A Time for Patriots

“Well, I think that went swimmingly,” Charlie Turlock deadpanned in her electronically synthesized voice from inside the Cybernetic Infantry Device. After Paulson and the technical departed, the CID assumed the dismount position, and Charlie climbed out and ordered the CID to fold itself up for transport. “Think anyone will take us up on the offer?”

“And be excommunicated from Paulson’s church? I don’t think so,” Whack said. He helped Charlie stow the CID in the back of the pickup. “Are you sure the FBI was wrong about these people, Patrick? Paulson’s definitely got a one-track mind — and it’s not a very peaceful track.”

“I’m not a cop — I could be completely wrong about them,” Patrick said. “Paulson may be a zealot and even an extremist, but a homicidal maniac using planes and radiological dirty bombs? I don’t know.”

“He could have an entire faction within his community doing the attacks, with Paulson’s blessing,” Whack said.

“I suggest we get out of here before we find out Paulson’s watch is running fast,” Buzz said. They climbed into the pickup and headed off back to Battle Mountain.

Elko, Nevada

Later that night

Ron Spivey made liberal use of his employee discount to buy energy drinks to help stay awake during these graveyard shifts working at the convenience store outside of town. Well, he thought, only a couple more months of this, and then I’ll concentrate on the new path. He was anxious to get started on it.

The night-shift manager, a woman named Matilda, was behind the counter. Ron took a broom and dustpan and headed out the door. “I’m going on parking-lot patrol, Matilda,” he said.

“Bathrooms must be next, Ron,” she said.

“Okay.” Matilda insisted on spotless bathrooms, so he was sent back to do them after almost every customer used them. Another good reason to get the heck out and start a real career, he thought. He had a lot of newfound respect for persons who cleaned johns for a living.

It was a perfect summer evening — clear as a bell, not too hot, not too cold, no thunderstorms, and gentle breezes. The store was pretty quiet, but the truck stop about a quarter of a mile down the frontage road seemed busier than usual. Another sign that the economy was turning around? You wouldn’t know it by business at the convenience store, but more truckers seemed to be on the road these days. The express shipping business was definitely hiring, so maybe things were starting to look up?

Ron laughed at himself. Sheesh, when did he ever think about stuff like the economy before? Maybe having a baby and a future wife changes a guy’s perspective — even a brainless skirt-chasing jock’s.

Finally, a customer. The car pulled up to the gas pump island farthest from the store, the one with the burned-out overhead fluorescents — he would have to get the big ladder out to change those. One guy got out, while the other guy stayed in the car. They were talking to each other through the windows, but Ron couldn’t make out what they were saying. The parking lot was in pretty good shape, no broken beer bottles or the puddles of vomit that were more common on the weekends. The two guys’ voices over on the far island were getting a bit louder. Uh-oh, he thought, boyfriends having a little late-night to-do? At last, some entertainment…

… and just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it — the gesture made by the guy pumping gas, his hand like a knife, jabbing at the guy in the car… exactly like the guy he saw in the car that hit Brad had been doing! Holy shit, he thought, could it be them, the same car…?

Sweeping as he moved, Ron casually moved across the front of the store, trying to take his time but anxious to get a look before these guys drove off. It took him almost two minutes to move around, and it was a little hard to see because of the burned-out lights, but he finally saw it — the cracks in the windshield where he had hit it with his football helmet! Jesus Christ, they’re here ! He quickly headed back toward the store entrance, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

* * *

“Hello?”

“Brad, it’s me.”

“Ron? It’s almost three A. M., you dork. What’s—”

“Shut up, dude. Those guys that hit you after practice? They’re here, man.”

Brad was now fully awake. “They are? Are you sure?”

“I saw the cracked windshield where I hit it with my helmet!”

“Holy crap! Did you call the cops?”

“No, not yet. I’ll do it right… oh, shit, oh, shit, Brad, they’re coming into the store !”

“What?”

“They’re wearing hats and sunglasses, and they—” Now Ron was screaming, in a tone of voice Brad had never heard before: “Wait a minute, wait, no, no, no …!” And just then, Brad heard two gunshots, the clattering of the phone hitting the floor, a woman’s scream, and two more gunshots. He then heard footsteps, murmured voices in an unintelligible language, and then a loud crunching sound, followed by chilling silence.

Joint Air Base Battle Mountain

Several days later