Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (14 page)

“They’re
pulling up to the group…talking..” called out the lookout from the top of the
ridge, some twenty feet away.  He had his hunting rifle aimed at the group and
was using the high powered rifle scope to keep watch over the situation.

“Quit
yelling, everyone.  Switch to radios,” ordered Lance.

“Alright
boys, you know the drill, let’s get a U-shape trap set up.  Teams Two through
Five, you take the left, Six through Nine, you take the right.  Ten, you stay
in the middle with us.  Just like last week.  Everyone got it?” asked Rob.

No
questions came back, so the Regulators  split up and crawled off to their
assigned spots, to wait for the Mexicans’ dash across the border.

Rob peered
through his binoculars.  The people in the truck stopped short of the ones on
foot and they all greeted each other.  After a few minutes of talking—the ones
in the truck did a lot of arm waving and seemed fairly agitated—the wounded man
was taken down and looked over by the ones on foot.  A lot of head shaking and
arm waving by everyone.  Finally, they put him in the truck and started walking
towards the hidden Regulators.  They were going to cross the border and leave
the wounded man behind to die in the truck.  Rob shook his head. 

Poor
bastard
.

“Heads up
boys, here they come.  No one fire until I do.  Remember, we’re aiming to
scare, not kill.  Just shoot ten feet in front of ‘em.  That oughtta do it,”
Rob whispered into the radio.  Several clicks was the only response he got, the
‘affirmative’ signal from the other Teams when radio silence was necessary. 
When all the teams checked in, Rob looked at his friend.  “You ready?”

Lance took
a deep breath, let it out slowly, watching the would-be immigrants.  He wiped
some dust and sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand then readjusted
his cap to face backwards so he could better use his rifle’s scope.  “Ready,”
he said when sighted in on the group of would-be immigrants.

When the
Mexicans came within shouting distance, Rob suddenly got to his feet, appearing
to the immigrants as a lone man on the top of the ridgeline.  He knew they
could see him.  His body would be silhouetted at the top of the ridgeline and
he would stick out like a sore thumb. 

Rob held
his grandfather’s old lever action rifle across his chest, to make sure they
saw he was armed.  In his rusty Spanish, he called out, “You there!  Stop!  You
are entering the United States illegally!  Turn around and go home!  Do not
come any further or you will be fired on!”  

I hope they
understood that…

The
Mexicans paused, as if to take in what had been shouted to them.  They
conferred among themselves for a moment.  Rob saw with growing displeasure that
the group now numbered over twenty with the addition of the men from the
truck.  Finally the group seemed to make up its mind and continued to walk
towards the ridgeline.  Rob cursed and repeated his message, as loud as he
could.

Again, the
would-be immigrants stopped.  One man among them yelled something back and
waved a fist, but none of the Regulators could hear him.  The emotion was
understood though.  Two men ran back to the pickup truck and their wounded
comrade.  The rest of the Mexicans continued.  They were a football field away
now.

“Stop!  You
have been warned!  Turn around and go back to Mexico.  You are not allowed to
cross the border here!  Turn back or you will be fired on!  I repeat: do
not
attempt to cross this border!”  To the rest of the Regulators, Rob called out
on his radio: “Watch those two headin’ back to the truck…”

“
They
ain’t stoppin’, Rob
…” came the worried voice of one of the Regulators over
the radio.

“I can see
that…” growled Rob.  He took a few steps down from the crest of the hill.

“This is
your
last
warning!” he said again, in Spanish.  By now the Mexicans
ignored him and continued plodding towards the border. 

Rob waited
until they were about thirty yards out, then raised his rifle, aimed at the
ground in front of the Mexicans and squeezed the trigger.  The rifle barked and
the sound echoed off the ridge all around them like thunder.   The Mexicans
came to an abrupt halt when a cloud of dust puffed up ten feet in front of
them.  They heard the rifle echo a split second later. 

The Mexicans
got into an argument, then turned to face the border once more.  “Come no
further or we will open fire!” roared Rob.  He was getting angry.  As a group
they crossed over the border and stared defiantly at Rob.  They began to walk
again.

“
That’s it…they’re
over the line
,” intoned Lance’s voice in Rob’s headset.

“Have at
‘em, boys!” ordered Rob.  At once all the Regulators stood and aimed weapons. 
Shots rang out, single and controlled bursts.  The noise was deafening.  It
sounded like a pitched battle, rather than warning shots.

Many of the
Mexicans screamed in terror and froze where they stood.  It looked like an army
had risen from ground all around them.  The dirt flew and a cloud of dust
obscured the vision of the terrified immigrants for a few seconds.  Then all
was quiet after the last echo died.  The Regulators watched and waited for the
next move.

“Come no
further,” called out Rob in Spanish.  He leveled his rifle at the tallest man
in the front of the Mexican group.  “We
will
shoot you.  Go back where
you came from."  There was no need to shout now.  He had their attention. 
The other Regulators took aim.  Some aimed at feet or knees though, instead of
heads.  “Go back, you stupid bastards,” he muttered to himself.

From the
back of the group of immigrants, someone screamed in Spanish, then pushed to
the front of the group with a pistol.  Rob shifted his aim to the new threat
and took a deep breath.

"
Weapons!
"
called out someone over the radio.

The
immigrant held his pistol sideways, 'gangsta-style' and fired a few shots in
the general direction of the Regulators.  More than a few ducked.  From out of
nowhere, pistols and knives appeared in the hands of many of the males in the
group.  The immigrants returned fire.  One of the Regulators went down
screaming to Rob's left.  That was all the proof Rob needed. 

"Light
'em up, boys!" he bellowed.  Rob squeezed the trigger of his rifle and the
first man to draw a pistol dropped to the ground in a red spray.

About
thirty seconds of noise, dust and screams later, it was over.  Twenty dead and
dying Mexicans lay in the dirt, bleeding and moaning.  Slowly the Americans
left their positions and gathered around Rob, unsure what to do next.

The
Regulators were silent.  After a slight breeze cleared away the dust, the scene
was clearer.  Rob waited a few minutes more, until all of the Mexicans were
clearly dead, sprawled out haphazardly.  More than one American turned away in
a fit of nausea.  After all, they weren’t soldiers; most of them had never seen
a dead body before.  Until today, all they had simply done was round up illegal
immigrants and herd them to the authorities.  Rob stared at the slaughter
grimly.  His heart wanted to scream it was an atrocity, but his mind refused.

Lance came
up to Rob, his boots crunching through the dirt and small pebbles on the baked
Arizona ground.  “Lord, have mercy…”

"John,
you okay?" asked Rob.

John
Sellson put down his rifle and examined the bloody bandage on his leg.  He
winced as another Regulator tightened the field dressing.   "Hurts like
hell.  Never been shot before," he said.  His face was pale from pain or
blood loss, Rob couldn't tell.

"That
was wrong," someone said quietly.   "We killed those people,
man."

“They got
what they deserved,” said Rob without bothering to turn around.  He was
suddenly very tired, but there was a new, harder edge to his voice.  Lance did
not fail to notice the change in his long-time friend.  No one spoke for a long
moment.  Rob watched John's face change color as the anger rose in his old high
school buddy.

“Got what
they deserve? 
Got what they deserve?
  Did they deserve to be shot for
trying to find a better life!? 
Jesus
Christ
, Rob, we killed all
those people—women and children!” spat John, incredulous.

One of the
Regulators threw up in the distance.  The rest merely watched the power
struggle.  Rob had always been the quasi-leader of the group.  But then again,
no one had ever shot, either.

“Do I need
to remind you, John, that
they
crossed the border of
our
nation. 
Illegally
.  That’s an
invasion
in my book!  We warned them.  They
knew we were serious!  They ignored us, ignored our sovereignty and spit in our
eye.  They got what they should have gotten
years
ago!”  Rob was torn
inside over the revulsion of his actions and the necessity of those very
actions.

John limped
a step back from the ferocious response of the man he’d known most of his
life.  A look of sadness came over his face.  He looked to the bodies, then
back to Rob.   His hands were shaking as he glanced back at the bodies of the
Mexicans.

“I can’t do
this anymore.  Rob, I can’t take it.  I
can't.
  I won’t be a part of
killing innocent people."

"Innocent? 
John they shot at us!" Lance said.  "Hell, they shot
you!
" 

John
ignored the outburst, still focused on Rob.  "I don’t care if the rest of
the world is falling apart around us…I just…I
can’t
,” said John
quietly.  He had reached his breaking point. 

So had Rob.

“Okay,
John,” said Rob sadly, with no hint of anger.  He stepped forward, got a good
grip on the shoulder patch of John’s field jacket, the Regulator emblem, and
ripped it free.  The sound of tearing threads caused everyone to hold their
breath. 

“Fine. 
You’re
out
.  Now get outta here.”  Rob put the patch in his pocket and
made to move past John, heading towards the bodies.

John
grabbed his friend’s arm as he pushed past.  “Rob—don’t do it like this.  We’ve
been friends since high school, man.”

Rob
shrugged free of John’s grip.  He turned back to face John.  “
Friends?
" 
Rob scanned the faces of the other grim looking, dusty Regulators.  “The only
friends I got are ones I can trust to get my back when shit gets tough," 
he said, spitting out the words with barely contained disgust.  Rob jabbed a
finger at John’s chest and growled, "And now I know,
that ain’t you
."

“You’ve
changed, Rob…” said John weakly, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, the
whole damned
world
changed, John…it’s gotten a lot darker, a lot meaner,
and a lot more deadly.  We ain’t got time for touchy-feely bullshit no more,
John.  It’s kill or be killed!  You saw what they did,” Rob argued, jerking a
thumb over his shoulder.  "When we told them to stop, they ignored us.  We
told them again and they fired on us!"

“Dammit
Rob, I know everything is crazy…but hell, man, those were just a bunch of men
with their women and kids!  Just trying to make a better life for themselves—“

“They
crossed the border illegally with weapons and fired upon American citizens! 
What part of
invasion
don’t you get, John?  I done said that!  Besides,
where we gonna take ‘em?  No help from the Feds right now and word has it the
state’s pullin’ the troopers to help with the riots in Phoenix!  Get a grip on
the reins, John, we’re gonna be on our own real soon.  If not already.”

“They
didn’t—only a handful of them had guns!”

Rob paused,
looking at his friend with a  cold stare.  “What the hell do you think they’re
gonna do—
all
of ‘em,” Rob waved his arm and rifle at the Mexican
expanse.  “All the hundreds of thousands of ‘em that are headed this way right
now—what are they gonna do when they cross into our lands and find there ain’t
no fruit pickin’ jobs, ain’t no food, ain’t no homes, ain’t no water, ain’t
nothin’
for them now?  There ain’t much gonna be left for
us
, let alone them,
come the end of the month and you know it. But they’re gonna see our homes, our
cars and think, ‘why should the lazy
gringos
have it all?’”

John looked
like he had been struck in the face.

“When
there’s only a handful of cops left after the rest of ‘em head up to the
cities, and us
gringos
sittin’ high and dry in our snug little homes. 
You tell me, John, what the hell is gonna happen, then?”  Rob’s face was red
with anger and frustration, venting all at once.

“I…I don’t
know Rob,” said John, looking down at the dirt at his feet.

“I’ll tell
you what’s gonna happen.  I’ll tell all of you what’s gonna happen!" he
said glaring at the assembled Regulators.  "They’re gonna
take
what
they want because there’s no one left to stand up to them…that’s what’s gonna
happen!  They’re gonna be nice about it at first, because they’re generally
nice folk.  Then they’ll realize there ain’t nothing holdin’ ‘em back and we
ain’t fightin’…then it’s goodnight Nogales.  Think about it—our own people are
going nuts in places like Chicago and Phoenix.  What reason would a bunch of
foreigners who broke our laws to get here in the first place have to act any
different?  What's holding them back?”