Not Dead in the Heart of Dixie (88 page)

This mutation is very rare, and if we come across one of them, we should notify home base immediately.

And that is all.

Okay
, we’re freaked out about the new mutation of “almost HDI’s.” What in the world would we do if we ran into them? Would we kill them with no remorse?

Anyway, Chris said we probably won’t run into any of them. I hope he’s right.

Chris rose from his seat, told us that a lot of trucks will be arriving tomorrow, grabbed Josie by the hand, and left the building.

We feel more secure now, I think.

I pray that Chris’ plan and deception isn't found out. He has truly put his life on the line for us. I hope we can figure out something for Jesse, Lisa, Sabrina, and Anna. I'm hoping the simple sentence “They ran away” will suffice if anyone comes looking for them.

We need to finish the tunnels as fast as we can. The North Koreans, Chinese, fake Military, and HDI's all want a piece of us.
We must have a place to hide and guard our lives, even if the whole compound is burned to the ground.

I was satisfied that it was over and thought I wouldn't need
any more injections of that divine concoction.

When everyone left, I put my arms around Mick and thanked God that we still had hope.

He turned to me and told me that he is planning to spend one year fighting to get his country back, and that he'll be leaving with the unit in five days. My vision went dark and I felt pain in my heart. I felt vomit running down my chest. The last thing I remember is looking into his eyes and knowing that he was dead serious.

I fainted.

11:50 PM...

I'm in my bedroom alone, coming out from under the effects of Battle-axe's divine concoction.

I woke a few minutes ago and saw Mick sitting by the bed.

I screamed at him to get the hell out. He hesitated and I screamed “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT” at the top of my lungs. He slowly walked out the door. I don't know where he is.

I am beyond furious. How dare he do this to me?

I understand loyalty. I'm loyal to my family and friends. They need me to be here, helping them get through the vast pool of problems living in a post-apocalyptic world. I feel it's my duty. I belong here. Mick belongs here too. Why does he feel differently? Why is he doing this to our family?

I'm praying for guidance and understanding. I don't know that I'll be able to accept his decision. I don't know if I'll be able to live with the fear that I may never see him again.

I didn't have supper, and the divine concoction has worn off. I'm throwing two Xanax down my throat and going back to bed. I don't know if I'll get up in the morning and I really don't care.

Bye for now.

Monday
, April 28

Hello, may I please buy stock from whatever company makes Battle-axe's divine concoction? I'll take my dividends in the form of product. We can all be entertained watching HDI's eat
us without feeling a thing.

Actually, Battle-axe told me to shut up and take my Xanax this morning. I met her coming from the outhouse as I was going in. She is certainly unpleasant in the morning. I wondered if I could influence Hisa's ghost to come back and haunt her. Yep, I've been talking a little with Hisa. Yes, I know she's gone, but it comforts me to pretend I'm talking with her.

I returned to my bedroom and was followed by Pop and Nana. They were dragging chairs behind them, and I knew I was in for a stern “talking to.”

The positioned their chairs in a triangle with my computer chair, told me to sit down, and started talking.

The first thing Pop asked of me was to imagine the plight of the Native Americans when a bunch of foreigners arrived on their land and took from them whatever parcel they wanted.

There was no pay, no allotments,
and no trade goods in return for each measure of plentiful, rich soil. The foreigners simply took it away, fenced it, and called it their own. The Native American, who'd been surviving for thousands of years on what is now called “American soil” were treated as savages, subhuman, and godless beings in need of being taught “a lesson” and “enlightenment.”

The dirt beneath their feet had fed their fathers, and their father's father, and their great grandfathers for many generations. It was their most precious commodity... and only with the land could they survive.

Many wars were fought, and with each of them, the Native Americans lost more and more of their most precious commodity. Cherokee in the south were gathered and marched hundreds of miles away from the lands of their forefathers, never to return.

Native Americans all over the country fought. They fought in the only ways they knew how... but they lost.

To this day, they're still caged BUT, with the current events, some of them may be able to regain the land of their forefathers if the new foreigners and HDI's are beaten back and killed.

We have a right to keep and harvest this land we stand upon. Nana's
father was one-quarter Cherokee. His great grandfather ran and hid from the masses who marched the trail of tears.

Pop's ancestors were Choctaw.

One of our great grandmothers came to this land as an indentured servant on board the first voyage of the Mayflower. She married our Choctaw ancestor.

This land rightfully belongs to us.

Nana and Pop had more to say.

Both of them had a grandfather who served on the side of the Confederacy during the civil war. They weren't fighting to preserve slavery. Oh no, they never had slaves. They were lucky to have shoes.

Forget about seeing the doctor. If you had a penny, you used it for food that you couldn't grow yourself, gear for your mules or tractor, or for fabric to make clothing.

Your dishes, pots, and pans were whatever was passed down to you and whatever was given to you on your wedding day. Your quilts and blankets were homemade from old clothes
, or passed down through the generations. When the quilt or blanket was “raggedy” it was taken apart and the good pieces were used to fill a spot in another quilt, or as a patch over a hole in your dungarees.

Nana's great grandfather wouldn't throw away shoes until they were “five timers” meaning that they'd spent lots of time on the feet of five different children. If they were leather, and it was still good, he used it to repair halters and other
leather equipment.

Every top off a strawberry, shuck from an ear of corn, shell from an egg, or crumb left on a supper plate went in the slop bucket to feed the pigs. They couldn't afford commercial feed. They wasted nothing.

They did have land, and selling that which the land produced was the only way they could feed themselves and their families. Clothing was a luxury. You wore it 'til the patches on your patches needed patches.

One of them grew cotton and the other grew sugar cane.
Neither of them could read nor write. The only news they got was what they heard on Sunday mornings from the folks at church, until the war began and both Confederate and Union troops began crossing their land.

There were good soldiers on both sides, and there were bad soldiers on both sides.

One night, Pop's great grandfather's cotton field was set on fire by bad Union soldiers. They threatened him. They threatened his wife and his daughters with unspeakable things. They threatened to butcher his sons before his very eyes and feast on his farm animals while he watched his family starve to death.

They held him at gunpoint and forced him and his family to dig
latrines, fetch bath water, cook their meals, and wash their clothes. Some of their threats regarding his wife and daughters came to fruition. Finally, they moved on.

One of them told my great
, great grandfather that his life wasn't worth a cent and that the land where he was standing would soon belong to a wealthy northern corporation. His family would be homeless and would live in settlements with the other poor southern trash and the Indians.

He lost more than half the crop
from that fire, which meant his family would eat half what they were accustomed to until the next crop could be harvested. He bent down, grabbed a handful of dirt, and swore he'd die before his land was taken from him. He joined the Confederacy the next day.

I could tell you more stories about both grandfathers, but I won't.

I'll simply tell you that Nana and Pop convinced me of the value of the dirt under my nice “one timer” shoes and my name on a legal piece of paper laying claim to that dirt.

The North Koreans,
Chinese, and fake military are threatening to take this dirt away from us and fertilize it with our blood.

They want everything America has to offer, including
its people, whether they need it or not. They want to punish us for our wealth and arrogance. They want to take it all and make it theirs.

The dictator of the fake military wants basically the same things.

The HDI's want our flesh and blood. There's actually not a lot of difference between all four groups.

There will be problems with the real military and the way it's being run, of course. But we have to take sides with the lesser evil, eliminate the enemies, and start a movement to put this country back on course and resuscitate the dreams of our forefathers including our Native American forefathers.

I finally got it. I understood why Mick felt the need to fight for what we have. Every grain of sand and speck of dirt on this hillside represents the greatest treasures in history, and the blood that was shed to give it to us, especially now.

I wiped my eyes and thanked them both. They wiped their eyes and told me to go find Mick.

I did what my Daddy and Momma told me to do and headed out to throw my arms around the only man I've ever truly loved and tell him how sorry I was for treating him the way I did.

I found him on the road
, trying to decide what to do about the dented fence trailer. I threw myself into his arms and cried on his shoulder.

I let go when he fired his pistol and made me jump five feet in the air. I turned in time to see an HDI fall to the ground. It was heading from the direction of Wilky Place
, and Mick took that sucker out. Lord, I love that man!

I'm gonna try my best to support Mick's decision. I will be sad, angry, hurt, happy, proud and every emotion you can think of while he's gone, but I'll be damned if anyone is gonna take this place away from me and mine.

There's lots of stuff going on around the compound and I'm heading out to put in my two cents.

See ya later.

11:00 PM...

I don't know where to begin. I guess I'll start at the driveway and work my way up.

First of all, Major Chris Knellson is now Lieutenant Colonel Chris Knellson. His home will be fortified and extra precautions will
be put in place for his security. He listed his home as Kapper Hill Compound. His wife is living here and his home will be here. He'll spend all his off duty time here.

Several trucks carrying many things arrived at the compound today. I have no idea how many trucks are here, but there's a lot.

There's three “guard towers” behind the trailer fence. The towers were formerly 40 foot shipping containers used to carry freight across the oceans.

They're thicker than the fence trailers.

They're buried 8 feet in the ground and doors have been cut from the sides at ground level. Windows will be cut tomorrow once all “towers” are in place.

The towers will have a floor at 15 feet above ground level and another at 23 feet above ground level. Wooden stairs will be installed and sand bags will line the walls facing the road. Any empty space will be used for storage of ammo and other supplies. With netting over the windows and an air tight door, the towers will be “fly proof.”

Automatic guns will be mounted on the top floor. I haven't yet found out what they're called, but Mick willll fill me in.

There will be a total of eight
guard towers around the fence perimeter. There will be a squad of 20 soldiers standing guard when Chris is here. Our folks will man the towers when he's gone.

We are required to follow all guidelines for standing watch posted on one wall of the towers.
Chris will be leaving in four days and they hope to have all the towers in place before he leaves.

We've been asked to build catwalks using materials left when the unit pulls out.

There are massive machines near the pools. They're digging a deep water well. Chris says the spot at the bottom of the hill is much better for a well than the top of the hill. This will be a basic, old fashioned, well. Chris recommends we filter the water and learn how to treat the well.

There are four 250 gallon water containers behind our house. They're huge! They look like white plastic with a black metal “cage” around them.

There are two more at the bottom of the hill where Chris intends to have the house built for himself and Josie. The house will be completely solar powered and another well will be drilled there at a later date. Plumbers will come in “later” to hook up luxuries. Right now, they're short on time and have a war to fight.