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Chapter Five: “For the Land of the Sheep and the Home of the Wolves”
“Charlotte! I’ve missed her so much!” Heather nearly squealed.
Jake liked the way Heather’s eyes lit up. After the day she’d had, she deserved some semblance of happiness, no matter how minute. “Well, she’s looking a little worse for the wear, but…”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Heather said as she stroked the side of her faded red and white truck. She brought her hand away from the metal, along with a layer of dust and dirt. Heather had bought the ancient Dodge truck in high school, after working two summers to earn the money to pay for it. In fact, it had been the subject of much ridiculing, but it was hers, and, amazingly, it was still there in one piece. “She just has character.”
Heather pulled on the door handle, not really expecting it to open. It had been so long, she couldn’t remember whether she had thought to lock it. Surprisingly, the door creaked open. “I need to oil your hinges, don’t I, girl?” Heather turned back to Jake. “I can’t believe the truck is still here.” She climbed into the cab, settling into the worn driver’s seat. The tattered upholstery, even the truck’s very scent, soothed Heather.
Jake leaned against the side of the dilapidated vehicle. He wasn’t particularly surprised that the truck was still there. Half the people in town were afraid to get near it for fear it might explode. That, and the fact the gasoline had already been siphoned out of its tank made it clear the truck wasn’t going anywhere. “Just waiting for you to get back.”
Except they’d believed her to be dead. The thought still sent chills down Heather’s spine, almost as if someone had walked on her grave. She tried to push the thoughts aside. “You’re right. This is the best surprise.”
She looked up at the sun visor and pulled off a photograph that had been clipped to it. It was faded, but Heather could still make out the features of the gray haired man in the picture. It occurred to her that this might be the only surviving photo she had of her father, and she fought back tears. Nearly six years had passed since her father’s death, and in that time, she’d for the most part managed to work through the deep seated grief she’d felt and put his life and death in perspective. But sometimes…oh, sometimes she would have done anything to see him again.
“Did Emily ever find you?”
Jake’s words shook Heather from her thoughts, and she tucked the photo into a small canvas bag she found in the truck. “Um, no. But I’d love to see her. We have so much catching up to do. Did she and Roger get married while I was gone? Did I miss the big shindig?”
Jake cleared his throat feeling slightly uncomfortable. “No. No, they didn’t.”
“So when’s the date?”
“Roger had to leave town,” Jake explained. “It’s a long story, but I’m sure Emily will fill you in.”
Heather furrowed her brows. She’d spent quite a bit of time with Emily and Roger and knew how devoted Roger Hammond had been to her best friend. The big city boy had given up being near his family and the perks urban life had to offer because making Emily happy was his first priority. Why would he just leave?
Wait, Jake said he had to leave. What was going on?
“You got awfully tight lipped all of a sudden, Jake.”
Jake frowned. Why was he avoiding this conversation? It wasn’t as if his renewed relationship with Emily was a secret. Besides, he and Heather had never had much more than a flirtation, let alone been committed to one another, so what was the big deal?
“A lot has changed since you left, Heather.”
Heather pointed to herself. “Sam Beckett here.” She watched as Jake shifted nervously, and fears began to plague her. “At least tell me if Emily is okay!”
“She’s fine,” Jake assured her and watched as relief flooded over Heather’s countenance. “She and I—“
“I thought it was you!”
Jake and Heather both turned to see Eric approaching them in the parking lot. A grin spread across his bearded face, equal in scope to the one that filled Heather’s features. She slid out of the truck and straight into Eric’s outstretched arms. While the two had been casual acquaintances before New Bern, it was during their time of imprisonment, their time of life and death struggle, that a bond had been forged between them.
Eric held her tightly, noting how incredibly tiny she felt. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, “I was so afraid I would never see you again.”
Heather was half laughing and half crying. “That’s my line. I was so scared for you, Eric.” And she had been.
“We made it, you and me.”
“The dangerous pair.” Laughter won out over tears as Heather and Eric shared a private joke.
Jake watched the prolonged embrace and the bantering. It seemed so incredibly intimate to him. He knew that Heather and Eric had been caged together, but the ease in which they held each other and interacted surprised him.
“Let me look at you,” he replied, taking hold of her hands but otherwise pulling away. His eyes confirmed what his body felt. She had indeed lost weight. “I’m going to get Mary to feed you.”
She squeezed his hands. “If she happens to have burgers back on the menu, I would crawl over man and beast to get to her.”
“Wyoming is cattle country.”
“About the only nice thing about the new government,” Jake added.
Heather watched the look the brothers exchanged. She was missing something. Oh, yes, she was definitely missing something. “From watching all the video feeds, I thought things were getting much better,” Heather commented warily. “At least as far as supplies, food, and medicine were concerned.” Politically was another story altogether.
Jake cleared his throat. “Armageddon happens, but propaganda is alive and well.”
“Things are a little different than what the news reports suggest. Rebuilding has gone really slowly,” Eric added by way of explanation to Heather. “Locally, we’ve got the manpower, but the supplies and equipment are another story entirely.”
“So I noticed,” Heather replied sardonically, thinking back to her own burned out apartment.
“I’m really sorry about your apartment, Heather. I know how it feels.” Eric recalled that cool autumn day when a fire gutted his home. At the same time his house was engulfed in flames, the Jericho Library was also on fire. A choice had to be made about which to save. The choice was clear.
Heather nodded. “You’re one of the few people who could.” She squeezed his hands one last time and then let go. “You know,” she began, turning to Jake, “you’re right about the propaganda. When I was transferred to Camp Hayward, my information was limited to what few news reports were being looped on television. Even then, they were variations of a fluff piece on the rise of President Tomarchio.”
“What about the people around you?” Eric asked. “What did they say about what was going on?”
“Well, between being unconscious for about two weeks and spending the other half of the time trying to get back here, there wasn’t much information flowing. When I did have the chance to speak with people like Lieutenant Hamilton, for instance, they all towed the party line, virtually recycling what was being said on television. You two probably know far more than I do.”
“And so it begins,” Jake sighed taking a few steps away from his companions, his back to them. “If the same story keeps getting repeated, people will eventually believe it.” He watched the bustle of the activity on Main Street. A small group was gathered across the street at the Jennings and Rall tent.
“Enough to forget that there was never an election?” Eric asked.
Jake turned back to face his brother. “You saw what it was like after the bombs. How the people panicked.”
“Firsthand,” Eric acknowledged. He had been his father’s right-hand man and, in the process, had tried to put out more than his share of proverbial fires, in addition to actual fires. The first trial by fire came on the day of the attacks themselves; Heather’s group of third graders had been on a field trip and had not returned. The parents gathered at city hall, understandably anxious. As the day wore on, people began hording gasoline and other supplies, paranoia taking the town to the brink of riot. The next day they faced a storm carrying radioactive fallout. After that, the EMP, Ravenwood, the pseudo Marines, Rogue River, the influx of refugees, shortages, the New Bern War. The list could go on. Throughout all of it, everyone’s stamina, everyone’s coping abilities were stretched to the point of snapping. “People want safety.”
“And they’ll willingly sacrifice their liberty to get it.”
“And a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Eric began.
“Can lead the lambs to the slaughter,” Jake finished.
“Okay. Wait a second. You guys are scaring me. First off, you’re getting along and finishing each other’s clichés. Next, are you suggesting that a coup d'état happened right under our noses?” Heather asked. “In the land of the free and the home of the brave? Apple pie? Baseball? Buy one get one free?”
“We shouldn’t talk about this out here,” Jake responded, watching as a small group of soldiers about fifty feet away passed on the sidewalk.
“But we should talk,” Eric said, meeting his brother’s eyes.
“Yeah.”
Eric turned back to Heather. “You’re welcome to bunk with Mary and me until rebuilding gets underway. We have an extra bedroom.”
Heather smiled. “You’re very sweet, Eric, but you and Mary need your privacy. Besides, Jake has already offered me your old room.”
Jake bridged the short distance between himself and Heather, standing by her side. “Heather’s going to stay with Mom and me. I’m guessing she knows about your snoring problem. That must have clinched the deal for her.”
Heather playfully hit Jake in the chest with the back of her hand. “Be nice.”
“Notice how she didn’t deny it,” Jake laughed.
Eric studied his brother. It was good to see him smile again, to see him joking around. Since their father’s death, Jake had two moods: bad and worse.
“Well, on that note, I’m going to pull a few things out of Charlotte, if they’re still there,” Heather commented as she walked back to her truck.
Eric waited until he saw Heather reach behind the driver’s seat, seemingly lost in her actions, and then turned back to his brother. With his voice low, he began, “You know I have to ask.”
“Ask what?” Jake asked.
“Does Emily know she’s back?” Eric gestured toward Heather.
Jake shrugged. “Sure she does. She’s excited about it.”
“From the looks of it, Emily’s not the only person excited to have Heather back here.”
Jake nearly snorted. “What do you want me to say? Of course I’m happy to see her. For that matter, so were you. What’s the big deal?”
“Won’t it be messy?”
“They’re best friends. Why would that be messy?”
Eric’s eyes widened. Surely Jake wasn’t that disingenuous. “You and Heather had something going on before she left, and maybe it was going nowhere. I don’t know. You tell me, but now you’re back together with Emily.”
“Eric, do you really want to be the one offering me relationship advice?” Jake asked pointedly.
Eric’s expression hardened; Jake’s words coming at him may as well have been a physical attack. “You always do that.” His teeth were clenched.
Jake knew his words were cutting, but sometimes his brother’s sanctimonious attitude drove him up the wall. Who asked for Eric’s advice anyway? “Do what?”
“Deflect when it gets uncomfortable for you. Look, I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. Be upfront with Heather, okay?” With that, Eric joined Heather at her truck.
Jake watched as the two shared a goodbye hug and whispered a few words. Eric’s expression appeared grave, even more so than usual, before the two parted.
“What was that about?” Jake asked as his brother disappeared down the sidewalk.
Heather hesitated. A part of her hated to say anything for fear of further opening a gaping wound. Jake could see her hesitation. “I was expressing my condolences.”
“You and Eric have become good friends.”
“Yeah. We understand each other pretty well, warts and all.”
Jake lifted an eyebrow. His brother was the golden child. Straight A’s, a good athlete, the dutiful son, the one who lived up to everyone’s expectations except for that pesky matter of infidelity. What did he know about warts? What did Heather, either, for that matter? “You? Warts?”
“I’m not the same person who left Jericho,” she said quietly. “Besides, none of us is all good or all bad.” Heather knew. She’d spent her entire life trying to be ‘good,’ trying to treat others with kindness, trying to give back to her community, trying to be a good daughter, a good friend, trying, trying, trying. And yet in one instant, she’d done the worst thing imaginable to another human being. How she’d struggled with that over the last few weeks, alternating between feeling heartsick over it and resigned to the fact that she couldn’t change the past.
Jake sensed her melancholy. He’d made a number of assumptions about Heather, that she was untouched by the craziness that blew into their lives six months ago. Yet as he looked in her eyes and considered her words, he realized that she was holding on to more than she had shared, something that wasn’t sweetness and light the way he imagined Heather’s life, in general, to be.
“Let’s go home.”
Heather retrieved her small canvas bag from the truck and the two began their walk to the Green house.
Gray Anderson strode through the lobby of city hall. The makeshift memorial to Johnston Green caught his eye, as it had for the last month each time he passed through the entrance. Even after death, the man was still overshadowing him, as people made comparisons between the mayor and former mayor. Sometimes they were subtle about it, and Gray could see it in their expressions. At other times, they were blatant. How many times had he heard Jimmy start with, “Well, Mayor Green used to….” before Gray would cut him off? He hated to hear that almost as much as “We’ve got a problem,” Jimmy’s other favorite line.
Damn martyrdom, Gray thought to himself. Weren’t things getting better? Isn’t that why people elected him in the first place, because they wanted circumstances to get better? Sure, there were things that could be improved upon, but nothing was ever going to be perfect.
The transformation in Jericho was astounding. Much of the town center had been rebuilt. Businesses that had been closed were open again, from the clothing store on Main Street to the appliance mart. The medical center was functioning well, its once meager supplies replenished. A distribution center had been set up for food and other necessities. The farmers outside of town were preparing their fields for crops, as they always did this time of year. Things were looking up.
Sure, there were a few changes. Dale Turner still had Gracie Leigh’s open, but he wasn’t taking the conventional route to restocking. Gray had heard that Dale was working with some of the road gangs and commandeering supplies, but he hadn’t fully investigated the means by which Dale earned money. He was too busy trying to stave off Skyler Stevens’s attempts at influencing the running of the salt mine.
The CyberJolt Café was no longer in business, either, as the attacks of October 1 fried much of the infrastructure required to make the Internet in the U.S. fully functional; from what he’d heard, the EMP also had its effect on the mega routers, whatever those were. Jennings and Rall were refurbishing the old CyberJolt Café building, turning it into their new regional headquarters. That would mean the possibility of new jobs for the Jericho residents.
If only people would remember that come the next election cycle.
As Gray walked into his office and settled in his chair, he felt at a loss. He came in more out of a habit and for appearance sake, but in so many regards, his hands were tied. Major Beck had taken over much of the day-to-day operation of the town. He didn’t mind that so much. Gray considered himself more of a delegator anyway. Still, it was important for the people of Jericho to have a figurehead, someone they could turn to with their concerns.
“Gray, I need to talk to you.”
Gray looked up from his desk to see Eric Green standing in the doorway. Gray had mixed feelings about Eric. Eric was efficient and hard-working. He cared about what happened to Jericho, no doubt about that. Still, there was always the sense that the younger man viewed him as a usurper in his late father’s office. The fact Eric carried himself the way Johnston Green did, down to sporting a beard akin to his late father’s, didn’t help any.
Eric dropped the clipboard on Gray’s desk. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time gathering information that specified the damage to buildings, what was salvageable and wasn’t, and getting an overview of what would be needed in order to repair and rebuild. In an ideal situation, the owners of the buildings would have insurance agents working on the information, making necessary arrangements from both a materials and financial standpoint. It was difficult to work out those details, however, when (a) the insurance industry had been so overwhelmed it folded and (b) building materials were scarce.
“Well?” Gray Anderson glanced over the clipboard Eric gave to him. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“I thought you might like an update on what’s going on out there,” Eric gestured to the window of the office. “It’s slow going.”
Gray frowned skimming through the information on the clipboard. “Once again, what do you want me to do with this?”
“You’re the mayor. Use your clout with Beck.”
Gray tossed the clipboard across his desk in Eric’s direction and nearly guffawed. “I’m glad someone thinks I have clout. Listen, there’s only so much that can be done at a time. And really, from where I’m sitting, things are looking good.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed. It was easy for Gray Anderson to say that life was good. He wasn’t sleeping on the floor in a room with twenty-five other people. “Try telling that to the two hundred people who are staying with relatives, in the church basement, at the gymnasium...”
Gray held up his hand to silence Eric. “We have power restored to seventy percent of the town, clean water, food supplies are being replenished, winter is over, and, oh yeah, the neighboring town didn’t wipe us off the map. So if people have to be inconvenienced a while longer, so be it. A little inconvenience pales in comparison to what we’ve been through.”
Eric walked to the office door and closed it. With his voice muted, though still urgent, he asked, “Why are the military still here?” He began to pace back and forth. Eric’s nervous movements were adding to Gray’s unease.
“To help. Or to keep us from getting in another war, I suppose. Why do I care? As long as our people are safe and fed.”
Eric flashed back to his conversation with Jake and Heather a few minutes earlier. His brother was convinced the people would relinquish liberty in favor of security, and Gray Anderson seemed to be the embodiment of that sentiment. But how secure were they really?
“Heather Lisinski came back today.”
Gray nearly groaned. He had nothing personal against Heather Lisinski, other than the fact she was a know-it-all. When Scott Rennie lost his cool in the mine, she’d pressed both him and Shep so hard about Scott’s death that Shep folded from the guilt. Then there was her role in the New Bern attacks themselves. “I saw her in Beck’s office. I’m glad for your sake and hers, too, but she could’ve saved us a lot of trouble if she’d not gone to New Bern in the first place. Let’s face it. She’s the one who helped them get their factory back in working order. Maybe you should talk with her about the repair work since it was those mortars that did the damage.”
Eric shook his head. “You, of all people, should know how we were coming apart at the seams. We needed those turbines.”
Gray unconsciously touched his abdomen. His gunshot wound was healing, but the area remained tender. “Turbines, yes. Being bombed? No.”
“We can argue this point all day, but what’s done is done. Now we have to decide how to fix it.”
“A few doors down are some very cheerful Jennings and Rall employees. Talk with them about construction materials. They’re handling acquisitions. My hands are tied.”
“What can you do, Gray?”
“Other than listen to complaints all day? Look, we’ve got martial law. Yes, there are restrictions. We don’t have as much of a say in what goes on. I’ll grant you that. You might not like it, but it’s better than the alternative.”
Eric looked at the new flag which adorned the corner of the office. He couldn’t get used to it. “Posse Comitatus.”
“Huh?” To Gray, it sounded like Eric said, “Potsie coming to us,” and he knew there was no way that Eric was discussing Happy Days.
“Posse Comitatus. It was an act passed by Congress at the end of the Reconstruction following the Civil War. Basically, it said the military was prohibited from taking control from local and state law enforcement in the areas of law and order. Last year, this law was repealed, a law that had been on the books for over a century, through a new defense bill, The Defense Authorization Act of 2007. This defense authorization bill gave broad powers to the President, including the authority to use the military as law enforcement officers, thereby severely negating local autonomy, legally speaking.”
“Finally putting that law degree and extensive vocabulary to work, I see. Why are you giving me the history lesson?”
Eric continued, “The Posse Comitatus law was repealed on September 30, essentially taking away local powers in the event of an emergency. The attacks happened October 1.”
Gray nearly grunted. “The military is doing what we couldn’t do for ourselves. Do you really think that Jimmy, Bill, or Robert Hawkins—wherever he’s gone to—could take care of what needs doing? We tried that, remember? And your brother? He’s so eaten up with vengeance, there’d never be an end to the conflict. We’d be beating each other down until we were back to the age of stone knives and bear skins.”
“Do I have to draw you a map, Gray?” Eric asked in exasperation, rubbing the back of his head. “You heard the reports that came out of New York. The terrorists caught with the bomb, the ones who had the phony FBI badges, were Americans. This was an inside job, a well-planned inside job. Is it so insane to suggest that everything that has happened, including the repeal of Posse Comitatus, has been to rebuild our country in another image?”
Gray’s face grew red, and the vein in his neck protruded. “I’ve been out there, remember? I’ve seen how it was after the bombs. We should be on our knees thanking the Cheyenne government for helping us here!”
“Doesn’t any of this seem wrong to you?”
Gray pointed at Eric. “I think what seems wrong to you is that I’m sitting in this chair and your father isn’t. That’s what this is about. You need another crisis, Eric, another problem to solve so you don’t have to face what you’ve lost.”
Eric’s jaw clenched. It was ironic to him that Gray accused him of feeding on crises. Wasn’t that how Gray was elected in the first place? Inciting the public to panic because he thought he could do a better job than Johnston Green? And here he was, barely doing any job at all.
“I mentioned Heather to you because she didn’t come alone. She was accompanied by a convoy consisting of no fewer than three hundred soldiers. If we’re to listen to the military and Jennings and Rall, who keep repeating that the situation is improving, why continue to bring in more men?”
Gray sighed heavily, stopping long enough to think. “Assuming for one minute you’re onto something, what do you want me to do?”
A tinge of hope rose in Eric. “For starters, I want you to find out why the military is still here. The real reason, because I don’t buy for one minute that it’s all about keeping the peace.”