Joyce’s attention was split between the President’s speech and a box of cookies she was working her way through. Like most news stories, this one was starting to lose its steam. There is always a clamoring for analysis when something momentous happens, and the media tries in vain to fill that need. But there really wasn’t much more to report regarding the message from the stars. Everything was just a rehash of the six o’clock news. “Do you think they’re really coming Larry? Maybe they’re just messing with our heads.” Joyce said between bites. There was no response. “I said, ‘do you think...’” Joyce looked around the room, but her husband was nowhere to be seen. His comfortable tweed recliner was empty. She rolled around like a seal and craned her neck, but he wasn’t in the kitchen either. Then she heard the sound of truck tires. Her face went rigid.
Larry came down the stairs two at a time. He was wearing his hunting cap and carried his shotgun in his hand. “What the hell you gonna do Larry?” she said in a partially panicked voice.
“Stay here woman, this ain’t none of your business,” he replied, opening the front door. Joyce jumped from the couch, although maybe jumped isn’t the proper term for how she rolled her bulk over into a standing position. She followed him out the door. Standing in the front yard were three trucks. All of them had been hand-painted with the ‘Tyler County Patriot’s Brigade’ logo. About ten brigade members stood around wearing their traditional berets. They looked a comical sight really. To be honest they were in reality just Larry’s fishing buddies. They were all old, fat, out of shape farmers. There wasn’t one young, chiseled physique that you would connect with such a martial word as ‘Brigade.’ But they all had their deer hunting rifles with them. Joyce ran out into the driveway in her housecoat and slippers. Her hair was up in rollers and she still had cookie crumbs on her chest. It was very unusual for her to be seen by anyone in this state of dress. She usually even put on makeup when she went to the mailbox.
“Where the hell you going Larry?” she repeated.
“We’re just doing our job as Real Americans. You just go to bed now,” he replied. A small cheer of support came from several of the other members of the Brigade.
She grabbed his jacket. “You ain’t going over to the Miller house are you? You leave them alone. They’re good people.”
“It’s a war Joyce. We didn’t start it, but for damn sure we’re gonna end it. I got kids to protect. I ain’t letting no alien monster get ‘em.” He turned to get into the back of one truck. Joyce grabbed him and spun him around.
“You get your butt back in that house. The rest of you go home to your families. Find something better to do with your time.”
Larry, who weighed at least fifty pounds less than his wife struggled free. “Not tonight woman. Tonight we’re taking care of our business. It’s a man’s job. You wouldn’t understand.” Joyce once again grabbed her husband and threw him against the fender.
“Gimme the gun Larry.” She grabbed for the barrel. The two struggled for possession of the weapon.
“Get off me woman!” shouted Larry. Husband and wife pushed each other back and forth, rolling and pulling for the shotgun. Somehow the trigger was pulled. The shotgun had been loaded with a slug round more suited to taking down an elephant than a spindly teenager. It hit Joyce straight in the belly. The force of the blow actually lifted her off her feet and propelled her back almost a yard. Larry stared in horror at his wife, who lay spread eagle on the driveway. He looked down in horror at the smoking gun in his hands. He dropped it as if it was radioactive and rushed to his wife’s side. He picked up her head and cradled it. She looked up at him with glazed over eyes and said, “Larry, you are one stupid son of a...” Her head turned to the side slightly and blood began to drip from her nose.
Larry held the dead woman’s head in his hands for a long time, weeping silently. The other members of the Patriot Brigade looked around at each other, not sure what to do. Larry looked up at his house. Staring out from the large bay window were his two children.
Six months later, The Miller farm, Tyler, TX
The sound of a door slamming fills the air inside the house. Lorraine Miller looks out the window of her home to find out why the door wasn’t closed gently. What she sees is rather humorous. A small person is struggling down the hill to the mailbox. In his arms are no less than three white mail trays filled with envelopes. Her son waddles his way down the drive, barely able to keep from falling over. Lorraine sighs and puts down the dishtowel she was drying her hands with. She goes into the laundry room and picks up a cart that was designed to carry luggage. She rolls it out the front door and has soon caught up with her son, who was on the verge of spilling his heavy load.
“Glory! I just can’t understand how someone who is supposed to be so smart can be so dumb,” she said out loud as she got within hearing distance. “Or maybe you’re just stubborn. Your father’s the same way. Now here, use this cart before you fall over and hurt yourself.”
“Thanks Mom,” said Jim, handing over his load. “I was in a hurry, I don’t want to miss the mailman. I’ve been licking stamps all morning.” He stuck out his tongue as if to show how worn out it had become.
The two started walking toward the mailbox together. She looked through the contents of the mail tray. It was filled with identical magenta colored sheets of paper, folded in thirds and stapled. “Is this another issue of that newsletter of yours?”
“Issue Four of ‘Genetic Equality: The Official Newsletter of the Johnannes Handel Anti-Defamation Society.’” Jim beamed with pride. “Dad, Jordan and I just finished it last night. I’ve got to get it out today, we’re on a deadline.”
The two rolled to a stop by the mailbox. It was almost 1:30 pm now, the mailman was already past due. Jim checked the box just to make sure that he wasn’t late, but it was empty, the mail hadn’t been delivered yet. “The ‘Johannes Handel Anti-Defamation Society’ huh? Well, I’m glad that you’ve been keeping busy these last few months. You were pretty down after the college rejections you know. Not me though, I’m glad that you’re staying around the farm for a little while longer. Things would seem so lonely if you went away. Just me and your father. Even Joyce is gone now...” Lorraine cast her eyes downward and let the rest of her sentence trail off.
“It’s gone past that Mom. I know that when we started I just thought that the newsletter would be a way to keep busy, but I’ve found out so much and corresponded with so many different people. There are serious issues that no one in the mainstream press is really giving much attention to. Did you know that Johnston has a bill before Congress right now that would
require
testing of all humans? And those that tested positive for HS would have their names publicly released? Right now it’s totally legal to fire someone just for having an Alien-American child.” Jim started counting on his fingers. “And what about the violence of August 6
th
? Thousands of Alien-Americans were killed, property was destroyed, and there hasn’t been a single prosecution.”
“Alien-American? That’s what you’re calling yourself now?” Lorraine chuckled.
“That was Dad’s idea. It makes it sound less like a disease or a disability.” He continued without letting up, “Third, there are stories coming out of other countries that make what happened here six months ago look like nothing. They’re now estimating that the world population is actually decreasing with all the infant killings that are going on! Fourth, every day gangs of ignorant thugs beat up and murder Alien-Americans and the cops don’t do anything to stop these people. Fifth, the military buildup for this vague threat is resulting in decreased social services and...”
“Ok, ok, calm down. You’re preaching to the choir here,” said Lorraine. She patted her child on the head. “I’ve got to listen to your father rant on and on all day about this. I don’t need it from you too.”
“Sorry, Mom, it’s just that I get so excited. I mean, I’m doing ok here, but there are a lot of people that are in way worse shape. Have you heard about the things that go on in those orphanages? I mean it’s...” Jim caught himself before he started another tirade.
“So what’s the big deadline?”
“Huh?”
“You said that you had a deadline to meet.”
“Oh, yeah, we’re planning a march.”
“A march, where?”
“Washington, D.C.”
“Does your father know about this?
“He’s the one who’s driving.”
“How are you planning a march?”
“I know, I thought that it was a crazy idea at first too. I mean, I don’t know how to plan a rally, but I said to Dad that we needed a rally, and he told me to figure out how to do it. I started by calling other minority groups and asking them questions. Some were pretty friendly. Then I called the City Hall in D.C. and asked them how to get a permit. I’ve still got to paint up some banners and all, but we’ve got a permit for two months from now. So, I’ve got to warn my subscribers to come if they can make it. I’m hoping to get a hundred people. We’re gonna march from the White House to the Capitol. Maybe we’ll even have some speeches, if I can figure out where to get a microphone.”
“Where did you get the money for all this. It ain’t like you got a job or nothing.”
“Donations, donations, donations. I’ve got checks from a bunch of people. I never asked for any, but people send me money anyway. Plus, there’s this guy, he’s the CEO of an oil company. His daughter is an Alien-American. He’s said that he’d put up a hundred thousand dollars if I needed it.”
“A hundred thousand dollars? I don’t know about this James. That’s a lot of money. These people are expecting something serious. You’re just a teenager. Maybe you should let someone else handle this.”
“There isn’t anyone else Mom. When I started this thing I didn’t realize it, but no one else had stepped forward. I’m one of the oldest Alien-Americans around, so a lot of the younger kids look up to me. Sure, there were some groups that have been dealing with HS as a disease, but they’re all small and local and misguided. No one before me has come forward and talked about the human rights issues associated with this thing. Now everyone’s looking to me for guidance. I’ve become a leader.” He puffed up his chest proudly, “I’ve got a mandate from the people.”
Lorraine looked down at the pile of newsletters. “What do you have there, a thousand letters? That’s not exactly a ‘mandate from the people.’”
“Oh these, these are just for those people that don’t have email. I’ve got about fifty times this number of people who I sent newsletters to electronically.”
Just then, the mail truck appeared in the distance. It drove closer and closer trailing a cloud of dust. When it arrived, Jim helped the mailman pick up the newsletters and put them in his truck. The driver then reached around back and pulled out two large sacks of mail each as big as the boy himself, which he dropped at the young leader’s feet. “Good thing we brought the cart, huh Mom?” Jim said.
Two weeks before the J.H.A.D.S. Rally. An alley in downtown Fredrick, MD
“I’m telling you man, if you want in, you’re gonna have to jump a baldie. That’s like the rule.” The teenagers, just boys really, sat in the alleyway hidden from the view of the street by strategically placed garbage cans. They all wore the brown berets that they were so proud of. Two of the boys had black leather jackets with a strange symbol hand painted on the back. It was a gray, upside-down teardrop with a large red ‘X’ overlaid on it. You could tell that the decoration was fashioned in a hurry since small rivulets of paint had dried into permanent drips. One of the boys had the letters ‘BK’ carved into his arm, although they weren’t visible with his jacket sleeves rolled down.
“I don’t know you guys, this is pretty hardcore,” said Ben Hayes. He was at least two years younger than the other members of the ‘Baldie-Killahs.’
“Don’t wuss out on us man.”
“Look Hayes, you’re either with us or against us. We all know that you got a baldie in your family, so you’re on the edge already. You’re just lucky that your Dad works with Mr. Johnston. Now you gonna prove your loyalty to the BKs or not?”
“Uh, ok, what do I gotta do?” said Colin’s child hesitantly.
“Come over here.” The boys moved to the front of the alley and peered around the edge of the building. “Now, you just have to wait until a baldie comes along, and then you jump him.” He pulled something out of his pocket. “Hit him in the face a few times with this. That’ll show ‘em.” He handed a homemade set of brass knuckles to Ben who took them and tried them on. The gang leader turned to his lookout. “Greg, you see anything.”
“Yeah, a baldie just walked into that store. He’ll be coming out soon. Then pow! He won’t know what hit him.” The boys chuckled to themselves. A bead of sweat dripped out from underneath Ben’s beret. He looked down at his armored hand.
“Man, you’re such a wimp man. Come on, be a man. Look it’s almost dark out, no one’ll see you. Just hit the kid and run. Don’t you hate baldies?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to see them all dead?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to be a real American like the Vice President?”
“Yes!” Ben was starting to get revved up.
“Don’t you want to punch their little fat heads in?”
“Yes!”
The door to the shop opened and the boy came out, skipping.
“Now go man!”
“Wait,” said the leader. “Get him with this.” He handed Ben a switchblade. Ben hesitated a second. “Go now man, you’ll miss your chance!”
Ben took the blade and ran from the alley. His long stride covered a full sidewalk segment per step. Everything flashed through his mind at once. He thought about how Dad always loved Neil best. He thought about how those freaks in school always got better grades then he did. He thought of all the irrational fears he held about being eaten alive by alien oppressors. He screamed in a frothing fury of rage and terror. He bore down on the slim child and before the alien even knew what was happening to him the knife pierced his chest. “Die Baldie!” he screamed as he delivered the deathblow. The alien frame is very fragile compared to that of a human, and the blade dove deep. Ben tried to run but the knife stuck and jerked his arm backwards. He spun around as the blade snapped off. Ben tried to regain his bearings and keep running but he didn’t see the adult figure who was exiting the store in pursuit of his errant son. The two slammed into each other. Ben fell backwards and hit his head on the ground.