“They think they can just keep sitting back, privileged and powerful. We’ve got news for you and your townsfolk, Deputy. Things have changed. They aren’t in control anymore. Time for them to shut up and listen. And they’re going to conform.”
“Look, let’s stop this before it gets out of control.”
“It’s already out of control, but I’m going to get it back under control. I’m going to Indianapolis for a security meeting this afternoon, and when I get back, these people are going to learn what control is. Now you get out there and you talk to your backwoods brothers and sisters and figure out who the hell is behind this. That’s the best thing you can do for them – it’ll go a lot easier if we find them fast and we don’t have to get rough.
“Get rough?”
“Yes Deputy, get rough. It means what it means,” the lieutenant said. “And you need to change into the PSF regulation uniform and get out of that Andy Griffin tan costume. It’s a new reality, and you need to accept it just like this town does.”
He didn’t bother correcting her about Andy Griffith. “If you want me to talk to the people, you better let me dress like a friend instead of an enemy.”
“Once again you’ve put your finger on the problem, Deputy Cannon. These people see the People’s Security Force as an enemy, not as a friend. Which tells me that they are enemies of the people. Now get out of my office.”
Cannon stepped into the squad room and shut the door. There were only one or two tan uniforms left; the rest were in black PSF utilities, and all of those were strangers.
Turnbull pulled back the bolt on the AK and locked it open. He checked for a round and seeing the chamber was clear, stuck his little finger inside the action, rubbed it around, and pulled it out again.
His finger came back jet black.
“Why am I not shocked that these asswipes never clean their weapons?” he asked aloud. The three other townspeople in the garage looked up. Davey Wohl owned the gas station, or he did before it was nationalized in the name of providing cheap petroleum to the people. Wohl’s “fair compensation” for his business barely covered his People’s property tax assessment for 2025. He now did odd jobs and auto repairs out of his home’s garage.
Wohl was already breaking down one of the other assault rifles, as was Mayor Silver. Lee Rogers was working on a fourth. She did logistics for the big Walmart at the north side of town. The company was now the town’s biggest employer, having made its peace with the Elizabeth Warren administration and received a government-chartered monopoly on big box stores outside urban areas. For the people, so the President said.
“Let’s just get these all at least basically functional,” Turnbull said, taking a cloth to the filthy innards of the Chinese-made Kalashnikov knock-off. “I’m taking one and five mags. We need to secure the rest somewhere. That’s on you, Lee. Keep them out of houses in case the PSF decides to do a sweep looking for them. Mr. Mayor, you need to organize a watch on the town, so we know who’s coming and who’s going. We need to cover People’s Route 231 both ways. We need to know if they’re bringing in reinforcements. And we need eyes on the PSF station 24/7.”
The Mayor nodded. “I know everybody. I’ll get it done.”
“Be careful,” Turnbull said. “You know everybody under normal conditions. It’s about to get stressful. Make sure you don’t trust anyone who isn’t going to hold up under what’s coming.”
Pastor Bellman came in through the door to the house, shown to the closed garage by Davey Wohl’s wife.
“Hi to you too,” he said, staring down the barrel of the .45.
“Sorry, habit.” Turnbull put the pistol away and went back to cleaning the rifle. Bellman surveyed the scene.
“Kelly, I hope you haven’t brought us a war.”
“I think that’s out of our control,” Turnbull replied, rodding the weapon’s sooty barrel.
“Not adding fuel to the fire is firmly within our control,” the pastor observed. “So what do you think their next move is?”
“They’re going to increase the police presence, maybe by a lot. There will be roadblocks and checkpoints, ID checks on the street, maybe some raids. We need to set up some sort of informal communication system to get the word out within the town.”
The pastor smiled. “You’ve never been in a small town, apparently. Information moves pretty damn fast all on its own around here. There aren’t a lot of secrets in a small town.”
“Am I still a secret? What do the cops have as far as informants?”
“They have a problem,” said the pastor. “There are still a few hometown deputies left, local folks who haven’t been fully integrated into the PSF yet. No one will talk to the regular PSF officers. They’re all from out of town and they don’t mix much with us anyway. We see them around, getting coffee or whatever, but people are afraid of them.”
“If they’re smart, they’ll start being friendly, cultivating the people. But then, I don’t see smart as one of their go-to moves. What about the guys on the inside? What about that deputy the other day?”
“Ted Cannon? Dedicated guy. Community oriented. Probably doesn’t want to take sides. That’s not his style.”
“Cannon’s not gonna have much choice about taking sides. It’s them or us. So is he going to rat me out?”
“I don’t think so, and I’d kinda worry about his health if you thought so.”
“Yeah, that would be a good thing to worry about if I thought he was going to go supergrass on us.”
“Supergrass? I like the IRA terminology.”
“You like that, huh? We can learn a lot about insurgencies from those Fenian boys,” Turnbull said.
“We’re going to blow up bars now?”
“I was talking old school IRA, not those commie provo punks in the Seventies. Still, we do need to establish a few things with in town.”
“Such as?” asked the pastor.
“Establishing the standard that you don’t rat out the resistance, that you help, that you report to us what you see and hear. That you do what you have to do to help.”
“These people just want to be left alone.”
Yeah, well history had another idea about them being left alone. Call it the curse of living in interesting times. Anyway, they aren’t spectators anymore. That’s a luxury they can’t afford.”
“Kelly, like I keep saying, I’m not gonna let you turn my town into a battlefield.”
“Like I keep saying, I don’t intend to start a fight, but I’m not running from one either. We both have jobs to do. And we don’t have to get in each other’s way.”
“I’ve got somebody who wants to meet you.”
“Oh yeah?” said Turnbull, as he finished rodding the barrel.
“Yeah, somebody you probably want to meet.”
“Sounds covert. I like it. Intriguing. Who is it?”
“Tell you when we’re alone. But you need to make the meeting tomorrow morning.”
“I thought I was going to come to church tomorrow.”
“You don’t strike me as a churchy kinda guy, Kelly.”
“Let’s just say I respect the holy chain of command. Where is this meet?”
“Out in the woods. I’ll give you an azimuth and you can relive the Fort Benning compass course.”
“Delightful. Nothing like a little land nav on a Sunday morning. You’re on. In the meantime, I think it’s a little dangerous to stay at the church. I’ll come get my stuff.”
“Got somewhere else to stay?”
“Yeah. I got a bag, so I can stay wherever it’s relatively flat. If people don’t know where I am, there won’t be a problem.”
“You seem to think through all the angles,” Bellman observed.