The Western Front: Parts 1-3 Part 6

"They refuse to provide you with the healthcare you are owed. They ignore your rights to an education. They bail out every fat-cat capitalist that sticks his palm out, while you go to sleep every night fearful of what tomorrow might bring. Your children and they're hungry and ask you why you don't love them anymore. They have erased your future. Your future! Your children's future!"

The crowd hissed and booed at the comments as he continued.

"They erect altars to terrorism all around you. Look around you! The ground you stand on is a monument to colonialism and imperialism! Look at the towers around you. Look there!" he pointed the Appeals Court, "a temple to the G.o.ds that enslave you. And another, over there!" He turned and pointed to the Federal Reserve, "The slave masters to whom they traded your freedom for their thirty denarii!"

The crowd shouted and hurled threats and insults at the buildings. High above the park, fearful figures peered down at the raucous crowds. Many would be sleeping in their offices for the night. They prayed the front doors would not be breached and they would not be dragged into the streets like some third world prisoner of war. The last protest had quickly turned deadly as the crowd's fury was directed at the few businessmen that still worked in the surrounding buildings.

He pointed to the southeast and continued with his fiery rhetoric, "And there, a museum for the history of the Zionists; the same wretched sub-humans that have caused so much of your suffering? They have a shrine for their evil deeds, what do you have?"

"Nothing!" The crowd hissed and jeered even louder than before at his inference.

"Enough!" He demanded.

The spellbound crowd echoed his demand, "Enough!"

William smiled; they were all his thralls now. Through his conjurations of lies and evocations of hate he had ensnared their minds. Now was the time for his black art theatrics. He stomped the stage with fury and thrust his arms into the air once again as he thundered with pa.s.sion to his thralldom, "Fangen wir einen Aufruhr. Ein Aufstand!"

The crowd roared ever louder at the utterance of each word.

"Sie wollen damit zu kmpfen, geben wir ihnen einen Aufruhr!

Oder vielleicht Revolution, eine Lsung!

Verndern wir eine Nation, aber zuerst ein wenig Geduld.

Ich mchte Aufruhr, geben wir ihnen einen Aufruhr!"

The tempestuous crowd was at a boiling point, the energy was untameable by anyone but William. As he uttered the last verse of his teutonic chant, he withdrew a gleaming knife and held it high above his head. The crowd was in a frenzy. It clammored for a blood offering. Finally, he acquiesced and slashed a shallow cut down the length of each of his forearms. He raised each arm in turn and smeared the crimson across his cheeks and down his face. When he finished the gesture he stomped the stage and thrust his arms skyward one final time, before bellowing a nightmarish howl.

As William was performing his closing act, a dozen provocateurs filtered out from the back of the crowd and walked towards the line of police. The officers were visibly unnerved by the scene. Something wicked was brewing.

William jumped into the air. As he landed, he pointed towards the police and roared, "Now!"

Fast-paced industrial music blared from the stage's sound system. A dozen men simultaneously lit and launched their molotov c.o.c.ktails at the police. The bombs exploded all along the line, engulfing the panicked officers.

Several cops dove on the ground and frantically rolled around in vain trying to extinguish the flames, but the hate-fueled fire was too great to be denied. The blood frenzy of the crowd now had a focal point the terror-stricken police. The crowd fanned out in all directions, seeking anything or anyone to immolate. All the while, William continued to shriek orders from atop the stage like some malevolent, planar fiend. A ghastly smile engulfed his b.l.o.o.d.y face.

He had never felt more alive.

The Learjet was plush and relaxing, compliments of one of his many supporters. William was half-way back to D.C. and on his second martini. He could not have felt any better. He stared out the window at Chesapeake Bay. It was empty; there were no sailboats, no yachts nothing. The open water was desolate.

From his comfortable, captain's chair, he closed his eyes and envisioned the horror and suffering that was occuring far beneath him. He did not feel sympathy to those below him. He knew that it was a necessary transition that had to be endured to achieve his ends.

He could see the pain in many of the faces of the people who came to his protests. They were searching for guidance from anyone that would give it. He gave them his solutions and they believed him without question. A fundamental ideological transformation would be required before he would allow things to return to some semblance of normalcy.

His feet were propped up and he was beginning to fall asleep when his phone began to vibrate. He ignored the first and second calls, but he finally relented and answered the third.

"What?"

"How was your little rally in Philly?"

"It was so amazing, you wouldn't believe it. We brought that town to its knees. We had over five thousand people show up and had probably another five thousand join in before I left, and it's not over not by a long shot. They'll be burning that town for a week."

"Did you do your German bit?"

"Of course, they loved it."

"They'd love it so much more if they had a clue as to what it meant."

William laughed.

"William, we need to meet soon. I need to come to the city."

"What about?"

"I'm not talking about it over the phone. I'll be in town in a few days. I'll call you when I get there. We can meet at Johnny's spot."

"I better not be disappointed with this meeting."

The man sounded perturbed by his response, "See you in a few days, alright?"

"Looking forward to it."

Chapter 12.

Jake West Mississippi Jake cautiously approached the front door with his AR pistol in his hand. Again someone banged on the door. He stopped several feet short and at a sharp angle. He called out, "Who's there?"

Geram took up a defensive position in the hall with the short-barreled shotgun.

"Don't shoot, it's Levi Richardson."

Jake unlocked and opened the door, "Levi, is everyone alright?"

"We're fine. There hasn't been any trouble since we cut the roads, like Geram said."

"Good, have a seat. I'll get you some coffee."

Levi followed Jake inside and took a seat at the kitchen table. Jake grabbed the coffee pot and several cups from the kitchen. Geram appeared and slapped Levi on the back before taking a seat as well. Jake returned and offered the men each a cup.

"So," Jake said, "you've got me worried. Tell me what's going on."

"Y'all are leaving tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, it's too hard to step outside and see Frank's empty house. We need to move on. Need a new start."

"I think you should leave tonight, Jake."

"I don't understand. You know how dangerous it is to be on the road at night."

"I know, but if you wait until the morning, you might not be able to leave. Tonight at the meeting, the town discussed not letting anyone in or out anymore. They don't want people on the outside that know our weaknesses. They're planning on stationing several people at each road leading out of town."

Jake and Geram sat in silence for several moments. Finally, Jake replied, "Thank you Levi; you didn't owe us a warning, but I appreciate that you came. You're right, we'll leave tonight. I don't want to risk a confrontation with people I respect."

"You're welcome, and you're wrong; I did owe it to you. We're family out here, all of us. We always have been. What they're doing is wrong."

"They're scared Levi, we understand. If I was staying, I can't say that I'd disagree."

The men sat and talked for several more minutes as they finished their coffee. Afterwards, they exchanged goodbyes and walked Levi to the door. They watched as he mounted his slender horse and trotted off into the night.

Geram said, "I guess we should get moving." He paused and shook his head, before adding, "I sure was looking forward to some rest."

As they walked back inside, Jake retrieved a road map and laid it on the dining table. He and Geram reexamined their chosen route.

Jake said, "The shortest distance between two points may be a straight line, but the safest route seems to be an awkward arc through half of Mississippi."

"Sticking to the back roads and avoiding cities and interstates does make for a longer drive, but it's our safest bet."

"It's our only bet, trying to take I-10 would be suicidal."

"You're sure the Bronco will have enough fuel for the trip?"

"We should, but if we have to turn back too often to find other routes because of blocked roads, or worse, it could get close. It would be great if we could find some fuel along the way."

"I wouldn't count on it. Most abandoned vehicles will probably be empty, and any fuel that was in their tanks was probably siphoned off long ago. Most of the relatively safe, rural, gas stations have long since closed, and I don't really want to get close enough to civilization to find a working gas pump."

"We'll just have to hope for the best and see where we stand when we're down to a quarter of a tank." Jake rolled the maps back up and handed them to Geram. "Would you mind helping Kate finish loading the Bronco? I've got something I need to do."

Geram nodded.

Jake grabbed his AR and walked out the front door.

Kate eased the Bronco along the side of the house while Geram made last minute preparations for the long trip. The back of the Bronco was filled with cases of water, canned and dry goods, ammo cans and countless other items that would be useful along the way. Several 5 gallon containers of fuel were mounted to the back of the SUV. Important paperwork, such as deeds, was stored inside the back seat, by means of a slit in the fabric that Kate had just finished sewing up.

Sasha was waiting in the back seat of the Bronco. She was quite excited about the journey they were about to embark on. She wagged her tail in antic.i.p.ation as Geram and Kate would approach with an armful of supplies, before whining with disappointment as they gave her a simple pat on the head and returned to more pressing duties.

While Kate loaded and organized the last of the supplies, Geram performed a detailed check of the Bronco. Fluid levels, hoses, wiring and tire pressures were all meticulously inspected. After he was satisfied that everything was in good working order, he sat down in the front seat and turned to give Sasha the attention she had been begging for. When Kate finished with the last load, she sat in the back and asked, "Where's Jake?"

"He asked me to give him a minute alone; I don't know what he's doing."

"Oh. He's probably saying goodbye."

Jake walked through the living room and into the dark hall. The hardwood flooring creaked from the weight of his steps. His flashlight was the only source of light. Walking through the old house brought back a lot of memories for Jake, memories that hurt him to remember so soon after losing his friends.

He recalled all the times he had helped Frank on his farm. He remembered all the tricks he had learned from the old man about how to keep a homestead running and live comfortably off the fruits of the land. He had helped with everything from baling hay to birthing calves. Frank had taught him so much. He felt there was still so much more he needed to learn, so much that he was not quite ready for.

He paused for a moment and leaned against the wall. His chest was tight with fear and anger and sorrow. He allowed the memories to filter in, one by one. Slowly, he reconciled the past with the present. After a while, the tightness began to fade. He took a deep breath and continued down the hall.

He remembered when Frank had first mentioned it years ago. He felt ashamed he had nothing to offer in return for the gesture. He brushed it off and told Frank that he was too stubborn to die, nothing would ever happen to him, but it had. Jake had never mentioned the conversation to anyone else. Now, as he stood at the end of the hall, he felt guilty for being there. He pushed the feelings aside; Frank had wanted him to do this.

He opened the narrow closet door that was opposite of Mrs. Thames' room. It was filled with cardboard boxes of holiday decorations, crafts and old clothes. He carefully removed the contents of the closet and placed them inside Mrs. Thames' room until the musty closet was empty.

A small steel door, maybe three feet wide and five feet tall, was all that remained in the s.p.a.ce. He spun the dial back and forth a few times before beginning: 73-31-86.

He tried to turn the handle but nothing happened. He thought for a moment and tried again: 73-13-86.

He tried the handle again, but this time it spun freely. He pulled the heavy door open and stepped into the darkness.

The small room was maybe eight feet square. Everything was concrete: the floor, walls, even the ceiling. Jake noticed the temperature in the vault was much cooler than the rest of the house. The walls were lined with steel shelving on all sides.

Jake shined his flashlight along the shelves and was amazed at everything he saw. He knew Frank was a man that considered all possibilities, much like he, but he never imagined the completeness of his preparations.

Most of the rifles Jake had seen before and were nothing remarkable. He saw several old M1 carbines, some Garands, two ancient Mausers, numerous 1911 pistols, worn revolvers and several miscellaneous rifles and shotguns. The amount of ammo for the weapons, however, was truly staggering. One shelf was stacked with nothing but surplus ammo cans.

The final shelf contained the items that interested Jake the most: night-vision gear, Kevlar vests and plate carriers for protection against rifle rounds. There were also a couple of vests with numerous pouches for magazines and other supplies. He panned the flashlight up the shelving and noticed several hand held radios and a radio frequency scanner. Frank may not have subscribed to the advances in firearms technology, but in all other areas he seemed willing to embrace the fruits of the modern era.

Jake turned off the flashlight and stared at the ceiling for a moment, before saying aloud, "I don't know what to say, Frank. Thank you seems like an understatement. Your foresight may save my life, or maybe Kate's life. You always thought ahead, my friend."

He paused for a minute as the tightness in his chest returned.

"Why? Why didn't you use when you needed it most?"

A wave of both sorrow and grat.i.tude overtook him as a silent voice whispered in his mind, perhaps he never intended it for himself.

He had pushed the grief aside for days. The night they found Frank, the day of the funeral, the time spent preparing to leave there was always something more important to be done. Now, in the vault, he sat on the cold, hard floor and wept.

Geram noticed Jake before Kate did. His face seemed more resolute than it had in the past several days. He had something slung over his shoulder as he walked towards them. Upon reaching the front, pa.s.senger door, he handed Geram the Kevlar vest and said, "There're a few more things I need your help with before we go."

Geram examined the vest, before replying, "If there's any more of these, I don't mind at all."

"Oh, you wouldn't believe."

Jake walked over to Kate and leaned in the Bronco. Sasha leaned forward and licked his forehead. He put his hands on Kate's shoulders and rested his head against hers as he whispered, "I think we're going to be alright. I love you."

She smiled, kissed his lips and replied, "I love you to, I'm glad you're back."