After the Republic (3 page)

“No way!” Perry said. “This CAN’T be happening.”

Joshua scrolled though Twitter photos of mushroom clouds. “Washington. LA. New York. Atlanta. Chicago. Houston.” He gulped. “I think this is real.”

Perry silently rushed outside, returning with his Smith & Wesson .38 revolver. After reclaiming his spot on the love seat he double-checked the pistol to ensure it was loaded. Caroline buried her head on his shoulder, crying. Tears streamed down Rebecca’s face as she tightly gripped Joshua’s hand. A dark, impenetrable tension gripped the room.

“Whoever did this clearly wants to destabilize our country by taking out our government,” Drew stated with an eerie calmness. “The protocol for the State of the Union is to have at least one member of the line of succession in a different, secure location. That person is called the ‘designated survivor.’ There are typically a few members of Congress in a different location. Today will be remembered in the same vein as 9/11 and Pearl Harbor. I just don’t know who this year’s designated survivor is.”

Joshua closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His head was spinning. A torrent of conflicting emotions rushed through his mind.
Who did this? Are we safe here? Is it over? We have to hunt down whoever did this. Where does our country go from here? What do I do next? I have to be strong for Rebecca.
He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. “Whatever is happening could make its way to us, here. This was well-planned. We need to make plans for what we’ll do, how we’ll survive when this gets too close to home. But right now we need to take care of ourselves and our families. I want to call some friends in the D.C. area and see if they are okay. Perry and Caroline, you two need to get your children home and talk to them about what’s happening. Can you guys meet here tomorrow afternoon at 5:00?”

Perry shook his head. “Tomorrow will be pushing it. I need to process all of this, and I want to get some things in order around the house just in case.”

“State government will be on high alert, so tomorrow is probably out of the question for me,” Drew added.

Joshua pursed his lips. “How about Thursday?”

“Okay,” Perry said.

“I’ll do my best to be here,” Drew added.

“There are a few other people I want to call. Please don’t invite anyone else without checking with me. We need to know who we can trust.”

Perry and Caroline nodded in agreement.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” Charlie stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, Allie beside him.

Caroline shot up and put her hands on her hips. “How long have you two been standing there?”

Before they could answer Perry said, “Kids, I’ll explain it on the way home. We’re leaving in a minute. Get ready.”

“But we’re in the middle of a cartoon, Dad!” Charlie said.

“Son, get ready NOW. We have to go.”

Charlie huffed. “Okay.”

“One more thing,” Joshua said. “Let’s pray before you guys go.”

The children joined the group and everyone formed a circle, joined hands and bowed their heads.

“Father, we come before you tonight as people who are uncertain and afraid,” Joshua prayed. “We don’t know exactly what is happening in our nation or why it is happening, but we do know that you are in control. We’re not sure what comes next. We ask that you guide us as we develop our plans and we ask that you bring us back together safely. We pray for the safety and future of our nation. We pray these things in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

Joshua felt he should have offered a lengthier prayer given the circumstances, but was not sure what to pray.

Rebecca wiped the tears from her eyes. “You guys be careful.”

“We will,” Caroline responded, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

Perry, Caroline, Charlie and Allie made a beeline for their truck and Drew headed for his red, late model Corvette. The flag snapped in the wind, illuminated by an in-ground light.

Joshua waved. “Get ready for the fact that we might need to leave this area on a moment’s notice.”

Joshua collapsed onto the couch and Rebecca plopped down beside him. After silently staring off into space for what seemed like an eternity he looked into her puppy-dog brown eyes. Even in the midst of a gut-wrenching moment like this they still had the power to hypnotize him.

“So much for returning to a quiet, peaceful life on the farm.” He stroked her cheek. “I have a feeling the next few years of our lives will be drastically different than we’d planned.”

“We can’t control what life throws at us. We’ll make it.” She wiped a tear away. “
Somehow
.”

Joshua leaned back and closed his eyes. Rebecca rested her head on his chest. “Josh, what are we going to do?”

He released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know yet. But I’m working on it.”

Joshua’s mind raced as he anxiously searched the internet for more information on what had happened.
Who did this? How many lives have been lost? Who is in control of the U.S. government? Who is in command of our military? Who has control of our nuclear arsenal? Are the attacks over, or are there more to come? What comes next?

CHAPTER 2

The welcome aroma of brewing coffee made its way to the bedroom. Joshua grunted as he forced himself out of the warm, comfortable bed. He dressed, covered his matted hair with a faded red N.C. State Wolfpack cap and lumbered down the hall in the direction of the coffee pot.

Rebecca greeted him with far too much energy. “Good morning!”

“’Morning,” he mumbled.

“
Somebody
needs a cup of coffee.”

“Even more so than usual.” Joshua savored his first sip. “Long night. Took me
forever
to get to sleep. Tossed and turned half the night.” He picked up the remote. “Maybe we can get some more info about what happened.”

Most of the 24-hour national news networks were back up and running, broadcasting from alternate locations. The headline across the top of the screen read
America Under Attack
. The last time Joshua had seen a headline like this was September 12, 2001, but even that nightmare scenario paled in comparison to the apocalyptic devastation described by the stunned news anchor:
Eleven major U.S. cities were hit with nuclear attacks yesterday.
Joshua’s jaw dropped.

“Eleven!” Rebecca exclaimed.

The clearly exhausted anchor had noticeable bags under his eyes.
The first attack hit Washington during the State of the Union address, killing President Wagner and the Vice President and taking out most of the U.S. government. The attack on our nation’s capital was followed by blasts in Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, Chicago and Houston. Overnight, nuclear bombs also went off in Pittsburgh, Phoenix, Indianapolis, Dallas and Miami.

Rebecca squeezed Joshua’s shoulder tightly as they watched the coverage in stunned silence.

The anchor continued:
These blasts do not appear to have come from missiles, and authorities are investigating the possibility of suitcase nukes or something similar. So far, no one has claimed responsibility for the attacks. President Nelson Armando, who was administered the Oath of Office this morning--

Joshua waved his fist at the television. “No!”

“Your favorite.” Rebecca gently slapped him on the shoulder.

Joshua groaned. “Just what we need. From bad to worse. I still can’t believe Wagner appointed him. He didn’t have the experience to be Secretary of Homeland Security, and he sure as heck doesn’t have the experience to be president.”

Yet there he was: President of the United States, less than three weeks after being confirmed as Secretary of Homeland Security in a razor-thin, controversial Senate vote. His confirmation had drawn opposition from nearly all of the same conservative Senators who supported Alan Wagner in the previous year’s election.

“Well, for better or worse he’s who we’ve got now,” Rebecca said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

They got quiet as President Armando appeared on screen wearing a dark suit, white shirt and dark tie. The president spoke with a heavy New York accent reinforced by his dark complexion and slicked-back hair.
My fellow Americans, yesterday was a tragic day in the history of our great nation. We were attacked in what can only be described as a savage act of war by an unknown, cowardly enemy. Many of our major cities have been devastated and hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Americans have been killed.

February 21, 2017 will be remembered in infamy alongside December 7, 1941 and September 11, 2001 as days on which the United States was brutally attacked, without provocation.
America was knocked down yesterday, but as we did after Pearl Harbor and 9/11, we WILL get back up. That’s what Americans do.

Armando adopted a stern tone and leaned forward toward the camera.
Those who executed yesterday’s attacks want to bring America to its knees. They want to destroy our freedom, our way of life. They want the United States to be a thing of the past. To those who did this, I say to you. YOU WILL FAIL. America will find you, and America will bring justice to your doorstep. You can run, but you cannot hide. You will NOT break us.
He pointed at the camera and slammed his fist on the table at which he was seated.
Make no mistake. America will NOT be broken apart, and we will not crumble. Not on my watch. I will do whatever it takes to keep this nation together. Period. Thank you, and may God bless America.
Armando disappeared through a side door without taking questions.

Joshua turned off the TV. “Well, he said all the right things. I just hope he means it. Regardless, I’ve got a
really
bad feeling about where we’re headed. We have to get ready for the absolute worst. I’m going to head out to the barn.”

Around 2:30 that afternoon Joshua and Reagan emerged from the red barn, which was topped by a black gambrel roof and accented by white trim. He had been so lost in thought that he didn’t realize how late the hour was until his growling stomach alerted him.

Rebecca handed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as he entered the house. “Make any progress?”

“Made a few calls and did some thinking about what’s going on. Still need to get up with a few people. I tried to call Thomas, but couldn’t get him on the phone and his voice mail was full.” After wolfing down the sandwich he looked at his watch. “I’m going to go ahead and take care of the cows.”

America may have been attacked yesterday, but the cows still expected to be fed.

“I’ll ride with you.” Rebecca grabbed her purse and donned a tan baseball cap, pulling her ponytail through the back.

Joshua chuckled. “You’re taking your
purse
to feed the cows?”

Rebecca pulled her compact Beretta .380 pistol out of the purse. “Thought we could shoot a few targets while we’re out. It’ll help get our minds off of what happened yesterday.”

“Good idea.”

Joshua reached for the power window switch in the old Silverado, but thought better of it.
The window wouldn’t make it halfway down before I’d be hearing ‘It’s cold!’”
He smirked but wisely kept quiet.

The smell of freshly cut hay permeated the barn, offset only by corn dust as they loaded the truck. Rebecca tossed a couple of old milk jugs into the back. “Targets.”

The cloudless, clear-blue sky stood in stark contrast to the interior of the dimly lit barn. The bright sun more than compensated for the chilly winter air. Reagan stood on Rebecca’s lap as they drove down the short dirt road to the pasture behind the barn, where the cows greeted them at the gate. They weren’t the smartest animals on the planet, but they knew this truck brought food with it. Joshua cut the strings on the hay bale and spread it out while Rebecca dumped the ground feed into the troughs.

The pond was about 100 feet long, 40 feet wide and stocked with catfish. The dirt from the pond made a nice berm, which provided the perfect backdrop for target practice and helped ensure that no stray bullets ended up anywhere they shouldn’t. Joshua admired Rebecca’s slender, athletic figure as she set up a milk jug about three feet up the berm.

“Josh, you go first. Three shots each.”

“Becca, you just want to know what you have to shoot to beat me.”

“You know I beat you
every
time.”

Joshua didn’t acknowledge the dig, as that would only have encouraged more of the same. He took aim with his Beretta 9mm and fired his first shot. Dust flew up from the berm above the jug, which remained unscathed. Reagan yelped, bolted for the other side of the truck and nervously peeped around the back tire.

“That was still close enough to cause damage.” Joshua took aim for his second shot.

“Uh huh,” she said sarcastically.

His second shot was closer, grazing the top left corner of the jug. A few rocks scattered, but the jug remained upright. “He’d be down by now.”

“Close doesn’t count.”

Joshua felt a drop of sweat forming on his forehead as the smell of gunpowder penetrated his lungs. He squared up and took aim.
I’ll NEVER hear the end of it if I don’t hit this one.
He swallowed hard and fired off his third shot, hitting the jug closer to the top than he had hoped and tipping it over.

“’Bout time you hit
something
.” Rebecca moved into position.

“Okay, Miss Trash Talker, let’s see what you’ve got. Time to put up or shut up.”

Rebecca smirked and calmly fired off three quick shots that pierced the jug in a tight pattern grouped near its center.

“Any questions?” She walked toward the berm to retrieve the jug. “If not, this concludes today’s lesson.”

Joshua felt his cheeks flush red for a moment. “Good shooting.” He loved her competitive side, but sometimes it got under his skin.
Better left unsaid
, he thought.

Just as Reagan cautiously re-emerged from behind the truck Joshua’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was Thomas Page, the general contractor who had built Joshua’s farmhouse and barn. Thomas was a laid-back man who rarely got excited or upset. He was also a jack-of-all-trades who seemed to know a little about almost everything. They had become good friends, and Joshua’s gut told him Thomas would be someone good to keep close in the coming days. “Thomas, I’m glad you called back.”

“Hey man. Heck of a two days,” Thomas said. “Can you believe what’s happened? Kinda scary, ain’t it?”

“Scary is an understatement. That’s why I called you. I’ll cut to the chase. You may not remember it, but a few years ago you said that you felt like America would go through tough times one day. You said that when those times came you would most likely find a quiet, out-of-the-way corner and watch history unfold.”

“Yeah, I remember. Kim and I were talking about it this morning.”

“Well, history is unfolding. I know you guys like your privacy and like to be left alone, but it’ll be a lot easier to make do in that quiet corner if you have the right group of people with you.”

“What are you thinking?”

Joshua described the beginnings of a plan. “I’ve been thinking through a list of people I think we can trust, and who can contribute something in the new world we are about to face. I’m just not sure where we should go.”

“I think I know just the place. We were already making plans to go there.”

“What are you up to this afternoon? If you can, come over here around 5:00 or 5:30 and we’ll talk about it.”

“Man, I can do that,” Thomas replied. “I’ve got some leftover BBQ sandwiches I made for a cookout on Monday. I’ll bring 'em with me.”

After the call ended Joshua and Rebecca made the short drive back to the house.

“I’m going to the store to pick up some things,” Rebecca said.

“Want me to go with you?” Joshua asked.

“No, you need to make your calls.”

“Be careful. It could be crazy out there. Take your pistol with you.”

“Josh, you know I never leave home without it.”

***

Tension hung over the grocery store parking lot like a dark, angry storm cloud. Nearly every space was full. A fistfight broke out between two would-be shoppers as Rebecca drove back and forth searching for a parking spot.
This is nuts
, she thought.
People are already losing their minds.

She spotted an empty parking place one row over. As she maneuvered toward the spot a beat-up green Pontiac station wagon with a missing hubcap abruptly cut her off and rattled into the space. Rebecca instinctively blew her horn. Her heart jumped violently as a man wearing a white t-shirt under a denim jacket shot out of the car and began yelling obscenities at her. A heavy-set woman with curlers in her hair and wearing pink tights at least two sizes too small exited the passenger side and shot Rebecca the middle finger.

Rebecca’s right hand tightly gripped her pistol as she partially rolled down the window with the left. The man menacingly approached her, gesturing wildly and screaming obscenities as the sun glistening on the gold chain around his neck.

“I didn’t mean to blow the horn,” Rebecca said. “The space is all yours. I don’t want any trouble.”

He continued yelling obscenities and gesturing wildly, but turned and walked toward the store. The woman followed him, glaring at Rebecca with venom-filled eyes as she passed. Rebecca gripped her .380 tightly until they were out of sight. Relieved, her shoulders relaxed as she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.
I really don’t want to shoot anyone today.

Rebecca apprehensively entered the store, checking her purse three times to make sure she had her trusty firearm. She gripped the cart tightly, avoiding eye contact with other shoppers. People gathered to watch two women fight over the last steak in the meat department. Rebecca took advantage of the distraction to load her cart with soup and other canned goods. While others were competing for the last loaves of bread she snagged several jars of peanut butter, numerous bags of flour and a hefty supply of coffee, sugar, salt and pepper.
Think long term, Rebecca. What will we need to MAKE food?

The clerk spoke up as Rebecca pulled out her debit card. “I’m sorry, but the network is down right now.” Rebecca looked around nervously as she handed the clerk cash.