ran 3.3 miles
Chapter 17
Amidst the noise and wind of the helicopter had come a swarm of vehicles surrounding Woodard’s car. This had been very, very planned. The same thought had permeated in Jonas’, Erica’s, Thomas’ and Mason’s mind all at once.
“We should have killed you and thrown you in a dumpster,” Mason grunted in Ben’s direction.
But it was too late.
After the smoke had cleared and the noise had stopped, Jonas and Anna were put in two separate vehicles. Black cloth bags over their heads had swallowed the world around them.
This they knew: Ben, the traitorous informant who should have been shot earlier, was now shot and dead. Michael Woodard had barrel rolled out of the car and fled. That left two. Two more shots had been fired.
This they assumed: Thomas and Mason were dead. It was reasonable to assume they had been executed on the shoulder of an interstate in Americanadexico like common drug dealers or fugitive rapists.
This they foresaw: Torture. Humiliation. Atonement. Recantation. Dissolution. Death. And any other words imaginable to what the leaders of a world spinning out of control are capable of when they are so desperate to perpetuate a path toward a dead end rather than just turning around and finding their way back to common sense.
Before Thomas was ripped out of Woodard’s vehicle by the storm of continental police he had known what the outcome was to be. His revolver was loaded and he was determined to go down in a blaze. He looked Mason in the eyes and they shared a moment few other human beings have ever shared or will ever share. A tear rolled down Mason’s rigid cheek. It was not a tear of fear or cowardice. It was moistened bravery and respect between two men who were about to meet their end after taking out as many of the enemy as they could first.
Mason extended his hand to Thomas and they shook on death. Their grip was tight and they met eye to eye without one single word. Erica turned to Thomas. She whispered in his ear, “Carmen. My name is Carmen. Thank you, Thomas.”
The siege was quick. Thomas did not even have time to pull his trigger. Mason was shot in the back of his head. In his hands were two North American officers’ necks. It was over.
Jonas was in a black Lincoln Union with tinted windows and Erica was behind him in an identical model. They sat in two separate backseats with identical black cloth bags over their heads as though they were on their way to visit an executioner. They both knew that was going to be the end destination. But first, there was to be torture, humiliation, atonement, recantation and dissolution. And any other dark ideas that came to their minds.
Erica had always thought about this day. She had wondered how she would have reacted. She and Jonas had decided long ago that their cause was worth fighting and dying for. Through belief and commitment they had hardened themselves and established acceptance of any circumstance. They could accept any circumstance as long as it was in the name of their dead country, America, being resurrected.
The first night Jonas was reunited with Carmen they had stayed up all night talking. They did not talk about their long ago past with one another. They spoke of things red, white and blue. They discussed topics spangled with stars. They talked about men from nearly 250 years ago who had founded the idea of America, which was now dead. And lastly, they pretended to be captured one day and to suffer all of the punishments Americanadexico could possibly inflict upon them.
Jonas had said, “If, or I should say when, they do catch me I will tell them that I have my God and I have my country and that they have neither. After that I imagine they will beat me nearly to death to convince me otherwise. But they will convince me of nothing. I would like to sing something that screams ‘America’, which they would never understand, like some Don McLean, whenever they put a gun to my head. Can’t you just see it? They would have a gun pressed to my temple screaming, ‘Your country never was! America was a failure! This is Americanadexico and you are a dead treasonous rat!’ And then the coward with a gun in his hand would say, ‘Confess.’ And I would then sing like a madman.”
Carmen had laughed. That’s what he called her when they were alone, Carmen. He put his hand over hers and told her that everything was going to be all right,
“Jonas, I’m terrified. I would never show it, not even to a firing squad. But I’m terrified. What happened to us? What happened to this country? Why are people so content to be slaves? This continent is like a plantation from the old south and the government is the slave master. Why do people want to sit so idly and slowly die with no sense of challenge, risk or accomplishment? How did Capitalism turn into Communism and why does nobody talk about it?”
“It’s numbers, Carmen. I don’t know what went wrong or when it happened, but all of a sudden those who lacked all ambition, those who bathed in laziness, those who only worked hard to breed with complete irresponsibility, creating more and more misguided mouths to feed, multiplying welfare and food stamp recipients at the price of everything that was once good and noble in this country being utterly robbed and destroyed, health care paid for by so few and given to so many at absolutely no cost to the squandering, ungracious majority…it’s just numbers, Carmen. Those who destroyed America kept our democracy, a system where the majority of voters wins elections, in place until it was no longer necessary. The new majority no longer cared. Nor did they know or care about the history of how America had began.
What I find to be a reasonable and responsible member of society is a couple who has an amount of children that is within their own means to pay for. They have jobs and the security to raise their reasonable amount of children to be intelligent and respectful children who hunger to find their own happiness in the future, whatever that may be. just as long as it is theirs and it was their choice to work for it. But what we have is millions upon millions of unreasonable and irresponsible individuals who do not contribute to society whatsoever. And their genuine belief that they are entitled to other peoples’ money through the vehicle of government checks is an injustice to themselves that they cannot even recognize. But that argument is useless now. The government gave and gave and gave, destroying Capitalism and American ambition, until the few who were paying for so many simply quit. So here we are. Broken, shattered, and powerless.
This is the new majority, Carmen. And the explanation is that they simply outbreed people like us every day by the thousands.”
Carmen laughed painfully to herself and said:
A long, long time ago…
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile...
Jonas, with his black cloth bag over his head, was in his Lincoln Union being interrogated and beaten. He was pistol-whipped and threatened to soon publicly recant his ideas and his manifesto that he had written so long ago. The butt of a pistol struck Jonas square on top of his head. In his agony and humiliation he slowly lifted his head and began to sing in garbled syllables:
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while
But February made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn’t take one more step.
Erica, blinded by black and terrified, tried to calm herself down.
“Don’t show the enemy any sign of fear. Be strong”, she kept repeating to herself.
“Erica, you are going to tell us your real name. You are going to tell us your name and everyone you know and then we are going to kill you. Your death will be a public execution. Jonas will die, too. But first we will turn you on one another. You will die hating Jonas Martin Cassidy and he will die hating…what is your real name?”
There was such calm in the tone of voice in the man who was speaking. Erica knew the words she had been hearing had come from the mouth of a ruthless, unmerciful monster.
“Breathe, Carmen, breathe”, she said over and over again in her head.
A fist suddenly shocked Anna’s left eye. In all of her blackness and in all of the blackness that was to come, Anna opened her black eyes and parted her black lips and began to sing in garbled syllables:
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
So bye-bye Miss American Pie.
Drove my Chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’ “This’ll…”
Blackness.
1,072.2 miles to go.
