Awakening

[The Stig]

At the same time back in Shelton, Werner and Caddy held a similar bull session reviewing the day’s events. After nearly forty-five minutes of operational details Werner took the subject back to the business inspections.

“So basically despite the days activities, we came up with a fist full of nothing,” concluded Werner.

“Wish I could say otherwise, but basically yea. Nada” said the typically levelheaded Caddy.

Sighing Werner said, “Damn, I had hoped they would turn up something useful”.

“Nothing back in from your snitches?”

“Not really” replied Werner. “There was some talk that ClarMar farms might be housing illegals from North of the border but nothing that could be substantiated. And the guy giving us the tip is a drunk mechanic anyway so I’m not sure he’s reliable”.

”I was at ClarMar for most of the day” replied Caddy as he sipped his coffee. “There was an incident with one guy. Paperwork typo. But there was something odd going on there.”

“Where there’s smoke there’s fire” offered up Werner as he poured a small amount of Jack Daniels into his coffee. He found it helped him wind down and sleep at the end of a long day.

“There were a couple of guys there who were ex-military. And an old man made a point of distracting me just as I was getting ready to talk to the guy with the paperwork issues.”

Sitting back in his chair as he ate a sandwich, Werner replied, “Not much to go on. We do have to have some semblance of legality to our actions.” In response to the attacks Senator Donovan had given Werner more leeway to respond but made it clear there was still a line to walk to avoid inciting a rebellion.

“I’m going back there tomorrow,” declared Caddy. “I want to sniff around a little more”.

“Whatever you need to do. We’re playing defense and not all that well.”

****

Clarissa Donner sat at her desk in farm office attending to the normal paperwork as she did most every morning. She was exhausted from emotional atomic bomb of learning about her husband’s death and the previous days activities with the contractors.

Despite being tired she got to work as best she could although she found her thoughts wandering off track.

“Get it together young lady,” she scolded herself. The cold reality was the business of the farm had been significantly disrupted for an entire day and there was a lot of catching up to do.

For the better part of an hour she responded to correspondence, routed invoices and payments to the farm managers desk and attended to the routine work required of any business. During one of her various daydreaming sessions she had to stop and remind herself of the ramifications of the games they were all playing. Certainly all of Millers men, her and her father would be hauled off to God-knows-where should they be caught. For her elderly father that was tantamount to a death sentence. Her farm would be confiscated and shut down robbing hundreds of people of good jobs. If what happened to Reverend Barnes’s church was any indication the situation could get very bad.

The door chime startled her as someone walked into the office. She was the only one in the small building so she pulled herself back to reality and poked her head out of the office.

She tired to conceal her shock of seeing the bull-chested man from the day before standing in their lobby area.

****

“So you see Mamm” said Caddy pouring on the charm “you can understand our concern. Several men have died at the hands of these troublemakers. Good men. And they died unjustly.”

After the obligatory introductions Clarissa had invited Caddy into her office to discuss whatever he had on his mind. Despite her suspicions of the true nature of his visit she couldn’t stop herself from pouring him coffee.

“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with my farm” said Clarissa, staring Caddy dead in the eye. She wasn’t one to be intimidated.

“Well mamm” replied Caddy as he sipped his coffee and glanced down at his cigar. “It would seem to me a farm might be a good place to stash some supplies and house some people intent on causing trouble.”

“Again, what does that have to do with my farm?” parried the strong willed farm owner.

Glancing up, “Mamm, I’m not saying anything about your farm. But we both know there are some unsavory characters on your payroll.”

Doing her best to stare holes in his head Clarissa calmly responded. “Mr. Caddy” she started before clearing her throat. “I can assure you our employees are hardworking men interested in a good wage. I think yesterdays background checks proved that, don’t you?”

With a large smile Caddy responded, “Yes mamm. Your men’s records all came back clean as a whistle.”

“Then I fail to see a problem,” said Clarissa with a smile and eyes hard as flint.

“By my estimation you have at least three men on your farm who are ex-military. I could give a hoot about whether they deserted from the North or South, or whatever their story is. But the attacks against my men have been made by men with military training and experience.” He tone was casual, smile friendly and eyes radiating charm, but he pulled no punches.

Clarissa held her ground. “Again Mr. Caddy, I understand your frustration but I fail to see what any of this has to do with my farm.”

Standing up and smoothing out his uniform front, Caddy laid his cup of coffee on Clarissa’s desk. While maintaining a smile he locked eyes with the ClarMar Farms owner and responded with, “Mamm, I don’t know how your farm plays into all of this yet. But I assure you I will find out and you will be watched very closely. I just like to be very straightforward and open with folks. Makes life easier I’ve found.”

Shaking hands and leading him back to the office door Clarissa continued to yield any ground. “Mr. Caddy, I hope you find out who killed your men.”

Shutting the office door behind her she continued the charade by waiving goodbye and putting on her best smile.

Inside she felt cold as ice. He was on to them and had thrown down the gauntlet.

[The Stig]

Miller and Barnes sat around the kitchen table enjoying a warm cup of tea while looking over some maps of the area. Miller was briefing Barnes on the geography of the county and some of the actions they had taken to disrupt the contractors. Since Barnes could never return to the coast he was now part of the team. In an effort to make him feel included right away Miller had been giving him a non-stop lecture for the past hour on various subjects related to his original interaction with the contractors, his friends who had escaped the area, their operations so far and so forth.

Barnes was an eager student. He fully recognized that his life had changed and while he would remain a man of the cloth, he had to adapt and do so quickly. So between bites of egg and toast, and with the occasional question Barnes listened intently.

A sudden knock at the door startled the men. DeMetrie, Lowry and Reynolds wouldn’t knock and the only other visitor, Clarissa never visited during the day. Surprise turned to action as Miller heard the door opening. Springing to his feet he motioned for Barnes to stay still. In what appeared to be seconds he had taken up a position outside the room he and Barnes had occupied and before the main door.

“Hello” called out Clarissa.

“Clarissa?” challenged back Miller, scowl across his face.

“Yes John. Come here, it’s urgent”.

“It had better be” was the response he kept to himself.

****

“He just spelled it all out?” challenged John.

Clarissa was clearly shaken up, but wasn’t out of control or distraught. “Yes, identified three military men, said he knows were connected to the attacks, the whole deal”.

Miller thought for a second or two before replying. “He was fishing. Being a military man he’s going to spot other ones. I’ll give him that. But beyond that he’s just fishing and trying to get a read on you. If you were nervous or went out of your way to invite him to look around it would confirm his suspicions. Actually, the worst thing you could have done was to invite him to poke around. He’d have gladly accepted the invitation”.

Calming herself down, Clarissa hoped that she hadn’t over reacted by making the roundabout journey out to the isolated buildings. “John, I hope I’m not causing your trouble by coming out here”.

“Not at all. I’m glad to know about the visit. But relax. He’s just fishing and we’ll have to deal with that”.

“And your men?” she asked since other than Miller and Barnes the complex was empty.

Winking at Barnes, Miller replied, “They had to run an errand.”

“I’m sure they did” said Clarissa with a smile. Turning to Barnes, “Reverend Barnes, do you need anything? Clothes?”

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t really have time to pack an overnight bag” responded looking down at his wrinkled shirt. He didn’t bother to change it before collapsing on the cot the night before.

“No problem” she said with a smile. “I’m sure I can rustle some up for you”.

Miller walked her back to the main entrance of the complex. “Clarissa, we’ll have the hardwired field phone installed in a few days. Not sure why we didn’t think of it earlier. Then there will be a secure, direct connection between your house and out here. Of course you’ll have the phone hidden but should something like this happen again you can call out here”.

“Will do. Sorry for panicking John. I was just thrown by his directness.”

Giving her a small hug he replied, “You did fine Clarissa. We wouldn’t be anywhere without you”.

Shutting the small, partially below grade door, Miller paused for a minute. This Caddy had obviously been around the block, and wasn’t afraid to charge right into the enemy camp to see what fell out of the tree he just rammed with a bulldozer.

Caddy could become a big problem.

****

“Why don’t I ever get to drive?” bemoaned Lowry.

“Because you drive like shit?” fired back the friendly jest.

It was early evening before Lowry and Reynolds had made it to the rendezvous point with DeMetrie. They had spent the entire day traveling two counties over to buy a pickup from a used car lot with the cash they acquired from Ron Little. After doing so they found a secluded spot to grind off the vin numbers as best they could. Like most of their attempts at disguising their actions, the effort wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny, but to the casual observe the numbers would be obliterated.

After a short detour to ClarMar they traveled another forty miles south east of Shelton to a small town where they linked up with Captain DeMetrie and his jeep full of supplies.

“You two bicker like a married couple,” said DeMetrie. He said it mostly in jest, but sometimes the constant jousting did get old.

“That’s because he never lets me drive” said Lowry with a big smile.

“Ok, put on your war faces” instructed DeMetrie. The simple direction brought an air of seriousness back to the conversation. Lowry and Reynolds had both heard that charge in various places around the world. Usually they heard it before a particularly difficult assignment or if the Captain had to calm down a panicking solider in the midst of a fire-fight.

Pulling the pickup into an abandoned gas station garage, the men closed the roll down door behind them and sprang into action.

Lowry used a knife to cut slits in the bags of ammonium nitrate fertilizer exposing the pellets. After doing this he used the cans of diesel fuel handed to him by Reynolds to completely soak the fertilizer.

“Damn” said Reynolds. “That stinks”.

“Yea. Not exactly the Polo you’re used to wearing” fired back Lowry.

While they worked the captain installed what would serve as the igniter to their homemade explosive concoction.

When they were done Lowry tossed his friends a couple of cans of spray paint. “Bet you’ve never vandalized a business with graffiti have you Captain?”

“You’d be surprised. Lowry” said the DeMetrie. “You’d be surprised”. Reynolds and Lowry exchanged glances as all three men went outside and got to work.

Within thirty minutes the trap was set.

[The Stig]

Caddy and Werner were enjoying dinner in Werner’s office when one of the contractors came running in.

“Sir, one of the patrols came across a small gas-station in Latimer. There were a bunch of burning tires and trash in a dumpster and anti-contractor signs and graffiti all over. The patrol has held back awaiting instructions.”

Caddy turned to Werner. “After all the attacks, I didn’t want the men going into a situation half-cocked”.

Werner nodded in understanding. “Caddy, take your response team. Don’t muck around”.

****

By the time the response team arrived, the fires had all been extinguished. The putrid smell of burnt rubber still hung in the air and caused several men coughing fits. The original patrol had cautiously set up a perimeter and called back to headquarters for further instruction.

Caddy strolled up to the section leader and asked for a situation report.

“Sir” said the young section leader, “came across the scene about an hour ago. Set up a perimeter and called back to await instructions.” The young man was clearly proud of himself.

“All right son” replied Caddy, chomping on his stubby cigar. “Have you done any sweeps of the surrounding woods?” The old abandoned gas station and small restaurant stood alone along a lonely stretch of state highway. At one point it had been a thriving business, now it was a decaying part of Americana.

“No sir. I didn’t want to get sucked into any engagements with only four men”

“Ok. I’m talking a couple of men and starting to work in those woods,” said Caddy pointing to a stand of trees about one thousand yards away. “From there we’ll work backwards to your position. The remainder of my team will breach the building along with yours. If you don’t find anything you start working the woods in the other direction. Probably a better chance of people being there anyway. Keep a sharp eye out.”

“Yes sir” said the young man before turning and giving instructions to his men.

As Caddy was starting to drive off in an SUV he leaned out the window and said, “wait till I radio that I’m in position. If someone is laying in wait in between us we may be able to catch them in the middle. If you find anybody on your side, radio back and we’ll flank them”.

Again the men responded with a crisp “yes sir” before readying his men to enter the building. Performing the breach was probably overkill on what was more than likely a prank by some teenagers. Not every disturbance was the work of troublemakers, but the section leader figured this would be good practice for his men. They hadn’t breached a building in a long time.

Within several minutes Caddy radioed back that he was in position with his two men and was working the woods in search for anybody who might still be watching the contractors. The section leader gave the signal and his men started approaching the building, each man providing cover to the next. It looked like something out of a Hollywood movie or a television show.

As they got to the main door to the garage the contractors assembled into a stack where each man stood tightly against the man in front of him in the formation as they prepared to breach the building. Each man would enter the room as quickly as possible, one man after another, each pealing off in different directions as they entered. Giving the go-ahead motion, the section leader, standing at the back of the stack, held his breath in anticipation of the entry ram knocking in the door.

It was the last thing he’d ever do.

As the entrance door to the building crashed open thanks to the battering ram, a small wire pulled a Popsicle stick out from between the jaws of a clothespin. As the clothespin shut, wires that had been glued to each jaw connected, closing the circuit of the wires between a battery and a small rocket motor like those found in children’s toys. As the circuit completed current was sent down the long wires that stretched across the garage floor to the back of the pickup truck bed. This ignited the toy rocket motor, which in turn ignited a homemade mixture of potassium chlorate and Vaseline that Reynolds had carefully mixed on site. This mixture immediately exploded, which ultimately caused the explosion of the crude mixture of fertilizer and diesel fuel.

While it was a crudely constructed device, the results were devastating. Despite being nearly a third of a mile away, Caddy was nearly knocked to the ground by the pressure wave that careened through the woods. He was fortunate that most of the blast dissipated as it traveled away from the gas station and through open air. Still the noise was deafening and all three men momentarily looked at each other before instinctually dropping to the ground.

Most of the men were killed in the first milliseconds of the explosion by the intense wave of overpressure that blasted through the air at twelve thousand feet per second. Those that weren’t killed by the pressure wave ripping apart their bodies were hit by debris and chunks of concrete from the building walls, which bludgeoned them beyond recognition.

The sad reality was that eight men were utterly vaporized and erased from the earth without a trace large enough to recognize as once belonging to a human being.

[The Stig]

Werner and Caddy oversaw a team of contractors who went over the smoldering remains of the gas station. Debris was thrown in nearly all directions for incredible distances and nothing recognizable of the building remained.

The pickup truck DeMetrie and his team used to haul their cobbled together device was blown into a million pieces. Substantial items like the engine block were pulverized into chunks, some big others small. Less substantial items like sheet metal and interior components simply evaporated under the force of the explosion. And, as in many explosions, odd things happened, like the rearview mirror that would be found twenty seven hundred yards away in a farmer’s field, nearly intact.

“I’ve already spoken with Donovan. He won’t pull troops away from the border with the northern states, but he’s sending in men from several other firms to operate under our command. They are smaller companies, so they really didn’t have a choice in the matter.” Werner was furious about the attack, but kept focused on solving the problem and keeping his emotions under control.

Caddy acknowledged the statement with a grunt as he reviewed some chunks of debris one of his men had brought to him.

“I’m also pulling out more of our men from the coast area. They really aren’t doing much down there anyway. In a couple days time we’ll have nearly triple our manpower. I want increased patrols, increased raids and constant presence from teams in likely target areas,” commanded Werner.

To this Caddy responded with another grunt and a puff on his cigar.

Werner, undaunted, continued. “We’ll also have the manpower we need to set up more random roadblocks. These idiots are moving around the county at will. I want that stopped.”

Caddy again nodded in his silent affirmation of all that Werner was saying.

“Caddy?” said the irritated Werner. “Are you going to say anything?”

Caddy shot him a look but decided the better of getting into a pissing match with his boss. “I agree. We should do all of that. Consider running more background checks on people and ramping up your radio detection efforts” Pausing for a second, he added, “although these guys aren’t likely to be that dumb to use over the air radios”.

Werner continued to issue commands to the people on the scene, and make calls to various officials both in Donovan’s administration and to other contractor firms. He was calling in as many favors as he could. The other attacks were serious, but this bombing took things to a whole new level.

Werner left Caddy alone for a good thirty minutes as men worked around them searching for remains or any fragments that would indicate the nature of the explosive device. Despite being fully dark, the rows and rows of portable spotlights, like one would see in a construction zone, illuminated the area as if it were a sports stadium.

Finally, Werner had enough and was curious what his second in command was up to. “Ok Caddy, times up. What are you thinking?”

“Besides wanting to kill these sonsofbitches?”

Werner had to smile despite the seriousness of the situation. “Well, yea. Besides that”.

“We know these guys are pros right?” Werner nodded in agreement so Caddy continued.

“These guys know how to assemble improvised explosives and work with military grade materials. They also have been able to move around with impunity and this bomb could have done a lot more damage in a more populated area. So they could have blown up whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted to and done a lot more damage. Instead, they chose a lone gas station in the middle of nowhere. Why?”

Werner thought for a minute. The conclusion was obvious and unavoidable.

“This was a practice run for something much bigger” stated Werner.

“I’m afraid so” replied Caddy. “The question is what do they have planed next?”

[The Stig]

Barnes helped the men put away their gear after the mission. A small part of him wanted to go along on the mission and help in some way. But the reality was he had no skills that could be used, and would have been more of a burden.

“So you accomplished what you wanted right?” the reverend inquired.

“Yep” said Lowry as he unloaded several packs and placed the contents into their various hiding spots.

“So that’s good right?” continued Barnes as he pressed the unusually tight lipped Lowry.

Reynolds jumped in. “Don’t let him bother you Rev” said the unusually cheery Reynolds. “Lowry’s just mad”.

Still not grasping what was going on the Barnes stammered, “I’m sorry guys. I hope I…..”

Again Reynolds jumped in. “Ask Lowry to take off his shirt Rev” instructed the now laughing solider.

Still not understanding the situation he stammered out the request of Lowry.

“Damnit. It’s not funny!” he gasped as he tore off his undershirt.

DeMetrie, Reynolds and the Reverend Barnes all burst out laughing. Lowry’s torso was covered in bright red welts.

“You see Mr. Barnes,” declared the Captain, “we were almost discovered by some contractors as we were observing the target. In an effort to take cover quickly, Private Joker here landed on a fire-ant mound. Since the contractors were almost on top of us he couldn’t move or make any noise. Needless to say he isn’t pleased.”

“If it’s needless to say, Captain, than with all due respect don’t say it!” said the exasperated Sergeant Lowry.

Howls of laughter filled the room as all three men had a good belly laugh at their friends’ expense.

****

Several days passed and the flood of contractors into the area continued. Soon their manpower increased to levels that allowed Werner to have multiple roving patrols and roadblocks running in different parts of the county at nearly all times. It also afforded him the ability to run shifts so that he had better coverage for longer periods of time. Within a few more days he’d have enough to have around the clock coverage.

More threatening to Miller and his men was that Caddy was finally able to have his main team, and an alternate team on the prowl looking for suspicious activities nearly all the time while still having a fast reaction squad on hand.

The balance of power had shifted clearly in favor of Werner and his men. Senator Donovan realized the importance of clamping down on any possibility of an insurgency springing up. He’d been careful thus far to make small concessions to keep the majority of people relatively content. If he took away Internet service he allowed phone calls to reach out further. If he reduced the monthly allotment of sugar, he’d allow the power to stay on a little longer each day.

What he didn’t count on, however, was allowing that incompetence of men usually found it’s way to the surface no matter how good of a plan one was following. Most military contractors were honorable men trying to use their skills to provide for their families and support their communities. Even Werner’s group, Aperture Consulting, were generally decent men who exercised restraint. But, like any organization, there were bad apples. The contractors, who were in Werner’s district when the hostilities broke out, or even the ones along the coast who resorted to burning churches to the ground were men more likely to cheat, steal and kill than honorably earn a living.

Despite the lack of Internet or long distance phone calls, word was spreading through the area like wildfire about an incident in a small town at the other end of the Southern District. Contractors had turned several counties into an area under siege and harassed the population mercilessly. The men stole and menaced the townsfolk and generally acted like desperados of days gone by.

Tensions slowly rose until one day a local townsman had reached a braking point. While checking out of a small store some contractors started harassing the man, claiming his papers were out of order and generally working the man over for a bribe. When he attempted to turn and walk away from the two men they tackled him. In the process of slamming him to the ground the man had a heart attack and died. As the evening wore on men of the town attempted to storm the local contractors barracks and seven men were left dead before the shooting stopped.

This event only sparked further controversy and outrage. With a series of several days twenty nine more people would be dead, several young girls raped and untold businesses and buildings burned. It was like something out of Nanking in the late 1930’s than something ever imaginable in the United States.

This spark sent shockwaves through the Southern District as word spread. For his part Donovan had the contractors removed and hauled off to a work crew in the swamps and replaced them with the best men he had. Buildings were rebuilt and the Senator made several personal visits to the area handing out cash money as if it were Halloween candy. While this seemed to calm the tensions in the immediate area, other towns and cities were set abuzz with word that people were standing up to the contractors.

Outside the immediate area, however, the Senator reversed course from his benevolence and moved more towards a return of martial law, further restrictions on food purchases, flagrant phone taps and encouraging people to turn in their neighbors for petty matters. Roadblocks sprang up and people were suddenly required to register for a new identification card, which would force them to declare any weapons they owned, large stores of precious metals or food. The Senator even strong-armed several larger credit card processing companies to feed him information on people’s purchases for the past year. He had a small army of technical people pouring over them to determine who had bought what and who might be a threat because of it. In each successive area there was a general oppression reminiscent of a mid-century Eastern Bloc country as the changes happened.

As word of the massacre spread around the county, and in Shelton and Lumberton themselves, people began connecting the dots between the previous attacks on the contractors and what would be possible if people put their minds to it.

[The Stig]

“Damn Miller” said DeMetrie. “At the rate the contractors are pouring into the area we won’t be able to sneeze without being seen”. DeMetrie wasn’t a worrier, but he was a realist. The numbers just weren’t on their side.

“You aren’t kidding,” said the equally concerned Miller. He too recognized that there was only so much their small group could accomplish.

The men kicked around different ideas for their next strike but the planning phase was taken to a whole new level. Where before a plan could be hatched and implemented in a day now planning alone would take several days. With only four fighting men they couldn’t afford a single mistake that could result in an injury.
“I was thinking. Maybe we ought to put together an exit strategy. I’m nowhere near done with these pukes, but if everything goes to hell how are we going to move all of us and the Donners out of here?” DeMetrie liked to cover all his options.

Miller leaned back in his chair. “I think I have something for that. Barnes has been pouring over the black-book of contacts and thinks he’s broken the code. Not sure how he did it but that guy has been at it for nearly three straight days. Turns out some guys near Woodville run a taxi service of sorts.”

“You got me” said DeMetrie, “Never heard of it”.

Pointing it out on the map, it became very clear that the taxi service was a boat taxi. Woodville sat on the banks of the Mississippi River.

“Problem is” continued Miller, “it’s at least two days ride there and back. I hate to be out of the fight that long but I need to check them out”.

“Oh goodness Miller” fired back the Captain “how did we ever survive the sandbox without you?” with a broad smile on his face. He was clearly referring to his military service in the Middle East.

Miller was never one to back down from playful teasing. “Just think of all those fine, modern, clean and vibrant cities you left behind”.

“Yea,” snorted back the Captain. “A real paradise.

“Since you are used to much larger urban metropolises I’ve sent for someone who can give you boys a little backwoods guidance,” replied Miller.

“Outstanding” replied Millers friend with mock enthusiasm.

****

Barnes alternated between a steaming cup of coffee and the black notebook they had acquired from Ron Little. He had stared at it for days and nearly cracked the code. Or, at least he hoped he had done so and wasn’t sending Miller off on a wild goose chase.

“Still studying your book” said Clarissa as she walked into the farm office. She clearly started the Reverend who quiet latterly jumped out of his chair. He was so engrossed in the book that he hadn’t heard the door open.

“I’m so sorry Reverend!” exclaimed Clarissa as she got behind her desk and prepared to tackle some bills before the company truck arrived on it’s return trip from Wyoming.

Barnes attempted to compose himself while responding. “You are fine Mrs Donner. I’ve been so engrossed in this book I must be in a different world”.
“Please Reverend” said the pretty brunette, “it’s Clarissa”

“Only if you quit calling me Reverend”.

Smiling her beautiful smile Clarissa replied, “You do make a good point. I just hope Miller knows what he’s doing on this expedition to Woodville.”

“John can handle himself,” said Barnes has he closed the notebook and wiped his tired eyes.

“I know. But there’s never been anything good come from Woodville.” Her words trailed off.

“Don’t worry” replied the churchless Reverend. “John’s quick on his feet. Besides, Woodville has never met John Miller”.

“I hope you’re right Rever….” she stopped herself….”Tim. Now, I better get some of these bills processed so the taxman won’t come calling.

****

“If anybody pegs your asshat meter, take care of them” directed Caddy to the checkpoint team leader.

“Yes sir” the young man replied into his radio. “Man thinks we’ve never run a checkpoint before” he thought to himself as he turned and returned to his work.

The small team was running a checkpoint at the intersection of several country roads. The roads barely registered on a map, however, those who knew the area often used them as shortcuts. As such there was a fair amount of traffic and Caddy had personally chosen the spot.

To affect the roadblock, a large pickup truck had been parked in the middle of the intersection. Anybody approaching the intersection would have to slow down which allowed one of the contractors to approach the vehicle to interview the driver while his teammates provided cover from suitable positions. It was an effective, if simple, arrangement that allowed the ten men to completely shut down the intersection.

The team had been at work for several hours, mostly dealing with people going to work in the early morning, when a large semi-truck pulled up to the intersection. It squeaked to a stop, airbrakes making their distinctive whoosh noise as one of the team members motioned for the driver to step down from the cab.

“Where you headed,” he asked as the driver climbed down the side of the big rig.

“Just making a delivery to ClarMar farms” said the tired looking man. “Here’s my ID, fright manifest and logs”. As he handed over the stack of information it was clear the driver had been through the process before.

Giving the truck driver his best glare the contractor appeared to study several pages of the logbook for the slightest error or omission. While he was at it several of the other contractors nosed around the outside of the truck, occasionally peering under it.

“How was the drive through Kansas?” asked the contractor. His tone and body language made the question far more menacing than simple conversation.

“I don’t know,” replied the driver.

The answer stopped the contractor and got the attention of one of the men lurking in the area of the conversation.

“You mean to tell me you came back from Wyoming and don’t know what Kansas was like?” asked the clearly irritated contractor. The tone in his voice brought the teammate assigned as his direct backup closer in.

“Yes sir” came back the heavily accented reply. Wiping his nose on his shirtsleeve the driver continued on, “Kansas is so flat and boring I just put on cruise control and take a nap”. The grin on his face was so infectious even the contractors had to laugh. The joke worked and the tension of the situation deflated like air rushing out of a ruptured balloon.

“Hey boss, called out one of the men inspecting the truck. “Want me to check out the sleeper?”

Glancing over the logbooks the contractor asked, “Anything in there you want to tell me about”.

The truck driver’s heavy draw punctuated the reply. “Well, I did have an accident that involved a Gatorade bottle and some recycled iced tea. Your man might want to watch where he steps”.

Again the joke served its intended purpose. “Nah, let it go,” the contractor called out to his man. Turning back to the driver and handing back the papers he said, “Here you go, drive safe”

“Yall stay away from the women around here. I hear they’re hairier than ZZ Top” called out the truck driver as he climbed back into his rig.

[The Stig]

Silence filled the air as the rumble of a tractor-trailer truck working its way though the gears faded into the distance. There was a light mist hanging in the early morning air as the contractors returned to their various positions and awaited the next car.

Small talk and banter kept the men occupied for the five minutes it took for another car to pull into the intersection. This time the car pulled to a stop somewhat short of the intersection, immediately setting the contractors on edge.

“Step out of the car please sir” instructed one of the contractors as he approach the vehicle. As a precaution one teammate stationed himself at the front of the car, while another positioned himself angled off the back driver’s side taillight. Both men stood far enough from the vehicle to give themselves room to maneuver should they have to, but close enough that, if needed, they could pour rounds from their rifles into the driver. The contractor issuing the commands to the driver already had his hand on his duty pistol.

“What’s that” called out the driver as he craned his neck outside the car.

“I said get the fuck out of the car, and do it now” bellowed the contractor in a tone and volume that would make a Marine Corps drill instructor proud.

“Ok man” said the driver as he fumbled around putting the car into park and pulling the keys from the ignition.

As the man attempted to open his car door, but got hung up in his seatbelt the contractor’s patience gave out. The other men in the team had begun moving into advantageous positions should trouble erupt with the driver, but they continued to pay attention to the area around the intersection in the process.

Reaching into the open door, the contractor pulled the man out of the car, slamming him to the ground. The man cried out as his face bounced off the parking lot, leaving several teeth lying on the ground in a pool of bloody spittle.

“Jesus man, you knocked my teeth out” screamed the man, blood pouring down his chin.

As the contractor placed hand restraints on the man he replied, “you’re lucky we didn’t perforate you dickweed”. Pulling him to his feet the contractor and an assistant started pulling the man towards the pickup stationed off the side of the road.

“You better have a…….” was all the lead contractor could say before the first shot rang out. A shotgun blast exploded from the wood line fifty yards from the side of the road. Several pellets of OOO buckshot impacted one of the contractors, knocking him to the ground. At the same time, a rifle shot cracked through the air, passing through the driver of the car and striking the contractor with enough force to take him to the ground. The driver was dead before his body slammed back to the pavement where he had left his teeth just minutes ago. A small revolver fell out of his pocket and chattered across the blacktop.

Like a macabre ballet the contractors instinctually moved to cover where they could find it; some behind the pickups, some in a small ditch and others behind a small stone outcropping just off the side of the road. Several more rifles opened fire as the contractors sprinted and danced in an effort to find haven from the bullets crashing around them.

It didn’t take long to identify that the rifle fire was coming from the east side of the road. In a series of hand motions and head nods, the lead contractor soon had his men returning fire and tossing smoke grenades to provide additional distractions to the men attempting to kill them.

As the shotgun roared and the rifles cracked, the contractors quickly regrouped and began maneuvering in an effort to return fire. Within a few seconds the bursts of the contractors AR15’s and AK47 pattern rifles filled the air as well aimed shots began chewing up the trees surrounding the would be attackers.

Several of the contractors in the ditch were able to move to the north and cross the road. Despite the ping of buckshot dancing across the blacktop road, all three men were able to cross the road unscathed. While they were making their sprint the contractors who had found cover behind and around the pickups unleashed round after round of 5.56x45 and 7.62x39 rounds into the woods that their attackers had chosen as cover.

One more lucky shot found its mark as it remorselessly drilled its way through flesh and bone and the young contractor who asked about inspecting the tractor-trailer tuck yelled out in agony. The man had made the mistake of standing very close to the side of a pickup as he returned fire on the attackers. He kneeled against the fender of the truck in the classic position often seen by police during standoffs. A rifle round had glanced off the hood of the tuck and impacted him though the skin of his cheek. The bullet dug deeply into his sinus cavity before finally exiting the back of his skull in a shower of blood, bone and brain.

While the young man lay twitching on a rural Southern road, the three contractors who had crossed the road managed to move within twenty-five yards of their attackers. Within minutes the man with the shotgun was gunned down in a hail of bullets as he futilely attempted to return fire. In the panic and terror of the moment he didn’t aim his weapon correctly and pellets harmlessly whizzed passed the contractors. The old adage that you didn’t need to aim with a shotgun turned out to be false.

Being careful to avoid the crossfire from the men on the road, the contractors continued their relentless close with the men who attacked them. It didn’t take long to find the firing positions of the men who had unwisely chosen to remain stationary.

One man was desperately trying to reload his SKS rifle with ammunition on a stripper clip. The man had once bragged to friends that he could reload just as fast as a man with a magazine fed rifle. It turned out his bragging was more bravado than fact as he fumbled the reload and was unable to accurately guide rounds into the chamber of the rifle through the narrow slots on the front of the bolt mechanism. While he stood struggling with an empty rifle, one of the contractors calmly aligned the red dot of his electronic sight on his target and rattled off five rounds. All five rounds slammed into the man’s chest in rapid succession sending him spinning to the ground. His empty SKS fell uselessly into the grass.

The fire from the attackers dwindled down to a man with a bolt-action hunting rifle with a cheap scope. There was no contest between him and the experienced men with modern weapons.

In the short five minutes of the fight, two contractors and the four attackers lay dead.

While two contractors were killed, the entire group attacking had been wiped out. In short, the attack was an utter failure.

****

“You aren’t going to believe this” announced Greg Donner as his daughter came to the breakfast table.

Wiping the tiredness from her eyes and drearily navigating her way to the coffee maker, Clarissa finally responded, “probably not Dad. What is it?” She was in no mood for games. Since the news of her husbands’ death she hadn’t been sleeping well and it was starting to catch up to her.

Greg beamed as he finally had a morsel of information to hold over his daughter. As his health had declined he had felt more and more powerless as his Daughter assumed more of his care. The old Marine wasn’t used to having his little girl taking care of him. Having some information gave him back some sense of control, even if temporarily.

“You sure you are ready for this?” he taunted.

“I can still put you in a home” she fired back.

“Word has it a group of men attacked some contractors a few days ago” He let the statement hang in the air as she processed it.

The words hit her like a baseball bat to the head. Suddenly all of the tiredness had left her body. “What? When?” she stammered. “Who?”

Greg leaned back in his chair while sliding his empty coffee cup across the old wooden kitchen table that had sat in the same kitchen for over a century. He locked eyes with his daughter until she picked up on his playful extortion.

As the coffee poured into his cup, he explained. “Turns out we aren’t the only ones socking it the contractors. After news of our first attacks spread other folks worked up the courage to do something. Three men tried to bushwack them at a checkpoint but things went tits-up and they didn’t make it. But the important thing is people want to do something. Miller was right. Fight back and others will join in.”

“Oh Dad” she exclaimed. “That is awful. Who died” she asked, genuinely concerned.

“Red Johnson and a couple of his pals. Don’t know his friends.”

As she started making breakfast for the both of them, as was her ritual, she mulled the news over in her mind. She couldn’t decide if this was good news or bad news.

“Listen” he said with an uncanny excitement in his voice. “Get on that field phone and get that Captain DeMetrie over here. He needs to hear this pronto.”

“Dad, I don’t think that’s smart. They aren’t supposed to come to the house,” replied his daughter.

“Horseshit” Greg exclaimed as he tapped the floor with his cane for emphasis. “There’s too much of this James Bond stuff. Trust me, he’ll want to hear this right away and I’m not riding out to the Farm.”

“Alright, eat your eggs and I’ll call out there. They likely haven’t left to come over here for work anyway. I’ll go call them”

Greg continued to gloat over his intelligence coup and sudden ability to call the shots for once. He knew it wouldn’t last but it reminded him of the good old days, even if only for a minute.

[The Stig]

At that exact moment, Werner and Caddy leaned over a table in the city hall conference room.

“Take your team to this farm here” explained Werner. “I’ve got good intel that they have a lot of weapons and have been making noises about starting a resistance”.

“Damn” replied Caddy, puffing on his first cigar of the day. “Lots of open land around the main building complex. No worries. We’ll get it done”.

“Good. Now, lets talk about the other raids we wanted to try up in the north-eastern part of the county”.

“Yea” replied the always to the point Caddy. “Oh, Rick’s team has been in the doghouse long enough. I’ve replaced their driver and I’m taking them along as backup. They’ll still do the shit work but I think the boy deserves another chance”.

Werner was surprised by Caddy’s compassion. Usually when he’d soured on someone he’d ride them till the broke and slinked away. Something about Rick’s refusal to break struck a cord in Caddy who, in turn, commuted Rick’s sentence for the time bearing.

Rick would never realize how close he’d been to being shipped off to a camp.

****

Miller awoke from his rest in a makeshift shelter he had made at the top of a small hill outside Woodville. It had been a long ride across country and Miller was feeling the tiredness creeping into his bones.

Cleaning up his camp and policing any signs that he had been there, he rode several miles to a secluded inlet off the river. There he carefully stashed his motorbike under a small clump of trees. To avoid a complete disaster he marked the location on his map. It was risky, because if someone found the map they’d uncover his bike and he’d had a long walk home. Of course, if they found the map it would be because Miller was dead and the walk would be the least of his problems.

Donning a small knapsack he carefully began making his way towards town. Patting the false ID he had acquired from Ron Little’s stash and updated with his photo thanks to the wonder of modern digital photography, he began a brisk but calm walk towards town.

His destination was the Floyd Brothers Water Livery. The Floyd brothers, Tom and David were born losers and only got worse with age. By the time they turned eighteen they had both done time for various unsavory activities. Their time as guests of the state was due, in part, to their own ignorance as is often the case with criminals.

They inherited several small boats from a dead uncle years back and had continued on with his nearly defunct water taxi business. Supplementing their meager living by transporting those who needed to move themselves or items long distances without risking air travel or trips down heavily patrolled highways, they had found a niche in life.

Senator Donovan’s prohibition on travel outside the Southern District and heavy road patrols from contractors served to boost the Floyd Brother’s business, as the Senator was smart enough to leave control of the massive waterway system bordering the state well enough alone. This afforded the Floyd Brothers the opportunity to move people and light cargo long distances and with very few questions asked.

By breaking the code in Ron Little’s book Barnes had suggested their names as possible alternate transportation for large groups of people traveling long distances. DeMetrie was right, Miller thought to himself, they needed an ace in the hole in the event everybody needed to leave at once.

Miller walked the several miles to town and then made his way to the riverside. After a while he found the dilapidated old building that housed the offices of Floyd Brothers Water Livery. The two-story building looked like a cross between a set for the Broadway adaptation of Popeye combined with the urban decay of modern day Detroit.

Gasping the door handle Miller confidently pushed it open and stepped inside the dingy office. The pungent aroma of stale cigarette smoke coated the ripped and torn mid-century deco furniture with a thick layer of despair. Papers were scattered all over the old wooden desks, two of them back-to-back, often times buried beneath ashtrays and old coffee cups. While there were some nautical looking charts on the wall Miller was reasonable sure they hadn’t been updated in years. There were several base radios on cabinet behind the desks but computers would have been as out of place inside the office as working girls in church.

“What do ya want” growled Tom.

“Looking to possibly move a couple things north” replied Miller. Sizing up the men, Miller wasn’t impressed. Both brothers were six foot tall, two hundred fifty pounds and wore clothes that hadn’t seen a washing machine in several years. Their limp greasy hair and missing teeth rounded out their charming physical appearance.

“That’s what we do” came the curt reply.

“Well good” Miller beamed. Helping himself to one of the dirty chairs he casually began asking a litany of basic and banal questions about water transportation. The entire time he sat inside the office he was taking mental notes of the layout of the office, what he could see outside and any other useful information he could gather.

He smiled. The Floyd Brothers were perfect for his needs.

****

“I’m telling you Clarissa” Greg declared, “We’re doing the right thing. The Captain needs to know about this right away.”

“Ok Dad” she replied, more to avoid a lecture than to agree.

“They’ll be here any minute. Now, we have about twenty minutes before you need to leave for the office and another hour before the workers start to arrive. We’ll compare notes and plan accordingly. No problems and he’ll be on his way before you know it” explained Greg as he hoisted himself into an easy chair in the living room. This would serve as his command station for the briefing,

Within a few minutes came a light knock at the side door to the house. Greg gestured towards as a way to instruct Clarissa to answer it. She was willing to give him a moment in the sun, but sometimes he didn’t know when to stop.

Quickly pulling the door open Mike DeMetrie slipped inside. Just as she went to shut the door another person began crossing the threshold. It startled her as she assumed Mike was coming alone.

“Morning ma’am. Is this the way to the nerve center of ClarMar farms?”

Before she could say anything, Dink Roberts shut the door and was standing inside her kitchen.

****

“Miller figured yall could use some more local flavor” said Dink with a smile as they ate breakfast. DeMetrie had dispatched Lowry to the main entrance of the farm to take up an observation post in the event contractors showed up. DeMetrie and Dink would have plenty of time to fade into the woods and make their way back to the semi-secure confines of the farm should that happen.

Dink, the former country sheriff turned rogue, was a friend of Millers and helped him and his family escape the clutches of a corrupt Sheriff and some contractors at the beginning of the countries problems. Along the path to their escape they adopted a young girl, Maggie, whom Dink took under his wing. For the past few months they, Miller’s family and their friends, the Webb brothers, had been riding out the conflict on a large ranch in Wyoming.

Miller knew he’d be gone for the better part of a week while he arranged transportation in Woodville and didn’t want to leave the men shorthanded. Even when he returned they needed more hands to fight the escalating situation with the contractors. He calculated the risks and used the ClarMar Farms delivery truck to smuggle in some added help.

Nobody was more surprised than John Miller when the slightly built Dink Roberts crawled out of the hidden compartment in the semi-trucks sleeper cab. He had sent for their friend Webb knowing that Dink was tending to Maggie. Murphy’s law had reared his head and Webb had badly sprained his knee. There was no way he could have stuffed himself in the small compartment let alone ride there for the border crossing.

“Looks like people are waking up from their damn fog and starting to fight back.” declared Greg. He had triumphantly told DeMetrie and Dink about the attack on the contractors. “Bout damn time too.”

“Maybe now you can recruit more men Captain” added Clarissa.

Dabbing some eggs with a piece of toast DeMetrie looked up. “Lets not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to figure out how to organize people without giving away who we are. Not like we can put an add in the newspaper.”

“That’s why you need a displaced hillbilly like me” said Dink. “I’ll put together a list of people to approach and then we figure out the way to send out the bat-signal.”

“Agreed. I think we also another big attack before Miller returns. Something to really get people’s attention” mused the Captain.

While they finished their breakfast the group discussed various topics. There was no mistaking that everybody fully grasped they were pressing ahead into a potential cauldron from which there was no turning back. They could all walk way now and likely remain unscathed. They could even all migrate to the ranch in Wyoming. They hadn’t passed the point of no return.

It was clear none of them considered turning back, even if for a minute.

[The Stig]

“Wadya have in mind” asked Tom.

“I may need to hire one or all of your boats, with little notice, to move a fairly long distance,” Miller calmly stated as if he was asking for extra napkins at a restaurant.

Exchanging glances before answering Tom grunted out, “that’ll cost”.

“Not a worry,” continued Miller. “What do you have in mind?”

The beady eyes of Tom Floyd narrowed and he ran his hand across his pate and through his disgusting hair. David simply leaned against the wall in the back of the room picking his fingernails with a pocketknife. Miller could see him clearly in the reflection of a small mirror that hung on the wall.

“Ten thousand up front. Two thousand a month so we don’t forget you and twenty-five when we drop you off. Could be more depending where you want dropped off,” replied the older of the Floyd brothers.

“Try again” said Miller with a polite smile.

“I’m not the one who needs to move cargo,” replied Tom. “And we risk of losing our business”.

Looking around at the drab office Miller replied, “Looks like you could take any business you could get now.”

An uneasy silence hung in the air as Miller and Tom stared holes into each other. After an awkward pause Tom broke first. “We hafta make a delivery. Why don’t you take a ride too? That’ll show you the boat and how we handle an problems.”

Miller agreed and all three moved to the dock area. Within minutes the greasy Floyd brothers had launched their twenty-eight foot cabin cruiser boat. The boat was in the same condition as the offices, shabby, broken down and dirty. But the engine ran smoothly and it handled well.

Five minutes into the ride Tom Floyd left his brother at the wheel and tossed Miller a dirt covered can of beer. Cracking his own open Tom said over the roar of the engine. “If we do this, you able to pay up-front money today?”

Miller nodded affirmatively.

Smiling his toothless and greasy smile Tom ambled his way back to his brother and said something into his ear.

Miller leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the early morning boat ride. He had no doubts the Floyd brothers fully intended to kill him.

[The Stig]

The men walked silently down either side of an old country road. Like a scene out of a World War II movie they walked with rifles at the low ready and kept an eye out for trouble. To the casual observer, all of the men had the same appearance: boots, bloused trousers with pockets, chest harnesses and helmets. Equipment was strategically strapped in various places, ready at a moments notice.

Rick was happy. Caddy had granted he and his team a reprieve and it appeared they would finally have a chance to work back into his good graces.

Their job today was simple. They were to set up a screening position on a farm that was being raided. Their job was to take positions one hundred and fifty yards to the rear of the collection of buildings around the farmhouse. Should anybody try to escape in their direction Rick’s team would be in a position to stop them.

Thirty minutes of walking later they approached a small wood. Rick motioned to his men and silently they all disappeared into the thick underbrush. From the road the men were invisible within seconds.

They had stalked their way into position and could see the collection of buildings across the open field.

“Team 2 in position” he said quietly into his raid.

“Copy that” came back the digitized voice of one of Caddy’s men. The man himself was along with the primary team. He preferred riding with the men to the stuffy confines of City Hall.

“Team 1 initiating approach” crackled the same voice. Within seconds Rick could see two large SUV’s driving towards the farmhouse. Caddy’s simple plan was to approach the house directly, stride to the front door and demand entry like a policeman serving a warrant. He’d leave half his team behind the vehicles and have the other half with him on the porch. The direct approach was tactically unsound but Caddy sometimes preferred to “drive straight up the middle” to borrow the football analogy.

Through his binoculars Rick watched as men crisply exited the vehicles. Oddly Caddy remained with the men at the trucks. “He must be letting the other guy get a chance,” he thought to himself.

“Are they moving in?” asked one of his men.

“Yea,” replied Rick. “Caddy and the backup team will probably be moving towards the house once the first team makes entry.”

Rick had no sooner gotten done saying then when gunshots rang out from the direction of the farmhouse. The team of men behind the trucks, Caddy included, immediately opened fire on the farmhouse, a tidal wave of bullets slammed into the hundred-year-old plaster and lath walls.

His men instinctively tensed in preparation of possibly going to battle.

“Stay alert” Rick commanded.

Peering back through the binoculars, Rick watched the man on the far end of the trucks, the one who had knelt behind the front wheels, suddenly lurch over. Other men frantically tried to pull him back further into cover from whoever was shooting at them from one of the barns to their left.

It didn’t take long from them to hose the old building with bullets. The concussion and roar of a hand grenade exploding tossed a fountain of dirt and dust high into the air near the front of the barn.

“Team 1, advise,” Rick said excitedly into the radio.

Caddy’s voice, calm and in control, came booming back. “Team 2. Move towards the buildings to your right, thirty yards left of our position. Team Lead stay in position to provide cover.” Caddy could have just as easily been ordering a pizza.

Rick barked out the orders sending the other three men moving towards the buildings and double-checked to ensure his rifle was loaded.

The sound of rifle fire continued as rounds tore into the old building. The once proud farmhouse simply began to disintegrate under the hail of copper coated wrecking balls. Another terrific explosion marked a grenade blasting a gaping hole in what once was a picture window.

“Team 2, storm the black barn, furthest to the right behind the silo” boomed Caddy’s voice, still calm and cool. “Some bastard is in there with a rifle, kill that fucker” came the explicit instruction.

Watching as his men began quickly but cautiously approaching the building Rick noticed a plume of flame begin licking from underneath the eaves on the backside of the house. Within seconds a significant portion of the roof was engulfed in flames.

As he heard the distinctive pop-pop-pop noise of his men dispatching the sniper he also noticed two men running from the back of the house. To his horror he realized they were running directly towards him.

Pulling the magnified optic to his face he could clearly see the terror in the men’s eyes as they ran, full speed, across the open field in a desperate attempt to make it to the woods before being spotted.

“Team 1, be advised two males exiting the rear of the house, heading directly towards me” exclaimed an excited Rick.

“Take them out” came back the remorseless directive.

Glancing back through the optic the men had already covered nearly fifty yards. He pulled the butt of the rifle back into his shoulder and nervously clicked off the safety catch. He could see the plumes of dust being kicked up under their feet as they ran.

While time started to slow down Rick’s mind raced. Maybe the men would give up.

They were almost seventy-five yards from him when Caddy’s voice again burst out of the radio. “Shoot those fuckers. They killed four of our men” For the first time Caddy’s voice rose above a calm, detached tone.

Caddy’s voice broke Rick from his stupor. Taking in a deep breath he took aim at the first man and pulled the trigger. The man staggered and broke his gate as the round slammed home into his chest. Fractions of a second later, Rick’s second bullet found its mark causing the man to collapse and tumble across the ground. A cloud of dust was kicked up as body plowed a shallow troth in the dirt.

The second man broke stride at the sound of the rifle shot and his friend’s shout of agony. Rick could see the consternation on the man’s face as he debated, for a fraction of a second, whether he should continue on or attempt to help his friend.

“This guy has to see me,” Rick thought to himself. Rick had been in the military and been trained. He even saw duty in the Middle East. But the stark reality was that he had never had to kill a man before. He secretly prayed to himself that the other man would stop running towards him. In the background Rick could see Caddy and his men rounding the corner of the farmhouse and surrounding the now fully ablaze home.

Involuntarily Rick yelled out at the man to stop. It had no effect.

Sweat dripped down Rick’s face as he began to squeeze the trigger for the third time. The man was now close enough that they were looking in each other’s eyes. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he shot the man through the heart. Three more rounds hit the man before he finally crashed to a heap almost five yards in front of Rick.

“Team 2 report!” demanded Caddy.

Rick’s hands shook so badly he couldn’t find the microphone switch. After several drunken stabs at it he found the button and croaked “Both subjects down. Rear secure” in to the radio.

Looking back at the now blank eyes of the second man Rick was horrified to see they aimed directly at him. The bile now fully rose from his stomach and he vomited. He was still retching as Caddy and another man approached.

The other contractor checked to ensure both men were dead while Caddy waited for Rick to compose himself. Finally the churning of his stomach stopped long enough to gasp for air.

“Come on Rick. Get your team. We’ve got dead men and injured to attend to”.

Breathing hard and wiping the spit from his mouth Rick began to shakily follow Caddy across the field. After twenty yards he looked back at the second man one last time.

He would never forget the look on the man’s face right before Rick took his life. The eyes were permanently burned into his psyche.