvious reminder of her absence. This ‘realization’ or ‘rude awakening’ had become a daily ritual. Shane had seriously considered buying a single or twin size bed in order to ‘eliminate’ the vacancy in their queen. How could he have ever seen all of this coming? Life seemed so… so etched in granite. Solid. Seemingly on its unstoppable course to a typical ‘senior citizen couple’ ending.

Instead, he not only found himself trying to adjust to life without his wife, but his children had nearly abandoned him as well. Rachel and her mother had a way of conveying ‘non-support’ for the man of the house, to the children. No matter how hard Shane had tried over the years to grow closer to the kids, the mentality Rachel and Margaret inflicted on them seemed to win.

And it had worked like a charm. All four of his children rarely communicated with him or invited him to anything since her passing. This divisiveness was what led to his drastic career change. From medical administrator to truck driver. The driving career paid well and had the added bonus of taking him away from the surroundings that conjured up painful memories of a great family life gone very bad. The void his dead wife, missing children and grandchildren had created in his life was now left far behind as he headed out over the road each week

One hand slipped cross-body under the silky sheet and flipped it off his entire frame with one quick swoosh. Now trying to break the depressing obsessive mindset he had just fallen under, Shane spun to drop his feet to the floor, where he had parked his household flip-flops for the night. Within moments, he was pushing the start button on the microwave and watching his bowl of oatmeal turning slowly in an uncentered circle.

While spooning in the tasteless but healthy mush, Shane tapped into his phone all the necessary info to plan out the load trip he would be running shortly. As he was in the process of selecting which route he would take to Atlanta, the first few words of a message from one of his driver friends appeared at the top of the screen.

‘Have you seen the news this mor…’

Shane tried to take Rob’s news alerts with a grain of salt due to their frequency. But he had to admit, the guy was on top of things. There was no doubt that Rob LOVED scooping his friends when it came to current events. Being a ‘single’ trucker like Shane, he needed interaction with other individuals to offset the loneliness of being couped up in that semi day after day. Hence an occasional call was readily received. Besides, Rob was highly educated when it came to the goings on in Washington D.C.. As a Right Wing Conservative who lived in New Jersey, Rob had been forced to defend his political views many times which required him to have all his factual ducks in a row. This is where Rob excelled.

As a truck driver, you would spend much of your day listening to the radio, and talk radio, above sports and music, was much better at keeping you awake. Not only did Rob listen to talk radio, but he fact checked what he heard, cross referencing breaking news stories between right and left wing media outlets and looking up their origin if necessary. If he fed you some new info, you could take it to the bank.

After rinsing the residual oatmeal from the bowl, Shane slipped it into the dishwasher. He started to walk away but decided instead to go ahead and run a cycle. Any remaining oatmeal would require a chisel to remove it if he left that bowl sit there for the week he would be out on the road. A dish soap pod and a simple push of a button would elude oatmeal cement. Just do it, he thought to himself. Nearly every important or necessary task had as of late been met with a depression induced resistance. On occasion, he had to literally pray fervently just to get out of bed.

 A pre-trip shower was next on the agenda. This was one of those ‘must do’ items, no matter how recently he had previously bathed. Quite frequently, he would go days without being able to land at a truck stop with free showers or with showers at all. Hence, the ‘departing bath’ delayed his smell factor by several days. Shane stripped down as he walked through his bedroom towards the master bath, tossing clothing onto the now made-up bed.

Just as he was about to step into the stall, the ringtone on his phone shouted from a room away. Shane rolled his eyes knowing who it was. If Rob didn’t get a reply text expediently enough for his taste, he would call you to make sure you did in fact receive his news flash. Shane actually rushed to snatch it up though, before it turned into a sour, pissed off sounding voicemail from Rob. All in one orchestrated movement, his finger slid over the lit screen and the phone bumped his right ear.

“What’s up?” Shane asked with guarded exasperation.

“Did you get my text a little bit ago?” Rob interrogated.

“Yes. But I wasn’t in a position to text back. What’s up?”

“You can’t make this shit up. Our phony President has actually signed an executive order for a mandatory gun by-back program on anything that holds more than… get this… 3 rounds!?!” Rob informed emphatically. “I mean only bolt action rifles hold 3 rounds. And all assault style rifles must go”. Shane had sunk on to the edge of the bed as all of this hit him. He glanced at his AR gun case leaning against the wall near the corner. Questions and ideas began to flood his mind.

The entire world was just working its way out of a manipulative lockdown from a politically orchestrated pandemic. China had made an obvious move to assist the Leftists into power globally.

This perfectly scheduled ‘plandemic’, as the right had begun to refer to it, which had conveniently appeared just before the presidential election, had spread quickly to the United States and made it seem completely logical to ‘keep everyone home’ on election day, utilizing a more than faulty mail-in ballot system. The rigged presidential election and the ‘open border’ policy nudged the unrest within the U.S. population. Even with valid evidence of voting fraud instances having been rampant during and following the election and in spite of the obvious scams that had been perpetrated upon the right-wing conservative voters of the United States, the Leftists chose to go forward with the inauguration of their implanted phony president-elect behind guarded walls and fences surrounding the capitol in Washington. It was truly a scene familiar to all who followed world news reports and had witnessed similar actions by militaristic regimes and dictators in countries such as Venezuela, Haiti, Nicaragua, and several middle eastern nations. This was uncomfortably received by those on the right and many began buying up weapons and ammo by the case. Once the illicit president took office and opened the southern borders, right-wing conservative tempers flared.

But the match that truly ignited all of that fuel was when President Inserted Braydon, issued a mandate that all U.S. citizens above age 8, would have to receive a vaccine that had barely been tested. For months, millions had resisted being vaccinated for fear the vaccine was too sketchy, or contained microchip tracking elements, or would eliminate certain segments of the general population. Some fears grounded in reason. Others much more speculative. One thing was for sure… the government did NOT have the right to tell people to inject something into their bodies. That was truly when things fell to pieces.

Government mandated restrictions on unvaccinated travel, shopping, and attendance at sporting and concert events ignited tempers to the point of retaliation. Right vs Left skirmishes began to be reported in random locations. Without question, the efforts of the ‘insurgent’ illicitly elected government had put the United States of America on the brink of its second civil war.

But this, Shane thought, is truly going to push those of us on the right over the edge. A clear move to disarm the American public?!? It will never fly.

“So wait… you’re saying that I will have to sell my AR to the government??” Shane queried with unrestrained incredulity.

“You got it bud” Rob affirmed. “You might want to sleep with it tonight. Ya know… kind of a final hug.” He laughed. “And that isn’t the only thing igniting this whole mess. He’s just promised to start tearing down the wall along the border and said anyone who wants to come to the U.S. will be welcome.”

“I hope you don’t take this wrong, but that’s not funny. This is serious.” Shane said distantly as he stared at nothing and his mind flashed images of people rising up to fight. “Brayden is going to start a civil war. And those illegals, they’re going to be part of his anti-right-wing army. He’s nuts”

“Uh Shane… that’s not news!” Rob laughed out.” After what felt like more than a minute or two and no response from Shane, Rob inquired. “You still there? Shane?”

“Are you watching the news this very minute?” Shane finally answered.

“No. I’m driving. Why?”

“He HAS started a Civil War.”

“WHAT? Are you serious? Where?” Again nothing from Shane for a moment or two. Rob was equally as quiet as he pulled his phone from its window mounted cradle and began scanning the internet for the news that Shane had just revealed to him. Eventually from Rob’s end of the phone came “Holy…., it has finally happened”

“Yes it has. And I’m not going to just sit here and wait for a bunch of looney Leftists to come knocking on my door.” Shane exclaimed with urgency threaded through his comment. “In fact, I’m not even going to take off with this load I was just assigned”

“I don’t think your employer will like that Bud” Rob reminded his friend. “I guess if you call in sick. But something tells me they’re going to get a shitload of those calls today. I guess what I’m saying is… they’re going to know what you’re up to”

“So. Who cares?” Shane said succinctly. “Listen Rob… you think what you want about this situation. But I’m telling you that within less than a month, you’re going to have to decide two things. First, what side of this you’re going to be on and second, whether or not you’re willing to fight for that side”

“Shane, Shane…stop.” Rob interrupted his friend in case he was going to go any further with his oft-repeated lecture on Civil War commitment. “You know I’m nowhere near as committed or involved in all this as you are. I want things to just be back to normal. I want to wake up, go to work, come home, eat, sleep, and repeat”

“Listen to yourself!” Shane immediately shouted back. “Do you actually think I don’t want those same things? We have a problem though Rob. The idiots in charge don’t want to just leave things alone. They don’t want people like you and me to just peacefully exist. We either conform to their way of thinking or we’re toast. Thereby, WE THE PEOPLE have to do something about it” This was met with yet another silent spell before Rob responded.

“Look Shane, we’re not all warriors. Some of us just don’t have the spine for picking up a gun and heading off to fight” he stated with feeling welling up in his words. “For you, this triggers a ‘fight back’ reflex. For me, it triggers fear.”

“Just what are you thinking I’m going to do Rob? Huh? What?” Shane paused what he was doing to ask this and remained perfectly still waiting for the answer. Even Rob himself had to think about that for a moment or two. He swallowed and then took a breath.

“Well…. I guess I’m thinking… you’re headed to D.C. with 1000’s of others to attack the White House” Rob said nervously. Shane shook his head on the other end of the conversation.

“Nope. Wrongo Pal” Shane responded. “Pretty much just the opposite. I’m heading into the wilderness to live outside Brayden’s stupid regime. From this moment on, I’m a renegade. A nomad. An outcast. An MIA. Get the picture?”

“I don’t get it. How does that help? How does that do anything to stop this?” Rob questioned with a touch of anger in his voice. “And why is that any different than me just going on with life?”

“You aren’t listening to me Rob” Shane stated with taut lips and nearly gritted teeth. “I will be attempting to maintain my freedom. Retaining my 2nd Amendment allowed weapons. You… you will surrender yours. Then you will surrender other freedoms as the new Mexican-American army parades up to your door one day. Then you’ll surrender things such as your ability to say or talk about whatever you want. Then you’ll experience a transformation of what you see on TV and in theaters followed by a confiscation of all older movies and books that might spur you to remember how life once was. Then you’ll surrender your home and property because under socialistic rule… you don’t own those. Then…”

“Ok, Ok, Ok. I get the picture.” Rob interrupted. “But I don’t know…” he finished in a pondering tone.

“Think back dude. Five years ago, did you ever imagine you’d see this happening?” Shane interrupted. “Did you ever think you’d see a U.S. president signing an order to confiscate guns from the American public? That right there IS a Hitler-like move my friend. You wait too long to get away and you won’t be able to. And the whole open border thing is just as anti-American”

“Whatever man” Rob said in a sigh. “Look… one thing you can count on from me. I won’t tell anyone anything about what you’re doing. My lips are sealed”

“Although that’s a nice gesture, it won’t amount to anything” Shane replied. “You yourself will never know what happened to me anyway. Good luck Roberto”

“Hold on. Are you truly going through with that? Like quitting your job and bolting?” Rob’s question sounded confused and yet concerned.

“Rob. I said good luck. I am damn serious about it, my friend” Shane insisted “I’ve gotta go”

“Good luck to you as well Bud” Rob said.

Before his entire farewell was spoken, Rob’s voice bleeped into oblivion. Shane sat for a moment on the edge of his bed, glancing around at his room, contemplating what he could do with his house. Equity. Money. It could come in handy while roaming. A close church friend popped into his thoughts. Terry Landon, a realtor who, on several occasions, had tried to get Shane to sell his place in order to ‘downscale’ to something better suited for a ‘totally by himself’ widower. If he could get Terry to handle the sale of the house and trust him with access to one of his bank accounts, the whole thing could potentially take place without Shane having to be present. Just then, a ‘pling’ from his phone disrupted the silence of the room. Shane casually glanced at the now lit screen. A text from Lucy. This was expected.

‘Saw the news. I thought of you immediately. What are you going to do? If I know you… and I do… you won’t turn your guns and magazines over to the government’

A half smile lifted one corner of Shane’s mouth.

‘You are correct. I won’t. In fact I’m sitting here right this moment trying to figure out my next move’, Shane texted back. The friendship between he and Lucy had developed into a comfortable Platonic arrangement over the past couple years. With Lucy being a full decade older than Shane, he had been reluctant to allow himself to develop romantic feelings for her for fear he would end up burying another wife sometime in the ‘not-so-distant’ future. In return, she had claimed she felt similarly and that she was prepared to simply coast through what remained of her Earthly existence living on her own surrounded by family and friends. Dinners together, long nights talking, and even a weekend get-away or two had helped to occasionally shake off the dust of loneliness for the two of them. Each of their own personal issues with their individual families were discussed only with great discretion, determining just how much each wanted the other to know. Hence, this senior friendship between opposite sexes seemed maintainable. With some discernable exceptions.

At times, Shane could detect in Lucy a yearning for their relationship to move to the next level. It was not uncommon for her to openly express sadness when Shane would share plans to move away. Lucy would argue on the side of remaining where he was and would do it fervently. At times, Shane felt she had become unaware of how obvious her affection for him was inadvertently displayed.

And then there were the good-bye’s. There had not been a single good-bye that didn’t feel as though it needed something more. A ‘take care’. No, even that was not enough. A ‘love you’ was the unspoken yet insinuated and clearly absent remark. Shane spent more than a few nights lying awake trying to picture himself attached permanently to Lucy. These speculation sessions always forcibly ended with a shake of his head and an outspoken… ‘No way. Not gonna happen’.

But even now, as she revealed in this text, he was apparently on her mind in some way, shape, or form. Simply disappearing and leaving her to defend herself was out of the question. Lucy was a Right Wing, God fearing conservative through and through and abandoning her would destroy her faith in Right Wing, God fearing men.

Pling. Incoming message.

Please do us both a favor and run by here right now. I have an idea, she messaged. For a moment after reading her last text, Shane leaned back on the comforter topped bed and glanced around the room trying to pull his thoughts together. This screwball executive order the ‘wanna-be’ president had just announced will take some time to implement, he thought. I guess taking 24 hours to listen to Lucy’s plan and better organize this escape, might prove productive

Be over in a little bit, he typed back. Then he composed the message to his employer and hesitantly hit send.

 

CHAPTER 2A

Chapter 2A

 

 

 

Denver, like many other major cities, had fallen early in the war. It happened so suddenly that even people who thought they were prepared for that moment, found themselves trapped within its conflict. Most were still thinking in terms of a ‘Constitutional United States’ environment. A “I can come and go as I please” mentality. But that ship had sailed… at least in the crowded urban areas… and Denver was no exception to that rule. Those who had been allowed to ‘control’ the population centers and successfully draw the Leftist media outlets to their side, had ‘tied the hands’ or incapacitated police forces, both state and local, leaving riots and looting to run rampant. Resistance to the new way of thinking brought the Leftist fist down upon you. Anyone who attempted to leave an urban area and seek the security of the rural territories was viewed as a dissenter, a traitor. Nothing got out and virtually nothing came in… which bred a new problem.

Supplies.

Although the Leftists felt as though they had succeeded in locking down the population centers, a critical issue had arisen in recent weeks that was beginning to cripple their several strongholds. Literally no company in the world that produced a product would ship to a financially unproven customer, especially without knowing where payment for said product would originate from. Communication in and out of the Riot Zones, or RZ’s as they had been labeled by the Conservative Militia groups, was unreliable at best with sources that were unverifiable.

In addition to all of that confusion, a majority of current CDL licensed truckers had one by one started to refuse loads to inner city regions for fear of being attacked, looted or even killed. Regardless of whether a downtown retail business found available food, clothing, electronics, or other essential products at a distant distributor or manufacturer, if a segment of the truck drivers who would’ve carried that load didn’t want to be of any assistance for what they now deemed ‘the enemy’, the product didn’t move. Roughly two-thirds of the truckers around the nation were Right Wingers, leaving approximately 160,000 CDL A truckers nationwide to haul essential commodities from one end of the country to the other. Many of those drivers were local haulers as opposed to over-the-road, which only added to the dilemma. And it was no secret that just as Right Wing Cons were afraid to enter cities, Leftist truckers were equally afraid of crossing wide open spaces where RWC Militias monitored the highways.

Hence, these all-essential and much needed products had now been depleted to an intolerable level, forcing a dangerous exodus from Leftist secured sectors. Those caught fleeing were interrogated and either returned to their homes, if found impartial… imprisoned, if they were questionable, or in the case of completely uncooperative individuals…killed. The fortunate few who evaded capture and its correlated punishments, would ultimately find themselves wandering in wilderness areas as far from population centers as they could get.

The foremost obstacle for these individuals stemmed from upbringing. A large percentage of the people who had been raised in a concrete jungle, had no idea how to survive in the wilderness. Harvesting food in the form of farming or hunting was to an urbanite what understanding Portuguese would be to a cattle rancher in Texas. A huge Huh? Secondly, these were Militia controlled areas and a person discovered wandering aimlessly would find their loyalty at the discernment of the Militia leaders. Are they friend or are they foe?

Despite the conflict carrying on around them, throngs of frightened citizens made valiant efforts to continue with ‘life as usual’. Showing up at work as they had done months earlier, wearing obligatory smiles and sharing mandatory greetings with customers and co-workers. Outward expressions of fear became a red flag to Antifa Guerillas who functioned as a dissenter watchdog. If you were truly a Leftist, you wouldn’t fear Leftists. Many who were unable to master their fears simply remained behind locked doors.

On this particular Monday, an early morning sun was glazing the tallest peaks of the Rocky Mountains with its golden glow. McKenna Rogers had just opened her eyes, having awakened to a gunshot and scream outside her apartment building. This was previously an unfamiliar sound in her neighborhood but had become commonplace in recent months. Her degree in chemical engineering along with her connections to the USGS had landed her a top-level position with an energy exploration corporation. She could have easily afforded a home in one of the finer sections of Denver proper. But Mick or Micky, as her friends called her, saw that kind of investment dripping with lost time spent on home repairs and maintenance. Growing up in an apartment had always seemed more career oriented and she had no interest in transitioning to a suburbanite regardless of her financial status. Although in recent weeks Mick had confessed to several close friends that the ‘goings on’ in the city was starting to drive her away.

Perched on the edge of her bed, she rubbed the back of her neck with one hand while the other lay flat on the precipice of the memory foam mattress. Her eyes rolled and her head began a slow back and forth shake while thoughts of the sounds outside conjured a ‘Now what?” inside her brain. The temptation to gawk out the window in order to ‘catch the action’ had long ago faded. Without being selfish about the whole thing, Mick Rogers was unable to extinguish those recurring thoughts of… Why did all of this have to happen RIGHT when I finally got my life and career on track??

She had made her mind up at the tender age of 10, that she was going to work her fingers to the bone in order to end up in a nice home, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car, and a nice family. Most of that had come to fruition. But the ‘nice family’ part had crumbled before the rest of the country went to ‘Hell in a handbasket’.

As a black couple, Daryl and Mick had become confused and were not necessarily on the same page about what ‘side’ of this conflict they wanted to land on. Both were agreed that decades of Democrat controlled inner-city governments had failed the black community in nearly every respect. By not expressing this conclusion outwardly, the mere color of their skin gave them a pass to exist within nearly any metro area in the country. But Mick was not satisfied with this ‘racial ID’ as she referred to it. The lack of freedom to express her true feelings and ideals on government control had finally gnawed its way into her gut and caused an upheaval in hers and Daryl’s relationship. She knew he was right in pointing out that some of the Conservative Militia members were racists and could possibly ‘shoot on sight’ a black person attempting to drift into their organizations. But Micky was convinced this was in fact racial profiling towards white males.

 After weeks of scanning news tidbits, she had discovered there were, in fact, White Supremacist that had formed into entire militia groups and crossing them was very dangerous business for people of any other race. But Mick had also learned there were groups that denounced such exclusionary and racist actions and were accepting anyone into their ranks. Daryl had listened to her time and again as she attempted to explain that if an effort were made to discover which CM groups were racially tolerant, they could carefully plan an escape from Denver and end up living a truly free life… instead of the façade they were now engaged in. It was when he overheard her attempting to sway Brandon to this line of thinking that he had finally had enough.

Late one night, Daryl and their 17-year-old son vanished under the cover of darkness. Five weeks later there had been no word of their whereabouts although she was sure they were still in the Denver area. That was a given considering the current governmental/political atmosphere and the peril involved in leaving the metro area. But unfortunately, that still encompassed an enormous search area that she did not have time to scour.

A towel wrapped McKenna Rogers stepped out of the shower and now found herself staring back at her own unhappy face in the bathroom mirror, struggling to hold back tears. She swallowed deeply with eyes now shut and commanded in her mind… You can do this McKenna. Her hand shakily reached for the side of the mirror that would snap open the medicine cabinet and reveal the tools of pre-workplace preparation. Toothpaste, makeup, mouthwash, nail polish. McKenna’s youthful 34-year-old skin barely needed anything to improve her beauty. But no normal woman went to work without some level of enhancement on skin, lips, and eyes. For her, this had become a necessary evil to which each day she succumbed with mild internal conflict. Although her trips to the gym had ended recently, she continued to maintain her physique through a skimpy diet, which with growing food shortages, was becoming a necessary way to eat anyway.

Mick thought about the text message she had sent to her son three days ago. Key words in phone communications were now being monitored by leftist hacker groups and any questionable comments were dealt with harshly. This had driven Mick to spend nearly a week in constructing her note to Brandon. Any improper verbiage could wreak havoc on him or herself… neither of which she wanted.

Would he understand what I’m actually trying to say, she thought. Or have I lost him permanently? She stared into her own eyes in the mirror. Her thoughts drifted back to a moment when the two of them were laughing so hard at a loaf of bread she had made. Mick had forgotten to put yeast in the dough leaving the final product flat and dense. Brandon had been the one who pulled it out of the oven and immediately began cracking up over its appearance. The recollection caused Micky to slide into a deep emotional well she fought to avoid. The corner of her mouth trembled in a painful quivering smile, her eyes closed pushing a tear free. Good thing this happened before I had my makeup on, she thought.

One more adjustment to her hair was made using the fingertips of both hands and the final approving glance in the mirror sent her into the walk-in closet to select a top. About the time she was hanging the deselected blouse back up, a ‘new message’ chime rang from her phone sitting on the dresser. With her right hand awkwardly poking into the sleeve of a blouse, Mick froze and wrenched her head in its direction, her mind and heart now burning with hope. A deep breath swelled her chest as she inwardly coached herself to not get too discouraged if Brandon had misunderstood what she was trying to tell him. Her hand paused above the facedown black rectangle in fear of what it might display. Snatching it up with one hand and swiping the screen open with the other, Mick slowly shook her head as she saw the notification of the incoming message.

“Seriously?!?” She said in a whisper. Her eye was instantly drawn to who the sender was. Daryl. The deep red painted nail of her thumb tapped the ‘open new message’ tab on the screen. She read…

 

“Hey. I know all of this is hard for you Micky. But I don’t want Brandon associating with you right now. And I think you know why, Babe. So don’t go trying to sneak around me to get to him. I won’t let it happen. I’m sorry”

 

In order to prevent a complete breakdown that would include a total re-do of her make-up, she looked at the time at the top of the screen and said aloud…

“McKenna Rogers… you need to get your butt headed in the direction of work. Right now!” Within six minutes the door to her remotely started Toyota Land Cruiser slammed shut and the shiny white vehicle backed out of its covered parking slot and slid out onto Grant Street. While navigating the route to her employer, her thought processes battled between the complex project she had been assigned to manage at work and her scheme to get her son back. The obligation to focus on her career’s stipulates had recently become far less rewarding than the search for a personal squaring up of everything that was wrong in her life.

Work, in the current ‘state of the union’, was feeling unimportant, useless, and misdirected. It was like scrubbing the floors of the Titanic. But her employer, EnerTech, was spearheading a major natural gas exploration push in the north eastern Arizona region and Micky had been selected to remotely manage the research team assigned to the project from her office desk. The notification chime on her phone rang out once more. As she ground to a stop at a red light, she again anxiously flipped the face down phone over to see who it was. Her boss. Disappointedly, her thumb tapped the ‘recall’ button and she then hit the Bluetooth connect on the Land Cruisers sound system screen. The ring tone gurgled over the speakers.

“Hey Mick”, the overly loud blasé voice blared out on answering. She adjusted the volume with her finger on the steering wheel control. Ted Jergeson, Vice President of operations for Enertech and a board member for the mother company, Pace Energy Source, Inc, was a micromanager… unfortunately. Through the course of a day, Ted would stick his nose into nearly everything that went on inside that building. Ted’s upper 6 figure income was not only reflected in his position at Enertech, it was reflected in his car, his clothes, his vacations, and his women. Company parties were made interesting simply on the basis that everyone couldn’t wait to see what would be hanging on Ted Jergeson’s arm. Unmarried, his image was flaunted in upper crust circles giving him the pick of the crop when it came to available unattached females. One thing was for certain, Ted’s outside resources for dates was healthy enough that the women at Enertech’s facility had no fears that one of them might be ‘hit on’ by the boss. Hadn’t happened. Probably never would.

“What’s up Ted?” she casually questioned as she turned her head to glance over her shoulder to change lanes.

“How would you feel about joining the exploration crew to north eastern Arizona?” the male voice asked with just the right blend of caution and inquiry. If Ted Jergeson would have been in the vehicle with her at that moment, he could have easily read the interest that was reflecting on her face. McKenna silenced a deep breath before answering so as to not sound overly enthusiastic. She had been careful to keep her personal life out of her workplace. Thereby, no one at EnerTech had any idea she was currently alone.

“Hmm? Well. Can you give me some time today to think it over?” she replied, pretending to be possibly disinterested.

“Sure. In fact if you want, we can discuss it in more detail when you get here” Ted answered. “Sound good?”

“That’ll do! See you in a little bit then Ted. I’m getting onto the interstate and I need to get off this phone”

The sound of the call ending, bleeped just as her Toyota merged into the heavy southbound I-25 traffic. She quickly accelerated to the pace of the throng and allowed her thoughts to momentarily shift from driving. A lump formed in her throat as she anticipated the possibilities of legitimate travel outside the city limits. Could she and would she bolt without Brandon? And just how difficult would it be to go through with something like that while operating with her co-workers? All the thoughts of ‘how and should’ consumed her journey to the office causing her exit to sneak up on her.

 

As Mick stepped through the glass doorway, she caught Ted standing and conversing with the receptionist. He looked up with a tight-lipped smile and then spoke.

“Meet in my office? Or would you rather wait a few?”

“No. Now is fine” she responded, “Let me stick this stuff by my desk and I’ll be right there” She felt a nervousness start to wash over her entire body. So much so, that her hands started to feel jittery. Get a grip Mick, ran through her mind. It now moved to her stomach and she started to doubt whether she’d even be able to sit in his office and talk about something for which she had ulterior motives. With everything settled on and around her desk, she jabbed a finger into the intercom button and spoke.

“Ted? Give me about 5 minutes. I have to hit the restroom” she lied “Morning java payback!”.

“Oh yeah! I know it all too well” Ted chuckled “I’ll be here waiting”

Trying a bit too hard to look ‘normal’, Micky strolled into the ‘one-sy’ women’s restroom and locked the door behind her. She stepped up to the sink and propped her hands on its edge. Mick now stared at her reflection for the second time this morning. It wasn’t the same person she spoke with earlier in the day though. This time she saw excitement, panic, and deep, deep concern in her expression. It was evident that what she would decide here and now would change the course of her life, her husband’s life, and her son’s life… forever. All of the weight of her upper body suddenly slumped onto her arms. A nervous breath exhaled as her neck seemingly gave out and her head, slowly shaking back and forth with eyes closed, fell limply in front of her. When she raised her line of sight back to the mirror, she now saw the person of resolve and determination she once was.

“I am NOT living the rest of my life this way” she said in a whispered voice. It would be her dedication to this plan she was developing that would steer her actions. That commitment would enable her to sit in front of Ted today and say exactly what he needed to hear spill from her mouth. “Get out there and do this!” She turned and flushed the unused toilet and stepped through the door.

Now sitting on a couch in the casual area of Ted’s oversized office, she carried herself confidently and assuredly into the travel discussion.

“Mick… you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know the outlying areas can be… well… a bit scary for… well… you know” Ted stuttered and danced around stating the obvious. An African American in militia territory could end up facing groups that were intolerant and even hateful and violent towards people of her race. Micky raised her hand to prevent Ted from saying anything else regarding the rural dangers.

“Ted… look. I’m a grown woman with a family” she stated in a slightly guarded tone. “They, more than I, would be the reason I’d refrain from joining the crew. My son. My husband.” She paused for a moment watching to see how Ted was absorbing her rationalization. She then continued.

“I have one question though” She paused and again, carefully thought about her next words. “And your answer could be the deciding factor for me concerning this trip”

“Sure. Fire away” Ted said with a touch of curiosity hidden beneath his voice.

“If he’s interested, could my son Brandon come with me?” she asked. Ted, who had been leaning forward on the edge of the sofa, grimaced slightly and defensively sat up and back, crossing his arms and flipping one ankle up onto the thigh of the other leg. He appeared to be ready to spew out an immediate reaction. But McKenna held up a ‘hold on a second’ finger to silence his knee-jerk rebuttal.

“Wait a second Ted… let me finish. He’s 17 now and definitely would be absolutely no trouble. I want you to consider the closed-up brick and cement life these kids are enduring right now. Imagine how this could lure Brandon into a career path similar to his mother’s” Once she had finished her little sales pitch, she paused with anticipation of a positive answer. Ted liked her and he had met Brandon and was immensely impressed with his maturity and good manners.

Now showing very little expression on his face, he raised his eyes to look into McKenna’s. In less than 15 seconds, Ted’s mind had argued with itself, reviewing all the issues of seats in the chopper, food for the trip, sleeping space in the outpost tents. When all was said and done, it really wouldn’t be that big a deal. And besides, he wanted Mick to be happy here and would be thrilled to have her son working towards a position with EnerTech.

Mckenna broke into a ‘cutesy’ tight lipped smile that screamed out ‘pretty please?’. Hopefulness was written all over her face. She raised her brows as if to say “Huh? What do you think?” Teds silent consideration period had reached a lengthy 30second interval. Suddenly the man leaned forward again.

“Oh… alright! What the heck! Why not! Unusual times breed unusual policies!” Ted broke into a smile of relief while McKenna, who was totally elated, raised two clenched fists with a tiny screechy cheer, and said “Thank you sooo much Ted!”

“I will have to clear it with upper management Mick” he cautioned. “But I think with my seal of approval they’ll be fine with it”

They both stood up and shook hands, something not commonly done following the pandemic.

“So I take it your answer is yes?” Ted queried.

“Oh yeah… Yes, it is yes!” McKenna reassured. And now I just have to FIND Brandon and tell him, she thought.

CHAPTER 2B

Chapter 2B

 

 

 

 

Three Years Earlier

 

 

McKenna Rogers lay with her eyes wide open, sleep having fled 15 minutes ago. The poofed up mound of her pillow concealed one eye while the other stared at the back of her husband’s head. He was definitely still deep in slumber as the slow rise and fall of his back confirmed. With him unaware of her piercing gaze, it felt as though she had an opportunity to secretly scan his thoughts. His dreams. What he was planning to do in the upcoming weeks.

The President of The United States had just issued further lockdown rules accompanied by executive ordered gun restriction and confiscation laws that would certainly trigger a violent Right Wing retort. The question now was, how severe that retort would be.

Talk of a Civil War had been circulating through the ranks of both the Right and Left wing populace for months. Cooperation between sides had been reduced to a façade of placating courtesies and the explosiveness of the situation could be felt anywhere in public. One would be on edge just watching obvious adversaries pass each other in an aisle at the grocery store and would leave you thinking, could this be the incident that will ignite the maelstrom?

Mick had observed not only this public display of civil tension and discordant critical mass, but the domestic version of it as well… within the very walls of her home. Daryl was becoming nearly intolerable with rage as he absorbed each scrap of information gleaned from Left Wing media outlets that were clearly fanning the flame of dissension nationwide. Following each and every crumb of news that was reported with an undeniable Leftist slant, she saw her spouse of 15 years growing more and more distant from family life and drawn deeper and deeper into the world of Socialistic rebellion.

Now, lying in the silent and delicate peace of their bedroom, Mick contemplated how far this could all go. Would her husband end up standing in front of other U.S. citizens with a weapon in his hand aimed to kill? Would she and her son be swept into the conflict regardless of their lack of conviction to one side or the other? More importantly, with her now lying there, spooned behind this man she had trusted with so many years of her life, feeling the love that had brought them through many of life’s challenges and joys together, she now questioned whether she could stand behind his decisions and choices regardless of how irrational they may at some point appear. Prioritization would steer her motherly instincts in putting her son’s safety first and in directing him down the correct path through this mess.

The silent darkness was suddenly pierced with the sound of the buzzing alarm. Though the abrupt blast had caused McKenna to nearly jump out of her skin, Daryl had merely stirred slowly to life. She pulled herself over his awakening shoulder and kissed his ear in an erotic and sensuous way. The man drew up a deep breath that contained the reverberance of a smile within it before speaking with his half pillow covered voice.

“Baby, as arousing as that is, you know I have to resist. It’s not fair to tease me right before I have to head off to work”. Mick breathed a snort of a laugh, still gently caressing his earlobe with her soft lips. He rolled over in her direction, placing him directly into her arms in an embrace. Their eyes met first, followed by their lips, touching in soft pouty kisses. The whole encounter was guarded with caution and restraint as both participants knew what time it was and where they needed to be in less than an hour and a half. After their faces drew slightly apart, Micky’s hand slid up the side of Daryl’s head as her fingers ran deep into his hair. She was tempted to pull him back towards her again, but knew better. Both man and woman scanned the close up details of each other’s features

“We need to get moving” She said quietly while smiling, capturing his gaze with hers. He smiled back and, in a strategic move that would insure a step in the right direction, began tickling her. After a minute or two of laughter and a momentary wrestling match, both adults had bounced out of bed and begun their individual morning rituals. Mom paused from her routine to crack open the bedroom door and shout out into the dark hallway.

“BRANDON!! ARE YOU UP?”

“Yeah mom. I’m up”, came the sleepy but coherent reply. The 14-year-old young man who occupied the room at the other end of the hallway was in fact already in the hall bathroom brushing his teeth. Brandon Rogers had been raised to be responsible and self-sufficient and although a fairly common practice, mom’s ‘reveley’ shout was actually unnecessary. Brandon would always accept it with a slight eye roll and a half smile. The young man tossed the toothbrush up onto the mostly empty cabinet shelf and then flipped the mirrored door closed. His lips stretched back from his gritted teeth to reveal the sparkling white masterpiece his brushing effort had produced.

Suddenly caught in an eye-to-eye stare, the face that now gazed back had questions in its eyes. At 14, Brandon was beginning to formalize his own perception of the world he lived in. It was impossible to turn on the TV, browse the internet, or connect on social media without being reminded of the deteriorating condition of the country they were living in. Additionally, as he would associate with school friends, neighborhood acquaintances, and even his own parents he would glean from these sources ideals, political opinions, and frightening predictions of what this strained political environment would soon cause. With maturity came self-procured perspectives. These ‘newly developed adult views’ cultivated a specific and unique set of beliefs. Those beliefs became the drive an individual would fight to preserve.

Brandon was truly feeling a will to fight for what he now believed in and those ideals and beliefs unfortunately did not align with his father’s. It had become difficult to determine where his mother stood on all of this. On several occasions, Brandon had found himself biting his tongue while listening to his dad rant and rave about the Conservative Militias that had begun to form around the country and how illegal and unconstitutional it all was. Having read and re-read the U.S. Constitution, Brandon knew there were provisions in the second amendment for the people to own and bear arms and that those provisions had been put in place for the very issues that were beginning to arise. When Brandon would voice his opinion regarding these things, he was quick to notice his mother’s supporting nod or even a positive comment or two backing his stance. Daryl’s overbearing heavy handed approach to being a parent and a spouse would generally squash the argument though and leave McKenna and her son rebuked and silenced.

Once in the kitchen, the three members of the Rogers family began preparing their own version of breakfast-on-the-run. A banana. A couple Pop Tarts. A bowl of Wheaties. All of this while the wall mounted TV blared out todays CNN version of the news.

“Earlier today, riots broke out in seven states as Right Wing Conservatives began threatening a civil war in opposition to President Brayden’s signing of the Assault Rifle Buy Back legislation” the anchorman read. “Unlike previous civil war threats, shots were fired and several people were either killed or injured. Police attempted…”

“Incredible. Absolutely incredible.” Daryl said shaking his head and talking over the broadcast. “That is a law signed into existence by a duly elected President of The United States. You would think those dumbass country yahoo’s on the right would finally get that into their heads”

“Well dad, you kept saying that you would never recognize anything President Turner did because you felt he didn’t legitimately win the election” Brandon pointed out. “Wouldn’t that pretty much be the same thing since the Conservatives don’t think Brayden actually…” A milk dripping spoonful of Wheaties stopped just before it was shoveled into Daryl’s mouth. From his ‘bent over the counter’ position, his head turned in Brandon’s direction with an expression of warning smeared across it. He stood up straight, dropping the spoon and its content into the bowl with a splash, and then turned to completely face his son.

“You need to watch your mouth boy”, his father said threateningly. “You know damn good and well that last election was conducted exactly the way an election should be conducted” Brandon shook his head slightly along with an obvious eye roll as he started to walk away. His father’s hand jutted forward, latching onto the teen’s shoulder. With an abrupt pull, the young man spun around, confronting his dad once again. Daryl’s free hand was now a fist, with only the index finger breaking form and it was jabbing into Brandon’s face.

“You know where the Rogers family stands politically and unless you have a second home to go live in, you are to embrace that same viewpoint” Following that announcement, the two male members of the household stood staring at each other for several uncomfortable moments. It was pretty clear that Brandon wasn’t necessarily backing down and Dad was determined to eyeball his child into submission.

Suddenly, a feminine form slid between the two, Mick’s face moving up close to Daryl’s and her hand reaching behind her in a swooshing motion to signal Brandon to move on. In a somewhat frustrated manner, the young man reached around his mother and grabbed the paper towel that bore the balance of his cinnamon Pop-tart, and strolled off in the direction of his bedroom.

“Dee… calm down” she lovingly pleaded. “You are going to chase that boy away if you don’t start talking to him like he’s an adult. He has opinions and views of his own now and the only way you two should converse about these things is to TALK about them… not you screaming your ideals in his face” She could sense that somewhere deep inside, he wanted to give in and say, “You’re right. I need to go apologize to Brandon”. But as had become the case on so many occasions as of late, Daryl stood his ground, yielding to the idealism of Left Wing politics over the love and concerns of family and home. There was a pause while Daryl took time to calculate what he felt he needed to say, what he should avoid saying, and what the right thing to do and say was… which were all different.

“This isn’t your fight” Daryl blurted out, which was most certainly the wrong thing to say. He pushed himself gently away from her. Likewise, McKenna stepped back from him with a confused and incensed look on her face.

“No… you’re wrong Daryl. It’s very much my fight” she expressed with a touch of grit in her voice. “I seem to be the only one trying to hold this family together while you…” she paused and then backwardly flipped her hand in his general direction “… have decided you’re a major general for the insane Democrat party and we’re your troops. Well, I for one am not signing up, SIR!” She finished with a salute.

Daryl rushed at McKenna and grabbed the wrist of the hand that had been brought to her brow. Daryl’s mouth quivered in a way that displayed a person holding back words they know they’ll regret. Mick didn’t flinch in the least and in fact, raised her chin and straightened her body in indignation essentially making an unspoken statement to Daryl… GO AHEAD, take that aggression up one more level… I dare you. They both stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. It was then that her mind crowded with thoughts of… What in the world are we doing?!? Don’t we love each other anymore?? I still love you, Dee. Without changing that line of thinking, she softly spoke what her heart was feeling.

“I only hope you’re thinking what I am, Dee” Sadly, his next actions betrayed his feelings and thoughts and they were anything but loving and caring. With eyes full of fury and still locked on hers, he tossed her hand from his grip, turned, and then stomped off, swiping his ‘not-quite-finished’ cereal bowl from the counter, sending it clattering into the sink.

Mick was now left standing alone in their kitchen, her hand slowly lowering to her side and a tear rolling down her cheek. McKenna Rogers was now fearful that she had lost her husband and felt a heartache well up that would probably never heal.

CHAPTER 3

Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

The sun had reached above the mountains and mesas by the time he pulled the tree branch travois containing the two wrapped bodies of the children over to the Indian woman’s gravesite. Shane felt it would be appropriate to bury them near their mother and, as he had been the one who ended her life, felt it his duty to take the time to do this. Once the adolescent corpses had been laid to rest and a marker firmly placed in the ground for the three of them, he disassembled the travois and spread its components around to prevent it from drawing too much attention to the area. He then picked up the 30-30 belonging to the Indian woman. A loud metallic click rang out as he cycled a round, ejecting an unused bullet onto the sandy ground. Although the weapon was in good condition and had a full cache and an extra box of shells, there was no way Shane could lug another rifle with him.

In the past few months, Shane had developed a rather random system for dealing with these illicitly acquired weapons. Sometimes he would destroy them for fear that leaving them behind might come back to haunt him by way of he himself being shot by someone who had found it. Other times he had hid them and placed a marker of sorts to indicate its location, giving him a possible backup weapon should his be lost, damaged, or confiscated. He had decided to hide this Winchester as it was far too magnificent a gun to destroy. He wrapped it in a blanket he had pulled from the woman’s pack and buried it at the base of the tallest Saguaro cactus nearby. Shane figured most intelligent people stay as far from these prickly beasts as possible. He then took a piece of a dry, nearly white Juniper branch and lodged it in the fork of the cacti in order to distinguish it from the hundreds of others surrounding it.

After a prayer of dedication for the tiny, deceased family, Shane stood staring straight ahead allowing his thoughts to drift from this place. For a moment he imagined these three playing together in a grassy field, the children running and screaming with joy and laughter. Or sitting in a tiny circle around a fire, talking and smiling at each other. Once again, his face crushed into tear filled pain. His hands now moved up behind his head, with fingers intertwining, he squeezed his forearms tight against his temples. It took tremendous will power not to cry out in anguish. He fell to his knees murmuring, Why God why?!?

After wiping the muddy tear trails from his face with his sleeve and regaining his composure, Shane decided it was time to graze the outskirts of a town for supplies. After digging through the woman’s packs and wraps, it had become clear as to why she had become bold and aggressive. Shane had not found a single morsel of food and he figured she was desperate to find something to eat. He too was approaching the same circumstances.

The outcast man now unrolled a map against a large smooth rock and calculated his position. The sun was beginning to do its dirty work and began cranking up the desert thermostat. Several drops of perspiration splatted onto the lower edge of the paper causing it’s colors to bleed. He procured a bandana, rolled it, and knotted it around his head, replacing his cap atop the paisley do-rag.

“15 miles to Rough Rock” he spoke out to himself. “You’ve got enough water to make it there, Bud. Let’s do it”

After several moments of contemplated motivation, Shane donned his pack and other equipment and continued his endless and aimless trek. At least right now he had a destination. He could endure up to 10 miles in a 9 hour period. But traveling in the middle of the day was a whole ‘nother ball game’ and this one was ramping up to be a real broiler.

After only eight or ten steps he paused and looked back at the makeshift cemetery.

“God receive your souls and forgive mine” he said quietly and then turned quickly and continued toward Rough Rock. His boots crunched down into powdery dry dirt and sand, puffing up little dusty clouds with each impact. The grit clung to everything and seeped into any available crevice and crease. Eyeglasses, rifle scope, and binoculars all collected inhibiting films of powdered clay requiring rinses and wipes to make them operational. Drawing on past experiences, Shane resisted stripping down to deal with heat as it created an even more serious health issue… sunburn. Having lost his hair in his 40’s, a hat was an absolute necessity, in spite of its sweat producing qualities.

 

Utter silence and isolation spawned uncontrolled direction of thought. Yesterdays of complete joy took turns flashing on the screen of his mind like a slide show clicking through images of the past. Sometimes these ‘reminiscences’ imbued feelings of elation while on other occasions, longing for their return became mentally and even physically disabling. In the end, it was he himself who would allow them to manifest. But he had convinced himself it was for the sake of sanity in spite of their questionability.

Staring down at his feet in order to keep himself from stumbling over a rock, a log, or just mounded sand had other benefits besides navigating obstacles. Not watching his moment-to-moment progress seemed to make time and travel slip by faster and unnoticed. It was a take on the “a watched pot never boils” saying. Although he would have it no other way, it was becoming evident that the time taken to bury the young family had put him behind enough to possibly cost him his life. He didn’t have enough water to make it through another day and because he had spent the coolest part of the day digging and hauling, he was now consuming two or three times more water having to trapse beneath a blazing sun across a scorching desert terrain.

It seemed impossible, but he was sure he was feeling the heat of the desert floor burning through the bottoms of his hiking boots. Cracked splitting lips prevented him from changing the position of his mouth in the least bit and running his now sandpaper-like tongue over them did nothing towards relieving this condition. Just blinking his eyes became a reminder of how far along his dehydration had progressed. His eyelids felt as though they were sticking to the pasty surface of his corneas and any dust or sand particles in them were untouchable as rubbing his fingers or any other part of his hand, only exacerbated the problem as they too were coated with granules of every form of earth nature could procure.

Being 61 was dealing its card as well. Although he could’ve been imagining the whole thing, Shane was beginning to feel his heart pound to a degree that it felt as though it were about to leap from his chest. A combination of heat, direct sunlight, and a lack of water had produced a splitting headache the likes of which he had never before known.

“I’ve been through worse” Shane mumbled from between unmoving seared lips, causing one word to smear into the next. But it was a feeble attempt to build morale and bolster his will to survive. It was then that he decided to break for a few minutes beneath a rocky outcrop that provided a tiny patch of shade. Once unburdened from the weight of his backpack, he felt a faint urge to urinate. This he resisted as he would prefer his body absorb as much of the H2O as possible from the bodily fluid. He would otherwise be tempted to capture the salty unsanitary yellow liquid as a last resort source of hydration.

His mind was trying to calculate just how far he had come through the course of the day. Shane’s head began to move slowly back and forth as if to indicate a head shake… no… he cannot possibly figure his mileage covered. Glazed and scum covered vision now scanned the distant landscape in an effort to spot some man-made structure that might offer a source of sustenance and hope. He blinked and squinted in an effort to clear the filmy coating from the surface of his eyeballs. The vast rock and desert vista was too broad and far away for the naked eye to pick up any kind of detail. The waves of rising heat only made things worse as it rippled the image laid out before him. Bringing his binoculars up to his eyes, he again began a slow scan from left to right viewing the terrain just below the horizon.

He suddenly froze. Without moving the binos from their current focal point, Shane did a couple of slow squinting blinks. It looked real. A distant cluster of cubes… perfectly edged, square cornered, box-like objects that could not possibly be natural formations. These were manmade structures. Not only was this encouraging from a supply standpoint, it gave him renewed confidence in his navigational skills. Out of caution and considering the fact that he had encountered mirages before, he decided to make sure this was more than just a figment of his imagination. Trekking miles in the wrong direction chasing after a hallucination would prove fatal at this point.

In order to avoid kneading more grime into his already gritty eyes, Shane simply squeezed his eyelids down tightly for nearly 20 seconds. Issuing a mental prayer while they remained scrunched closed, he popped them open quickly in order to catch that moment when they would be the least saturated with foreign particles. His hopes were high that the distant tiny metropolis would not vanish.

To his complete joy and excitement, it was still very much there! Not a mirage. It was in fact real. All the physical challenges Shane had been confronting just moments ago seemingly melted away as a newfound spirit of optimism and a recharged heartfelt aspiration now enveloped his entire being. But in spite of all this invigorating enthusiasm, he was physically spent and could not lift himself to his feet. A small cactus plant that was a mere 10 feet out in front of him became caught in his line of sight.

“There” he spoke out loud. Breathing with difficulty and finding it taxing to just focus his thoughts with any symmetry, he continued “First I will make it to that spot right there”. It truly became a matter of one foot in front of the other. The phrase, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, flooded his mind. The ‘town’ he was seeing in the distance was at least 3 difficult miles from where he currently was.

Continuing with a one step in front of the other mental focus, Shane found himself within a half mile of the desert hamlet in only two and a half hours. The plan was to reach an observation distance that would allow him to watch the community for a few hours in order to ascertain whether it was inhabited by friends or foes. Although his water supply was down to a few gulps worth, the cooler night air and a period of inactivity would stretch that H2O out till morning. Now stationed behind a cluster of rocks, Shane felt hidden enough to roll out his sleeping bag and get some much-needed shuteye. As was his normal habit, he performed his nightly ritual of setting weapons and other critical supplies in positions that would be easy to reach in the case of an unexpected visitor. Stuffing his backpack up under his head, he finally snuggled up and drifted off.

 

“Hey buddy! I said wake up” the voice that was suddenly inserted into his dream shouted. His brows lifted without successfully opening his eyes. They felt glued shut. It was obvious by how tired he still was that he hadn’t been asleep too awfully long. A yawn and a shove from someone’s boot brought Shane into focus with reality. There were, in fact, TWO men standing directly over him with rifles draped over the inner elbow of their arms hunter style and a flashlight painting his face aglow and virtually blinding him. He must have fallen into a totally dead sleep if someone had been able to get this close to him without waking him up.

“Yer gonna havta come with us” a younger and less educated voice said in an almost conciliatory manner. Shane was now up on one elbow with his other arm crossing his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare of the flashlight. Squinting from both the beam spraying him and the fact that he felt as though he’d only slept about two hours, Shane now tried to pry out of them their intentions.

“What’s this all about? Who are you guys?” Shane queried, trying his best to sound non-confrontational. Following his question and while waiting for their response, Shane’s hand that was still hidden under the back pack, began probing for his pistol. This he did as stealthily as possible. Unfortunately, the effort yielded nothing but additional information from his captor visitors… who obviously saw what he was attempting to do.

“If yer lookin fer dis here you can jus stop right now” he drawled out while dangling Shane’s 9mm out into the air by its trigger guard. The disappointment on Shane’s face was certainly evident and since his AR had been openly displayed, leaning against a nearby boulder, he was certain that it too had been confiscated.

“How about you just crawl out of your bag there and stand up real slow like” the first and older sounding man ordered. “We’ll be taking you back to our headquarters”

There it was. Headquarters. This was the tell-tale indicator that Shane had stumbled on a militia occupied town. This was exactly why he had positioned himself nearly a half mile from the city limits of Rough Rock. This was what he had tried to avoid. How did these guys stumble on him out in this expansive desert terrain… and in the DARK no less? Just plain old rotten luck, he thought. He slowly bundled up everything he had left lying around his encampment and stuffed it into his pack. He was not feeling much better than he had been yesterday and since he had gone to bed without replenishing his water supply, he was still nearly dehydrated. Shane’s brain had begun its usual ‘think your way out of this mess’ process. At the moment, with two armed men escorting him across a wide-open desert area, nothing came to mind.

 

Although it felt as though they were walking at a fairly brisk pace, it still took a little over an hour to reach the edge of town due to the rugged terrain. Shane’s captors hadn’t bothered to restrain him in any way. They, like Shane himself, knew that if he’d run without his weapons and supplies, they would simply have to do nothing more than allow the desert and other drifters to deal with him. He probably wouldn’t last more than a day or two.

Rough Rock looked more like an abandoned military installation than a town. And in part… it was. Much of it had been used as an outpost for military exercises and maneuvers leaving behind bland green metal exteriored buildings that, after decades of fading, had begun to synergize with their surroundings. This government motif was partly interlaced with the pitiful housing the native citizenry had once dwelt in. It was American Indian alright, Shane thought. The homes were poverty-stricken ply-wood shacks that had been, over time, improved to somewhat acceptable house-like abodes. Everything about Rough Rock portrayed the failed clash between the interference of government and the unfortunate plight of an indigenous people.

Up the dark street just ahead of them, Shane saw an illuminated doorway beneath a cock-eyed Budweiser sign that swayed with an eerie squeak in the faint desert night breeze. The door-shaped light that streamed onto the sidewalk and melted over the curb into the street, flickered occasionally from people passing in front of the opening. A sudden burst of laughter bounced down the empty avenue with a tinny kind of quality to it. Shane pondered as to whether these rednecks had been able to ration liquor out this long or had they built a still of some kind to produce their own. Either way, the din wafting from the retired bar and grill most certainly wreaked of drunkeness.

“Welcome to HQ!” older guy offered up as they passed through the well-lit portal. Shane’s presence caused instantaneous silence.

“Well what have we got here?” a voice blasted from a group in the corner. A chair could be heard scooting from under its tabled position and its occupant was revealed as he rose above the seated crowd. His booted feet knocked down heavily on the wood floor and his size and accompanying weight added a creak to each step. It almost seemed as though he was intentionally making as much noise as possible in his approach. Shane immediately assumed this guy was THE guy.

He squared himself directly in front of Shane and, after looking him up and down, folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to one side. The alligator skin hat and unshaven face worked in unison to create a character straight from a Crocodile Dundee flick. He was standing close enough that Shane could smell the beer on his breath. This prompted Shane to sneak a curious glance around the room. Sure enough… they not only HAD beer. They had several different brands.

“Has this pest got a name?” Dundee asked while never taking his eyes off Shane.

“Well Buck… to be honest… we haven’t bothered to ask just yet”, the nervous younger man replied. For the first time, Shane could see what his captors looked like. Both men appeared to have given up on showers long ago. The older one sported an Abe Lincoln ‘no mustached’ beard while the younger country boy was actually clean shaven. Older dude was bulky and was hiding his belt buckle behind the flabby overhang. In other words… fat. Loser-the-younger was in really good physical condition… unfortunately. He appeared to be a ranch hand and had probably bulked up through heavy lifting and skimpy eating. Although Abe was far behind Cool Hand Luke physically, he seemed considerably smarter and could at least articulate a grammatically correct sentence.

Nearly everyone in the room was wearing either army green or some form of camo. The range of personalities was from the hairiest thing Shane had ever seen to pass for a human to a guy who Shane would have sworn was a bank president. The room held an odor of sweaty B.O., cigarette smoke, and beer and was dimly lit. Although the unopened Bud Lite cans sitting on the bar appeared to have some kind of condensation on them, Shane was thinking it would be impossible to have a functioning refrigerator out here in the middle of nowhere.

“Shane. Shane Collins” he said extending a wobbly hand. Dundee, who Shane had gleaned from the others was actually named Buck, looked down at it for a moment, looked up at Shane, and then spun around to the rest of the crowd while slapping his knees and bursting into laughter. This was all done while pointing a thumb over his shoulder, indicating Shane’s attempt at peace. The whole room started a side-splitting howl with tables pounded on and a few rocking back in their chairs. Shane wasn’t exactly sure what to do. It felt awkward to simply stand there expressionless. So in an effort to become ‘one of the boys’, he too began to smile and then laughed. When Buck turned back to face Shane, the big man’s jovial countenance was suddenly plunged into silence and his face was wiped of any smile whatsoever. Shane’s laugh slowly trickled down to a chuckle and then flickered out completely.

“Just what do you think yer laughing at?” he asked in a sinister sounding voice with eyes now slitted. Instead of responding verbally, Shane simply shrugged his shoulders and stretched his mouth as if to say, I don’t know. After about 10 seconds of staring at Shane, Buck made a sudden faux attack lunge in his direction causing Shane to jump back an inch or two. Once again, Buck turned to his audience and began to bust a gut.

“What the hell…” he said once again turning back in Shane’s direction “… give this pussy a beer!” Everyone laughed and Buck slapped his hand onto Shane’s back with a loud smack.

An immediate concern clouded Shane’s thoughts…I wonder what he’s going to do when I tell him I don’t drink? He thought about taking a can of Bud Light and then doing everything in his power to dump it out in various hidden locations. But getting caught wasting a full can of brew might earn a more severe punishment than just telling him he doesn’t want it. Besides, it would lead them to believe he does drink. Shane raised his hand up in a ‘halt’ fashion and prepared for the unknown response.

“Uh… sir? Mr Buck sir?!” Shane stuttered out nervously. “I really appreciate the offer, but uh… I’m not a drinker in the least” Shane had to say this fairly loud as the normal din of the room had resumed and Big Buck had started to walk away. The entire 6’ 4” frame of him froze in his tracks when the words assaulted his ears.

“Wait… What? What did you just say?” he said with a hand cupped ear aimed at Shane.

Once again now facing Shane, but still 6 to 8 feet away, Buck washed his hand over and around his face while blowing out a breath of frustration. With eyes tightly clench closed, his hand came to rest with his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Listen Coleman…” For a fraction of a second, Shane thought of correcting him on the name thing, but thankfully decided not to. “… I feel like I’ve been pretty damn tolerant of you being within the boundaries of our territory. But you need to know this…” he continued as he pointed his finger at Shane’s face and began taking slow steps closer and closer. “We don’t NEED any wusses. A person who can’t pull his weight around here will simply… be… disposed of. We don’t provide food to people who don’t earn it. Get the picture?” He now stood nearly nose to nose with Shane who was growing tired of this ‘dog and pony’ show.

Right then, Shane felt the courage and strength to speak up. He, not Buck, broke the 15 seconds of close up staring and silence following Buck’s monologue.

“Hold on a second. I wandered up to this town simply looking for food. I’m on your side. I’m not a Leftist and I’m not a Separatist. I’m a full-blown Right-Wing Constitution supporting Conservative… which I’m guessing is what you all are.” He paused for a moment to see if there were any dissenting comments towards his assumption. He then stepped away from Buck and continued. “And if you all are on the same side as myself, then we can’t start threatening or killing each other or we’ll start wiping out our ability to win this war.”

Glancing around the room and intentionally making direct eye contact with several of the militia men, Shane waited a few seconds to see if he had influenced them to allow him his freedom. Buck stood quietly for what seemed like an eternity. Suddenly, again, they all started laughing hilariously. Buck, now winding down from his belly laugh, turned to Shane and said, shouting past him…

“Alright…give the man a Coke for crying out loud!”

Shane wasn’t about to tell Buck that he didn’t drink soda either. Afterall, he was EXTREMELY thirsty. And crazy as it seemed… the dang thing was in fact ice cold!

So he popped open the can, took a first swig that polished it off, and while smiling and holding the empty can up in the air in a toast fashion, Shane began scoping out doors, windows, and where his guns and pack were sitting. 

CHAPTER 4

Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

 

After reaching her desk, McKenna Rogers plopped into her office chair and spun around to face her monitor. She had just intertwined the two major issues looming in her life. Her new project assignment here at EnerTech and her now messed up family life. There were ‘pre-trip’ project tasks from Ted already populating her ‘To Do’ list on the screen and any distraction from this, would be easily detected by her boss and co-workers. The team would be leaving in just two days and McKenna needed to somehow locate Daryl and Brandon, laboring on it strictly outside work hours.

“Hey girl, what chu up to?” a female voice spoke from the entrance to her office. McKenna jumped at the very first word and Terra Stapleton, her closest office friend, took note of Micky’s edginess. “Whoa baby? What is going on? You seem a bit nervous?” Terra asked with a now softer concern in her voice.

“Oh Terra. You just caught me off guard. Scared the bejesus out of me!” Micky said chuckling.

“Uh… No. That is not what I just saw” Terra corrected. “That was a woman with a ton of crap on her mind being scared shitless by a simple hello” She stepped into the tiny office space and pulled the door closed behind her. “I’m thinking there needs to be a woman to woman talk take place right here… right now. Talk to me.” Terra was now leaning on the edge of Micky’s desk looking into her face. “What’s wrong Micky?”

Micky’s eyes teared up slightly as she nipped the back of her upper lip and turned her head away to hide the emotion she was projecting. Terra reached up to Micky’s chin and gently pulled her back around face to face.

“I said talk to me Micky. You are scaring me girl. What is going on? Did Daryl hurt you or something?” she asked with kindness and determination.

“No no. It’s not that. Well… at least not exactly like that” McKenna answered trying to decide just how much of this she could trust Terra with. They had been friends for over 6 years now and had confided in each other through some difficult personal experiences. Terra had struggled during a rough period with her husband, Arlon, and had certainly needed a shoulder to lean on. Micky had been there for her through the whole thing and felt the two of them becoming more like sisters than friends. In so many ways, they were nothing alike. Mick was a simple focused person. Career minded, modest and plain clothing with the minimal amount of makeup and jewelry.

Terra, on the other hand, was about as extravagant as someone could be on her hourly pay. Her income as a secretary to one of the operations managers held Terra back from taking her looks all the way over the top. Thank goodness for that, Micky once laughingly joked. Her hair was a blown out sort of fro. And her facial makeup… well… Mick was pretty sure it took hours. Then there was Terra’s nails. Micky never could figure out how Terra managed 75 nearly flawless words per minute with those 2 inch claws! One thing Mick knew for sure… behind those heavily covered lengthy lashes were eyes that revealed a heart of gold. Terra sat down in the chair that was directly next to Mick’s desk.

“He left me Terra. I don’t exactly know why other than he wants to be an integral part of all that garbage going down in the central part of the city” Mick said with a slight waver in her voice. 

“WHAT?!?” Terra responded indignantly. “What in the HELL does he want to get messed up in that dangerous bullshit for? He has a family! Does he not realize that?”

“Well… he took…” she hesitated. “…Brandon with him” Terra sat upright abruptly with her eyes wide and her mouth dropped open.

“Wait a damn second? No way! Nooo way! That is not going to happen!” Terra began to raise her voice in anger prompting Micky to look out through the glass wall into the busy employee pool while ‘shushing’ Terra.

“Please. I really don’t want anyone other than you to know about this Terra” she pleaded. “I have been asked to accompany the exploratory crew to north eastern Arizona and just minutes ago begged Ted to let me bring Brandon with me”

“And?” Terra interjected.

“He said yes” Mick confirmed.

“Well… there you go!” Terra said defiantly. “Take your son on that trip, bring him back to the house, and tell that worthless damn husband of yours to take a hike”

“It isn’t that easy, T” Mick said blinking a long blink to prevent any further tearing up. “I have no idea where they are. And when I sent a text message to Brandon in an attempt to clue him into my intentions to get him back… well… this is what I got back from Daryl” She scrolled through messages and handed the phone to Terra. The concerned friend read it and then, without moving her head one tiny bit, lifted her eyes to Micky with anger flaring up behind them.

“Is this damn fool asking for it or WHAT!?!” Terra said practically shouting the last word. Mick once again checked to see if anyone heard her and brought a single finger up to her shushing lips.

“T…please. Keep it down woman. Please.” Mick pleaded again.

“OK. I’m confused” Terra began “This message is from this morning. You told me you just asked Ted minutes ago if Brandon can come with you. There IS a timing issue here Micky. What’s going on? Why would you ask Ted that AFTER you got this idiotic message from your lesser half?” The moment of truth had come for McKenna. But amazingly, it all fell into place. She would not have to reveal to Terra her leanings towards the militia faction. She could now share her plan to bolt and contribute it to fear. Fear of losing her son. Fear of Daryl’s retribution. Fear of being where Daryl could find her. All of which was not really a lie anyway.

“Ter… can I totally trust you?” Mick quietly questioned looking directly into Terra’s eyes.

“Girl… you know you can. We are sisters. Remember?” Terra stated sincerely.

“Then please hear me out before making any comments. Let me tell you the whole thing uninterrupted. OK?” Terra nodded with her brow now scrunching questioningly.

She explained her plan to bolt from the exploratory team once things were settled in. She tied in her fears of losing Brandon and her fear of what Daryl might do if she’d simply stick around after convincing Brandon to return to her. Terra simply nodded intermittently through the whole spiel. Mick brought the monologue to a close.

“That’s it. I know I’ll miss all of you and will have a difficult time surviving out there. But I feel I have no other choice.” She stated. The two stared at each other for a few moments. Then Terra spoke.

“Look… first thing you need to do is stop off at a psychiatrist. Have you gone completely crazy woman?” Terra said slowly. “I’m gonna guess you’ve never set foot in that part of Arizona. It’s a snake infested, Hell hole that has become the location of choice for gun toting nut jobs!” she scolded. “And trust me… they ain’t Black gun toting nut jobs! If one of those groups happens on you and your son, you’ll either become target practice or a means for sexual release… and neither of those is gonna be pleasant!”

McKenna displayed her frustration with her friend’s perspective on the whole thing by shaking her head while Terra spoke. There was no question in Micky’s mind that Terra was bringing up some good points. But Terra and her family were seemingly OK with the status quo. People who had settled into this insanity rarely were able to view a dissenter as sane. McKenna was not going to let Terra’s opinion stop her from carrying through with all of this. Terra could now simply become a way to convey the false narrative on her sudden disappearance.

 

Ted Jergeson touched the Bluetooth button on his desk phone, transferring the ringing call to his cell. A voice on the other end answered.

“Security”

“Hey…this is Ted. Who am I speaking to?” He said in a cheery tone.

“This is Carlos. What can I do for you Mr. Jergeson?” the voice responded. Carlos was the head of security at EnerTech and was a government appointed and government paid employee. In the past 10 months, most major city-based businesses had been required to ‘install’ a state trained security head who oversees not only company policy security issues, but must also listen for any talk about or watch for any inclinations towards right wing ideals or actions among the rank and file employees of a business.

Carlos Gerrara had embraced this mindset fully and was not only very good at what he did, he had become feared within the walls of EnerTech due to his fierce approach to individual physical control. Ted had taken some time to warm up to Carlos as an entity that felt extreme and unnecessary. But once Carlos had ‘done his job’ several times and Ted had seen how his presence curbed rebellion and kept everyone’s minds from straying from their work, he not only began to support Carlos’s presence, he even started slipping the man some ‘bonus money’ under the table to keep him happy.

“Oh Carlos! Good!” Ted replied “Hey… you wouldn’t happen to have some free days available later this week? I’d really like you to tag along on an exploratory trip to Arizona. I’ll make it worth your while… trust me”

“Sure Mr Jergeson. I’m available.” Carlos dutifully responded. “I can have one of my assistant Compliance Officers watch the main facility here while I’m gone”

“Great!” Ted replied. “There just might be some temptation occur once we get people out there in the wilderness. You know what I mean?”

“Oh yeah. I know exactly what you’re talking about” Carlos responded with a smile in his voice.

“OK then. Plan on leaving Thursday morning” Ted informed the security man. He stopped himself from ending the call and quickly brought the phone back to the side of his head. “And by the way… thank you”

“No problem Mr Jergeson” Carlos again replied respectfully and the call terminated.

The office chair Ted was in now rocked backwards as he careened his head back and forth in tiny movements in an effort to bring Micky’s glass walled office into view through the crack in his door. He suddenly froze as one side of his mouth turned up in a slight smile. Without looking away from the two women conversing at Mick’s desk, Ted reached blindly toward his desk phone unit, touched an intercom button, and then brought both hands up behind his head as he eaves dropped on their conversation.

 

The set of keys slid across the countertop and slammed into the backsplash. McKenna really didn’t intend to toss them that hard, but she was completely exhausted and very frustrated. Passing quickly through her kitchen, she aimed for the sofa and spun around as she landed on her back in the cushy corner of the sectional. Her favorite spot. Now her hands rubbed deep and firmly into her eyes, wiping away the burn of the day that had settled onto her corneas. Although sleep would come easily, Micky knew she had time sensitive tasks that had to get done this evening.

After an undetermined number of minutes, the lone woman forced herself to rise from her soft encampment and get focused on connecting with her son. Considering it was going to be a very long night, her first order of business was to fire off the first Keurig canister. No cream. A touch of sweetener. The steam trailed the mug as it would from a locomotive stack as McKenna strolled smoothly into her home office room. She now donned a robe that also swirled behind her like Superman’s cape and had to be wrangled in for her to take the seat at the desk. A few taps on the keyboard and the screen came to life, lighting the room that was moments ago nearly pitch dark. The mug rose to her lips and she braved an ever so gentle scalding sip. It’s temperature, more than its caffeine, raised her brows and instantly chased away any drowsiness.

In the next 48 hours, McKenna Rogers was going to take risks she would’ve never dreamed she’d plunge her life into. Contacting police would be useless in a case such as this and at this point in time. Legal authorities ALWAYS sided with an individual or a group of individuals who were united with ‘the movement’. If you supported the riffraff taking place downtown, you would never be harassed by law officers of any kind. In spite of the obstacles, there were some facets of Daryl’s disappearance that could be easily determined.

For one, Daryl did not adapt to deficient living conditions very well. He had always been a bit of a ‘wuss’ when it came to ‘roughing it’. Knowing this, Mick could eliminate certain areas of the city that she could rest assured Daryl would never occupy. Secondly, their bank account hadn’t been shut off, closed, or drained. If he had done something stupid like, quit his job, she would have seen money being drawn out in sums equal to rent, food purchases, gasoline and transportation expenses and so on. Paycheck deposits. No such activity appeared to be taking place. This led her to believe he remained relatively close to his current place of employment. Micky’s management training had created a methodical mode of thinking that helped her to narrow down possible solutions in this specific type of situation.

The cells of a spreadsheet she had thrown together began to fill up. Streets, zips, suburbs, even a phone number here and there. All of it culminating into a single hypothesis. A place to start. A point at which to give up. Slowly she eliminated column after column of data and potential locations. Finally, she settled on three specific areas.

She would now send Brandon one more message with a plea to Daryl included with it. The message would be simple and short. It would be handwritten and then photographed, and text messaged to Brandon’s phone. Daryl would understand why she would send a message in this manner. To avoid interception. But what he wouldn’t realize was that underlining each sentence would be a series of coded dots and dashes.

About the time Brandon was entering junior high, he and Micky had taken a civil safety course and were taught several different ways to communicate during a national crisis and other emergency situations. Daryl rarely paid any attention to what her and Brandon did together and was clueless to the emergency preparedness they had engaged in. Brandon and she had even gone so far as to joke around with the ‘secret messaging’ by etching coded comments into cake icing and mashed potatoes about Daryl right in front of his face. Hopefully, Brandon would pick up on the fact that the underlining of the message was Morse Code. More importantly and hopefully, Daryl didn’t decide to just read it to Brandon.

Her scripted message read…

 

Brandon,

 

My son, I love and miss you so much. I hope you are doing well and keeping yourself from any wrongdoing. I want you to know that I do want to see you again someday. Please take care and write back.

 

Your loving Mother

 

Encoded in the underline she stated…

 

Do you want to run away to Arizona with me stop I can pick you up corner of E 26 & York by golf course stop Friday 0630 end

 

The 0630 meeting time would allow Brandon to slip out before Daryl headed off to work and he himself would’ve already left for school. Risky... but doable.

CHAPTER 5

Chapter 5

 

 

 

 

 

There was a stinging pain radiating from the left side of Shane’s jaw as he awoke. It took a moment or two for him to realize where he was. The last thing he recalled was guzzling an ice cold Coke and then… then a chair hit him?!? Wait? Yes. A chair hit him from the side. Hold on, he thought. There were some additional events beginning to creep into the story. The request he made to either join up with the Buck Band or just be freed to go his own way was met with… of course… laughter. He laughed a few times and then got up close and serious with Crocodile Buck. THAT was the last thing he remembered happening.

Now, stashed away in some filthy storage room in a building located in an abandoned town in the deserts of Arizona, it was likely Shane was destined to be either shot or recruited. The former bore greater probability. And the recruited thing would have to be faked as he wanted no part of what these goof offs were up to. His weapons? Where on earth would those be by now? He was pretty sure they weren’t sitting in a cabinet with his name on them. More than likely, they had been divvied up to any takers. The situation seemed quite grave at best.

Standing up to peer out the only window, which was bar covered, he found it was facing the desert. This was at least a positive from an escape standpoint. It was when he shifted his weight to his left leg, a new ‘not so positive’ element of the Rough Rock visit was exposed. Another sharp pain shot all the way up to his hip leading him to believe he had some kind of pulled or torn muscle. Shane quickly unfastened and unzipped his pants and slid them down to his knees.

Both eyebrows lifted in surprise! A black and blue area covered his left thigh as well as several cuts clustered just over his knee. As he gently moved fingers over the injury to determine how tender it was, the hand snapped back from his skin as the worst part of the damage yielded a super sensitive stinging sensation. This just might affect my departure plans, he concluded. After a visual and touch scan of the rest of his body found no other injuries, besides his face of course, he carefully redressed and began to assess the living quarters he was trapped in.

A roll up type mattress was plopped randomly on the floor with only a course green army-surplus style woolen blanket as a covering. No pillow of any kind. A three-legged kitchen chair that should have had four, was crammed into the corner in order to keep it upright. It was no doubt unreliable. A ‘fortunately cleaned out’ bucket accompanied by a mostly used up roll of toilet paper was provided. The cement floor was not covered with anything. Some straw or hay would have certainly complimented this motif perfectly, Shane sarcastically thought. A quick examination of the walls revealed plywood rather than drywall. The latter would have been easily breached, of which he was sure his captors were well aware.

As all of this was located in a part of Arizona Shane referred to as ‘high desert country’, the temperature through the night had dropped significantly. Altitude factored into the northwestern region of the state and although it was very much a desert in geographical and natural features, it encountered many of the climate patterns of a mountain terrain. Winters here could be every bit as harsh as any plains state might experience. The only difference being that frequently temperatures rose high enough through the course of the day to melt off some or all of the snow that might have fallen through the night.

Glancing straight above him brought the first sign of hope for an escape plan. The ceiling was a drop style frame and panel design. One section was consumed with the florescent fixture that lit the room. Two of the tiles were broken, revealing a wide open space looming above and stretching up to the top of what appeared to be a warehouse-like structure. Although the ceiling appeared to be eight feet up, Shane felt that the combination of the chair and the bucket could provide enough height to scale one of the interior walls through the ceiling. After that, he would have to adlib as he had no idea what lie beyond the walls of the room.

Suddenly, he heard a door slam. It echoed and sounded quite far away. One of Shane’s eyebrows dipped in a questioning manner accompanied by pursed lips. This room IS inside a warehouse of some kind, he determined by the nature of the noises outside his confinement. The leisurely paced echoing footsteps that followed verified Shane’s suspicion of the building’s size. He decided to play the injured, worn-out imprisoned intruder role. A quick scan around the room’s interior confirmed there were no cameras that might capture the phony scene he was about to act out. Shane speedily bundled himself under the blanket, moaning and mumbling, before a hand ever touched the doorknob. Moments later, a sizable set of keys jingled and flopped against the door and its frame as the visitor unlocked and swung it open. His captor entered and strolled over to his bedside.

“Hey Cameron?” the unfamiliar voice spoke while nudging Shane’s back with his foot. “Time to rise Bud. Buck wants you down at HQ in like…” there was a pause indicating a time check. “… 5 minutes”. Continuing to act out the part he had chosen to project, Shane merely groaned out his disapproval and bundled up tighter into his Army rag.

“I SAID GET UP!!” the voice repeated. This time the foot nudge was a kick and sent Shane rolling off his mattress onto the cement with a loud grunt.

Cameron?!? Shane thought. They’ve all adopted that stupid mistake?? Maybe they’re thinking of my last name, he assumed while fighting to squelch a giggle.

Shane heard the man winding up for another kick when he painfully spun over onto the mattress and reached out, preventing the boot from gouging into his side again.

“Ok, Ok … cut me a break!” Shane mumbled loud enough to get the man’s attention. “I’m hurtin’ and I’m tired”

“And I don’t care. But I can tell you this much. Buck cares!!” he said laughing through the last couple words. “and you ARE going to care if you don’t get your ass out of that bed in five seconds.”

It was following the man’s last comment that Shane noticed…This guy has no drawl and is grammatically on point. I think its time to make some kind of “in-road” with one of these guys, he quickly deduced. An advocate of some kind would definitely be a plus as the fear his life might be in jeopardy was rearing its ugly head.

“Hey. Can I ask you a simple question?” Shane spoke cautiously after he had stood up. He was using the old direct eye contact routine, a technique Shane had employed frequently as a salesman. It became his ‘go to’ when an account was beginning to show signs of rejection. This guy seemed more… intelligent. The middle-aged warden also appeared to be practicing good hygiene despite the course and make-shift surroundings he was living in. He was sporting a zip collar light-weight pullover from Maine that displayed a nice little lighthouse on its front with the state spelled out beneath it. Oddly, Shane had lost one exactly like it while passing through this area several years ago and for a fraction of a second, thought about asking the man where he had gotten it from. The Dexter deck shoes were what really cued Shane into this man’s former life. This was just not something that your average militia groupie donned.

“What?” the man replied in a curt and begrudged tone.

“I always thought you guys were all about numbers. You know… gathering up as many warm bodies as you could get” Shane said with a guarded approach. “Why screw over a guy who knows this territory like the back of his hand, can handle a weapon better than any of you, and is healthy and willing?” The whole time he was tapping a pointing finger against his own chest.

“That’s a question you can ask Buck in a few…” he started as he turned towards the door.

“Now hang on a second” Shane interrupted. “You seem like an intelligent person. What were you…a manager or a business owner or… “ He trailed off waiting for the man to complete the sentence. It appeared to be working. Maine man slowly turned with eyes cast downward and an unexpected somber and mournful look on his face.

“My wife and I had a T-shirt business. You know… monograms, iron-ons.” He pulled the bottom of his fleece pullover out to flash a sample of their handiwork. That very second, Shane abandoned the possibility of that pullover being his. “Nice house. Two kids. We lived ALL THE WAY over in Bangor Maine” he said with a hint of pride in his voice. Shane just stood very still, arms crossed, head tilted, reflecting complete interest and shared grief over the guy’s loss of family and livelihood. He shook his head as if to say… What a shame.

“Damn phony pandemic! Damn cheating politicians!” Maine man grumbled.

Feeling as though the timing was right, Shane reached out to gently pat the man’s shoulder. He now decided to step into the truly personal part of this man’s story.

“And your wife? Where is she…if you don’t mind me asking” He spoke gently with as much sensitivity in his words as he could muster. Maine man’s face puckered with emotion and was obviously fighting back tears.

“When the Leftists started going crazy in all the downtown sections of major cities, she happened to be right in the middle of one of their stupid-ass uprisings” Now speaking with gritted teeth and penetrating anger, he turned to face Shane and continued. “She was just shopping dammit! Why would you crack someone’s skull who was just shopping!?”

For a few moments, Shane felt he had both found and won over an ally. In his mind, he had begun patting himself on the back for ‘a job well done’, even ever so slightly reflecting it in his countenance. But it was all instantly swept away when his story hit so very close to home. All preconceptions about his captors became clear and slipped from his heart, realizing he himself was doing to these people what the Leftists and their manipulating media had done to the conservatives for years. Slap a label on them, package them into one neatly wrapped ‘easy-to-hate’ bundle, and toss them into a trash bin… to be ignored and viewed as a complete waste of time. Maine man was a person. A person who had once owned a business along with his wife. A person who had raised a family and had hopes and dreams and a future all of which had been destroyed by the power greedy anti-God Leftists and the do-nothing cooperative Republican sell-outs. Basically… power hungry politicians.

“Hey” Shane now held out a hand to shake. “I’m Shane. Not Cameron. And you are…?”

“Trent. Trent Marler” In spite of the hesitation in his response, he still returned the handshake firmly. “You…you know… Buck has something… well, something not so pleasant planned for you”

“I figured as much. You wouldn’t happen to have some influence with him by chance?” Shane queried. Trent’s eyes wandered away from the conversation as he contemplated how or even whether or not to answer that question. Shane sensed he had put the man on the spot.

“Look. I ended up here about the same way you’ve ended up here.” Trent said. “The only difference is, I flew in” Shane had turned slightly away as he pulled his boots on but did a quick double take when he heard this.

“Flew in?!?” he responded. “In what?” Trent stepped over to the window and signaled Shane to do likewise. Tipping his head back and forth a couple times to find the best view, he finally settled on a position and pointed through the bars.

“That”

Moving in closer and replacing the position of Trent’s head with his, Shane followed the man’s finger direction to a location at the edge of a mesa plateau. There, sitting in what appeared to be excellent condition, was a Cessna 150 fastened to the rock with several tie downs. He could only see part of it from this vantage point, but was pretty sure he was right. This was an aircraft Shane was able to pilot.

“Is that a 150?” Shane decided to verify his guess.

“Yup” Trent replied. “Mine. I had to get away from the east coast. Conservatives were being dealt with harshly back there. This just happened to be where my third tank of fuel was running out. I spotted Rough Rock from the air and thought just maybe I could get some here. Not a drop though. It was a flawless landing too.”

Shane began to wonder. Did they ever get any fuel for it? He decided to draw the answer to that question out of Trent.

“So… there it sits just wasting away. Too bad.” Shane said, looking out of the corner of his eye to see if he could possibly catch Trent’s reaction to this observation. He got more than just a reaction.

“Well… no. We finally got some fuel. It can fly again” Trent said affirmatively. “But I’m the only one who knows how to fly it!” he finished with a slight chuckle.

“Where on earth were you headed? A little further and you’d have been running back into Leftist areas again. I mean there’s the Grand Canyon, Kingman and then… California” Shane asked.

“It wasn’t a total accident I ended up in this area. I had been talking online with militia folk from out this way for a while” Suddenly the man jerked his watch wrapped wrist up into his line of sight. “Holy shit! Buck is going to kill me! Let’s GO!” He slipped a pistol from a belt holster and grabbed Shane’s forearm, yanking him towards the door. Shane’s body instinctively tightened into a defensive mode causing Trent’s shoving to become more forceful.

“I have to ask” Shane spit out as they made their way across the interior of the warehouse. “Just what is it Buck has planned for me?” Trent’s hurried pace was not slowed in the least, nor did his eyes turn in Shane’s direction as he answered.

“Well, we don’t waste bullets if we don’t have to. My guess is… he’ll be dropping you into an abandoned mine shaft”

“Hmm? And just how would you expect me to respond to that?” Shane said in a ‘matter-of-fact’ way.

“I guess…” Trent replied, pausing for a moment. “…I don’t care”

Realizing the ‘ally’ thing was not working out, Shane stopped suddenly and turned to face the guard.

“Hey…” Shane said in a calm, inquisitive tone. Trent, still holding his 9mm Glock out in front of him, did likewise, bringing them face to face for a fraction of a second. That very moment at which they confronted each other, Shane’s arm snapped upward instantly, grabbing the barrel of Trent’s gun and twisting it up and out to the side. The man’s index finger could be heard cracking as it wrenched backward toward his wrist. Trent was anything but an outdoorsy tough character and the pain of the snapped index finger brought him to his knees cursing. Fortunately, the motion disengaged Trent’s fingertip from the double trigger safety feature of the Glock, avoiding a shot ringing out. Shane was now in possession of the weapon.

“DAMMIT! What the…?”

“Shut up. Now!” Shane said softly but firmly. He already had the pistol trained on Trent’s head “There is no reason to kill me and you know it. So I’m not planning on dying today if I can help it. Where are my things and where are the keys to that plane?” he demanded. Though moaning with pain from his messed up finger, Trent still managed to laugh… the ‘go to’ response to EVERYTHING with this bunch, Shane thought.

“You’re kidding right? You won’t get ten fee…” Before the man could finish, the barrel of the gun slapped the side of his face with full force, cracking his cheek bone and sending him reeling to one side. Shane stepped forward and went to one knee, grabbing the front of Trent’s shirt and pulling the man’s face right up to his own. Having now lost his patience with the whole situation, Shane spoke with fire in his eyes and teeth gritted and making sure Trent was feeling, not just hearing, what he said.

“Look. I meant what I said. I’m not dying today. But you just might be. Understand what I’m saying?” Shane emphasized. Trent just stared back. Shane now shook him and pulled him in even closer, now speaking in a quieted yell. “YOU GOT THAT?!?!” The man with the bloodied cheek now gave a wide-eyed nod. Shane pushed Trent back a foot or so and then shoved the barrel of the gun into his mouth. “Where… are… my… THINGS?”

Trent attempted to speak, prompting Shane to pull the gun out and give the man an opportunity to tell him what he was wanting to hear. Saliva dripped from the end of the gun and ran down Trent’s bloody chin. The Glock was now making a spit and blood edged circle on the center of Trent’s forehead. The man’s eyes struggled to stay open as his facial injury was bleeding profusely and causing him to lose conscientiousness. Shane shook him awake and once again returned the gun to its forehead aim.

“I’m running out of patience my man” Shane said angrily. “I believe neither of us want to die today. Right?” Trent gulped deeply and then spoke in a shaky voice.

“Your guns and backpack are right over there” he whispered, turning his eyes tiredly toward a corner of the building. He continued trying to speak. “The keys to the plane are...” His voice trailed off as he started to look down towards his own pants. His mouth relaxed open as his eyes shut and the man blacked out, bloody drool stringing from his lip. Shane pulled the man up close and, in spite of the fact he knew the man was out cold, spoke quietly to his face.

“By the way… you’re NOT the only one who knows how to fly it”

Shane lowered him to the floor, not wanting to crack the guys skull on the cement. He stood quickly, realizing that Trent had said they were already late for a Buck meeting and figured someone would come looking for the now tardy guest of honor. His eyes nervously scanned the area Trent had indicated his possessions were in. There! He spotted what appeared to be ALL of his things.

Before dashing to grab his own stuff, Shane bent down and unclipped the massive wad of keys Trent lugged around on his belt loop. It only took him a few seconds to locate the Cessna key and remove it from the ring. To avoid any suspicion, he replaced the key cluster on the unconscious man’s pants. A forced speedy sprint had him standing in front of his backpack, hiking boots and, yes… even his AR… in a matter of seconds. Shane sunk to one knee to facilitate an inventory of the content of his backpack. Curiously, it appeared everything was there except for the Walther 9mm he had tried to grab from his sleeping bag that night. But his Springfield XD9 was still buried deep in the backpack under a façade bottom. The only other thing that appeared out of place was the fact that the contents of his wallet was tossed loosely into and strewn throughout the bag. But even a quick review of cards and ID’s found nothing missing. Still on his knee, Shane bowed his head in a momentary prayer of thanks.

Standing up, he ejected the chambered round from Trent’s Glock. 45 caliber, Shane observed. Useless to him as far as ammo was concerned. Glancing around for a second or two, he simply pitched the bullet across the expanse of the building. He then released the magazine from the weapon, flung it back-handed into oblivion, and finished by tossing the now unloaded pistol into a nearby trash can.

After hoisting his rifle and pack onto his shoulder, Shane moved in stealth mode towards the exit. He carefully peered through the window of the door to see if anyone was heading his way yet. Not a soul in sight. He spun to face inward against the wall next to the door, back and head flat and flush, rifle tight against his body at a slight angle. Shane felt that adrenaline surge beginning to mount inside him. His breathing kicked up a notch and his muscles began to stiffen. From the moment he heard about the Cessna from Trent, Shane had started to strategize how the aircraft could be used to escape and then some.

First, though, was the challenge of getting TO the plane and judging by the stressed out mood Trent had been in earlier, it was clear his time was short.

CHAPTER 6

 Chapter 6

 

 

 

 

It was one of those moments in life when you awaken in your own bed in your own home and you STILL become completely disoriented. Misplaced to the point of not knowing what day of the week it is or even the time of day. McKenna Rogers struggled to open her eyes, determined to pinpoint her phone in order to reset her misguided mindset. The throw pillow she had plumped up against the arm of the couch had fallen to the floor and the arm itself had now become hard and uncomfortable. Additionally, without the pillow, her neck had gone so stiff that she could barely turn her head to look for the electronic device. At that moment, orienting information flooded her mind. It was Wednesday and she had dozed off on her couch. As panic struck, she bolted to an upright position and reached for the iPhone shining up from the floor. Touching the screen, the time flashed before her. 7:20 am. Her eyes sprung open wide.

“WHAT?? Don’t panic Micky” she reassured herself and swallowed. “Call Ted right away. DO NOT try to make it there on time at this point”

The fingertip beneath her painted nail landed lightly on the biometric pad, causing Brandon's baby picture to dissolve, revealing the home screen. After a few taps, the ringtone of an outgoing call could be faintly heard. Ted's secretary spoke softly in a recorded message.

“Thank you for calling EnerTech Incorporated, The leader in energy research and exploration. We are currently closed. Our regular business hours are Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm. If you wish to leave a message after…”

Her phone bleeped as she hung up on digital-Cheryl. Bad Idea to leave a ‘message’ as to why you’re late, she thought. I’ll just call Ted’s cell in about 15 minutes. Certainly, by then he would be en route to work.

She frisbeed the phone onto the couch cushion next to her and took a deep breath that morphed into a yawn on release. After what felt like mere minutes from when she had shocked out after waking, she had cleaned up and was rolling down I-25 towards anticipated vindication.

The phone call to Ted’s cell yielded the same results as the call to the office itself. Voicemail. Mick concluded he was in early morning meetings with department heads and had silenced the device. She left an unnecessarily urgent sounding message stating she was dealing with family matters. Before she left the house, she had decided to confront this situation sitting directly in front of Ted IF, of course, the circumstance called for that. Micky’s day to day employee punctuality ranged from on time to dedicatedly early. A tardy here and there had never been a problem and any fears that it would be this time, were more than likely materializing from the ‘behind-the-scenes’ goings on, which of course, were unknown to Ted.

Once in the building, Micky couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of underhandedness in her subterfugian stroll to her desk. As would be expected, other employees took note of the tardy entry. But it would take either Carlos watching over CCV or a genuine snitch for this to get back to Ted, she thought.

But of course, it did.

A window appeared in the lower corner of her computer monitor and Ted’s voice came clearly over the PC speakers.

“Good morning Micky. Glad to see you finally made it.” Ted stated, tactfully accentuating the obvious reproach.

“Morning Ted” she responded. “I assume you got my message?”

“Most definitely” he replied “Everything OK? I mean I don’t want to pry or anything like that but… just asking”

As she was out of view of the web cam, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes before answering.

A split-second mental checklist of possible responses to that question concluded that indicating things were too ‘peachy’ might destroy any motive for having been late, while implying a major family crisis could see her trip to Arizona evaporate. It was office life juggling at its finest. The answer she chose kept the mystery alive while maintaining its magnitude.

“I believe everything will smooth out just fine.”

“OK. Good.” Ted said with a clear sign of relief in his voice. “Can I expect your report on the northwest Arizona sedimentary basin this morning?” This was most certainly a subliminal demand rather than a question.

“Absolutely” Mick snapped back quickly as she slipped into her chair, smiling for the camera that had finally started to capture her image.

“Good. Great.” And suddenly… Ted’s little talk box on the screen dissolved. Having ended the conversation without a ‘Talk to you later then’ or a ‘Then have a good morning’ queued Micky into Ted’s REAL mindset regarding her late arrival. He was a bit pissed.

“Deal with it” she said quietly as she adjusted the screen on her PC and plunged into what was promising to be a stressful day.

 

 

Brandon Rogers watched as his father spread his fingers on the screen, zooming in on the image that had been attached to the message Brandon’s mother had sent. The message had unfortunately slammed into his phone while standing inches from his dad and, although the notification tone had been dialed down to barely audible, his father had still heard it. Daryl had shot a quizzical expression in his direction and then jabbed an open palm out for Brandon to hand the phone over.

The past few weeks had been trying for Brandon. Being made to choose one parent over another is not uncommon in the lives of children of divorced couples, he remembered thinking. But when your parents have separated over political issues and one of them has literally joined a radical faction that you yourself find crazy, it’s… well… strange, he conjectured. And that parent had then physically dragged Brandon into his anti-American fight, disallowing free communication between he and his mother and stashing him in a neighborhood that was frightening in and of itself.  Their accommodations had become a dilapidated state-run housing complex that smelled of drug use, filth, and mold and had a rat population that far out numbered the human occupants. Daryl had literally SMILED when they were shown their appointed room. Turning and facing his son and, grabbing him by his shoulders, saying excitedly “Tell me this isn’t adventurous!?! We are deep into the workings of the Liberal forces! We’re part of it now son!” Brandon knew, that when his father paused after that comment, he was awaiting an affirmative response from the young man. But Brandon just stared back expressionless, exuding indifference, and hurt.

Now, nearly 5 weeks later, he watched helplessly as his father invaded the world of his personal cell phone. No longer was anything sacred or private. Brandon had messages on that phone between himself and his friends at school and some of his acquaintances who still worked at the fast food place where he had taken a summer job. Not only did this ‘gestapo’ tactic feel wrong, it frightened him. Straining to remember if he had texted anything that might anger his father, Brandon fidgeted nervously, his arms wrapped around behind his back and the toe of his left Nike digging into the carpeting in their ragamuffin apartment living room. His mind hashed over the same thing he had been thinking about for weeks now… There has to be a way to run from this madness.

The handwritten note from Micky, which had been photographed and then texted to Brandon, had been sent directly to her son in hopes that he and he alone would see it. Unfortunately though, there had not been time for Brandon to read or view any of the text message’s content and he had definitely not seen that it had an attachment.

Daryl’s head slowly shook back and forth, sparking Brandon to fear his father had just sensed subterfuge was afoot. But this was a misread of Daryl’s expression, for after what seemed like an eternity, his face softened and he swung the phone out between two fingers in Brandon’s direction.

“Here you go” the boy’s dad stated with some level of emotion in his voice. “Your mother loves you son. And don’t you forget it. I just don’t trust her anymore.”

The young man had to quash his immediate urge to smile at his father’s first comments in exchange for a more subdued response to the ‘mistrust’ remark. Brandon cautiously retrieved the device with his face downcast for fear of making eye contact. He truly had grown just plain sick and tired of his father belittling his mother and was now uncomfortable even looking Dear ol Dad in the eyes after this Mom-condescending remark. One moment, Daryl would elevate her upon a pedestal, making her sound like God’s gift to all mankind and then, frequently in the same conversation, he’d attack her integrity and character with comments about poor decisions she had made, her lack of pride in her race, and accusations of irresponsibility and flightiness.

Brandon was now old enough that he could determine when a courteous comment was due. Saying ‘thank you’ following the interrogation of his cell phone and the attack on his mother was just not apropos. He simply turned and walked to his bedroom in silence. In so many ways, his father’s actions regarding the communique from his mom had only bolstered what Micky was hoping for… an increased desire in Brandon to find his way back to her and flee from his father and Daryl’s insane Leftist undertaking. Before closing the door, he heard his father’s voice.

“I’m heading off to work, Bran. I have some meetings afterwards so I’ll be a bit late” The sound of the door closing and latching followed.

Once he had opened the message and its attachment, it took only a few seconds for Brandon to recognize the unique underline beneath the hand scribbled words and proficiently decipher them. Exercising discipline Brandon had not previously employed, he kept his face from displaying the excitement that had welled up inside him upon his understanding of his mom’s plan. He allowed only an unpretentious half smile to show. Plans on how to flee this hellish pseudo prison his father had mentally and verbally constructed began to clutter his mind. No bars. No immediate fences. No chains. And yet, leaving had somehow been demonized to a point where escape felt impossible. A conceptualized and perfectly executed psychological jail.

Hope had been absent from Brandon’s life for too long and its resurgence quickly fueled him to action. Shortly after his father had left for work, he had packed his duffel, gathered some food, and carefully studied his chosen route home. All of this had been carried out in the secrecy of his father’s absence. (Move everything after this point to another chapter??)

 

Since there was no school that day, Brandon’s every waking moment was consumed with preparation for his departure. With Daryl preoccupied with his job and then meetings of some sort, Brandon merely needed to keep a close watch on the apartments parking space out the window in order to avoid a confrontation. A map of Denver was draped over the tiny kitchen table like a table cloth with its streets and highways laced with fluorescent yellow highliter veins indicating potential pathways and detours. In an effort to avoid spilling it on the map, Brandon kept his newly opened Pepsi on the kitchen counter, several feet away from his cartography project.

Although his large military green duffle bag was out, it was empty. Prepacking would be dangerous and could raise a serious red flag should his dad enter unexpectedly. Shoes, shirts, pants, and any toiletries remained in their usual locations for the time being. After an undetermined length of time concentrating on the map, Brandon decided he should check for his father’s car.

As he was standing up, he was abruptly startled by the doorknob rattling. Brandon froze! His eyes darted around the room as he realized, not only was the map with obvious markings flagrantly displayed on the table, his duffle bag was lying near his bed. Unsure what to grab first, he bolted in the direction of the map just as a loud knock echoed through the apartment. In an effort to not destroy the map for the sake of hiding it, he fumbled to fold it in a recoverable manner. Just as he turned in high gear toward the large army green bag, a voice leaked through the front door.

“Brandon! It’s me! Riley! Are you in there?” Brandon came to a screeching halt and felt his entire body go limp as every muscle and nerve de-stressed and the long-held breath was finally exhaled. With his eyes closed in relief, the young man managed a smile of sorts and shouted a response.

“I am. Just a second!”

Over the few months the father and son duo had spent as inner-city dwellers, Riley Heggeman had become Brandon’s closest friend. Their bonding was reinforced by the fact they were both in nearly identical circumstances. Victims of dad’s who thought they could save the world through liberal activism. Riley was a year older than Brandon but was considerably smaller. At 5’ 3”, he stood a full 4 inches shorter than the younger boy. But what Riley lacked in height, he more than made up for in build. Having been very active in sports, particularly football and wrestling, Riley could bench press 260lbs and knew how to handle himself in a boxing ring. A lethal combination in anyone’s rule book. It had been so long ago since his parents had split up, Riley was beginning to struggle to remember his mother’s face and voice. His curly blonde hair needed trimming badly and the clothes he had to use over and over again were showing wear. Conversations between the two young men had started bordering on Leftist treason as mention of the old days and things like rides up into the mountains, meeting up with friends who lived up there, and unity between everyone were reminisced.

Brandon swung the door open to the beaming face of his friend. Riley cocked a hand back and up, ready to fire off a smack hard handshake. Their hands slapped and clamped together tightly as they both pulled in and dipped a shoulder against the others. Then Riley pushed Brandon back to give him an up and down examination. With his hand still clamped onto Riley’s, Brandon pulled his friend through the doorway. Riley noticed Brandon poke his head out and scan the hallway before closing the door. His brows creased with question.

“You seem… nervous, dude. What’s going down?” Riley queried, displaying concern. Brandon’s face drained of expression, his eyes turning downward. Riley craned his neck in an effort to place his face in Brandon’s line of sight. He couldn’t help but notice Brandon’s troubled look. He spoke again, this time allowing true concern to be reflected in his voice. “You OK man?”

Brandon’s tongue slid around his lips to wet them. It was obvious he was debating on how much he wanted to share with Riley. The more his friend knew, the more trouble he would get into once Brandon’s absence was discovered. A lack of knowledge on Riley’s part guaranteed plausible deniability.

“Just missing my mom” he said, trying to maintain credibility through a partial truth. Brandon then tipped his head to wave Riley the rest of the way into the room, now locking the door behind him. Riley took note of this action as well, but this time said nothing. The young visitor stepped in the direction of the well-worn couch and plopped into it, flipping his feet up onto the coffee table while cupping both hands behind his head, elbows winged out to the side. Down inside, Brandon felt an uneasiness welling up regarding his father’s return. This relaxed visitation with Riley was going to have to be brought to an abrupt end. Considering they’d only been sitting there for several minutes, the closure would seem odd to say the least.

“So… whatcha need?” Brandon asked in a faux calm tone. After casually sauntering towards the window, he  glanced out at the parking lot below, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

“I dunno. Just thought I’d drop in and check out what’s happenin” Riley replied in an authentic tranquil voice. The silence lingered for nearly a minute, allowing even the barely audible sound of the oven clock clicking seconds away, to be heard. Brandon abruptly spun to face the reclining Riley. He clapped his hands together and then rubbed them vigorously.

“Well my man… I’ve got a ton of stuff I have to get done before my ol’ man get’s home” he said in a near yawn. He was then startled by Riley’s jump to his feet and defensive stance to Brandon’s immediate right. His index finger then jabbed forward in an accusatory point.

“What in the hell is going on here man?” he blurted out into Brandon’s surprised face. Brandon reared back, head scrunching backward on his neck, eyes wide open in shock. “You are up to something I’m telling you! This isn’t a normal visit and you know it!” Riley continued. “You’re gonna leave aren’t you?”

That question brought everything in the world to a screeching halt. Brandon stood frozen in front of his friend, not knowing whether to just give in and come clean or to shoot for his best Hollywood performance in maintaining the status quo. He turned suddenly and walked away from Riley, tripping slightly over the crumpled carpet that the coffee table was sitting on. In doing so, he exposed the city map that was forced into his left rear pocket. Riley’s eyes dropped to the crudely folded, yet clearly discernable, street guide. Without saying a thing, he took a quick lunge in Brandon’s direction and reached out, snatching the paper from Brandon’s jeans. Brandon spun around to catch his friend in the act… but was too late.

“I don’t believe it! You are getting the hell outta here aren’t you?” Riley said smiling and almost laughing. “I wanna go with you man. Don’t you dare beat it without me”

Brandon knew the charade was over and he was now going to have to hurriedly explain the whole situation to his friend. Thinking quickly, he drew his phone out and brought the note from his mother up. Handing it to Riley he spoke.

“Notice anything about that message?” he questioned. Riley’s face drew into a quizzical study and a slow head shake. Brandon was only going to give him a few seconds.

“Nah. I mean… it’s a nice note from your mom. I’m guessing there’s something else to it?” Riley concluded.

“The underlining. It’s Morse Code” the younger boy pointed out. “My mom and I had both learned it and she used it to sneak a message past my dad”

“WHAT?!?” Riley blurted out, now smiling even more. “That’s bad ass man! Morse Code?!? No way?!” Now starting to smile a bit himself, Brandon ripped the phone out of his friends hands and turned to pull his duffle out from it’s hiding place. The thought of not having to go through all this alone appealed to him and he was actually now glad Riley knew.

“Look Riley. I maybe have less than five minutes to finish up with my planning” he said while busying about. After a moment of shoving his last few things into the bag, he turned and stood facing Riley.

“OK. If you want to come along… I’m game. But you’ll have to be ready to ditch in like…” he looked past his friend at the old, hand styled oven clock. “… 11 hours”

“Oh. So you’re not trying to slip out right this second?” the bulky young man questioned.

“No way. If I leave right now, the second my dad get’s back here, he’ll know something’s up. He’ll have them stupid ass ANTIFA mobs out scouring the streets for me within minutes” Brandon explained. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in these past few months it’s that my dad sleeps like a rock. A nuclear blast won’t wake him once he’s down”

“So you slip out when he’s asleep and that way you’ve got until he wakes up the next…” Riley was able to start before being cut off.

“Yeah yeah yeah. You got the picture” Brandon said hurriedly. “Now I have got to finish up Rye! Go. Get yourself ready. Meet me over by the housing playground two hours from right now” He began gently shoving his friend towards the door with one hand while reaching for the door knob with the other. Riley stumbled backwards, looking around his friend at the clock in order to properly register what the time would be 11 hours from now.

Before Brandon’s hand could grab the knob, the sound of a key slipping into the deadbolt was heard. The two young men’s heads turned and looked at each other in wide eyed horror.

CHAPTER 7

 Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

 

From directly beneath the window of the room Buck was in, Shane could hear him discussing plans with several other men. When he first positioned himself there, they were talking about food and water issues as well as morale problems that were starting to arise. Despite the ‘broad daylight’ situation, Shane had managed to maneuver his way across a large part of the compound. The heat of the desert day was climbing fast and it appeared everyone was opting to stay indoors. This inspired one simple main objective for Shane to contend with. Stay out of direct line of sight with any windows… if possible.

‘Enough of this jibber jabber’ the escapee thought. ‘I need to get moving!’. Just as he scooted himself along the wall from under the window, Shane heard a loud and sharply shouted question pierce the silence.

“AND WHERE THE HELL IS TRENT WITH THAT CAMERON GUY?”, Buck’s boisterous voice could be heard exclaiming. Shane paused just long enough to roll his eyes and shake his head in response to the name thing. But he was acutely aware that this was his cue to scram… ASAP! Before he had left the warehouse, Shane had quickly drug Trent’s limp body over to his cell room and slipped him into bed under the stiff woolen cover. Additionally, he had placed him on an empty potato sack, making the dragging process easier as well as avoiding a long smear of blood to clean up. A few force-fed Tylenol PM’s would eventually plunge Trent into a long peaceful sleep. And what the heck, Shane had thought, it might help with the pain of his busted up face. After locking him inside the room and making him look like the sleeping ‘Cameron’, he was hopeful the plane’s sudden and unplanned departure might be viewed as Trent deciding to bolt or something as such. But Shane still had a long trek to the aircraft to tackle and he had no idea whether or not someone might be guarding it.

A ‘heads-down’ run between two yellow painted pylons brought him to what appeared to be the edge of the road. But what road? And where was everyone? The complete and total absence of human activity throughout the compound was starting to concern him. That is UNTIL he heard a roar of laughter reverberating down Main Street from the general direction of the tavern.

“For crying out loud!” he chuckled under his breath. “It’s only…” He glanced at his wrist as if to catch the time on his watch. But there was no watch and he shrugged it of as a silly forgetful thing to do.

Before he could note the time of day, he heard the clatter of running footsteps accompanied by shouting. It sounded as though they were saying, ‘They’re gone!’. But the voices were distant and were rebounding through dozens of homes and businesses, making their words echoed and garbled.

‘This would be a PERFECT time for me to be firing up that plane’ he pondered. ‘They’d all think Trent and I had found common ground and bolted together’ After carefully scanning his surroundings back and forth several times, Shane felt confident no one was in his immediate vicinity. In a stooped over position with his weapon tucked into his gut, he darted to his left in between two buildings and became instantly hidden by the shadows the structures cast against each other. The walls lining the alley were void of windows or doors, save one small opening about eight feet up the left wall, and Shane tossed around the idea of remaining there until nightfall. Its weedy appearance and hundreds of aerosol cans and discarded faded newspapers scattered everywhere, signaled no one had set foot there for months, if not years. He could snuggle in and make his move later under the cover of darkness, when things had settled down a bit.

That’s when he heard it. The distant but distinct sound of a small airplane engine sputtering to life with its prop chopping the air. Shane’s eyes opened wide and his hand immediately began patting the outside of his pants in the area of its pocket contents. It was still there. The key to the Cessna had not dropped out or through a hole. Obviously, this wasn’t the only key to the plane. Then another thought struck Shane. WHO was starting the plane and why? Trent had boasted how he was the only person in the compound who knew how to fly. It would be literally impossible for him to have pulled himself together physically, shaken off the effects of the nighttime pain relievers Shane had stuffed in him, and traveled the distance from the warehouse to and up the mesa in this short of time.

Shane crept quietly but quickly to the edge of the shadow to see if he had an unobstructed view of the mesa the plane was on. Sure enough, there in the bright sunlight, the white and red aircraft sat, still tethered to the rock with its propeller spinning and two men with rifles slung over their shoulders standing next to it. Shane slowly and carefully poked his head out and around the corner of the wall he was backed up against. He did an immediate double take in the direction over his shoulder. There, hurrying down the next alley, were two men carrying Trent by either arm, his feet dragging through the sand and his head bobbling limply between his hoisted shoulders. Despite his failure to retrieve Shane for the ‘execution by mine shaft’, Shane was pretty confident they wouldn’t toss Trent down the tube, due to his ability to pilot the 150.

Shane flipped back into the shadow, allowed his body to relax, and shook his head. Wait?? Are they seriously going to attempt to put Trent behind the yoke of that plane?? Shane imagined the resulting scenario should that be the case. It wasn’t pretty. Any altitude gain at all would increase the effect of Trent’s dizziness and the medication coursing through his blood. Vertigo would more than likely send him crashing earthward. He again shook his head to throw off the idea and said, in a breathy whisper… Whatever. His thoughts then turned back to himself.

‘But now what about me? What are my adjusted plans?’ he pondered in a whisper. ‘How am I going to get away from this nut house?’ He knew there was no going back at this point. There’d be no stepping out, arms raised in surrender, and professing allegiance to The Buck of the United Crazies of Arizona. In fact, he’d lay money that right about now, there was a ‘shoot on sight’ order. Kill Cameron the second you see him. Moving at night would be better…but not by much. Many of these guys had night vision gear, making his odds only slightly improved in the dark. Considering how high the alert was at this moment, he felt lucky to still be breathing. There was only one tactic that popped into his mind and it would take several minutes of planning.

A major distraction. An explosion. A building collapse or tower toppled. If he could execute this with a ‘MacGyver style’ 3 to 5 minute timer involved, he could distance himself just far enough from the catastrophe, that when Buck and company went dashing conveniently in the opposite direction of his escape route, Shane could practically walk away from this mess. There was only one problem. He was sure that anything explosive… gasoline, propane, acetylene, gun powder or any other ignitable liquids or gases… were kept under lock and key in an unknown location and were well guarded.

With a perplexed expression on his face, Shane casually glanced back down the brick walled alley way he was holed up in.

And then, an uncontrollable smile broke out across Shane’s face.

 

 

The jeep containing Buck, Trent, and Trent’s ‘escorts’, skidded to a dusty stop just off the left wingtip of the Cessna 150. The suns hot rays seemed amplified on the mesa top and the sandy wind wash of the propeller only added to the misery. Buck shielded his face with the back of his hand as he plopped one foot at a time onto the rocky surface. Trent, on the other hand, was yanked from his seat by the armed duo and then pulled around to face Buck.

“Whether you’re ready or not, you’re going to fly this damn plane” Buck shouted above the din of the aircraft. He reached up and slipped one curved forefinger under the chin of the pilot, lifted Trent’s head up till it was staring into his own. “Do you understand that Pal?”

A barely perceivable nod confirmed his understanding. Buck withdrew his chin support in an angry swipe and gave a head tip in the direction of the plane to the pair of militiamen, signaling them to insert Trent into the idling craft. Shoving the beaten man from behind, they steered him towards the open cockpit and heaved him up into position in the left seat. The taller of the two was halted by Buck as the man was about to seal up the fuselage.

“No. You need to go with him” Buck shouted at the man while waving his arm toward the opening. “Someone will need to be scanning the terrain searching for that Cameron guy”

“Are you crazy? I’m not taking off from up here on this cliff with that drugged up, beat up… PILOT?!? the man rebutted. “No damn way” Buck’s hand rose from his side, now wielding a .45 caliber Sig Sauer semi-auto pistol. The other ‘Trent hauler’ had apparently been made aware of this plan ahead of time as he had likewise brought his rifle up to aim at the uncooperative passenger-to-be.

“Seriously??” the guy yelled. Seeing that the two armed ‘flight attendants’ were not going to yield to his refusal, he reluctantly climbed up into the tiny compartment, shaking his head the whole time. Buck leaned in before the door closed.

“Did you guys give him some No-Doz?” Buck questioned loudly pointing at Trent. The victim passenger, now buckled into his seat, nodded and held up four fingers. “There ya go!” Buck said assuredly “You’ll be just fine now, won’t cha?!? I’m sure Trent will be WIDE awake in about ten minutes”

“TEN MINUTES?!?” the dissatisfied co-pilot shouted. “What happens between…” Buck slammed the door on the frightened guard’s comment. Trent’s head slowly turned to look over at Buck through the window on the hatch and began to move back and forth like something on a perpetual motion desktop toy. His eyelids were struggling to stay up and everything about him was screaming out… Don’t make me do this. Instead, Buck smiled back and hoisted an enthusiastic thumb up.

A shaky hand reached up reluctantly and fondled the knobs on the throttle levers. An air of concentration swept over Trent’s entire person. He, like Shane, knew what would happen if he took this plane up above 500 feet. There would be no amount of focus on planet Earth that could prevent the vertigo he’d encounter and the total loss of his sense of up and down that was going to occur. Trent turned to the man in the seat next to him, who was now as white as a ghost and trembling. Trent had recognized who he was.

“Logan? Right?” He asked.

“Yeah. Can you fly this thing Trent?” Logan inquired with an obvious tremor in his voice.

“No. Not up to any kind of altitude in the condition I’m in” he replied bluntly. “But I think I can fly it off this mesa and go immediately down to a landing area somewhere outside of town” Logan’s head was nervously nodding in approval of the idea as Trent continued to explain. “Once I put it on the ground, you can jump out, head back into town and tell Buck I started to pass out or something like that”

“I like it” Logan said with a touch of relief sweeping over his aura. “The side of your face looks pretty bad guy”

Trent’s right hand moved from the throttle to his injured cheek where Shane had belted him with his own pistol. Even a light touch produced searing pain, causing Trent to grimace. For some reason though, Trent wasn’t feeling any anger over the whole incident. He knew Shane was not deserving of execution and that the man wanted to simply go on his way and be left alone. Without looking in Logan’s direction, he spoke.

“Listen to me Logan. That guy everybody’s down there chasing… Cameron or whatever his name is… he’s actually a good guy. He could’ve killed me back there. He just didn’t want to die” Trent said. “My feeling is, I don’t think Buck has the right to just throw people down a mine shaft for no reason” He now turned to see what kind of response his comment was drawing. Logan’s lips were pinched tight and his head hung in an almost guilty manner. He slowly turned to looked up at Trent.

“I agree” he said quietly. Trent smiled and held his fist out. Logan returned the fist pump enthusiastically.  

“Now…let’s make this look good for Buck” Trent said. Logan, now feeling considerably less concerned about his circumstance, smiled and nodded with his whole upper body.

“Let’s” he replied.

CHAPTER 8

 Chapter Eight 

 

 

 

The cursor arrow on McKenna Roger’s computer screen swept up to and clicked on the tiny ‘x’ in the corner of the window, revealing the background photo of her son, Brandon. As though she had fallen into a trance, Mick stared for nearly one full minute into the eyes of her child, whom she had not seen in person for almost a month and a half. When she did finally tear herself away from his image, her gaze dropped to the time on the taskbar. 4:10. She was truly ready for her workday to end. But she also was keenly aware of the pre-trip planning she would have to engage in this evening. Before her mind returned to the current moment, a voice startled her from her deep thought.

“Have you heard from him yet Micky?” Terra’s voice queried from behind, piercing the silence of the office. Mick just shook her head slowly while returning her gaze to her boy.

“I sent him a message last night hoping he’d see it before Daryl. But who knows” she replied with a distant hopelessness in her tone. A sad silence once again engulfed the room and Terra’s shoes scooted over the carpet, her hands coming to rest on Micky’s shoulders.

“Listen to me girl… there has to be something you can do from a legal standpoint”

Suddenly, Micky pushed backwards from her desk, the top edge of her office chair ramming into Terra’s stomach, her hands releasing from Micky’s shoulders and flailing for something to catch her balance. Standing up and turning to face Terra, Micky’s face reflected anger and frustration.

“Legal? Really Terra? Where have you seen ‘legal’ anywhere in the midst of this disastrous mess we’re still trying to call ‘civilization’” she said in a screaming whisper. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and looked down at the floor. She continued, now speaking in a slightly calmer tone. “If I call the police and they just happen to find my kidnapping husband, and he just happens to explain why he left… which he will more than likely do… they’ll side with him and more than likely, I’ll be arrested!” In an instance, Mick realized she had just indirectly revealed her stance in the nationwide right – left conflict. Now with her back turned to Terra, McKenna looked suspiciously back towards her friend, anticipating the obvious question. It came within seconds.

“Wait?” Terra questioned with her brow furrowed and a confused look on her face. “Wait a second? What are you saying Micky? Why would…” The door to McKenna’s office slowly opened accompanied by a belated courtesy knock. It was Ted. He paused with body about halfway in.

“Am I interrupting anything important?” With her back still facing Ted, Terra rolled her eyes in Micky’s direction. She then smiled in a smart-ass sort of manner, and turned to face the man at the door.

“Oh heck no Mr Jergeson. In fact I was just about to scoot” Terra informed the determined manager. “Excuse me sir” she pardoned herself as she slipped past the intruder.

“Terra” he said quietly with a nod to acknowledge her departure. A quick glimpse from behind Ted that registered both disappointment and confusion was cast in McKenna’s direction just before Terra closed the door.

“Well… everything OK in here?” Ted then probed. The man was now perched on her desk with his arms folded casually across his chest and one butt cheek resting on the desktop corner. The sleeves on his tailored Oxford shirt were rolled up a couple times, giving him a ‘get down to business’ look. Micky took in the familiar aroma of his Tom Ford Oud Wood men’s cologne. At $640 a bottle, she only knew what it was because she had asked him, not because Daryl had bought it or anything like that. The woman snapped out of her ‘Ted’s good looks’ distraction and within seconds, had pulled herself together… something she was very good at. Mick rocked back in her chair and brought her hands up behind her head… fingers intertwined.

“Everything’s great here boss! What can I do for our kind and generous leader?”, she responded with a voice that projected friendly sarcasm.

“Alright. That’s enough of that phony ass kissing” he bantered back, half laughing. She chuckled as well. “I thought I’d pop in to bring you up to date on the Arizona trip. I’ve asked Carlos to join you guys.” There was an obvious pause, as if Ted were waiting to gauge McKenna’s response. “We’ll be authorizing a second chopper, which, in the end, makes your son’s presence even less of a problem.”

“Ted… that is awesome news” Micky said smiling as she rocked forward, leaning her arms on the edge of the desk. “That will definitely add a peace of mind factor to this thing” She paused a moment. “You know…after I had asked you about Brandon coming along and after you had agreed to it, I felt a bit… well… guilty. Like I was getting something other employees hadn’t received. You know what I mean?”

“Well Micky, I think we’re looking at this now as a test run for a possible training program. Kind of an internship opportunity for college and pre-college youth” Ted stated with accentuated consideration in his voice.

“Wow! Then I guess I’m honored to have launched such a thing!” she replied with an Oscar winning touch of excitement.

Ted stood up and shoved his Rolex clad left hand into his pant pocket while extending his right hand out to shake. She too then rose to her feet and gave a hearty snug grip in return. Both were looking directly into the other’s eyes, smiling… and searching. He spoke while still gripping her hand tightly, almost as if to say ‘I’m not letting go until you answer this one last question’.

“And by the way, I have to ask…your spouse OK with all of this?”

If there had been anything said in this conversation that had nearly derailed Micky’s Academy Award winning performance, it was that question. Ted Jergeson hadn’t achieved his position in life by being a dummy and she could feel the scrutinization of every muscle in her face as her thought process kicked into high gear in an attempt to spew out the perfect answer. It wasn’t by accident that the executive referred to Daryl as a ‘spouse’ instead of her ‘husband’. This avoided any implication of gender dominance. Within a fraction of a second, she decided to not go the ‘everything is absolutely peachy creamy’ route.

“Well, now that you’re asking. Daryl isn’t thrilled that I, and now Brandon, am traveling out to a part of the U.S. that is known for Right Wing Militia activity” she responded while relaxing her grip on her boss’s hand. Ted then released his hold as well, allowing Micky to sit back down in her desk chair while finishing up. “But you know what Ted, I don’t care. I’m my own person. I have to do the things I want to do regardless of his feelings on them. I love him, but that doesn’t mean he owns me.” She said defiantly. And then she added a touch of Leftist seasoning to the speech in order to give Jergeson a feeling of confidence in her Liberal commitment. “I’m an independent modern-day woman. Period.”

“And that’s what I truly admire about you Mick” he replied smiling and turning to leave. The man paused at the door and turned his body, but not his stance back toward her. Pointing a finger of authority he asked, “So you two will be ready to fly tomorrow morning at 7… right?”

“You betcha!” she quipped back and she was suddenly alone. Immediately her mind screamed out, ‘Carlos?!? Crap! I sure didn’t need that to contend with’

It was then that a scenario played out in her mind. What if she picks up Brandon tonight and Daryl does in fact sleep through till tomorrow morning without noticing Brandon’s absence? He would more than likely wake up, discover the boy is missing, and could then potentially make a call to EnerTech to find out what Micky happens to be doing right then? She’d be toast, she concluded. ‘I would think he’d call my cell first to find out if I knew anything regarding Brandon’s whereabouts’ she deduced. That would give her the opportunity to send Daryl on a short-term wild goose chase. No doubt though, the fear of Daryl calling EnerTech first, which would certainly haunt her at least until they were airborne. With any kind of warning, Carlos could take action once they before they even get off the ground… or when they land in Arizona.

Micky reminded herself that no plan was without glitches and no patriot ever proved their conviction without taking risks and their patriotism having been tested. She was, and she felt Brandon was as well, committed enough to take that chance. Sheer will power helped, but wouldn’t be enough to overcome the barricades and Leftist forces.

Just as Micky was pushing her phone off to the side of her desk, it began buzzing on the desktop. Excitement flurried through her entire body. Her hand paused above the rectangular device, eyes closed with a prayer in her heart. Let it be Brandon, please. Upon flipping the phone over, she saw a notification of an incoming text from an unknown number. Her heart sank. Spam, she thought. The message slid off the screen with a sweep of her finger and she plopped the phone back down on it’s face. Her hand now jumped from the iPhone to her mouse… but suddenly froze. Turning her gaze back to the phone she thought of the possibility of Brandon using someone else’s phone to communicate. Scooting it back in front of her and flipping it face up, she touched the messaging app and open the text. It took everything she had in her to not scream out in joy when she read the content of the message.

“Mom, I’ll be there”

CHAPTER 9 (Incomplete)

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

 

 

 

Although they were weather worn and unreliable, the cardboard boxes Shane had mustered up from among the weeds would have to do. The aerosol cans became heavy enough to bust through the bottom of even the stoutest of the crunchy rain and sun-drenched corrugated cartons. Shane made sure to pick them up carefully by the bottom in order to avert a noisy calamity. One can at a time, he collected all of the discarded objects, weighing each one by jostling them in his hand.

 

 

 

Chapter 10 (Incomplete)

Chapter 10

 

 

 

 

 

The drive home saw McKenna Rogers jumping at every sound her phone made. By the time she reached her doorstep she was both energized and a bundle of nerves. The usual routine of tossing the keys onto the kitchen counter and plopping into her favorite spot on the couch was pretty much history. When she deviated from it this time, she realized she would possibly never walk into this house again. It became necessary for her to tame her emotions about all of this as she had more to do than she had time to begin with and there definitely wasn’t any openings for a weeping session.

Life as she had come to know it for the previous XX years was most definitely coming to an end. Kissing her husband and asking him how his day had gone, hugging her son while inquiring about his school day, and Daryl, Brandon, and herself all cooperatively preparing dinner or hiking together in the mountains would now be photographs and memories. Again she pushed back on those beautifully painful thoughts and even took a few seconds here and there to flip framed photos on the end tables, dressers, and shelves face down in order to dodge further mental interruptions.

A day ago, Mick had taken a few moments at work to compile a list of personal items she would want to have along on a ‘run for her life’. Minimal toiletries. A few lightweight changes of clothing. Only the essential electronics as she was sure those would quickly become both trackable and unusable. Several first aid products including a needle and waxed suture thread, iodine, betadine, and alcohol in small quantities.

Then came the weaponry. What on earth would she be able to smuggle along on this trip, she queried in her mind. Moments later Micky found herself standing in front of her old chest of drawers in the basement of their house. Grasping the edges of the bottom drawer, she pulled it out and lifted, disconnecting it from it’s rails. There, lying on the casing beneath the drawer wrapped in a red shop cloth, was her .45 caliber Springfield XD semi-auto pistol. She hesitated a moment before reaching for it. The thought of wandering in the wilderness completely unarmed was difficult to comprehend. And yet, it was equally impossible to think of her walking into her place of employment, floating past Carlos and Ted, and climbing into a helicopter accompanied by her co-workers with an automatic weapon hidden in her baggage. In fact, doing it was one thing… getting away with it was going to be another. And what would they do to her if she were caught? She could claim she was exceptionally nervous about the area she was being sent to. Or she could very easily state that her ‘not available for verification’ husband insisted she take the gun along.

“Screw it!” she said out loud, reaching for the gun. “I’ll either mess things up before we fly by taking it or die afterwards if I don’t” Unwrapping the cloth revealed the gun and two extra magazines. Again, a momentary thought that was quickly swept away by a strong sense of self preservation. Skipping several steps as she ascended the stairway, Mick had all she desired to bring stuffed neatly into her backpack within an hour. She glanced at the clock. 1915 (7:15pm).

11 hours from now she would see her son again.

 

 

Brandon Rogers

 

 

 

 

had not packed one single thing. What he had done though, was organized every item he wanted along on this journey into specific piles and locations in his closet and drawers. This made it possible for him to literally load his backpack fully and efficiently in less than 2 minutes. For the moment, he and his father were sitting on the couch watching an evening CNN broadcast that was at this point nothing more than Leftist propaganda and Conservative hate mongering. CNN had been this way for the past 25 years of course. The only difference now was that they had no reason to sneak it into generalized news stories. It was blatant and very straight forward and Brandon rolled his eyes in disgust at nearly every word.

Brandon kept his head aiming directly at the TV screen while his eyes snuck a glance at Daryl. The slouchy position the boy was in on the couch allowed his left foot, which was crossed over his right leg, to hide his clandestine peek. A slight movement of the toe of his shoe revealed his father’s slumping head and drooped lower lip. He was out like a light. Brandon looked closely at the drink on the coffee table in front of Daryl. A coke with ice, spiked with, Brandon was pretty sure, a shot of whiskey. Straightening his left leg in order to reach deep into his pocket, Brandon dug down and quickly procured two small bluish tablets. Tylenol PM. As quietly as he could, Brandon rose from the couch and stepped into the kitchen area. Using the flat side of a kitchen knife, the young man crushed the pills into a powder and then scraped them into a spoon.

Now back near the sleeping adult, Brandon dumped the contents of the spoon into the ice frosted glass. Instead of stirring it, the boy decided to barely raise the glass off the table and swish it around a few times.

“Uh… that’s not gonna happen kiddo” the man’s voice mumbled from his reclined position. Brandon noticeably jumped at the breach of silence. Standing red handed with the tumbler in his hand, the boy felt realized the whole plan had just gone up in smoke. What excuse do you give your father when he asks what you just laced his drink with? Daryl rose with a grunt and jutted his hand out in front of him while snapping his fingers. Brandon willingly surrendered the icy drink with his eyes downcast. Busted. This is not going to go well. His dad now reached up and raised the younger man’s chin using one curved finger.

“I know all this confusion in your young life would be the perfect excuse for turning to alcohol or some other form of intoxication.” Daryl expressed with genuine concern. It was in fact spoken with such sensitivity that Brandon actually felt guilty for having done what he had just done. One thing became clear though… Daryl had not noticed Brandon dumping the powered sedative into the glass and was misinterpreting his grab for the glass as a youth’s attempt to steal a gulp of Jack and Coke. The young man now adjusted his demeanor accordingly.

“Sorry Dad. I guess it’s a ‘growing up’ thing” Brandon lied. Daryl rubbed the top of his son’s head, turned, and headed toward the kitchen. Brandon just knew his ‘knock dad out’ part of the plan was about to be dumped down the drain. But to his surprise and delight, Daryl gulped down the last of the drink and then rinsed the glass, setting it on the top rack of the raggedy old dishwasher.

“Quit trying to grow up so fast. This kinda stuff will infect your life someday anyway. Listen buddy, you need to get to sleep!” As he walked away toward his own bedroom, Brandon could barely make out a sendoff. “Night”

A definitive burst of breath that all but said “WHEW!” burst from the young man’s mouth. Knowing that his dad’s old fashioned, copper, double bell alarm clock would still wake the man for work in the morning, the sedative was simply to ensure that when Brandon was walking out the door at 0630 with a loaded duffle bag over his shoulder, his father wouldn’t suddenly pop out of bed and ask what’s going on. The younger man stepped into his closet-sized bedroom and sat down on the edge of his cot-like bed. Like his mother, he scanned the room thinking of how this would be the last time he’d sleep here.

Now leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Brandon fought the urge to cry. Never had he felt so torn between his mother and father. In an effort to dull the pain of it all, Brandon sought clarity by separating mom and dad out from their political affiliations. He wasn’t siding with mom or turning away dad. He was seeking his own political ideals that just so happen to agree with his mother’s views and disagree with his father’s. It was eating at him and slowly sending him into a psychological tizzy.

“Stop it” he whispered audibly. “Just stop it or this is going to drive you crazy” He spun and raised his feet up onto the bed while flopping his head down into the pillow. Holding his phone above him, he took care of the final and crucial last bit of business… setting HIS alarm. Missing his wake up time, oversleeping, snoozing past the alarm… any of these would literally change his destiny at this point. Not too early, he thought, as that would definitely arouse suspicion should dad wake up for some reason.

“

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.08.2021

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To My Mom.... Mother's didn't come any better.