"The New World Order" (Primary IC Thread)

"The New World Order"

(Primary IC Thread)

PLEASE NOTE:​

4 March 2020
1730 hrs
Three Miles West of Ravenswood, Minnesota

Henry "Hank" Williams exited the Humvee with his M4 at the ready, watching his men curl out in flanking positions around the mass of abandoned vehicles blocking the country highway. After a short moment, the All Clear was called out from both ends of the barricade, and Williams -- signaling a nearby man for a pair of field glasses -- strode forward and struck a position over the hood of a burned out Dodge.

The two lane highway they'd been following for over two hundred miles continued ahead of them for three more before disappearing into a wall of Oak trees.

"Travis, tell me about this Ravenswood again," Williams called out, eyes still pressed to the binoculars. "Strategic stuff. Leave out the rah rah good-to-be-home bullshit."

The relatively younger military contractor a few yards behind the Unit Commander chuckled lightly before beginning his report. The town on the far side of that grove of trees -- which lined a major river they couldn't yet see from here -- had in fact been Walter Wally Travis's childhood home; and it was his familiarity with it that had brought the homeless contractors here in the first place.

"Population was 500 before Bomb Day," he began. "Don't know what it might be now, what with refugees coming to Ravenswood at the same time that some residents are flee--"

"Go on," Williams growled impatiently.

"Yes, sir. The island sits between the Greer River on this side and The Ravenswood Slough on the other. It's about a mile and a half long, half a mile wide at its widest. It -- the island, I mean -- sits on solid bedrock that rises out of the river, so there's cliffs all around ... pretty much sheer, 20 feet to as much as 40 in some places."

"So getting onto the island means...?"

"Two bridges, sir." Travis stepped up and pointed over William's shoulder to the wall of green. "One just beyond those trees ... the highway ... pretty much looks like the two lanes we're standing on now."

"And the other?"

"Used to be a railroad bridge. Rails've been removed and what they call a linear park put in ... walkway, bike path ... connects the Slough Overlook Park to River Road on the mainland."

Travis and his friends had grown up calling the County lands beyond the island's bridges The Mainland. Sometimes the lack of recreational and employment possibilities for them out in the Counties made them feel as if Ravenswood sat out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean someplace, rather than in Northern Minnesota near the Manitoba, Canada, border.

"Defense?" William continued questioning.

"Sheriff Sub-station located at City Hall," Travis continued, "but only one cop-- Deputy, I mean. We got some Grunts and Weekend Warriors, but most of them were probably pulled away after Bomb Day to ... to do whatever, wherever."

When the younger man didn't continue, Williams turned and eyed him with a raised eyebrow. "You ever heard of the Second Amendment?"

Travis's face showed his confusion.

"There're more guns in my hometown than there are people, Rookie," William clarified, turning back to look down the road.

"Sorry, sir," Travis said, understanding the question now. "Yeah-- yes ... Ravenswood's got guns. Lots of duck and goose hunters round here, so mostly shotguns. Not many rifles, though ... there are some."

"Gun store?"

"Peterson's Hardware."

"Gun range?"

"The Moose Lodge has a range at the south end of town, but ... they don't keep guns there. BYOF."

When Williams shot Travis another hard look, the younger man clarified, "Bring your own firearm."

Williams, again with his eyes pressed to the field glasses, called out "Palmer!"

"No sir," the man with the .50 caliber sniper rifle atop the tallest abandoned vehicle called back. "Not a soul in sight."

"Well, they're either not too concerned about visitors," Williams said, turning and heading back for his vehicle, "or ... they'd got half of the townsfolk hiding behind that tree line, waiting for us.

10:05pm
Ravenswood, Minnesota
Mayor Martin Parker's Home

Martin Parker was reading by candle light when Bear began raising a ruckus. He set the book aside -- a manual on innovative hydroelectric concepts that he hoped would return electricity to the now powerless town -- and listened carefully to his neighbor's Labrador.

After 12 years of the old dog waking him up at the scent of an opossum or raccoon waddling through the neighborhood, Martin had gotten pretty good at determining whether Bear's alarm was worthy of his own concern.

There was something odd about the Lab's barking this time: his location at the front and apparent lack of movement -- as there would be with a quickly moving critter -- made Martin wonder whether the neighborhood's new Looter was out and about again.

Martin stood, snatched up his ancient double barreled shot gun, and headed unhurriedly for the front door. He switched on the porch light out of habit, then hesitated to chastise himself when the porch remained black.

More than three weeks ago, the power coming onto the island via a high tension, high voltage power line had suddenly ceased to exist. The cold and short day month of March wasn't the time of year that you wanted to find yourself without electric heat and outdoor lighting, particularly when even earlier in the month of February, the natural gas had been cut off as well.

Luckily, many of the residents in Ravenswood had coal or wood heat as a back up. And most of those residents who hadn't had that back up had been put up with family, friends, or neighbors who did. There were a few families who'd decided to leave Ravenswood for warmer climes, but their number had been dwarfed by the number of residents fleeing for other reasons.

As he located a flashlight and returned for the door to go put any potential trespasser to task, Martin considered his town's reduced population. At the beginning of the year, Ravenswood had numbered 520 men, women, and children. Today, the island town's population was down to 300, give or take, and some of them were, in a sense, refugees who had come here from parts afar for one reason or another.

As he threw the door open, ready to surge out and holler into the night -- more eager to scare off a troublemaker than actually confront one -- Martin's heart leaped in his chest at the sight of an assault weapon pointing at his face.

"Back inside!" the man before him order. "Weapon on the ground! Now!"

As he backed into the house, Martin's first reaction was to drop the shotgun and announce, "It's not loaded!"

In a flash, Martin found himself spun around and turned toward the wall by yet another man who seemed to come out of nowhere. Suddenly, there were men -- apparently soldiers by their garb and weapons -- rushing all about his home as the man behind him frisked him roughly.

"He's clean," a Blackcat announced, holding up the cracked upon double barrel to show his Commander that it had indeed been empty.

"Who are you guys?" Martin asked, his voice filled with fear. "What do you want?"

"Travis!" a man called out.

A moment later, one of the contractors turned Martin to face the room -- and one of his former students.

"Wally...?"

Travis smiled as best he could as he stepped forward, stripped the glove from his right hand, and offered it out to the former Chemistry teacher. "Hi, Mister Parker."

After a moment, Martin took the young man's hand. "What's going on...? Where'd you come from?"

Before Travis could answer, Martin pulled the young man into his body and slapped an arm around him. "Oh my god, Wally! We ... the whole town ... we just assumed that you were ... you know--"

"Dead...?" Travis asked as the taller, huskier man grasped both of his shoulders in his big hands and simply stared at him with surprise. "Alive and well, sir ... because of the Blackcats."

"The what...?"

Travis pulled back a bit, then looked left and right to the other men, who by now had either taken up stations at windows and doors or were standing behind Travis watching the reunion.

"The Blackcats," Travis explained. "It's our unit designation--"

"Mayor, I'm Unit Commander Henry Williams," came a voice to the side. When Martin looked to the voice, he found the man who'd shoved an M4 into his face earlier. Williams offered his own hand, and after the Mayor hesitantly took it, he continued with a well practiced lie, "We're from Atlantis Protective Services. We're under contract with the State of Minnesota to secure this town and protect its citizenry from what ever dangers it may face until the Governor can send in the National Guard."

"The Governor...? The National Guard?" Martin responded with obvious surprise. "We heard that the Capital had fallen ... that the Governor was dead. Some, separatist group from west of St. Paul ... burned the Capitol building."

"They did burn the Capitol building, sir," Williams went on spinning his tale. "But the Governor is alive and well and working from a confidential, secure location to reconstitute the great state of Minnesota."

Travis inconspicuously took a step away and turned as if he had something to do. He had never been able to lie to the man or keep a secret from him, and he was afraid now that his expression would tell his former teacher that his current teacher was slinging a steaming pile of bullshit his direction.

"In the meantime, however," Williams continued, turning Martin toward what he assumed was the door to his bedroom, "we need to secure this town, and we need your help to do it. Sir, if you could don some warm clothes and accompany us."

"Where're we going?" Martin asked.

"City Hall, first," Williams said, snatching up a heavy coat and handing it to the Mayor. "We've already made contact with the Sheriff--"

More accurately, the Advance Team -- 10 men in all -- had invaded the Deputy's home much as they had this one. But when the professional lawman had done a much better job at defending himself, the team had had to take him down hard before getting the chance to tell him this same tale.

William's had had suspicions as to whether the Deputy believed him, though. Unlike the situation with the Mayor, which was going to resolved itself with the Blackcats simply escorting the man downtown, the contractors had had to bind and gag the Deputy and sneak him through the dark to his own little cell down at City Hall.

"--but I think he'll need to hear directly from you, Mayor," the Unit Commander continued with a firm though friendly tone, "that we are going to be allowed to do what's necessary to secure Ravenswood and make it safe for all of your citizens."

"Of course," Martin said, dropping into a chair to don some warmer boots than he was already wearing. Once he was bundled against the weather, a though occurred to him. He asked Williams, "What ... what exactly are you going to do ... you know, to make Ravenswood safe?"

Williams smiled politely to Martin, turned him for the door, and said, "Let's take this one step at a time, shall we, Mayor?"

5 March 2020
0245 hrs
Ravenswood City Hall:

APS Unit Commander Henry Williams stood over a Ravenswood Public Works Department map -- the most accurate depiction available of the small town -- as his men described the inroads they'd made over the past few hours.

All across town, pairs of Blackcats were now inside and guarding the hardware store, the Feed & Seed, the gas station, the mercantile, the grocery, and the convenience store, and more. Each had an importance place in the community and would be important to the Blackcats mission of controlling Ravenswood.

In addition, they'd blocked access to the island by anyone not currently on it. To the west, beyond the larger of the two bridges, they'd parked the town's only school bus across the road, then turned it onto its side with a fork lift borrowed from the Feed & Seed. They repeated this blockade on the east side after very carefully driving a box truck down the skinny pedestrian bridge.

Neither of the obstructions would keep out someone who seriously wanted onto the island, but then the Blackcats had a more permanent solution in mind for that.

"What do you mean you're going to blow up the bridge?" Mayor Martin Parker asked in panic when he began to understand the plans that the contractors were discussing in hushed voices. "Why would you blow up the bridges?"

"Bridge ... singular," Williams corrected. "Not bridges."

"Which bridge...? And why?"

Williams looked to Travis for help, then returned to his discussion with his men.

The younger contractor and Ravenswood High alumnus went to his former teacher and turned him away from the planning session. "Sir, we have to restrict access to Ravenswood. People out there are going to want to come here for ... not good reasons. Pillaging, for example."

He gestured the Mayor to a chair near the hallway that led down to the single cell, which now not only held the Sheriff Deputy but Mister Peterson as well. The man had been inside the Hardware store doing inventory, unbeknownst to the Blackcats who let themselves in by breaking through a side door. Before the contractors had been able to explain who they were, the paranoid store owner had started shooting. Even after they'd subdued him with a flash bang grenade, he'd continued to fight with a fury that belied his 66 years of age.

"You said it yourself," Travis continued, sitting next to Martin. "Ravenswood is still in pretty good shape. You still have food ... fuel ... medicines. No one's starving to death or dying of disease."

"Yes, so ... why blow the bridges?"

"Because if we don't, people will start starving to death," Travis said bluntly, "and will start dying of disease. Right now, you have about 300 mouths to feed--"

"And we are feeding them!"

"And how long will you be able to continue feeding those 300 mouths if suddenly another 300 refugees from the Mainland suddenly surge across that bridge?"

Growing up, Wally Travis and his friends had always called the land beyond the river island The Mainland, as if there were hundreds of miles of ocean between Ravenswood and the Counties as opposed to the hundreds of feet of river that were actually there, spanned -- of course -- by two bridges.

His generation had just been entering the work place when the Great Recession struck in the Mid-Oughts, robbing them of any chance to strike out into the bigger world for well paying jobs. Half of Travis's friends and school mates were still here in Ravenswood, working part time, minimum wage jobs or sponging off their barely surviving parents; while most of the rest had had to join the military simply to find work.

He'd gotten lucky after his six years in the Army, landing a job with Atlantis Protection Services. He'd only been with them six months before Bomb Day, so they still called him the Rookie or Newbie or some even more derogatory terms. But he was thankful to be a Blackcat. And he was thankful to be back home in Ravenswood. And he was going to be damned if the mayhem that was out there beyond those bridges came to visit his little home town.

"We have to keep trouble out of Ravenswood, Mayor Parker," he said. "We have to protect those who lives here ... and what we have ... and the only way to do that is--"

"Blow the bridge," Martin murmured, staring at his trembling hands. After a moment, he looked Travis in the eyes and asked, "How will the National Guard gain access to the town if we blow the bridge?"

Travis looked away for a moment, fearing that he would blow this and cause Commander William's plan to blow up even before it began to take shape. He cleared his throat, then said convincingly, "Helicopter, sir. They'll use choppers to deliver supplies. Drop'em right in Memorial Park, I bet ... next to that statue of Colonel Deerdon that--"

"That you put a pink thong and bra on that one Halloween...?" Martin asked, smiling, then chuckling. When Travis joined in the humor, the former teacher said, "You didn't think I knew that was you, did you?"

Travis laughed loudly, his face flooding with a deep blush. "Do you know where we got'em from?"

Now it was Martin's turn to laugh hysterically. "Old lady Cramer! She's the only woman that big in all of Ravenswood, so ... they had to be hers--"

"Stole'em right off her clothesline!"

The two laughed together for a long moment, until Travis looked up to find his Commander gesturing him over. When he arrived, Williams told him, "We're getting reports that some of the residents are out on the street, looking for answers to the activity in their quiet little 'burg."

He looked out the window toward the Sheriff's Department cruiser sitting at the curb, then offered out a set of keys to Travis. "You told me once that you wanted to be a police officer when you were a kid, right?"

5 March 2020
6am
Ravenswood:

Scott Hammerstein's nickname was, for obvious reasons, The Hammer. But between the hours of 10 and 5, it might as well have been The Rock: the 28 year old worked hard and played hard, and when he laid his head on his pillow each night at 10pm, he was as dead to the world as one of the bedrock stones that had broken off the cliff at Memorial Park; and he neither woke nore stirred until the cacophony of not one, not two, but three alarms sitting just a foot away atop his headboard sounded at 5am.

This morning was no different, except that once he'd slung his feet out to the cold floor of his camp trailer and shut down the alarms one after another, the usual silence of the trailer park was replaced by the slowly growing sound of a man's voice over a scratchy, low quality speaker system.

Shivering from the cold that had caused the moisture from his breathing to condense on the inside of the tiny trailer's windows, he struggled into his several layers of clothes and his warmest, foul weather boots. By the time he was ready to step outside, the man's voice -- obviously coming from a car-mounted PA system -- was clear enough for him to comprehend.

"Citizens of Ravenswood ... there will be a curfew in place until 9am this morning. All citizens are to remain in their homes until 9am, at which time they are to proceed directly to City Hall for a mandatory community meeting. No citizen of Ravenswood is to carry a firearm or weapon of any type until otherwise directed by Mayor Parker or Deputy Sheriff Harding."

Scott stepped out of his trailer onto the fake plastic grass mat that was his lawn. The frost of the below freezing morning crunched below his boots. He looked down the street and caught sight of the Sheriff's Department cruiser moving slowly down the street with its red and blue strobes lighting up the pre-dawn morning.

"Citizens of Ravenswood..." the message began again, this time with some slight alterations, telling Scott that it was being spoken live and not as a recording. There was something about that voice, Scott began to realize. It was the Deputy, he knew. And it wasn't anyone in town that...

The cruiser began to make the slow curve on which the trailer park sat. The man behind the wheel stopped speaking in mid-sentence and braked to a stop. He illuminated the driver's side spot light, and spun it to blind Scott, who grimaced and raised his hand to shield his eyes while still trying to see what was going on.

"Scott Hammerstein, please return to your home..." the man in the cruiser spoke over the PA. After a short pause, the spot light went dark, followed by Walter Travis speaking out of the now opened driver's side window. "...or I'll have to have sex with your sister again."

"Sir!" a second voice spoke from nearby, even as Scott's eyes were still adjusting to the returning darkness. "You need to go back into your--"

"I got this, Porter," Travis called, opening the door to the cruiser. Travis was illuminated by the cruiser's interior light, and after a moment he could see in Scott's expression that he'd been recognized. "Hey buddy."

"Wally...?" Scott said, laughing with joy as he moved forward. "Wally!"

The second Blackcat -- one of four men who'd been walking with the cruiser in case there was trouble -- began to step out in front of Scott. Travis interjected again, saying, "He's a friend of mine. It's okay. Does someone want to...?"

He looked back to the idling car, then to one of his teammates. "C'mon, I've been doing this for almost three hours."

One of the other men took Travis's place in the car and pulled away, speaking his own version of the curfew message.

"I should stay with you," one of the pedestrian Blackcats told his rookie teammate.

"I'm okay, thanks," Travis said, looking to Scott. "I stole the virginity of this man's sister--"

"And my cousin!" Scott interjected.

"Bullshit!" Travis laughed. "She was no virgin!"

The newest of the contractors looked to his teammate. "Trust me. If this man had ever thought of harming me, I'd be dead already."

The second Blackcat, studied the pair for a moment, then turned and joined the slow moving car.

Travis and Scott studied one another for a long moment, smiles gracing their faces. They broke into the Q&A that you would have expected from two friends who hadn't seen one another for a long time, then spoke of what each of them had been doing since Bomb Day.

"Military contractor, huh?" Scott asked. "Last I heard, you were Army."

He listened to Travis's explanations about the Army, APS, the hospital near the border, and the past few days of traveling to get to Ravenswood.

"What about you, Hammer?" Travis asked. "What have you been doing since ... you know ... since it happened."

"Anything I can do, basically," Scott said, the apprehension obvious in his voice. "Everything's changed. The factory in Lewisburg closed. They made parts for computer monitors, so ... wasn't any reason for that anymore. In fact, everything's pretty much closed down. If it isn't about growing food, producing energy, or protecting yourself from the fucking looters and murderers, it isn't done anymore."

"I understand that," Travis said.

And he did, of course. Then the Blackcats were assigned to protect the hospital near the border, they'd gone there to guard the building against looters and murderers. In the end, before they were run out of town, the Blackcats had essentially become looters and murderers themselves.

"Right now," Scott continued, "I'm just going over the bridge every day to cut fire wood. Someone cut off the power and gas, so ... and the coal's just about gone. We've been burning abandoned buildings ... tearing them down and rationing the wood to homes with fireplaces."

"Sounds rough," Travis said. "What about food? The Mayor says--"

"Oh god!" Scott laughed. "Did you see Old Man Parker?"

Travis laughed as well, and without even hesitating, the two jumped into their remembrances of their high school years under the Chemistry teacher's stare.

Scott finally returned to Travis's question. "We're eating ... but no one's getting fat. Hunting seasons don't mean anything anymore, so were still fishing and shooting bird. But even that is getting lean. Biggest fear is we've had some people come into town recently ... I never thought I'd use the word refugees in America, but..."

"They're using up resources?" Travis asked. When Scott told him about how the Mayor and the City Council were tracking resources and instituting rules about trade and against price gouging, Travis informed his friend, "Well, you won't have to worry about anymore refugees after today."

"Why not?"

Travis didn't know if he was supposed to give too much detail about the plans to blow the west side bridge, so he only said, "We're closing the accesses. No one comes into Ravenswood without permission."

Even in the slight illumination of the moon, Travis could see Scott's eyes widen in shock. "No one?"

Scott turned and rushed back into the trailer, which squeaked under the weight of the 225 pound, former high school full back. When he emerged, he was wrapped in a thicker jacket and carrying a scoped rifle.

Out of habit, Travis raised his M4 -- not so much pointing it as preparing to do so -- and said, "Whoa, whoa, Hammer, whatcha doin?"

"I've got to get Ellie," he said, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and heading for the small 175cc motorcycle standing nearby. "She lives on the mainland--"

"Ellie Davis?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Scott kicked at the bike's starter, but no fire.

"You're dating Ellie the Great White Davis?" Travis said, laughing.

Scott shot him a dirty look as he continued to kick at the bike's starter peg to no avail. "She's changed, Wally. She's ... she's just different."

"You can't go to her like this," Travis said, stepping closer to his friend. When Scott demanded that he do this, his former classmate said, "They'll shoot you down, Hammer."

The bike finally caught fire, but Scott remained in place, staring at his friend. "What...? Who will?"

"The Blackcats. My team. If you go racing off through the city on this thing, they'll deem you a potential threat ... and they'll stop you."

Scott looked off into the darkness, then flipped the start switch to off to silence the bike. He said with an accusing tone, "I was under the impression that you guys were here to help us ... not shoot us down in the street while we were trying to protect the ones we love."

"We are, Hammer, but..." Travis searched for the words. "You have to understand what it's like out there--"

"I know what it's like out there, Wally. I've been out there--"

"No! You haven't!" Travis cut in, his tone firm and harsh. He drew a breath, held it, then released it as the memories of that dead little girl, laying in the street covered in blood, flashed back into his head. He said softer, "No, Scott. You haven't been out there. Not like I have."

Scott studied his friend for a moment, finally asking, "What happened to you out there, Wally?"

Travis didn't answer, instead moving closer to his friend and laying a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me. I'll talk to my Unit Commander about escorting you out to The Great-- Out to Ellie's home. We'll get her ... and anyone else considered a citizen of Ravenswood ... before we close the roads."

Scott considered the offer for a moment, then lowered the kick stand and stood. He offered a hand, saying, "I'm trusting you, Wally."

The two headed off toward City Hall, even as the PA system was continuing to belch out its message several streets away.