HOMELAND: Falling Down (Part 1 of the HOMELAND Series) Read online

  A nurse came by on her rounds. She ran a scanner over Angie’s left hand. The device beeped its recognition of the RFID chip implanted when she and Eduardo arrived at the camp.

  Eduardo unconsciously rubbed the back of his hand, his fingers outlining the small lump of his own chip.

  “Isn’t there anything else you can do?” He asked the nurse.

  She shook her head. “We are little more than an aid station here.”

  “She will die if you don’t do something.”

  “I can talk to the camp doctor. There is a bus leaving the camp in a few hours. It’s taking chronically ill patients to the Advanced Care Center. I can ask that she be put on it.”

  “Thank you.”

  A woman’s voice said from behind Eduardo, “Tell the doctor that’s an order.”

  The nurse glanced at the speaker then averted her eyes to the floor. “Yes, ma’am.” She hurried off.

  Eduardo turned in his seat to see who had given the command.

  A tall blonde in a custom tailored pantsuit stood with her hands on her hips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mister Garcia.”

  Eduardo was surprised. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

  “I’m Valerie Alinsky, White House director of communications.” She started to offer her hand, but thought better of it after getting a better look at Eduardo’s unkempt state.

  Eduardo rubbed his bearded chin. “I’m surprised you recognized me.”

  “Of course I recognize America’s Newsman. You’re the reason I’m here.”

  “I am? How did you find me?”

  “Your information went into the national database when you were processed into the camp.” Valerie pointed to Eduardo’s hand. “That chip told us exactly where to find you.”

  “So, you want an autograph?”

  “Maybe later.” Valerie laughed. “The President sent me for you, Mister Garcia. Your country needs your help.”

  Eduardo shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

  Valerie looked at Angie. “Let’s get her on that bus first. Then you need a shower and a shave. You can use the administrative wash facilities. I hear the general camp facilities are atrocious. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing you some decent clothes and basic toiletries. We will then have dinner in my quarters. Filet mignon is still your favorite, correct?”

  Eduardo’s stomach growled at the thought. He suddenly realized how hungry he was.

  “I will explain everything once you look and feel like yourself again.”

  *****

  Eduardo did feel better after cleaning up. He examined the suit Valerie brought him. It was his size. He wondered how she knew. It practically swallowed him, revealing the extent he withered since leaving New York. He looked in the mirror, seeing his pale skin and sunken eyes for the first time. He combed his long, graying hair and joined Valerie in her quarters.

  “Thank you for joining me, Mister Garcia,” Valerie said warmly.

  “Please, call me Eddie.”

  “Thank you again, Eddie.” Valerie waved him into a chair at a small table for two in the corner. “You clean up well.”

  Eduardo forced a smile. “You’re nice to say so.”

  The meal arrived as soon as they were seated. An attendant poured each of them a glass of wine.

  Eduardo sniffed. “This smells a lot better than the slop they serve in the dining tent.”

  “I certainly hope so.” She grabbed a fork. “Let’s eat. I’m sure you’re famished.”

  Eduardo took a bite of filet and closed his eyes, picturing himself back in his usual table in his favorite restaurant. He wondered what that restaurant looked like now. Was it burnt to cinders? Was its owner still alive?

  He raised his glass and said, “To better days.”

  Valerie raised her glass to his. “Better days.”

  She watched him eat a few minutes then asked, “Did all go well getting Angie to the bus?”

  “Yes. Thank you for that.”

  “Glad to help. They will take good care of her at the Advanced Care Center.” She studied Eduardo’s expression. “You’ve been through a lot haven’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Others have had it worse.”

  “True. And it’s going to get even worse before it gets better.”

  “You said something about me helping.”

  “You get right to the point. I like that.” She sipped her wine. “The country we knew no longer exists. It’s gone for good. Somebody has to rebuild it. That responsibility falls to us. We will start from the ground up. I’m talking clean slate.” Valerie pulled a binder from a nearby briefcase and turned to the first page. “First, we replace the fifty states with ten FEMA regions.” She pointed to a map of the continental United States, but instead of states, there were regions, each labeled with a Roman numeral.

  “Are you serious?”

  “It went into effect by executive order as of midnight yesterday. And that’s just the beginning. We will have a new constitution, new laws. A total overhaul of the entire system. We are going to correct the corruption of America’s first founding by fundamentally transforming the country into what it was always meant to be.”

  “The public will never go for it.”

  Valerie smiled. “That’s where you come in. You are going to be the voice of America’s second founding.” Her eyes widened. “Were going to get it right this time. We are forming a nation that is truly based on fairness and equality. Imagine. No social classes. No religion. No discrimination. No rich. No poor. No Heaven. No Hell.” She leaned in close.” And I’m offering you a starring role. Your country needs you. Can we count on you?”

  Eduardo studied Valerie’s intense gaze. “That might be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’m giving you the chance to not only report history, but to make history. To be history.” Valerie poured more wine and sat back in her chair. “Well?”

  Eduardo felt lightheaded as the implications and possibilities of Valerie’s words swirled about his mind. He drained his wine and took a deep breath. “Count me in.”

  13

  COLE

  “Heads up!” the radio blared. It was Captain Prescott. “Drones report heavy activity ahead. Keep your eyes peeled.” Shivering gunners steeled themselves against both the enemy and swirling snow as they traversed their open-topped turrets, scanning assigned sectors as icy earth gave way to cold concrete at the outskirts of Nashville. The desert-brown column of armored Humvees rumbled along the high-rise buildings and paved sidewalks that were now insurgent country

  A lone, black, unmarked MRAP wedged itself near the back of the formation. It was Agent Piven and his team. They came along as ‘political advisors’ to Captain Prescott.

  The entire battalion, what remained of it, was out in force today—one hundred men armed to the teeth. Safety in numbers. One didn’t travel these streets alone day or night. Even curfews and martial law didn’t make them any safer.

  Early winter was out in force as well. It was nearly noon and the temperature was still below freezing. Nervous sweat soaked uniforms under thick ceramic body armor vests and stung squinted eyes beneath camouflaged Kevlar helmets in spite of the cold. All had combat tours under their belts. Most had several. Enough to know when trouble was coming.

  Cole knew how they felt. He hoped his instincts were wrong. It wasn’t foreign jihadists on the other side this time. These insurgents, as Piven called them, were his fellow Americans.

  Cole watched the city pass by his four-inch-thick bulletproof window as the column pulled off Interstate Sixty-Five and traveled west on Broadway. This was once the center of the city’s nightlife. The bars and restaurants were abandoned now. Smoke smoldered from busted windows. Furniture lay scattered in the street. The Hooters was just a few blocks away. He imagined it was in similar shape.

  Damn shame.

  Memories of good times, cold beer, hot wings, and of course, hooters ran through his mind as they’d don
e every day since the grid went down.

  “Watch the upper windows for snipers!” Captain Prescott warned as they turned left onto Fourth Street. The Humvees had good armor on the sides and a little on the belly, but bullets could cut through the thin tops like butter.

  The buildings they passed were strewn with spray painted anti-government graffiti. The dried overspray streamed down from the rebellious scrawls like caked blood from mortal wounds. Plumes of thick smoke smudged the skyline, a hundred dark angels heralding death’s inexorable approach. The empty streets were littered with propaganda leaflets dropped by psyops. The little papers swirled on the arctic wind like tumbleweeds cartwheeling through a ghost town. Nobody was outside. No looters, no refugees, not even a stray dog.

  Hicks sighed. “Welcome to Nashville, former capitol of the late great state of Tennessee.”

  “Contact front!” The radio sounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Prescott didn’t respond.

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

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

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

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

  Muzzles perked back to attention.

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

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

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

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

  “I don’t know,” Cole answered.

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

  “What are they saying?” Hicks asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Prescott was cut to pieces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Who shot the Governor?” Hicks asked.

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

  “Unless what?”

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

  “What if we can’t?”

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

  The Nature of the Beast

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

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

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

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

  “Thank you,” said Duncan.

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

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

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

  “Mostly?”

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

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

  “Where is this care center?” Hank asked.

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

  “Yes.”

  “We can help her.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Dammit, Hank,” Finbarr interjected.

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