Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (28 page)

The stranger, now on his feet, kicked Nathan in the face and picked Nathan’s rifle up and pointed it at Nathan. The man jerked as a shot rang out. Nathan flinched and grabbed his chest where the gun had been pointing, only it wasn’t Nathan who had been shot. Katie had taken advantage of being temporarily off the radar, so to speak, and grabbed her Remington 597 LR .22 and shot the man in the heart. He gripped his chest and turned towards Katie and took one final step toward her before he fell and breathed his last breath.

Katie put the rifle down and ran to Nathan’s arms and embraced him. He picked her up and spun her in a five hundred and forty degree circle, putting her down with her back to the front door that Nathan had left open. Nathan, reaching down to grab his rifle, was met with another intruder entering the home. This time the intruder had the upper hand by having his rifle at the ready. Looking down, the stranger saw his brother lying dead on the kitchen floor.

“Kevin?” the man yelled out, but his call went unanswered.

“Kevin!” another call rang out, but again went unanswered.

“What have you done?” the man cried out.

Nathan pulled his rifle up to shoot the man and two shots rang out. Nathan’s bullet found its target, but the stranger had pulled his trigger too, sending a .223-caliber round into Katie’s stomach. Nathan saw what had happened and continued launching rounds from his AR-15 into the stranger. When his magazine was empty and his bolt would no longer chamber another round, he threw down his rifle and caught his sister in his arms.

Katie was coughing up blood and wincing in pain.

“I got you,” Nathan reassured her. “DENNY!” Nathan cried out, hoping Denny could hear his calls through the other screams and gunfire in the camp. His calls went unheard and Katie died in his arms as he wept over her limp body.

Murphysboro, Illinois

The southwest side of Murphy had a tightly wound system of rules. Nobody was allowed outside after 10:00 p.m., except for those appointed to “firewatch.” Firewatch was what Cade called the guard duty assignments.

Cade was the leader of the Southside Raiders and was a native resident of Murphysboro. He was an infantryman from the Army and was active duty in Iran, for the jihadist wars, when the Flip went down.

He was recalled back to the States and, like many others, went AWOL when it was realized what was happening.

Cade was expecting trouble from the time Scott infiltrated the SIHG and brought Jessica to Murphy. He thought it would be expedient for him to preemptively strike them before they hit his camp. Cade’s area of operation consisted of the downtown area of Murphysboro. His only interest was the forty blocks west of Route 5 and south of Route 149. It was a large area, and Cade kept it under his thumb. He knew that if he showed any weakness, he too could become a casualty.

Cade considered himself a patriot, but those around him saw something else: a monster. He was brutal in his dealings with outsiders and government entities. After spending two tours of duty in the jihadist wars, he had lost his humanity. He was callous and only understood violence. It was “the language of the strong,” he would often say.

Cade had nothing to do with the kidnapping of Jess. He promoted free travel and encouraged his raiders to go out often to round up resources. Cade saw the national crisis as one of survival of the fittest. He knew that only the strong would survive the coming trials, and he felt he was the man to lead his people into the future of what was left of America. Nobody came through his area without his say, and nobody took from his area of supervision.

Cade knew that when Scott had brought Jess to Murphy, Scott had written a check that he could not cash. It wasn’t so much the fact that Jess escaped as it was that she had killed Scott in the process and stolen an M4 that belonged to Southside Raiders. The fact that Scott had first stolen weapons from the SIHG didn’t matter to Cade. He wanted blood for blood.

“Cade, the band’s been gone longer than expected,” Thomas said.

Thomas was Cade’s liaison of logistics. He was especially brutal. He used any tactic necessary to win resources and Cade’s approval. Thomas had spent most of his life in juvenile corrections and was unable to adapt to social norms. He found the new situation refreshing because it gave him a chance at fitting in.

“Have you sent any scouts to check on them?” Cade asked.

“No.”

Cade just stared at Thomas and waited for him to catch on.

“I’m on it,” he finally replied.

Cade’s best friend’s name was Mark, and he was always within shouting distance.

“Mark,” Cade shouted.

“Right here,” Mark replied.

“Tell me again how Scott died.”

“He was stabbed to death with a pen.”

Cade scratched his chin, like he usually did when he was getting worked up. “He was overpowered by a girl that was tied up in his basement, and stabbed to death with a pen?”

“Correct,” Mark replied.

“If a girl from that town can do that, what do you think the men would be capable of?” he asked.

“Are we willing to put it to the test?” Mark asked inquisitively.

“Skippy! I’m thinking potential recruits. We need to find out more about these people and get them involved here. Catch up with Thomas and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“No problem,” Mark said.

Mark was about to walk away when Cade had a brainstorm.

“Wait a second, Mark,” Cade ordered. “Let him do something stupid.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asked, confused.

“Follow him and don’t let him know you’re following. If I know Thomas, and I do, he’ll do something stupid. When he does, kill him, make sure the people see it and make it look like you’re the hero. I don’t want any of them to know that we are the Southside Raiders.”

“I got you,” Mark said. “I’ll give him a head start and follow him to that shanty town.”

“Before you go, get somebody to cut down these treasons,” Cade said, pointing to all the military personnel that were hanging from street posts. “We need to tidy up around here,” he said with a smirk.

Mark left Cade’s side and went indoors to fetch some provisions for the trip and then made arrangements with the perimeter security to remove the hanging corpses and hide the remains.

Cade began plotting in his mind a way to cover up the raid on Gorham. So far, all he had was denial. He would flat out deny all knowledge or involvement with the raiding party. He needed strong members in his group to push his community forward. If lying was the modus operandi, then he was game. As for Thomas, Cade saw it as a necessary loss.

He served his purpose
, Cade thought to himself.
Scott’s greed cost him his life and Thomas’s life
, he reasoned in his own head. “Tomorrow’s a new day,” Cade said out loud. He was excited at the prospect of having new and fresh possibilities in Murphy.

“The future is looking good,” Cade said to himself as he walked away.

Chicago, Illinois

General Muhaimin’s airplane landed at O’Hare International Airport at exactly 6:30 p.m. on October 28
^th
. The plane was greeted by an entourage of government employees and security services.

All airports in the former United States were closed by Presidential Executive Order 10999, along with all roadways and channels used for transport. Nobody was permitted to drive without passes, which were issued at checkpoints and only covered transports from point A to point B; stops in between were not allowed. There were no deviations or detours permitted.

Similarly, there was no need to radio ahead or make sure the airspace was clear of traffic. All aircraft were grounded and nothing went airborne except through presidential order.

General Muhaimin and his men had a short flight from the District to Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport. He stepped down out of his plane and was saluted by UN soldiers that met him at the base of the ramp. He was taken to another UN soldier, this one dressed in officer’s apparel. He was a lieutenant general by the name of Michal Durant.

Durant was a native of France and loved his service to the United Nations. He saw the rigors of serving his country to be somewhat empty and always considered himself a forward thinker. He wanted to be a big name on a global scale, and saw service in the UN as a good choice.

“Good evening, General,” Durant said as he saluted General Muhaimin.

“Good evening,” Muhaimin said, returning the salute.

“Sir, I was not told of your arrival until moments ago. To what do we owe the honor?”

General Muhaimin looked at Durant and said, “I am not here to deliver pleasantries, Lieutenant General. I am here to get you back on track.”

“Sir?” Durant questioned. He was intently looking at Muhaimin and was completely taken off guard by his presence in Chicago.

“You have had a great deal of difficulty seizing control of Region Five. I am here to put you back on track. Once I have done so, I will leave.”

“Sir, what difficulty?” Durant asked, stopping Muhaimin in his tracks.

Looking at Durant, Muhaimin said, “You are in charge of Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Ohio, and Wisconsin.”

“You forgot Illinois, sir,” Durant added.

“No, you have forgotten Illinois, Mr. Durant! It has been a thorn in my finger since I’ve been in this wretched country. We have lost innumerable attempts at relocation protocol, along with men, ships, and fuel.”

“I assure you that my men are working hard—”

General Muhaimin harshly interrupted Durant, “Your men are doing nothing and soon you will be relocated if you cannot meet your quota!”

“Quota?” Durant asked.

“I am placing you on a relocation protocol quota. I fully expect everyone south of I-64 to be relocated by January 1
^st
. I want conservation easements, upzoning, greenways, and all invasive species removed by this deadline, or you will be held accountable. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Durant said and walked away from Muhaimin, who was now standing at his convoy.

As he stepped into his limousine, he told the driver, “Take me to Goose Island.”

Goose Island was the location of the FEMA camp and headquarters for Region Five. It was quarantined and had the strictest of security. The island sat in the northeast corner of Illinois about one and a half miles from Lake Michigan. Its perimeter was a man-made canal on one side and the Chicago River on the other. Its walls were covered in concertina wire with guard towers at every corner. By the year 2032, there was one way onto Goose Island; that was a bridge on the east side of the island, which was attached to Division Street, a street running headlong from Lake Michigan. It made for the perfect isolated position, providing a direct route to the island from the lake.

Seated to the general’s right, in the rear of the limo, was the disaster secretary for Region Five. Her name was Lisa Cothe, and she’d served under the previous regional director before his untimely disappearance, which national leaders knew was actually a relocation protocol. She was representing the regional czar, whose office was located on Goose Island.

“We’re glad to have you here with us, sir,” Lisa said with a nervous voice.

Everybody knew why General Muhaimin was assigned to Region Five. That made everybody especially nervous. His presence meant that they were under the utmost scrutiny, and their mistakes could herald a swift and wrathful retribution. The higher-ups in Region Five knew that the czar was merely a puppet of the United Nations. The real power came from military commanders because the former United States was under a perpetual state of martial law. Muhaimin was merely satisfying the international community by playing the role of regional director.

General Muhaimin did not respond to Lisa’s attempt at conversation. Instead, he went right to business.

“Have there been any changes, on the national level, during my plane trip?”

“Yes, sir. We lost Texas to the Mexicans,” Lisa said.

“That’s most unfortunate. We cannot afford to lose any more territory to the Mexicans. I want the wall south of Oklahoma, Arkansas, and New Mexico completed immediately. The Americans never learned how to secure a border, and now we’re having to clean up after them.”

“About that, sir, we ran into some resistance from the Mexican mafia along the New Mexico border and that set us back about a week,” Lisa said with a perpetually nervous voice.

“What’s wrong with you Caucasians? Why is it you continue to frustrate me?” he said as he turned his head to watch out the window as they drove through the barricaded streets of Chicago.

Lisa couldn’t answer the general, knowing that whatever she answered wouldn’t be good enough. Instead she looked out the window and wondered what the future had in store for her.

Lisa had been working on Goose Island from the time the executive order came to renovate the island into a FEMA disaster site. Lisa began working for FEMA in late 2020. She was the secretary of disaster management when the funds started pumping in to FEMA preparedness. During her tenure, she saw a series of red flags that concerned her as an American. She was afraid to say anything or to take any action, out of fear. She held her peace through the following years and saw promotion after promotion until she was in too deep to leave. It was Executive Order 12656 that gave Lisa control over all law enforcement agencies in the United States.

Most police officers, state troopers, and sheriff’s deputies refused to work, even with government paychecks. They were useless on the local level because almost every aspect of the old economy was dissolved.

Regarding public safety and security, there simply wasn’t enough help to maintain control of the rioting and mob actions against government employees, on any level. The law enforcement agency personnel, all across the United States, dropped their badges and walked out, blending in with the people. Of course, they had to relocate, because the rural residents could ID their law enforcement officers by face. That was Jess’s story, but Lisa’s was one of shame. She felt the need to resign, but failed to, from an abundance of fear.