HOMELAND: Falling Down (Part 1 of the HOMELAND Series) (17 page)

The soldier watched them with weary eyes as icy wind howled through the canvas walls. Eduardo studied the young trooper’s face. He’d seen it hundreds of times. Different men, different countries, same face. A mixture a fatigue, longing, and dread. It was a glimpse behind the warrior’s mask of invulnerability worn in the light of day. It showed the weight of what he’d seen, what he’d lost, and what he feared to lose. It was the face of war.

Angie let the truck rock her to sleep to the droning lullaby of tires humming on asphalt.

Eduardo watched the world grow dark, wondering what awaited them at their destination. The road ahead was full of uncertainty, but it also held hope. It wasn’t much, but in that moment, shivering in the back of a noisy Army truck, it was enough for him.

11

Hank

“No, Hank. You’re still too weak. Give yourself time to heal,” Peggy protested as Hank ambled across their living room toward the front door.

“I wish I could.” Hank winced as he slipped on a pair of boots. He found it impossible to tie his shoes one-handed and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask for help—even from Betty. “The mayor has already negotiated away half the town’s food supply. If I don’t stop him, we’ll all starve by Christmas.”

“Then let somebody else stop him.”

“There
is
nobody else.” Hank tried to put on his coat. The garment slid past where his left arm used to be and fell across his back. “Dammit.”

“Here. Let me help.” Betty reached out and pulled the garment into place.

Hank grumbled, “Thanks.” He holstered his revolver. Like the boots, it was easier to operate with one hand. Unlike the newer magazine-fed models which required two hands to chamber a round, the revolver only required him to load it and pull the trigger.

Betty took his face in her hands. “You can’t do it all yourself—no matter how bad you want to. Everybody needs help now and then.”

“Where would I be without you?” Hank smiled.

“I ask myself that every day. Speaking of…” Betty ran into the kitchen and returned with a haversack containing a thermos and a sandwich. She put the sack over his shoulder. “There. Now you can carry your lunch and still have a hand free.”

“Just a minute ago you were begging me to stay.”

“I knew it was no use, but I had to try.”

He smiled and asked, “This sounds crazy, but I swear I heard a helicopter late last night. Did you hear anything?”

“No. It was a dialysis day. I was dead to the world.”

“Must’ve been dreaming. I’m gonna pay our honorable mayor a visit.”

Betty kissed her husband. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Hank caressed Betty’s cheek. “Always.”

*****

Hank pulled into his parking space at the courthouse and walked across the railroad tracks to the mayor’s office. He found two of his own deputies standing guard outside the building’s entrance.

“What are you two doin’ here?” he asked.

One of the deputies spoke up. “The mayor says he’s too important to go unprotected.”

“We’ll see about that.” He started through the door.

The deputy put up a hand to stop him. “You can’t take your pistol in there.”

“What?”

“No weapons allowed. Mayor Duncan’s orders.”

“Mayor Duncan can kiss my ass.” He pushed the officer’s hand aside.

Both men stepped in front of the sheriff, blocking the doorway. “Sorry, Sheriff. Mayor’s orders.”

Hank look his men in the eyes. “So that’s how it is now.” He handed the pistol over. They stepped aside and let him pass.

“Good to see you up and about, Sheriff,” Finbarr Duncan said from behind his desk as Hank stepped into his office.

“It’s good to be back.” Hank noticed a woman sitting across from Finbarr. She wore a dark blue tactical uniform. The nametape on the right side of her chest read
Sanger
. The left one read
FEMA
.

Hank nodded to her. “Mornin’ ma’am.”

She smiled. “You southerners are so polite.”

Finbarr said, “This is Agent Sanger from FEMA. She flew in last night.”

Hank looked back to the agent.
That explains the chopper.

She stood held out her hand. “Lucy Sanger at your service. I’m with the government. I’m here to help.”

12

EDUARDO

Angie wasn’t getting any better. The camp’s limited resources weren’t enough to stem the infection raging inside her. He could hear the pneumonia rattling in her lungs with each breath, making her a little weaker every day. She was slipping away.

Eduardo sat in a plastic chair by Angie’s bed. He had barely left her side since they got here. He hadn’t shaved or bathed in days. He’d barely ate or slept. He had a bunk in one of the huge barracks tents across camp, but spent little time there. The camp was filthy and teemed with criminals and reprobates who had been respectable citizens a few weeks before.

Angie shivered. The icy wind crept into the massive aid tent through gaps and under flaps, chilling the air in spite of the propane space heaters scattered about the space. Eduardo pulled Angie’s covers tight around her. He had asked for more blankets for her, but there were none to spare. He finally brought the one from his own bunk. He wasn’t sleeping much anyway.

A nurse came by on her rounds. She ran a scanner over Angie’s left hand. The device beeped its recognition of the RFID chip implanted when she and Eduardo arrived at the camp.

Eduardo unconsciously rubbed the back of his hand, his fingers outlining the small lump of his own chip.

“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” He asked the nurse.

She shook her head. “We are little more than an aid station here.”

“She will die if you don’t do something.”

“I can talk to the camp doctor. There is a bus leaving the camp in a few hours. It’s taking chronically ill patients to the Advanced Care Center. I can ask that she be put on it.”

“Thank you.”

A woman’s voice said from behind Eduardo, “Tell the doctor that’s an order.”

The nurse glanced at the speaker then averted her eyes to the floor. “Yes, ma’am.” She hurried off.

Eduardo turned in his seat to see who had given the command.

A tall blonde in a custom tailored pantsuit stood with her hands on her hips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Mister Garcia.”

Eduardo was surprised. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I’m Valerie Alinsky, White House director of communications.” She started to offer her hand, but thought better of it after getting a better look at Eduardo’s unkempt state.

Eduardo rubbed his bearded chin. “I’m surprised you recognized me.”

“Of course I recognize America’s Newsman. You’re the reason I’m here.”

“I am? How did you find me?”

“Your information went into the national database when you were processed into the camp.”  Valerie pointed to Eduardo’s hand. “That chip told us exactly where to find you.”

“So, you want an autograph?”

“Maybe later.” Valerie laughed. “The President sent me for you, Mister Garcia. Your country needs your help.”

Eduardo shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

Valerie looked at Angie. “Let’s get her on that bus first. Then you need a shower and a shave. You can use the administrative wash facilities. I hear the general camp facilities are atrocious. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing you some decent clothes and basic toiletries. We will then have dinner in my quarters. Filet mignon is still your favorite, correct?”

Eduardo’s stomach growled at the thought. He suddenly realized how hungry he was.

“I will explain everything once you look and feel like yourself again.”

*****

Eduardo did feel better after cleaning up. He examined the suit Valerie brought him. It was his size. He wondered how she knew. It practically swallowed him, revealing the extent he withered since leaving New York. He looked in the mirror, seeing his pale skin and sunken eyes for the first time. He combed his long, graying hair and joined Valerie in her quarters.

“Thank you for joining me, Mister Garcia,” Valerie said warmly.

“Please, call me Eddie.”

“Thank you again, Eddie.” Valerie waved him into a chair at a small table for two in the corner. “You clean up well.”

Eduardo forced a smile. “You’re nice to say so.”

The meal arrived as soon as they were seated. An attendant poured each of them a glass of wine.

Eduardo sniffed. “This smells a lot better than the slop they serve in the dining tent.”

“I certainly hope so.” She grabbed a fork. “Let’s eat. I’m sure you’re famished.”

Eduardo took a bite of filet and closed his eyes, picturing himself back in his usual table in his favorite restaurant. He wondered what that restaurant looked like now. Was it burnt to cinders? Was its owner still alive?

He raised his glass and said, “To better days.”

Valerie raised her glass to his. “Better days.”

She watched him eat a few minutes then asked, “Did all go well getting Angie to the bus?”

“Yes. Thank you for that.”

“Glad to help. They will take good care of her at the Advanced Care Center.” She studied Eduardo’s expression. “You’ve been through a lot haven’t you?”

He shrugged. “Others have had it worse.”

“True. And it’s going to get even worse before it gets better.”

“You said something about me helping.”

“You get right to the point. I like that.” She sipped her wine. “The country we knew no longer exists. It’s gone for good. Somebody has to rebuild it. That responsibility falls to us. We will start from the ground up.  I’m talking clean slate.” Valerie pulled a binder from a nearby briefcase and turned to the first page. “First, we replace the fifty states with ten FEMA regions.” She pointed to a map of the continental United States, but instead of states, there were regions, each labeled with a Roman numeral.

“Are you serious?”

“It went into effect by executive order as of midnight yesterday. And that’s just the beginning. We will have a new constitution, new laws. A total overhaul of the entire system. We are going to correct the corruption of America’s first founding by fundamentally transforming the country into what it was always meant to be.”

“The public will never go for it.”

Valerie smiled. “That’s where you come in. You are going to be the voice of America’s second founding.” Her eyes widened. “Were going to get it right this time. We are forming a nation that is truly based on fairness and equality. Imagine. No social classes. No religion. No discrimination. No rich. No poor. No Heaven. No Hell.” She leaned in close.” And I’m offering you a starring role. Your country needs you. Can we count on you?”

Eduardo studied Valerie’s intense gaze. “That might be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m giving you the chance to not only report history, but to make history. To
be
history.” Valerie poured more wine and sat back in her chair. “Well?”

Eduardo felt lightheaded as the implications and possibilities of Valerie’s words swirled about his mind. He drained his wine and took a deep breath. “Count me in.”

13

COLE

“Heads up!” the radio blared. It was Captain Prescott. “Drones report heavy activity ahead. Keep your eyes peeled.” Shivering gunners steeled themselves against both the enemy and swirling snow as they traversed their open-topped turrets, scanning assigned sectors as icy earth gave way to cold concrete at the outskirts of Nashville. The desert-brown column of armored Humvees rumbled along the high-rise buildings and paved sidewalks that were now insurgent country

A lone, black, unmarked MRAP wedged itself near the back of the formation. It was Agent Piven and his team. They came along as ‘political advisors’ to Captain Prescott.

The entire battalion, what remained of it, was out in force today—one hundred men armed to the teeth. Safety in numbers. One didn’t travel these streets alone day or night. Even curfews and martial law didn’t make them any safer.

Early winter was out in force as well. It was nearly noon and the temperature was still below freezing. Nervous sweat soaked uniforms under thick ceramic body armor vests and stung squinted eyes beneath camouflaged Kevlar helmets in spite of the cold. All had combat tours under their belts. Most had several. Enough to know when trouble was coming.

Cole knew how they felt. He hoped his instincts were wrong. It wasn’t foreign jihadists on the other side this time. These
insurgents
, as Piven called them, were his fellow Americans.

Cole watched the city pass by his four-inch-thick bulletproof window as the column pulled off Interstate Sixty-Five and traveled west on Broadway.  This was once the center of the city’s nightlife. The bars and restaurants were abandoned now. Smoke smoldered from busted windows. Furniture lay scattered in the street. The Hooters was just a few blocks away. He imagined it was in similar shape.

Damn shame.

Memories of good times, cold beer, hot wings, and of course, hooters ran through his mind as they’d done every day since the grid went down.

“Watch the upper windows for snipers!” Captain Prescott warned as they turned left onto Fourth Street. The Humvees had good armor on the sides and a little on the belly, but bullets could cut through the thin tops like butter.

The buildings they passed were strewn with spray painted anti-government graffiti. The dried overspray streamed down from the rebellious scrawls like caked blood from mortal wounds. Plumes of thick smoke smudged the skyline, a hundred dark angels heralding death’s inexorable approach. The empty streets were littered with propaganda leaflets dropped by psyops. The little papers swirled on the arctic wind like tumbleweeds cartwheeling through a ghost town. Nobody was outside. No looters, no refugees, not even a stray dog.

Hicks sighed. “Welcome to Nashville, former capitol of the late great state of Tennessee.”