Authors: Phoenix Williams
Barney jolted.
“Calm down,”
Chance urged the rancher.
“Jesus, Tim,”
Barney started.
Everyone was
interrupted by the loud but distance sound of a trumpet blast.
Everybody in the compound looked this way and that for the source
before a second one rang out. They all climbed up on the wall during
the third blast. They stopped and their mouths slunk to a shocked
agape as there sounded a fourth and final trumpet blast.
On the horizon,
just at the crest of the hill on Tim's property, sat a line of
silhouettes. There were over thirty armed men sitting on horses, side
by side in a long line. One of the cavalry men in an extravagant
uniform Tim had never seen before rode up in front of the rest. He
started trotting back and forth as he addressed the men.
Crack. Tim's rifle
went off as he stared through the scope at the man. He missed.
Turning toward his
attacker, the leader of the cavalry raised his weapon and then
dropped it past his waist. Every horse began to run. Began to gallop.
The night erupted with sound.
Hooves stampeded a
beat against the sky as gunfire cracked out and bits of metal dug
into the environment. Wood beams showered splinters down in a hail
above Tim's head. He returned fire alongside the other three. His
ears were berated by a loud and harsh staccato of firefight exchanged
both at close and long range. Lead sunk into flesh and a man flew off
of his horse without a scream. His leg got caught up in the saddle
and his body hung from it as the horse, confused and without
direction, turned around and sped away. The sandbags that Tim and
Barney were behind ripped open. Glass from Tim's house shattered.
Metal punctured. A horse screamed out as it was hit and dropped,
throwing its rider under the hooves.
Chance's head split
open and he was thrown back off the wall. Everyone stopped shooting
at the riders for a moment as they exchanged looks of horrified
disgust.
Then the fight
resumed.
Obscured by the
veil of gunfire and activity, Gus dropped his gun and slipped away.
He stepped down the stairs before rushing into the wall and seeking
safety.
“What's going
on?” a weak voice said to him through the pitch darkness inside
the wall.
Gus shushed his
friend.
A grin started to
appear on Tim's face as he fired. It started slight, unnoticeable to
anyone besides Barney. He was unnerved entirely by it. Complete with
the reloading and raising of his gun, Barney perspired.
They are getting
too close,
Tim noticed.
Too damn close!
His finger moved
faster, the trigger clicking more and more. He distributed bullets
like a fireman trying to douse flames at the charging militants.
There were too many of them.
They are going to get in!
Lights shined out
of the sky. Gigantic, brilliant beams came down and illuminated the
compound. They were helicopters that rushed in from out of nowhere
and swarmed the scene.
Tim looked up to
the birds. One was a police chopper with armed men leaning out of the
side doors. Its spotlight pinned down on the compound and washed over
everyone's face. The second one was a flight-for-life helicopter
which circled and lowered from the sky. The militants on the horses
zigged and zagged in various directions, distracted and confused by
the new arrivals.
Before anyone could
focus on the helicopters for too long, a loud screech of metal came
scraping from the highway to the west. Two very large black vehicles
had slammed into the roadblock, tossing the cars aside effortlessly.
They roared down the road and turned into the Simacean Ranch.
Barney tried to
exchange a strong look of concern with Tim but the rancher aimed down
his sights and continuing his fight on the militia. He ignored the
vehicles that had arrived so suddenly. Barney, unsure of what to do,
glanced over and watched officers pour out of the two SWAT vehicles.
They had machine guns and tactical shotguns. Two had riot control
shields. Guns started igniting and hot dots darted this way and that
out into the field. Barney dropped his gun as his car exploded. A
handful of officers pulled the totaled vehicle out of the hole in the
wall and poured in through it themselves.
“Drop your
weapons and put your hands behind your head!” one of them
yelled at Barney and Tim.
Barney's hands shot
up to his scalp and he sank to his knees. An officer rushed up and
grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him face down into the dirt.
Barney was handcuffed and then drug off through the hole as fast as
his arresting officer had arrived.
Men ran all around
the compound, carrying things from one side to the other. Tim eyed
them all as he kept his gun raised and pointed at the officer who
addressed him.
“Drop the
gun!” the officer screamed. “Drop your weapon right now!”
Breathing in deep,
Tim opened fire. He shot his target in the vest and threw him back
off his feet with a loud smacking sound. Two other officers ran up
and one shot back at Tim. Only one bullet fired as the rancher
dropped to the earth.
The old man
screamed in pain. He writhed and tried to grab his wound but his
shooters stormed upon him and detained him.
Men came in through
the wall in uniforms but not like the SWAT officers. They were
paramedics and along with them rolled a gurney. Tim kicked and fought
as they strapped him down onto it and wheeled him away. He looked
upside down at all the men and women in uniform that swarmed his
property. He tried to swear but he only closed his eyes. When he
opened them next, he was in his driveway moving rather quickly. He
heard Barney call at them, his voice carrying from the window in one
of the big black vehicles.
“Hey!”
he cried. “Hey! There's two guys still in there!”
No one looked back
as they continued carrying Tim away and into the field where the
flight for life's rotors had begun accelerating.
“Hello?!”
Barney called.
One thing Tim did
notice during the blurring motion around him was that there was
nobody left in the field. Nothing but an abandoned truck, a confused
horse, and a whole lot of dead. They slid Tim into the helicopter as
dust and straw were tossed about the powerful blades. The paramedics
closed the door they came in through and the vehicle lifted off.
Needles were being
put into the rancher while he protested. Heart monitors were strapped
on after they tore his shirt open. The entire time he begged them not
to. The arresting SWAT officer that rode with them told him to be
quiet.
The radio on the
officer crackled with noise. Voices, most muffled. One came on with
loud clarity. “Charges are placed! Charges are placed!”
Another voice
chimed in. “Clear the area! Go, go, go!”
Panic stirred in
Tim's eyes and with an exorbitant amount of effort for the pain he
felt, he lifted himself up enough so he could see out of the
helicopter's glass window. Lights danced in his eyes as he watched
his property detonate. Explosions ripped open the wood and brick,
unbound the mortar and glue. Fire caught and crackled through the
glass. The last thing Tim could see before the officer pushed him
back down to the gurney was the angel.
The angel fell
apart and collapsed into itself.
It's gone,
he thought.
Tears accumulated
in Tim's old eyes as he relaxed his body. He sobbed.
I lost.
PART
III
-----------------------
KNIGHTS
OF THE PROLETARIAT
-Chapter Twenty-Two-
The
Davey Tolmes Show
The man with the
big blond hair grinned from the television screen. “These
things have been dropping all over the globe in a variety of
religious shapes. There have been reports of crescent moons,
crucifixes, and even the Star Fleet insignia.” The graphic that
digitally materialized next to the man's face changed to one of a
rendered Star Trek badge made of rusty metal sheets, resting in a
crater.
The studio audience
laughed.
“The metal
figures have lured in many of the more fanatical special interest
groups. Christian extremists have launched small pilgrimages to
secure crucifixes and angels that have fallen over the United States.
There are even some people gathering around shapes like the Free
Mason symbol and a miniature Lady Liberty. Even the conservatives
have found their miracle.” The image showed a rendered picture
of the studios of Fox News with a large rusty elephant crashed
straight into the side of the building.
Again, the audience
laughed.
“Now we turn
to more incidents of the famous Standstill between local police and
the new departments of 'merc-cops,' as they're now being referred.
Get it? They're mercenaries who think their cops. They're like
margarine that wants to be butter. Anyway, in major cities such as
New York and Chicago, we've been seeing heavy protesting by the
general public. People are demanding to receive federal protection
against the hired paramilitaries. In Lumnin, New York, the mayor Bill
Rodenchurch has even taken to the streets, living amongst the
protestors. During a demonstration last night, Mayor Rodenchurch was
rushed to the hospital after being maced by pepper spray for what
witnesses say was 'over two minutes straight.' The mayor was sprayed
by his former police chief Dale Harrison, who, get this, also is the
mayor's son-in-law. The mayor was transferred to a nearby prison
owned by the Decree corporation after being discharged from the
hospital this morning. We assume that he sent out a letter from his
cell to his daughter, saying firmly, 'You know, I don't think this
guy is just right for you.'”
More laughter.
The comedy show
host dropped his grin. “This morning, the first corporate
military base was installed by Decree just outside of Denver. These
reports have confirmed a recent suspicion that a private military is
being mobilized in the United States. As of yet, all anyone has seen
of this military base is the convoy of transport vehicles that have
been flowing in and out since the afternoon.”
The video cut to a
clip from another news program. There was a middle-aged man with a
dark beard framing his face. Gray streaks ran from his mustache down
the beard and seemed to bleed the same pattern onto his suit. Under
the man was captioned, “Decree President Leroy Graves.”
Someone behind the
camera had Graves' attention. “What is your company planning to
do with the military base you've installed outside of Golden,
Colorado?” a young man asked.
“We're
planning to take the city,” Leroy Graves said, then walked away
from the podium at which he stood.
The television cut
back to the set of the Davey Tolmes Show. The man himself was holding
his expression in a grimace of shock. “The man actually walked
away after saying that. No one threw a shoe and no one assassinated
the man. Not a soul could stop him,” Davey said. “If you
don't know, that's Leroy Graves, the president of Decree. He's
transcended the border between CEO and commander in chief. Heading
what has been self titled as the Decree Nation, Graves has been
compared to the president of the United States, accurately at that. A
survey shows that the only difference in their abilities seen by the
general public is that Graves has indeed a stronger beard.”
Through the ensuing
laughter, Davey continued. “Honestly, I haven't seen facial
hair that fierce since – ” The host paused for a moment,
feigning deep concentration. The image beside him showed images of
Adolf Hitler, Fidel Castro, and Joseph Stalin. Everyone in the
audience oohed and broke out in applause. Davey looked shocked as he
said, “Dear God. If this trend continues, I say that we keep an
eye on the guys from ZZ Top.”
The camera pulled
away from the set as the television cut to commercial. After the
advertisements had their turn, Davey sat in a dim incarnation of his
set with a serious look upon his face. “That's it for the show,
but before we go, we have a grim announcement,” he started.
“It's been officially confirmed that the cities of Denver,
Chicago, New York, and Detroit are no longer under the control of the
federal government. Hundreds of smaller cities and towns have fallen
to the same fate.”
The television was
turned off in the middle of the audience's hushed silence.
-Chapter Twenty-Three-
Denver