Stealing Second (The Amendments Book One 1) (2 page)

I nodded. “We heard,” I said. “That sucks.”

Pete stared at me with wild eyes. For a second, I thought he was going to punch me. “That sucks? Are you freakin’ kidding me? Do you have any idea what this means, Gary? We’re at war. I’ll be damned if those sons a bitches are taking my guns, and I ain’t alone. Are you gonna hand over your guns, buddy? You’d be a damn fool if you did,” he then turned to Carrie. “Hey baby, mix me up something strong. I need it.”

Carrie nodded and wordlessly
dumped some ice into a glass and began to pour Pete a stiff drink. Larry’s Pub was a working man’s bar in Northeast Minneapolis. The old place had seen its better days, and years after the indoor smoking ban, it still stank of stale cigarette smoke and spilled beer. The bar was about thirty feet long and there was a small kitchen in the back. Booths lined the far wall and a dozen tables were scattered around on threadbare carpet. The inside was decorated with old photos of Minneapolis and memorabilia from the bar’s glory days. I liked the place because it was within stumbling distance of my apartment, and generally people left me alone to drink in silence.

“Here you go,” said Carrie, setting the drink down in front of Pete. “Are you hungry?”

Pete shook his head and picked up his drink. He drained half the highball glass and closed his eyes. “Thanks baby,” he said. “I needed that. Just keep ’em coming.”

“What are we going to do?” Carrie asked. “What if they start coming door to door? They know you have guns, Pete. They keep records of that sort of thing.”

“I don’t know,” admitted Pete. He then turned to me. “You got any guns?”

I shook my head. I did have guns, two shotguns and my deer rifle, but
like I said, I kept them locked up out at my mom and dad’s place. I told that to Pete and Carrie. “They’re up in Pine City,” I said. Pine City is a small town a little over an hour north of Minneapolis. “The old man has about thirty guns. He’s probably going nuts. I should call him.”

Pete shook his head. “I wouldn’t,” he said in his dry, whispery voice. “They could be listening in on our conversations. I don’t think they’re going to wait two weeks before they start going door to door. My guess is tha
t they’ll start taking our guns tonight.”

I shook my
head. “They already started.”

“They can’t really take our guns, can they?” asked Carrie.

“They can do whatever the hell they want,” said Pete. He then drained the rest of his drink and pushed it across the bar. “This has been coming down the pipe for a long time. That doesn’t mean we have to stand for it.”

I sipped my beer and watched as Carrie poured Pete another drink. I remember feeling how odd it was that we were alone at the bar on a Friday afternoon. I looked up at the television and saw that the game was back on. I watched it as Carrie and Pete casually argued about what they should do. Once again, the game was interrupted by a news report. That was the last time I ever watched baseball on television
, and I’m fairly certain it was the last game the Twins ever played. The scene was something out of a bad movie. The streets were full of protesters, some were openly brandishing firearms. Behind them, cars were burning and police were moving in on the protesters. I gasped when I realized that the scene was live and playing out less than two miles away. “Whoa,” I said, pointing up to the TV. “That’s downtown. That shit is happening here.”

Carrie fumbled with the remote and unmuted the sound. “Oh my God,” she moaned.

“
People
are dead in the street,
” began the local reporter. She was a pretty young blonde who was fairly new to the Minneapolis market. I could see the fear in her eyes. “
I can’t believe I’m witnessing this in Minneapolis. I have personally watched at least ten protesters fall to the ground after being shot by the Minneapolis Police. Behind them, a large convoy of National Guard Soldiers has just arrived. These soldiers are dressed in what looks to be full battle gear. I have to tell you that I’ve never been so afraid in my entire life. The soldiers are rushing forward to bolster the police lines. Oh my God, an officer has been shot. Another Minneapolis police officer is down. This is rapidly spiraling out of control. I’m hearing automatic weapons being fired. Barb, Dennis, this is insanity… Oh my God… Oh my God…
”

The camera suddenly fell clumsily to the street and a second later, the blonde reporter fell fac
ing the camera. Her eyes were open wide, and bright red blood flowed from her mouth. The telecast was cut a split second later, but I had no doubt that the pretty young reporter was dead. Carrie screamed.

“What did I tell you?” asked Pete. He picked up his full drink and drained it.

The broadcast had returned to the newsroom, and the anchors were desperately trying to hide their horror. They fumbled over their words and someone had the bright idea to report the weather. The weatherman gave a valiant effort but broke into tears after twenty seconds. The station quickly cut the broadcast and went to a commercial break.

“I’m closing up,” Carrie said. “We’ve got to get out of the city.”

“Good idea,” said Pete. “Let’s go home and load up. We can head up to Mike’s place in Milaca. We should be safe up there for the time being. Gary, you’re welcome to join us. Mike is my brother. He’s a good guy.”

I didn’t have a car
, and after seeing what had happened on the television, I nodded my head. “That would be nice,” I said, stupidly. “Are you sure he won’t mind?”

Pete slapped me on the back. “I’m sure,” he said. “Just boogie your ass on home and pack a bag. You’ve got ten minutes. I’ll help Carrie lock up and we’ll pick you up outside your building. Keep your head down.”

I nodded and stepped off my barstool. My buzz was nearly gone by the time I arrived back home.

I lived alone and while the apartment wasn’t much, it contained nearly everything I owned. I ran to th
e bedroom and began unpacking drawers and setting stacks of clothes on my unmade bed. Here is where I first began to regret not having a plan. On some level I had known things were about to turn sour. Red flags had been flying for years, but like so many others, I had stuck my head in the sand. The time to bug out had arrived and I didn’t have a clue what to pack. I stared at myself in the mirror. I was thirty years old and was already starting to get a beer belly. I’ve been told I’m handsome, but I don’t see it. I have short black hair and an average face. The green-eyed man in the mirror was six feet tall, but he was bloated and looked scared to death.

I began stuffing clothes into a duffel bag
, and ignoring Pete’s advice I called my folks. I’m glad I did. Mom answered and we talked for a minute. After assuring her that I was okay, she handed the phone to Dad. He told me that my sister, Cheryl, and her family were on their way up to the farm. He told me not to worry, that the house was clean in case they had
visitors
. I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. As I continued to pack, I explained where I was heading the best I could. He told me that as soon as things cooled down, he and Mom wanted me out at the farm. I promised him that I’d get there.

That was it. While we were always a close family, we were tightlipped about our emotions. I don’t remember my folk
s ever telling me they loved me; it was a given. I never felt that was odd, it was just our way.

I filled both of my duffel bags with clothes and toiletries. I added my favorite pillow, a sleeping bag and a few books I had yet to read. With time running out, I stuffed canned foods
, bottled water and some cookware into my bags. My thoughts were that if things got really bad, I could walk to Pine City. The last things I grabbed were a few photographs of my family and the rest of the cash from out of my sock drawer. I then lugged my bags out into the hall, locked the door and walked down to the parking lot. Pete and Carrie showed up a minute later. I tossed my bags into the back of his Chevy pickup and I hopped in.

“Have you heard the latest?” Carrie asked.

I shook my head as Pete sped out of the parking lot. “The last thing I heard was when we were at the bar.”

Carrie reached up to the dash and turned on the radio. She then twisted the dial and we were rewarded with nothing but static. “They shut down the television stations while we were at the bar,” she said. “Does your cell phone still work?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I just got off the phone with my folks.”

Pete turned to face me. “What did you tell them?”

“I just told them I was getting out of town. I couldn’t just leave and not let them know.”

I thought Pete was angry, but he nodded his head. “Does your phone still work? We lost our signal a couple minutes ago.”

I reached into my shirt pocket and removed my old flip phone. The screen showed no reception bars. I shook my head. “It doesn’t look like it,” I said. “I don’t have any bars.”

“I knew that would happen,” said Pete. “They don’t want us communicating with each other. They want to keep us in the dark.
”

“Those bastards,” grunted Carrie.

Our next stop was at their house, a faded double bungalow on Pierce Street. Up and down the block, people were loading up their cars and trucks. The air was full of shouting voices and crying children. I did my best to ignore them. Pete and Carrie packed, and I shuttled their bags out to the back of the Chevy. The pickup had a topper and I loaded the back as high and tight as I could. Pete joined me but instructed me to stay where I was. He handed me a snub-nosed revolver. “I’m bringing out my guns. Stay here and if anyone gets too close, you show them this. If there’s trouble, just start shooting.”

“Are you serious?”

“Gary, look around you,” he said. “I’m dead serious. Pack the guns on the bottom of the load. I don’t want anyone to see them if we get stopped. Do you know what I mean?”

I nodded. A minute later, Pete began carrying out his weapons. He had wrapped them in blankets, but anyone with half a brain would have known what he was up to.
If a Minneapolis cop were to turn down the street, we would be caught red-handed. Still, it wasn’t the police I was most worried about. From inside the back of the truck, I began to notice some of the neighbors taking an interest in what Pete was doing. I worked as fast as I dared, pausing every twenty seconds or so to survey the street. The afternoon was warm, and I was sweating like a pig by the time we finished. Thankfully, nobody bothered us. I closed the tailgate and shut the topper. Pete locked it up and soon we were back on the road. I tried giving Pete back the revolver, but he told me to hang onto it.

Despite
sticking to the back roads, it took us nearly two hours to get out of the city. Traffic crawled along at a snail’s pace until we got outside of Elk River. From what I could tell, it seemed like most businesses had shut down for the day. The further north we traveled, the fewer we saw that were still operating. The normally full parking lots were Christmas Day empty. When things opened up on Highway 169, the traffic hustled along at close to ninety miles per hour. We talked about many things, but mostly we speculated what the future held in store for us. Pete was absolutely certain that we were going to be rounded up and locked into internment camps. “Forced labor,” he had said. “They’re still going to need some of us to keep the wheels turning.”

Carrie thought that the government would have s
econd thoughts about kicking this hornet’s nest and that eventually they would stand down. “Look at these people,” she said. “You can bet they’re all armed and ready to fight. I’ll bet this is going on all across the country.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. “I don’t want to go to war with our own people.”

“Well,” said Pete, “I don’t think we’re going to have a choice. We’re not going to roll over and play dead for these bastards. If I know my brother, he’s ready for them. Mike’s a badass, but you’ll like him. He’s been warning me about this for a couple years.”

“I’m not worried about Mike,” said Carrie. “I just don’t like his friends.”

“They’re a little rough around the edges, but they’re good people,” said Pete, who was looking at me. “You’ve got to let it go, Carrie. These guys might save our bacon.”

Carrie tu
rned to me. “Mike and his friends are paramilitary,
preppers
, you know what they are, right? They’re pretty hardcore. I just want you to be ready for them. Some of his friends can really be assholes.”

I nodded. I knew what preppers were; at least I thought I did.

“They’re not that bad,” said Pete. “Put a sock in it. You’re gonna scare Gary, and we’re all plenty scared the way it is.”

Red brake lights flashed in front of us and Pete quickly slowed
the Chevy. We were about a mile south of Zimmerman and traffic soon ground to a halt. After sitting for what seemed like an eternity, a Sherburne County Sheriff’s cruiser roared past on the shoulder. That car was followed by another, this one belonging to a Minnesota State Trooper. Neither car had on its emergency lights or siren.

“I don’t like this,” said Pete.

“What can we do?” asked Carrie.

I saw some people get out of their cars and walk to the should
er to see what was going on. A man holding a pair of binoculars began to frantically gesture up ahead. “This doesn’t look good,” I said. “I’m going to go take a look.”