She stayed focused and kept her eyes on the road, rather than on that rugged face. “Why south? It’s only a couple of hours until the border if we go the other way.”
Brown kept himself busy getting everyone a weapon and inventorying their remaining supplies. He tried hard to avoid staring down that neckline…God Damnit! She didn’t even have perfume on. How could the scent of an unwashed woman be so intoxicating? This gal was more trouble than tear gas.
“The whole rebel army is north of us. Believe me. I’ve spent a lot of time tracking their movements. Everything they got is up there. No one is south of us. What do you say we hit the beach and wait for the real Army to get here?”
She mulled that over briefly and tried to keep things light. “Hmm, and I didn’t even bring a bathing suit.”
The mental image of her in a bikini made John drop the magazine he was loading. He laughed nervously. He felt like a teenager again. A well-armed teenager probably being hunted by both sides, but right now, he didn’t worry. Amazing how tossing a girl into any situation suddenly makes it less disastrous.
He stuck his hand over the radio mount, partly just for the excuse to touch her. “By the way, I’m John.” She held his rough hand longer than necessary.
“Jessica. A pleasure. I take it you aren’t with the Guard?” Damn girl, she thought, turn the reporter routine off for a second!
Brown changed the subject to something safer, even if more difficult. “Listen, ah, I want to say…I mean, that was some hardcore shit, um…I appreciate your help back there and all, but why?”
She shot him another grin. “You’re not particularly good at saying thank you, are you? That’s ok, no need to. I see this as more a suicide prevention incident. I’m a reporter and saw the hottest story around,” she blushed a tad at her choice of words, “um, was getting itself killed. Besides, you got us out of there safely. Karma wouldn’t be pleased if I didn’t return the favor.”
“Is Karma a boyfriend or…?” Brown tried to stay nonchalant and scanned around the vehicle, even while scanning her intently.
She had such a carefree laugh. “That’s a good one!”
He was still trying to puzzle out what she meant by that when their luggage suddenly joined the conversation. “Soldier, on behalf of a grateful nation, I want to thank you for saving me from those fanatics. Now we need to find some way to communicate with the military. I’ll see to it you are evacuated as well. Oh, and by the way, I don’t need this. Could you imagine if a photo was taken?”
“Who are you and what the hell are you talking about?” Brown turned around in time to see the congressman waving the 9mm he gave him right in his face. In typical fashion, the politician ignored the “help’s” comments.
Brown reacted instinctively. He crushed the threat’s wrist, pushed the gun up and away, and tried to draw his own. Jessica reached over, seized his arm and rolled her eyes before he finished killing the suit in the back. “Relax, John. Let me introduce you. That’s Congressman Alfred Eliot, from New York’s 29th congressional district.”
John holstered his weapon. With disgust, he shoved the other gun, grip first, back into the congressman’s hand. “That’s how you hand over a fucking weapon. Keep your finger off the trigger unless you’re ready to use it!” His command voice even worked on the millionaire in back.
“Well, then. Please do forgive my…unfamiliarity with firearms. I’m afraid I’m not qualified to use one. However, if you get me to a telephone, I’ll have a hundred professional shooters here in a hurry.”
Brown yanked the pistol away. “Maybe you have a point.” Before he could get more pissed off about the idea of deploying soldiers as casually as calling up a plumber, Jessica got him back on track.
She reached behind her head and patted the machine gun turret ring. “I think we should stop anyway. We need to find a different vehicle somehow. This thing might not be special to you, but that machine gun sticks out in polite company.” She grinned wide and tried to get a rise out of him.
“We need to find a place to hide your big gun.” It gave her goose bumps when he focused all that intent energy solely on her.
“Yeah…sure. Ok, we’ll find a phone and a car to steal in the next town ahead.”
It was Jessica’s turn to be surprised. “Steal a car? Have you ever done that before?”
“Oh, I might’ve seen it in a movie once.”
Birmingham, Alabama
Dimone fled Florida in his private schooner minutes after the Feds’ initial attack. Despite being the first to run, he still arrived last to the conference. He spent too long trying to get back in touch with financial supporters that no longer returned his phone calls.
Being labeled a terrorist and hunted by half the country didn’t faze him. Even being forced to hold a clandestine meeting in a small church in Birmingham, Alabama with his few remaining supporters didn’t devastate him. Instead, the passion of his fanatical followers buoyed his soul. Obviously, he stood for truth, justice and the American way. Why else would people follow him so devotedly?
For their part, the various religious extremists, political radicals and conspiracy wackos willing to fight in his name were also inspired. For years society mocked them, but now who had a mainstream, Washington insider begging them for help? What better proof they were right about the terrible black/Jewish/UN/alien plotting all along? Humans might not be the most rational animals, but they were incredibly rationalizing creatures.
Dimone reached out a hand to Francis Pickens, sitting in the front pew. “It does me good to see you, Picky. You’re a fine man to stand with me when so many of your compatriots are selling out.”
Pickens didn’t touch his hand. “Don’t flatter yourself. What other options do I have? That puppet state legislature the Feds installed has renounced me and I’m only one notch below you on the FBI’s most wanted list. Oh, and for the last Goddamn time, it’s not Picky.”
The wannabe president’s gaze already focused on some other guy. This one in uniform. “Ha, good man!” He slapped the runaway governor on the back and went towards his more useful follower with arms outstretched.
“Great to have you on board, General!” He pumped the uniformed man’s fist, while ignoring his beer belly and mangled facial hair brushing against the strange rank on his collar. “You’re the first of our brave soldiers I’ve seen since the invasion! How many of our heroes are still able to fight?”
The old man looked confused, yet flattered. “I don’t rightly know what’s going on with the Florida Guard. I’m Group Leader Lee Davis, commander of the Southeastern Regional Constitutional Society, at your service, sir.”
“The Constitutional…what? Which unit is that?” Dimone was no expert on military affairs but even he thought something didn’t make sense.
“Oh, we’re not with the regular army, nor do we come from Florida. We’ve waited a long time for a leader like you, sir. The mainstream, ultraliberal media called us crazy for years, but we always knew there’d come a day when a Beltway insider would get fed up with that nest of snakes! We’ve been gearing up for a long time, and now we’ve got the one missing piece. No sir, thank you!”
It took a moment for Dimone to realize this wasn’t some sick joke. He shot a “what the fuck” glance at his staff that put this meeting together. “I, ah, I think there’s been some misunderstanding. You see—”
The bearded man sensed he hadn’t made the impression he’d hoped. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. This ain’t amateur hour. You need real help to throw out those Washington fat cats. Well sir, I’m just a spokesman really. I’m the current executive of the Society’s board, but we are far more powerful than this little delegation here.” He waved at a motley collection of uniforms in the back of the church. Not a single dark face among them.