Mac watched a group of militia work their clumsy way down his ravine. He turned and looked at the FBI agents walking down the road. Right smack in the middle between the two heavily armed groups, Mac debated what to do. He was a hundred yards from either group, but knew he had to make a decision soon. If he remained where he was, there was a chance the militia would walk right past him. He knew the FBI agents would walk past him, but did he have a duty to warn them of the ambush? After all, the militia were technically operating outside the law…but then again, what those agents did to Cedar Vance had to be outside every law in the land.
Mac turned back to face the militia. They’d already spotted the agents, and two of the men raised weapons to their shoulders.
These idiots are gonna catch me in the crossfire. I’ve got to stop them.
Mac fumbled in his pocket for the little clicker that Vance had given him. He said at the time it was their universal callsign; some one of the guys in the militia thought of using them—it’s what they used in World War II, so they figured it was good enough in an age without instant communications.
Hope to hell this works.
Mac squeezed his thumb and fingers together. Click-clack. He waited one second, then click-clack.
In the stillness of the winter forest, one of the militiamen heard Mac’s signal. They stopped, conferred for a moment, and looked around for the source of the signal.
Click-clack. Mac triggered the signal again. He stood, making sure to keep himself behind the tree, and waved an arm. One of the militiamen took notice and drew a bead on him. Mac made sure they understood his weapon was not in a firing position and tried to flash a simple hand signal that there were enemies on the road behind him. He pointed at his eyes, raised four fingers, and indicated the road over his shoulder.
The militia leader signaled his men to stand down, then slipped forward, far more quiet than the rest of his men. Mac waited, his heart thudding in his chest, as the man worked his way down the ravine and approached him.
“Who the hell are you, and where did you get that signal?” he hissed.
In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. “The names J.T. MacKinnon. Cedar Vance was my neighbor—he gave it to me.”
“You with the militia?” asked the man.
“Which one?” asked Mac.
“The only legitimate one. Northern Readiness Brigade.”
Mac shook his head. “I ain’t with anyone. Vance asked me to join your outfit, but I respectfully declined.”
“And how am I supposed to trust you?”
“Ain’t a matter of trust, son,” Mac grunted. “There’s federal agents behind me on that road—they’re the ones that executed Vance. Now, I don’t know what you boys got yourself into, but I’ve never heard of FBI agents putting a gun to somebody’s head and pulling the trigger—solar flare or not.”
“Cedar Vance is dead?” The man’s face hardened. “They executed him?”
“In cold blood. I’m sorry if he was a friend of yours,” Mac said. “I had a bead on them, but they moved before I could pull the trigger…Vance was a good man, a good neighbor.”
“Fucking bastards,” growled the militiamen.
“I’ve never seen agents do—”
“Mr. MacKinnon, those aren’t FBI agents. Those men are part of the Grover County Militia. A renegade outfit we’re fighting against. We were sent out here to recon their activities, and when we couldn’t raise Vance on the radio, we came for a closer look.” He turned and spat, gripping his rifle. “Dammit, I told him we shoulda had more men stationed out here…”
“Well…that certainly explains a lot…”
“Explains what?” demanded the militia man.
Mac grunted. “They basically tore Vance’s house apart. Looks like they were searching for something…”
“Loot,” said the militiaman.
“If what you’re telling me is true, I suspect they were looking for intel.”
“We spotted three on the road back there…how many did you say you saw?”
Mac frowned. “A whole passel of ‘em—at least a dozen, but only four were dropped off down the road. One of them’s packin’ a long gun,” Mac reported. “Walks like a sniper.”
“Son of a bitch,” the militia leader said. He leaned carefully around Mac and peered down the ravine. “Sure as shit, there they are…cocky murdering bastards.” He turned and flashed a hand sign to his waiting men, confirming that there were four targets on the road below.
“I sure hope you’re not trying to start something…”
“Mr. MacKinnon, were not starting anything, but I damn well intend to finish something. These fuckers killed Cedar without provocation…if they attacked him, then the other outposts that have gone off-line probably met the same fate. We’ve got to take them out now—while we have the advantage.”
“Well, that’s your prerogative,” said Mac, “but I’d advise against going in with guns blazing. If you look closely, you’ll see the one on the left is carrying a radio.”
The militiaman nodded. “I hate to ask this, since I don’t know anything about you, but we could use every man we can get.”
Mac shook his head. “Sorry, son, I don’t even know your name. I’m not looking to get involved in any fighting. I got problems of my own.”
“Fair enough.” The man took his right hand from his weapon and extended it toward Mac. “The names Ian Parson, by the way. And I appreciate the heads up. If you won’t join us, can you at least give me a lay of the land? What’s the best approach to ambush these assholes?”
Mac sighed, then took another look around the tree trunk and watched the agents for a moment. “The ravine angles down to the left and intersects the road about 50 yards yonder,” Mac said, pointing to their right. “That’s west. You get a couple of your boys down there at the end of the ravine and wait by the edge of the road, then put the rest up on the crest…”
“We’ll draw their fire up the hill.”
Mac nodded. “Have the other men take out that guy with the radio first. It’ll be messy, and probably loud—you might get the attention of the others out there, but you should be able to take these ones no problem.”
“Much obliged, sir. You sure you don’t want to get a little revenge?”
Mac snorted. “Son, in my experience, revenge doesn’t do you a damn bit of good if you can’t get rid of the threat once and for all.” He looked around the tree at the four fake agents, directly downhill. A laugh echoed up the ravine. “This is more like kicking a wasp nest.”
“We can’t let them get away with murdering Cedar!”
“If you take those four out right now—and I have every confidence you can and will—what do you think will happen?” He continued before Parsons could respond. “They’ll come back with the guys in that truck I saw and hunt you down—you have more men now, but when the others show up, you’ll be outnumbered and out-gunned…just like these four are.”
“We can’t let them get away with this—they’re hitting our people all across the northern half of the state. Command thinks they’re linking up with like-minded militias between the state line and Lansing. If we don’t stop this right here, right now, it may be too late to save the state before long.”
Mac mulled that over for a moment. “It hasn’t even been two weeks since the solar flare—”
“Coronal mass ejection.”
Mac glared at the younger man. “You ex-military?”
Parsons nodded.
Mac raised an eyebrow. “Officer?”
“I was a lieutenant in the—”
Mac grunted. “Thought so. Listen up: I don’t care how well organized this Grover County Militia that you keep talking about is, and I don’t care how many men they have. What I witnessed was more of an assassination than a power grab. What did Vance do?”
“Well,” said the Parsons, “he was one the more vocal critics of the GCM. He’s been actively trying to get the feds to investigate them for years.”
“Oh, the irony,” Mac said, watching the four men dressed as FBI agents move past their position and continue west down the road.
“Cedar and a couple of the old guard have contacts with the legislature in Lansing. They’ve been working with the politicians to pass laws restricting the kinds of activities the GCM loves. It’s hurt their membership. On paper at least.”
Mac rubbed his temple. “And how did this rogue militia start?” He knew the answer from Vance but wanted to hear it confirmed by Parsons.
“Their leaders were kicked out of the Brigade and formed their own a few years ago. They were the troublemakers, the drunks, the ones always egging for a fight with Washington. They’re the ones the media loves.”
Man nodded. “So this is a long-simmering civil war with you people.”
Parsons leaned around the tree, watching the backs of the four men on the access road. “That’s not fair…”
“And I’m caught in the middle, and now you want me to pick sides,” growled Mac. “Why is this my problem? I’m just a simple landowner, trying to survive after the sun bitch slapped us.”
“Mr. MacKinnon, if those guys get their way, none of us will survive. Rumor has it they took over Grover Creek, down near the Indiana border. Just walked in, shot the place up, and took over.”
“What about the police? The elected government?”
“Most of the political types just stayed home and hid, looking out for their own families. I heard the police force only had a few cops—that’s no good against these guys. They train and drill for shit like this all the time. More’n one of them have illegal hardware, too—I’m sure of it. I’m talking full-auto and silencers, the works.”
“For natural disasters that bring about the fall of civilization?” asked Mac.
“No,” said the militiaman, “for taking power.”