A Simple Rebellion Page 13

  Nasal raised a thick blunt to the soldiers. “Wanna light up?”

  The light he received was a muzzle flash.

  Chapter 59

  BOB DROVE IN SILENCE for a while before Jackson spoke. “How did you know?”

  Bob tossed him a questioning look.

  “The dudes, how did you know they were dangerous?”

  Bob chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ve met a lot of fans. Every once in awhile one stands apart. Those two didn’t mean harm but they weren’t going to be satisfied with an autograph or a picture, and they were definitely going to tell everyone they knew where they met us until we were overrun or the wrong person heard.”

  “What does a ‘wrong person’ want?” “Blood.”

  Jackson stared at his father hoping for a punch line. Bob glanced back, the fire in his eyes confirming none would be forthcoming.

  They both looked forward, through the dirty windshield at the empty road unfolding before them, endless, brutal, and dark.

  Chapter 60

  IT SEEMED POETIC THAT the residents reached Hattiesburg just as the sun ascended over the rise. They climbed toward the new day excited, energized, and so ready for the promise of home.

  That promise plunged as the first of them reached the crest and Hattiesburg came into view.

  A small jolt through the marine’s body gave it away. The horror grew as the Hattiesburg residents joined him. Each held in their hearts a highly personal image of what they would see, but the devastation was universal.

  Every house, sidewalk, street corner, and blade of grass had been demolished.

  Hattiesburg was gone.

  Their entire hometown had been completely, utterly bulldozed out of existence.

  In Hattiesburg’s place was an immense construction site with materials and trucks and plows and new buildings — high end McMansions were being erected where their life once was.

  A large, ornate sign proudly announced the construction of The Corinth Estates.

  The old man with the limp asked, “How could they knock down our houses?”

  A mother whispered, “Where did they put my kids’

  clothes?”

  Another cried, “What did they do with out photo albums?”

  A marine growled, “Our paperwork, mortgages, academic degrees, military honors, financial records—” Lionel spat out the end of that thought. “Our lives.” Behind the new construction of The Corinth Estates was a crater gray with ashes and blackened with burned

  detritus. It was half filled in with new dirt.

  Lionel could hardly breathe. “Here it is, folks: True America.”

  Chapter 61

  DOLORES’S ARRANGEMENTS TOOK BOB, Jackson,

  Merle, and Perri to a huge abandoned mall. Directions were to drive to the loading docks around back at 3 a.m. They arrived at 3:15 to no signs of life. Not even a stray dog or scrounging rat. The place was a cratered moon of broken blacktop and hollowed entranceways.

  Despite the lack of life around the mall, inside their car, the air was crackling with tension.

  “This is not a good place, Uncle Bob,” Perri quivered. “I can’t shake the feeling,” Merle insisted, “that we

  are being watched.”

  Bob turned to Jackson, “You sure about this place?” “If we want to go along with the plan we’ve got to

  get to the back of this mall.”

  “Then at least kill the lights,” Merle suggested. “And hurry,” Perri whispered.

  Bob did both, and the car accelerated into the darkness. He did his best to miss the potholes, but caught one with a loud crunch as they passed a main entrance.

  Almost immediately a roar went up from inside the ruined mall and a single headlight snapped on like the opening of Cyclops’ ominous eye.

  Merle leaned forward, at the same time thrusting a protective arm in front of his little sister. “Biker?”

  Bob glanced at his side view mirror and floored it. “Wish it was only one.”

  Merle and Jackson stared through the sedan’s rear window dumbfounded as a biker gang roared out of the mall.

  Perri put her arms around Steve, her lower lip quivering. “Don’t be scared, Steve,” she whimpered.

  Steve nuzzled her face, licked a tear off her cheek as the sound of roaring engines grew closer.

  Chapter 62

  LIONEL AND THE MARINES got the townspeople to the construction site. The citizens wandered aimlessly, approximating where their homes had been. A few collapsed on the sites of their former properties, overwhelmed. Others began to attack the new structures, kicking at support beams.

  The marines put a stop to that.

  “We are going to need these buildings to live in,” the largest one explained.

  Lionel joined in. “They stole our town from us?

  We’re stealing it back.” Some cheered.

  The big marine raised a hand, silencing everyone. He cocked his head to the side and listened. So did everyone else.

  Together they heard a rumbling in the distance. Lionel saw the first truck roar over the rise, a

  Confederate flag flying in the headlights of those coming up behind it.

  The trucks kept coming, red necks and backwoods militia men hanging off the sides, screaming like Comanche (the irony was surely lost on them) and waving shotguns and rifles as they descended upon the former residents of Hattiesburg.

  Chapter 63

  THE BIKERS CHASED THE sedan, closing in on each side. Suddenly a thick chain swung through the darkness, a sharp hook at its end digging into the door next to Perri. The rider who launched it roared off.

  The chain went taut; the sedan was yanked to one side until Perri’s door was torn away.

  Bob spun out wildly before regaining control of the car.

  Another biker raced up to the new opening, reaching for Perri. Merle covered her with one arm and thrust his other hand into the biker’s face, firing a taser he held right into the jerk’s surprised eyes. The predator screamed and fell off his hog in spasms. His Harley tumbled end over end into another rider.

  “Thank you for saving me, Merle,” Perri whispered and kissed her brother on the cheek.

  “Always, Periwinkle.”

  The sedan slid a bit as Bob took the last corner and then there they were, not one but two gleaming helicopters.

  Jackson shouted, “Go! Go! Go!”

  Merle eased the backpack open and released Steve’s safety strap. He slipped the dog into the bag and zipped it almost completely closed. When Perri looked at him concerned, Merle leaned in close so she could hear

  him, “To keep him safely with us, hon.”

  Perri nodded, tears welling up in her frightened eyes.

  Bob skidded to a stop as close to the ‘copters as he dared.

  Jackson leapt out and ran for the waiting pilots and the armed bodyguards. “Shoot those bikers,” he commanded.

  Four bodyguards raised their Glocks and fired with impressive precision, dispensing the nearest riders with ease.

  The rest of the bikers were maybe 200 yards away, racing forward, pulling weapons of their own.

  Bob jumped out and slid over the hood to where Merle and Perri were climbing out. He pulled them to him in a desperate hug. “These guys will protect you both and get you to Dolores! She’ll make sure you are safe! We’ll get to you as soon as we can, I promise!”

  Merle was uncharacteristically shook. “I never got you that Second City bootleg! I’m so sorry—”

  He hugged them both closer. “None of that matters now. And I’m the one who’s sorry! I’m so sorry for all of this! There’s no time for—”

  He glanced over his shoulder. The remaining bikers were 100 yards away and rushing relentlessly toward them. He embraced them urgently. “Just know I love you!”

  Bob scooped up Perri and ran to Jackson at the helicopters. Merle followed.

  “Which of these men do you know the longest,” Bob demanded of his son.

  Jackson point
ed to one pilot. “Fifteen years,” he shouted. Then he waved over two of the bodyguards. “Thirteen years.”

  Bob handed Perri to one of them. “With your lives,” he demanded.

  “Roger that,” he said.

  “We’ll get them home safe, sir,” the other promised, and they placed the girl in the copter beside her brother. Merle strapped Perri in as the gunmen placed their bodies between the kids and the armed bikers, taking four more out. One of them grabbed a headset, shouted a command, and slammed the ‘copter door. The pilot rose and arced away quickly.

  Merle held Perri to his chest as they flew off.

  Tears in his eyes, Bob followed Jackson into the other helicopter, their bodyguards still firing, blowing out tires and ripping through legs of any riders in sight. The rest screeched to stops to avoid running over their brothers. One of bodyguards tossed them a farewell grenade.

  As they rose and flew out of the bikers’ range, the bodyguard motioned for the Murphys to don headphones.

  “Your kids will be in Canadian airspace within minutes,” the pilot assured. “They will remain in that air space and then fly over Pacific international waters before circling back to Cali. They will never be in the States’ airspace so will be safe from the American military planes.” He paused a second, and then said, “We can follow them or fly to DC. The latter is significantly more dangerous. Your call.”

  Jackson nodded toward the kids’ copter already diminishing into the distance, casting his vote.

  And in a moment that shamed him, Bob faltered. He wanted to follow, to run, to escape, to just make this entirenightmarestop. Leteveryonefendforthemselves, that’s the way of America nowadays, isn’t it? If they got

  to California there would be no extradition, no more risk. His assets were protected through Jackson’s Los Angeles offices; they would all be wealthy, privileged, safe. Merle and Perri could go to the finest schools, sleep soundly at night, and learn to laugh again. He could even apologize to his fans in a few days. Or go Live right now and call it all off. Tell them to go home and lock their doors and bar their windows and crawl back to work on Monday telling their boss whatever lie would let them keep their jobs so they could just take their lives back.

  But that wasn’t going to happen, was it?

  No one got off the hook anymore, no one forgave, no one forgot. Even presidents attacked private citizens, called them insulting names, lied about them.

  Cro Magnons were extinct but this society was just as brutal. The savagery was subtler; lives were ruined these days by budget cuts and downsizing and salary caps and quarterly reports and absurd law changes and trolls and shaming and fake news. The one percent of the one percent of the one percent owned 90 percent of the wealth in the entire world and the rest attacked each other just to get the tiniest bit of what remained.

  And in all honesty, none of that would touch Bob. He was one of the elite. He’d made obscene amounts of money. He could just enjoy what it bought him and his people.

  No, he couldn’t, not if he ever wanted to look himself in the eye again.

  “D.C or bust,” he said into his headset.

  The pilot turned away from the other helicopter and flew towards the first hints of sunrise glowing along a distant horizon.

  Chapter 64

  “CIRCLE THE TRUCKS,” THE main marine ordered. “Elders, get the children to the two finished homes, please! The rest are with us.”

  Lionel watched a horde of militia members and white supremacists thunder down on them, lowering their weapons now, taking aim at the people of the disappeared Hattiesburg.

  “Oh hell no,” he hollered.

  A marine yelled at him, “You gonna get out of the way, Hollywood?”

  Lionel turned, saw what he was standing in front of, and leaped for cover.

  The soldiers were prepping three U.S. Military GAU 19B 50 Caliber Gatling guns they had liberated from the processing center’s weapons storehouse.

  “Aryans and rednecks and nazis, oh my,” Lionel called, grinning at the mega weapons called Terrorist Killers.

  And now he saw why; these guns were terrifying. The marine hollered, “Ready!”

  The guns swung from left to right— “Aim!”

  Each aimed at a slightly different area of the oncoming attackers—

  “Fire!”

  The modern Gatlings ripped the militias to shreds, dispensing most of the advancing forces within two horrifically efficient, deafening minutes.

  Those still alive after that dreadful dose of hellfire fled back up the hill.

  A sniper took them out one at a time. The residents cheered.

  Lionel signaled for quiet. “No partying yet,” he called out, “we have more to do.”

  The marine agreed. “Grab guns. We’ll teach you to use them quickly.”

  A young man asked, “Didn’t we just win?”

  Lionel clasped him on the shoulder. “Son, that was just the welcoming committee,” he said. “The real numbers are definitely on their way, and they’re gonna be really pissed.”

  Tears welled up in the young man’s eyes. “Why?”

  Lionel hugged him, speaking into his ear. “When did they ever let us win and walk away?” He pulled the would-be soldier so the kid stood before him. “If we want this, it ain’t enough to take what’s ours. We gotta show the whole twisted country we aim to keep it or die trying. Brace yourself, my brother, this ain’t over by a damn sight.”

  The young man swallowed hard. “O-okay,” he managed. “I ain’t going backwards.”

  “Smartest thing anyone ever said in this country,” Lionel exclaimed.

  It startled the young man. His eyes widened until Lionel’s meaning registered, and then the kid stood straighter, threw back his shoulders, raised his head, and broke into a smile that came from deep down in his

  soul. “We’re in this, all the way.” “Damn straight.”

  Chapter 65

  ALL PERMITS AND PAPERWORK had been filled out to perfection, so workers set up saw horses sectioning off the already gathering crowd at the National Mall. Other workers set up a podium and microphone at the bottom of the steps leading to the Lincoln Memorial.

  Curiously, a matching podium and a multitude of microphones were also set up on the landing half way up those historic steps.

  No explanation was provided.

  People were allowed to gather in front of the lower podium, but no one was permitted onto the steps. A squad of police in riot gear made sure the Lincoln Memorial stayed off limits all morning.

  Still, the crowd persisted in gathering….

  Chapter 66

  AMY BROOKS WAS REPORTING from another hotel room. She seemed a little less tense than her last broadcast, almost back on her game. “TASE continues to spread across the country, pursuing Bob Murphy and other alleged enemies of the state.”

  “But Bob Murphy isn’t an enemy of the American people. Even today, his message went out seeking to unify Americans peacefully against the ongoing derailment of the ‘Idea of America’ as he said.

  “There is truth in that, and value in unity, especially in the face of those who would oppress freedoms and subvert ideas—”

  She was cut off by the booming crack of wood. Startled, Amy looked to her left, horror twisting her face—

  The broadcast picked up the sound of running boots—

  Amy raised an arm defensively —

  A Stinger battering ram slammed into view, knocking her thin arm aside, plowing right into Amy Brooks’ face.

  Shattering her cheekbone. Caving in her skull.

  Black uniformed torsos filled the screen.

  The ominous thud of heavy boots kicking where

  Amy’s body fell continued long after the sounds of

  gurgling and gasping stopped....

  Chapter 67

  AS THEY FLEW TOWARD DC, father and son did not speak. Instead, Bob stared at the cellphone picture of Mary Angeline’s portrait he took before fleeing their home, and
did what he had done throughout his career; he tried out his material on the one opinion he trusted above all others.

  In his mind, he performed the whole speech for her, even adding in what he hoped the audience would say. When he was finished, he imagined an entire conversation with the love of his life.

  And his heart warmed with the sense that she liked what he planned.

  He winked at her smiling image and murmured, “See ya soon,” before shutting down his phone.

  Chapter 68

  MORE CAME.

  Militias from neighboring towns, and then across the county, and then, according to shoulder patches, the furthest reaches of the state. And yet, Hattiesburg residents were winning.

  Some had paid the price. The old man who only wanted to read Walter Mosley took one right in the heart and died on the spot.

  Grace Wilkins, who wanted to cook using her own kitchen, was shot through the eye.

  Numerous others sustained wounds.

  But mostly, they were winning enough to think the

  U.S. military had to arrive soon and put an end to the madness.

  That had to happen, right?

  And then more Aryans crested the ridge. So many they blurred the horizon.

  Two women fainted.

  Most of the rest looked exhausted, scared, their faith faltering.

  And then they heard the jets. Still in the distance, but visible now.

  The military was at long last swooping down from the skies to save the day, to end the horror, to, in the eleventh hour, bring them some peace.

  “That’s right, run,” Lionel murmured, delighted to watch a hill full of whiteboys retreat as one. He took in all of devastated Hattiesburg. Death everywhere. Blood everywhere else.