Hunted (28 page)

Darry is news and I am a reporter! Stormy fought a silent battle she knew she would lose. He is news, dammit. And the people have a right to know.

What kind of a life can you offer her, you damn dreamer! Dairy thought. After seven hundred years, isn't it about time you accepted what you are?

Stormy slowly put out her hand and touched Darry's bare chest, her fingers lingering on a scar that she was sure had been made by a knife, or, she thought, more likely a sword. “Do we have to leave this very second?” she asked, her voice husky.

Darry touched her face with gentle fingertips. “No.” His eyes twinkled. “You have something in mind?”

She smiled.

A statement made by Pastor Martin Niemoller at the time of his arrest by the Nazi Gestapo in the late 1930s: “In Germany, they came for the communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a communist. Then, they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then, they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then, they came for the Catholics, and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant. Then, they came for me, and by that time, there was no one left to speak up.”

 

 

The United States of America, in the mid-1990s: “In America, government agents came first for the machine guns, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a machine gunner. Then, government agents came for the handguns, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a handgunner. Then, government agents came for the semiautos, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a semiauto owner. Then, government agents came for the antique gun collector, and I didn't speak up because I was a hunter. Then, government agents came for me, and by that time, no one was left to speak up.”

* * *

“If this continues, Mr. President,” a top aide said, “we will have a full-fledged revolt on our hands. And it will be unstoppable.”

The Pres said nothing.

“I don't think it's quite that serious,” a senior senator said. “Not yet. But I agree that the seeds of revolt have been planted.”

“We could start deportation procedures against Ian MacVay.”

“Don't be stupid. The man hasn't broken any laws.”

The Pres remained silent, staring at his coffee cup on the conference table.

“We're all shooting at phantoms,” another senior senator said. “Somebody is behind this movement. One person started this. But who?”

“I think it's that damn rabble-rousing writer from Louisiana,” a representative from a NY district said. “We should have done something about him last year.”

“What would you suggest?” a senator asked.

“We could have the IRS investigate him.”

“We did,” another representative said. “He's clean. And the FBI report stated that the man has never even received so much as a traffic ticket.”

“He's preaching sedition!”

“Let's drop this. He writes fiction books,” a more moderate Democrat said. “I don't even want to talk about tampering with the First Amendment.”

“Why not?” the question was tossed out. “We've already violated the second, the fourth, the fifth, the tenth, and God only knows what others. Probably most of them, one way or the other.”

Still, the Pres said nothing.

“We've got to disarm the people,” the AG said. “A weaponless society cannot revolt.”

A senior senator looked up, his eyes blazing. “You try to forcibly disarm the American public and there will be open warfare and blood in the streets.” That statement was poo-pooed by the others at the conference table.

“Darry Ransom,” the Pres blurted out.

“What?” the VP asked.

“Who is Darry Ransom?” a senator asked.

“What about him?” the AG asked.

“He's behind all this. Bet on it.”

“Who the hell is Darry Ransom?” the VP pressed.

“That's what I'd like to know,” the rep from Brooklyn said.

The Pres sighed. “Not one word of this leaves this office. I mean that. It could make us look like total idiots.”

“Seems to me the Coyote Network is doing a pretty good job of that, and their news department is only a few days old!” another senator spoke up.

The Pres ignored that. How does one deny the truth? When the men and women in the room were settled down, the Pres began explaining about Darry Ransom. At first they exchanged dubious glances, but that quickly changed to astonishment as the President's words sank in.

When the Pres had finished speaking, the men and women were at first silent; then the room erupted into a babble of voices, all of them stating opinions about Darry Ransom, the man who could not die.

It would have been so easy to rectify the situation confronting the government of the United States. But the men and women who ruled governments never seemed to want to take the easy path. They inevitably chose a rough and rocky road in a vain attempt to please everybody ... and that is impossible.

All the President had to do to defuse the situation was to go on national television and admit that government enforcement agencies were a bit out of control, and promise to put them on a shorter and stronger leash. All the Pres had to do was admit to the existence of the Bureau's “secret files”: a massive and totally illegal file kept on citizens who had broken no laws. All he had to do was promise the files would be destroyed, and those investigations stopped. But of course, he didn't.

All the Pres had to do was promise to the American public that he would personally steer through congress a flat-rate tax bill, thereby easing the terrible burden on taxpayers and making the system much simpler and fair to all. He could have said that the dictatorial powers of the IRS would be put on a short rein. But of course, he didn't.

All the Pres had to do was promise that the hated (by many) gun grab bill was history. He could have let the current assault rifle ban stand and promise that no further legislation to disarm the American public would be forthcoming, and that would have satisfied any reasonable-thinking gun owner. But he didn't.

There were a lot of things the Pres could have done to defuse a bad situation. But of course, he did none of them.

When the Pres had outlined his plan, a liberal loudmouth from the upper Midwest bellered, “Right on! We'll get tough!”

There were dissenters, but they were few, the older and wiser among the bunch; and they were shouted down.

Out in the hall, one older senator, with years of politics behind him, said to another senator, also with years of Washington experience behind him, “What do you think?”

“I think,” the senator said, a grim note behind his words, “that we'd better find us some helmets and flak jackets. The goddamn revolution is about to start.”

* * *

That evening, reporters from the Coyote Evening News spent half an hour interviewing men and women whose lives had been shattered and careers ruined by the IRS. The reporters went in-depth and personal with the stories. When they finished, the IRS came out looking like the monster that elected officials had allowed it to become— going directly against the wishes of the majority of American citizens.

The next half hour of the Coyote Evening News was devoted to victims of violent crime. Residents of Small Town, Illinois, were not surprised to learn that residents of Small Town, Florida, and Small Town, Texas, and Small Town, California, and Small Town, New York, were all related in that they had experienced mindless incidents of violent crime and the slap-on-the-hand punishment many of the offenders received . . . and what the risks were when a citizen decided to defend himself or herself against violent criminals.

“The son of a (beep) was raping my twelve-year-old daughter in the shed behind the house, and I shot the (beep). The (beep) cops came and arrested
me!
Can you believe that? The (beepbeepbeep) cops arrested
me!
Then the parents of the sorry (mother-beep) sued me in a civil action. They lost in court, but it still cost me thousands of dollars for lawyers. It wiped out our savings. That's not right. It's just not right.”

“This sorry little (beep) stole my brand-new car and totaled it. You know what the judge gave him? Probation! My insurance rates went up because my car was stolen and wrecked through no fault of my own, and that little (beep) gets a slap on the wrist. He's out walking the streets, and I'm paying higher insurance premiums for the rest of my life. Do you find something wrong in that?”

Listening to the Coyote News on a radio, Darry smiled. He'd helped sow the seeds of revolution back in America's infancy, and now he had the chance to do it all over again.

It was a very satisfying feeling.

He turned up the volume.

“This (beep) smashes my wife in the head with a tire iron, fracturing her skull and blinding her in one eye. He grabs her purse and takes off. My son jumps in the car and goes after the (beep). The alley is dead-end, and my son pins the (beep) against a brick wall, breaking both his legs. The (beepbeep) punk sues us and
wins!
Can you believe that? You're (beepbeep) right I think it was racial. I'm white, the (beep) is black, and the jury was eight-to-four black. What do you think? This nation is all (beeped)-up.”

Darry heard the slight noise behind him and tensed. Then his acute olfactory senses told him the man was George Eagle Dancer. He relaxed. George was one of the very best men in the brush Darry had ever seen. The half-breed could move like a ghost.

George squatted down beside him, a smile on his lips. “I almost got up on you, didn't I?”

“Almost, George. But close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. What's going on?”

“You've been formally charged with sedition against the government of the United States. Among other charges.”

“Name some of the other charges . . . as if I didn't know.”

“Evading income tax for the purpose of defrauding the government, living under an assumed name, taking a false social security number, aiding and abetting federal fugitives... the list is pretty long.”

“How are my dogs?”

“Fat and happy. They're safe. What about these charges, Darry?”

“They're just about what I was charged with in Europe several centuries ago. Wording is different.”

“What did you do?”

Darry smiled. “I killed a king. Now bring Stormy out here.”

George chuckled. “How did you know? I left her a hundred yards back.”

“I smelled her scent.”

George discreetly vanished into the brush and gave Darry and Stormy some time alone. “You've got to let me broadcast your story, Darry,” she said, pressing against him, her arms around his neck. “I don't want to, but it's the only way to expose the government for what they are.”

“No. That's what the government wants.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “What?”

“The Ottoman Turks tried the same thing. In a manner of speaking. The government wants to deal, Stormy. I turn myself in to them for study, and they drop the charges against me. All a big mistake, they'll say. No. I won't do that. But it's going to get rough. You don't know big government the way I do. Everybody who was involved in this ‘incident' in the wilderness is going to get dirtied. The government will very carefully manufacture charges to bring against everyone involved. Those charges might not stick in court . . . probably won't. But the government has batteries of lawyers, and it'll be expensive.”

“A month ago I would have called you a liar, Darry.”

“I know.”

“Now what?”

“I always say I am never going to get involved with big government again.” He smiled. “But I always end up doing exactly that. Keep hammering and chipping away at government excesses, Stormy. Do as much as you can in the time the government allows you.”

“Darry, they
can't
stop us. For all its faults, this is still the United States of America. And there is such a thing as the Constitution. We have rights—all of us.”

Darry's smile was sad. “I hope all the reporters now working for Coyote are clean. For if there is a blemish in the past of any of you, you can bet the hundreds of government agents now investigating each and every one of you will find it and use it against you. You can bet a year's salary there is a full field investigation going on right now.”

“We're being investigated by the FBI?”

“You better believe you are. And it's being done by men and women who are very, very good at what they do.”

“But we haven't done anything wrong.”

“That doesn't make any difference, Stormy. The government has extensive files on Americans who have broken no laws. Now come on! Surely you knew that?”

“I . . . suspected it.”

Darry studied her face for a moment as they sat in the shade of a clump of trees, the Salmon River, the River Of No Return, miles to the south of them. “You really didn't know about the secret files, did you?”

She shook her head. “No. I didn't. But that's against the law, Darry.”

He laughed bitterly. “Whose law, Stormy? What law? The same laws that apply to American citizens don't apply to big government. You think you can gain access to them through the Freedom of Information Act? Forget it. Think again. All the investigating agency has to do is run behind the National Security Act, and they don't have to tell you a damn thing. Ever. Or more than likely, if you confront the agency that is investigating you, they'll just say: ‘Files? What files? We don't have any files on you. Who are you?' ”

“You make our government sound . . . so evil.”

“It is, Stormy. It's also profane.”

“Riders coming, Darry!” George Eagle Dancer called out softly.

Stormy had one arm around Darry's neck. A second later she had her arm around the neck of an enormous gray wolf with jaws so powerful they could crush the spine of a buffalo with one snap. She was so startled she could not utter a sound.

The big wolf licked the side of her face and was gone into the brush with one bound.

Stormy came very close to peeing her panties.