The Independents (10 page)

Bishop had been right with his initial calculation and put the crosshairs right at the back of
the young man’s head. If he were
correct, the bullet would clear
the top of the kid’s
skull
by about
1
0 inches and hit the guard holding th
e pistol on the woman. If he were
wrong, well, he
didn’t have time to worry about that now
. He flicked off the safety, took a dee
p
breath,
and steadied his aim. But he
was too late. The bos
s man turned to the executioner and nodded. The woman’s lifeless body slumped to the asphalt in a bloody heap
. Bishop turned his head to the side, sickened. He had seen more than his share of death, but to see someone killed like that made him feel ill. He finally forced himself to refocus
,
and what he saw this time was even worse. The young girl was now being hauled up to the roadway by two of the henchmen. Bishop knew with five targets, he wasn’t going to get them all. If
they scattered toward the wreckage
, there would be hell to pay rooting them out. Their weapons were not the sort to be a threat
right now,
given his distance, but he
wouldn’t
put it past them to try and hunt him down.
Terri. What if they started searching the area and found the camper?
What would happen
to
Terri
and the
baby?

Bishop put his cheek on the rifle stock
and
found his weld. He decided to kill the man wh
o
was holding
the young girl.
You sick fuckers.
So y
ou are going to
kill
the girl in front of her family
?
Not today.

But he didn’t have a shot. One of
the guards
was now
holding
the boy who was fighting like hell to help the girl. He didn’t have much of a chance
,
but was putting up a s
truggle regardless. The boss
was bent over talking to the injured guy on the ground, much too close to shoot.
The girl was
screaming hysterically
and flailing about
- so
much so that Bishop could not get a clear shot at her guards without the risk of hitting her instead. Finally, one of the guards
got control of
her
and she went back to her knees on
the blacktop
.
That was the window Bishop needed
.
Send it.

The bark of the .308 surprised even Bishop. The
180-grain
TAP round, a specially designed flesh
-
destroying hollow-
point
,
left the barrel at 2800 feet per second. The bullet was traveling much faster than the speed of sound and hit the
thug
before anyone on the road
even
heard the shot.
The plastic covered tip of the bullet
struck
the man right at the base of the neck, almost decapitating him. Bishop realized his aim was a to
uch high and adjusted as
the cloud of red mist a
nd gristle began falling toward
earth.
Before the
body
crumpled to
the pavement,
Bishop fired a second shot.

This time the projectile hit the other
executioner
dead center
,
square in the breastbone. Simple physics took over from
there
. The base of the bullet was heavier than the point
,
and when the tip was slowed
by the impact, the base had to go elsewhere. At that velocity,
it
had no other option but to tumble
,
and entered the body
,
flipping end over end. While the bullet entered
at
the chest, the r
ound exited out the back of his
upper thigh
, tearing
flesh and tissue the entire journey. All of this took less than a
hundred
th of a second
,
and resulted in
another l
ifeless body falling to the blacktop
.

The remai
ning two guards and their
chief
were now reacting to the first shot. One guard immediately let go of the boy and started running toward the Hummer. The boss rolled to the side and scrambled across the road where a ditch gave him some cover. The third
gu
ard made a mistake. He scurried
to the body
of the plane for cover, but decided to stick his head up to see if he could spot the shooter. Bishop didn’t even bother with trying to time a headshot as the guy bobbed up and down. Th
e thin skin of the aircraft
was hardly good cover.
A third shot was soon on its way.
When the
round
hit the aluminum
sheet
covering
the airframe
,
it performed as designed and expanded. By the time it exit
ed
the other side, the bull
et had broken into several
projectiles
,
taking
bits and pieces of the
hull
along with it.
In the end,
the guard’s body was struck by
dozens of small
fragments
of shrapnel
,
and he lingered only moments.

Bisho
p now had two remaining rogues
to deal with, but he couldn’t see either one of them. He suspected the first had made it back to the Hummer and was taki
ng cover behind it. He knew their commander
was still close to the wreckage
, but couldn’t see the man. The boy had managed to pull himself together, and along with the girl, was trying to drag the injured man back to their side of the road.
Has to be family – nothing else would elicit such a response.

Bishop was now wondering how to resolve this l
ittle
standoff
and kept shifting his gaze
back and forth between the Hummer and the boss. He didn’t wa
nt the remaining goon to
sneak up on his position, but also didn’t want the boss taking one of the children as a hostage.
It was the noise of the Hummer’s motor starting that distracted him. Before he c
ould react, the vehicle started
moving
,
and at the same time, the
boss deftly
leapt
from the ditch and pulled the girl
back to his side of the road.
Shit!

The Hummer
acted as
an effective s
hield
,
as it squealed to a halt in front of the boss. Bishop couldn’t fire out of fear of hitting the girl.
In a few seconds, the vehicle
spun ar
ound in the desert and
high
tailed it
south
,
a surreal scene in its wake.

The roadway was littered with bodies and pools of blood. The aircraft wreckage still sheltered two living souls
,
and Bishop had to react quickly before th
e Hummer crew returned with rei
nforcements. As he made his way down the hillside
, he was trying to think about what to do with the remaining two survivors. He and Terri barely kept enough food on the table as
i
t was. Unless that airplane were
full of food, there was no way they could feed two more mouths. He decided he would take the two back to
Meraton
as
the older man looked to need serious medical care. H
e and Terri should go there anyway
, as they
wanted the town’s doctor to check out Terri’s pregnancy.

After
he had cautiously approached
within 100 feet of the wreckage, he called out, “Hey
,
you at the crash site
. I
’m
the guy who just helped you. I
’m
coming in. Please don’t shoot.”

It took a little bit, but a you
ng voice eventually yelled back.
“Don’t try it. I
’ve got
grandpa’s pistol
,
and I
’ll
shoot if
you come close.”
Kid’
s got balls; I’ll give him that.

“Son, I don’t have time for this shit. It’s going to be dark soon
,
and your friends will probably be back. I know your grandfather is hurt badly, so let me come in
,
and I
’ll
help you out.”

Another voic
e, older but weaker
,
yelled back.
“Bishop? Is that you?”

Bishop froze.
How the hell do they know my name? That voice - where have I heard that voice?

It took him almost a full minute to recover from the shock. When he did, he called back, “Yes, my name is Bishop. Who are you?”

He could hear mumbling coming from the
air
plane for a bit. Eventually, the response was from t
he kid again.
“If you are Bishop, what
’s
your wife’s name?”

Bishop’s patience was wearing thin.
“My wife’s name is Terri. I don’t have time to play 20 fucking questions. Identify yourselves or I’m out of here, and you’re on your own.”

The kid’s
voice sounded
almost embarrassed
, “Come on in
,
Bishop.
I won’t shoot.”

Senator Moreland was delighted by the sound of the birds singing outside his West Virginia home. It was so rare to hear the
ir
chorus this time
of year. As he stood looking
through the enormous glass windows surrounding the
great room, he was tempted to venture
outside and enjoy the melting sn
ow and bright sunshine with the little flock
. The
afternoon
had
delivered a clear
blue heaven
,
and the sun
was working hard to melt the icicles
han
g
ing from the roof. After two
consecutive
days
of
angry
clouds
and
blowing
snow, the front had passed
,
allowing one
of those
wonderfully crisp
days
that
were
clearly welcomed by the few remaining birds who hadn’t made the journey south some months ago.

The s
enator needed a
day
like this. For over two years, it seemed like everything in life
had been
grey. Never black
n
or white, always grey
,
like the
rolling clouds
and
darkened
sky the last few days. 
Perhaps
this was a sign of the times ahead
for his country and his people.
Perhaps
a new
, wonderfully
bright
day
was about to
warm
the
troubled land
- a land weary of its long
struggle under an overcast
of decline
.
 

Another sip from the
hot
cup of
tea
cradled in his hand warmed his insides. Maybe his ice would melt as well.
He gazed down into the valley that spread out
below the
App
alachia
estate. Patches of earth were becoming visible, seeming to rise out of the sea of white
snow. It reminded him of the diagram
he had just been studying. It was a map of his country that showed
patches o
f the territory he and his interests
now controlled.
They had been struggling to uncover as much of America as they could, thawing a
small town or city, here or there, from the blanket of anarchy and confusion that
fallen on
the land
like a deep snow.
Now some of the larger cities were joining their cause, and
just like the sun would
eventually
thaw
the
frozen land
, he felt their leadership would shine bright enough to free the rest of the
nation
.

Moreland
wasn’t sure who had coined
the name “t
he Independents.”
It was a fact that
independent voters in America
had been growing in numbers for several years
. While his
movement’s ideology reflected
many of the views associated with
that
constituency
, more so
than
either
Republican or Democrat
, i
t was more than political alignment that drove his
cause
.
It was a growing realization that the two party system,
Electoral College
and
many other
aspects
of government were
antiquated
and
cumbersome
in
light of
today’
s tangled, mass of
bureau
cracy
.
The tax code, the Federal Reserve, the justice system and many, many other core components of the
United States had either outlived their usefulness
or had been gamed by small groups of powerful men.
The Independents
sought to rebuild government as it was envisioned by the founding fathers. One of the senator’s
staffers had
even
compared the organization of
t
he Independents
to a S
econd American Revolution.

Moreland
could understand the association. This revolution was to have been different in so many ways though. Rather than muskets and cannon
s
, the internet and media were to be the primary weapons. There was no foreign king to overthrow, nor was there any
foreign military occupation on U.S. soil.
Over a year ago, when they had first began to seriously organize and recruit new members, he remembered talking to a group of senior military commanders about the
movement
.
One
of the attendees observed that
a foreign military occupation would
make their cause more palatable and
could
thus
serve as a catalyst for their recruitment efforts.
Rebelling against an outsid
e presence required no soul-searching
or evaluation
for the average citizen
.
Little did
Moreland
o
r anyone else know how
prophetic
that
observation
had been. No one could have predicted that within a year so many citizens of the United States would live under military control and martial law.

An illegal martial law brought about by an illegal order to execute a nuclear strike against a foreign power
. Th
at’s what the honorable gentlema
n from West Virginia kept telling himself
.
So many of
their
actions in the last few months
had been justified by that belief.
No honorable man, no patriot, no
one who loves his country could
sanction
what
t
he Independents
had accomplished in the last few months without such a
justification. To undermine the elected authority of the peop
le, t
he
President
of the United States, during a
time of such dire national crisi
s couldn’t be reconciled by any other means.
The
president
had broken the law with those two
orders
. If the country hadn’t fallen into the abyss, no
doubt he would have been impeached.
His executive powers were no longer legitimate.

The s
enator turned and walked back toward the kitchen. His loyal aid
e
of over 35 years was busy preparing
dinner, flashing his boss a quick smile.
“More tea
,
sir?”

Moreland
paused
for a moment before responding,
“No
,
Wayne
. O
ne is enough for me today. The sunshine is
thawing
these old bones
, no need for a second cup of warmth.”

Wayne
inquired
,
“Our
guests will be
arriving
with
in
the
hour
,
sir. Do you require anything of me before your meeting?”

The s
enator was reassured by
Wayne
’s concern,
“Just the
usual fine food you always manage
to prepare
,
Wayne
.”

“Of course
, Senator. Y
our words are too kind. We are blessed to
still
have the materials for me to work with.”

Wayne
was a l
ittle surprised when Moreland
stayed in the kitchen. He normally didn’t spend much time here
,
and it seemed like
his old friend
had something on his mind.

H
e came immediately to the point.
“
Wayne
, am I a traitor?”

Wayne
didn’t even look up f
rom the potatoes he was slicing.
“What is a traitor, sir? One man’s freedom fighter is another man’s traitor. One man’s revolutionary is another man’s rebel.”

The older man chuckled.
“Okay, so we’re going to debate definitions here
, are we?
You know what I mean
Wayne
. You know me better than anyone on this earth. Is there any chance history will look at me with
the critical eye of s
edition?”

Despite his culinary duties,
Wayne
didn’t even hesitate.
“Senator, perhaps you should rest before your meeting. You aren’t thinking clearly, sir. History will be written by the victor. You, of all people, should know that. If
our
cause fails, you will be re
membered
as the man who stalled the recovery of the United States of America. It will be written as though you had glorious visions of power and rule. You will be painted as a man who would be dictator
in order to enslave the freedoms of the people
. If the
m
ovem
ent succeeds, you will be celebrated
as a visionary and patriot. T
icker tape parades
and bank holidays
will mark your birthday for years to come.
You know the consequences
, Senator;
you’ve always known.
”

The s
enator
smiled broadly at his assistant.
“You old smartass. I should’ve known better
than
to start this conversation with you today. I could tell you were in a foul mood by how strong my tea was.”

Wayne
stopped slicing and looked dire
ctly into his old friend’s eyes.
“You are
always
welcome to openly display your self-doubt and anxieties to me
.
I wouldn’t reveal those inner feelings to anyone els
e though. It’s too late for real indecision;
you’ve come too far
,
and there’s no turning back.”

The s
enator laughed and responded u
sing his deepest southern drawl.
“Self-doubt? Anxieties? How dare you
,
suh
! Why if I were a younger man, I’d slap you with a white glove and demand you defend your honor
,
sur
.”

Wayne
tilte
d his head backwards and smiled.
“Now that would be funny
,
Senator
. Two old goats like us heading out to
the v
eranda with dueling pistols. Wouldn’t the Washington Post give anything for a picture of that?”

Both men chuckled at the thought,
and
Wayne
continued preparations for
the evening meal.

“Seriously
Wayne
, do you ever wonder if
Abraham Lincoln
questioned if
he were
somehow
misguided in
his quest to keep the union
whole
?”

Wayne
pondered the s
enat
or’s question for a few moments and chose the words of his response carefully before
speaking.
“And I quote
President
Lincoln, ‘
Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any one thing.
’”

The Senator smiled at
Wayne
’s choice of quotation, bu
t countered with one of his own.
“
Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.
”

Wayne
replied, “Touché. Senator
, you didn’t begin this movement to o
ver
throw the government. You never once proposed treason. I remind you
,
sir
,
that this all started as a purely political movement to stop the
insanity
in Washington.”