Here is chapter twelve.  I hope you all had a great weekend and that the coming week treats you well.

CHAPTER   TWELVE

 “Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist.”

 Ralph Waldo Emerson

Barb and Jean heard the explosion from the Lang’s house.  Thinking someone might need help, they ran towards the black cloud of smoke rising up a few blocks away.  Upon their arrival they were shocked to discover Gary, Monk and Cliffson being handcuffed and taken to jail.

At the station, the police finally allowed them to see their husbands.  “I’m all right,” Gary told Barb through the bars of the jail cell, but Cliffson’s sure had a rough couple days.

“Cliffson, what happened?” Jean had that look.

“Nothing.  I’d rather not talk about it right now.”

“What?”

Gary leaned into the cell bars and spoke gently.  “Jean, he’s been roughed up and shot at twice in the last twenty four hours.  Let him go home and unwind a bit first.”

Just then the jailer came in and told them they were free to go, but Monk was being held on potential murder charges for the deaths of the two men stealing the truck.  The group stopped by Monk’s cell on the way out to encourage him and said they’d do all they could to get him released.

“Hang in there Monk.” Cliffson reached through the bars to squeeze Monk’s shoulder.

“I told ‘em I was only trying to shoot out the tires and that I don’t shoot so good with just one eye.”  Monk winked and it left Cliffson wondering if he really had intended to hit the propane tanks.

“Don’t worry about me,” Monk said.  “I’ll be outta here in no time. Keep your powder dry, mate.”

On the drive home Cliffson barely said a word.  “Let’s get together in the next day or two,” Gary said.  “Get yourself healed up.

At home Cliffson immediately headed for the bathroom, saying he was going to soak in the tub.

“All right honey, I’ll bring you a glass of Hermead,” Jean said.

“You’re a sweetheart, babe.”

Jean returned to the bathroom with the glass of beer, sat down on the counter and asked him tell her what had happened.  Cliffson related the entire story and when he was done she was angry.

“What did you think you were doing flipping the guard all that crap?  I can understand you stopping to help the kid but you can’t treat the Chinese that way no matter how you feel.   Think about how vulnerable I’d feel if something happened to you?”

“I’m sorry,” he admitted.  “It’s just my natural disdain for authority.  I didn’t conform to the last society and I’m not conforming to this one.  Couple that with holding me up for our gold, and I got angry.

“You need to adapt Cliffson; it’s the only way we’ll survive.”

He slid down lower in the tub. “Point taken.”

The next day Cliffson was stiff, sore and a little embarrassed.  I’ve got to be smarter about things, he thought.  I can’t be going off half-cocked.

“Jean, I’m going for a walk.”

“All right, I’ll go with you.”

“No, I want some time alone.  Don’t worry, I won’t be long.”

He headed south to Maple Street and turned east towards the church and the old farmhouse.  The air was fresh and crisp, just the way he liked it.  The sun only smoldered, but was enough to warm him.  Approaching the farmhouse, he could see the scorched soil and pavement where the truck exploded, but outside of some broken windows, the old house seemed to have avoided further damage.

Cliffson realized he hadn’t:  the things they’d done to that kid, the Chinese pilfering the nation and the bombing of the capital.  He struggled to process it all, still, he had to move forward and figure out how to protect his family and survive.

After crossing the intersection and walking a block to the north, he stopped momentarily in front of the massive new church.  Its powerful arches and gigantic steeple with the cross on top towered over the surroundings.   Seems like they could have helped a lot of people with all that money, he thought.  It’s only a building; couldn’t they meet in a little more humble setting?  Ah, what did it matter?  Was there really a God anyway and if so why did he allow all these terrible things to happen to people.  I’d help people if I had that kind of power.  Still, I’ll do what I can.  And with that thought in mind, he decided he’d better check in on the widow Smith.

Along the way he watched geese flying overhead in a lazy “V” formation and was reminded of all the ponds once scattered through the fields before the city grew and the developments overran them.

Those were the days—days of peace, days before his brother had died, days of hope for the future.  Death cheated people whether they were old and ready to go, like the widow Smith, or his brother who was in the prime of his life.  Death was right there to steal his brother away from his family, but left the weak and frail widow Smith to suffer alone year after year.

Approaching her little pink house he was feeling more refreshed; maybe it was the air, or maybe it was knowing how the widow Smith would love his company.

He knocked on the metal front door and a couple minutes later it was opened by a bent little wisp of a woman in a dark flowery dress.  Her eyes were alight under wiry gray curls and her smile beamed at the site of Cliffson.  Such warmth, he thought.  How does she do it?

“Oh my goodness, how are you Cliffson? It’s been ages.” She hugged him.  “Come in, come in please.”  Her high, nearly screechy voice always reminded him of his grandmother, Alsie.

The widow Smith was barely five feet tall and Cliffson always felt like such a giant around her.

“Rose, I’m good.  Just wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.”

“Well, things have gotten a little spooky, haven’t they?  But don’t you fear Cliffson, God is with us and will see us through.”

He was reminded of what he’d just been thinking, standing in front of the church.  “I’m sure that’s true Rose, but I wanted you to know Monk and I will be watching out for you all the same.  So whatever you need, please be sure and let us know.”

“See Cliffson, God’s already answered my prayers, and I thank you and Monk for your care and concern.  You two are such wonderful young men.  I knew the Lord would provide.  Now how about some nice peppermint tea?”

How could he resist.  “Of course, Rose. Do you have any honey?”

Cliffson was feeling better about things by the time he left Rose’s house.  She had a way of lifting him up that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  How strange, he thought, she was the one who was dependent and barely able to get around, totally at the mercy of whatever came her way, yet she didn’t seem all that concerned.

When he got home, he saw Gary’s car in the driveway, but got quite a surprise when he walked through the door and saw Monk leaning against the counter drinking a beer.

“Monk.” Cliffson shook his hand.  “Did Gary spring you or did you bribe a guard?”

“Neither matey, they let me go on good behavior.”  Everyone laughed.  “No charges were filed, but I had to agree not leave the county.  That wasn’t a problem.”

“Gosh that’s good news Monk, it makes my day.”


Over the next couple days, Jean and Cliffson planted corn and bean crops and worked to enlarge their garden.  Cool season crops of lettuce, spinach, peas and onions were already in the ground and doing well.  Jean’s garlic was nearly a foot tall.  The raspberries were putting up new shoots and Cliffson dug up some of them to give to Monk.  The fruit trees were in full bloom and filled with his honeybees.  It was encouraging to see they would have food to sell or trade, but what really excited him was the new life springing forth in every corner of his garden.

A week after the order was given to turn all gold and silver over to the Chinese, Monk visited the Langs to share some news.  His “ham” radio hobby was becoming quite the asset.

Monk found Cliffson and Gary out by the pump house.  “So how’s it comin’ fellas?  Those hand pumps really take me back.”

“I’ll bet they do.”  Gary winked and Cliffson chuckled.

“Careful there, girlies.  You aint exactly spring chickens yourselves.”  Monk quipped.

“We’re just taking inventory of what we’ll need,” Gary said.

“So what’s the latest news from the “hams” Monk?” Cliffson asked.

“Well, the word I’m getting is that a couple days after the Chinese nuked Washington, they began shutting down the power in all major cities along the east coast.  There’ve been reassurances the power will be coming back on, but it’s been five days and folks are getting restless.”

Monk rarely got excited, but he was definitely keyed up about sharing the next bit of news.  “I’m also hearing that in San Diego our own troops have made a coordinated attack on the Chinese and taken the city back.  And there are unconfirmed reports the military, in coordination with local militias, has been successful in taking back Dallas.”

“Finally, we’re fighting back,” Cliffson said.  “But why haven’t we heard more about it.”

“Chinese are controlling the news,” Monk said.  “In fact, they’re in control of everything; power grid, communications, refineries, rail lines, air traffic, all of it.  We only hear what they want us to hear.”

Gary whistled the sound of a falling bomb. “Remember the nuke threat?”

“I do, but apparently they haven’t used any, right Monk?” Cliffson asked.

“No word on that from the ham network, so I would say not.”

“Good.  Let’s go inside and finish up our list.”

Jean was turning on the TV when the three men walked in.

“Still got one of those old tube sets, Cliffson?  The ones that take forever to warm up.  You really should join the 21st century,”  Monk chided.

“Oh, you mean that period of time history will record when everyone was so self-absorbed with social-disease media there was no time for meaningful conversation or real relationships?  And no Monk, it might be old, but this ain’t no tube set.”

“Ha ha, well said, Cliffson.  You know we’re both on the same page.  Social disease media.”  Monk said, more to himself than anyone else.  “I like that one.”

Jean was flipping through the channels.  “There’s nothing on guys.  All the stations are off the air.”

“That’s a little spooky,”  Barb said.  “I wonder how long they’ve been off?”

“I’ll grab a radio.”  Cliffson raced out to the garage to find it.

Upon returning, he set the radio in the sun by the kitchen window and the sounds of the emergency alert system filled the room.  Knowing looks were exchanged as each of them acknowledged this couldn’t be good.  A few minutes later a Chinese announcer came on.

…Ladies and gentlemen, at 1:00 p.m. Pacific time you are directed to turn on your televisions for an important announcement.  It is very important you do not miss this message…

“That’s just a few minutes from now,”  Cliffson noted.  Then the message began to repeat.

Monk decided to hang around and Jean brought out sun tea while the group speculated about the upcoming announcement.

At 12:58 p.m. a test pattern came on the TV screen.

“That’s strange,”  Monk commented.  “Haven’t seen one of them since I was just a kid.”

Cliffson couldn’t resist.  “I’ll bet it takes you waaaaayyyy back huh Monk.”

Monk silently flipped him a single digit peace sign.

At exactly 1:00 p.m. the test pattern was removed and a Chinese official was seen taking the podium and adjusting the microphone.

“We are about to demonstrate we did not lie to you.  In three minutes you will witness the extermination of the two cities you call Dallas and San Diego.  We have aircraft at a safe distance ready to film the explosions.”

Cliffson moved to sit next to Jean.  The raw terror in the room was palpable.  He took Jeans hand and they watched together.  Barb sat next to Gary with her face in her hands.

“There are now two minutes until the blast and millions of people will die for their foolish actions.  Remember this warning if any of you would think of trying such foolishness again.  Next time we will destroy seven cities.

The room fell silent and shortly thereafter the announcer returned.  “There is now just one minute to say your goodbyes to your friends in Dallas and San Diego.”

An icy silence filled the room and Cliffson felt the grisly hand of death tighten its grip.  It was the longest minute of his life and at the end of it, San Diego was gone.  The cameras rolled on an angry mushroom cloud rising silently from what was once the city of San Diego.   Immediately the picture switched to Dallas where the scene was repeated.


For the Jeffersons the day had gone from bad to worse.  The destruction of San Diego and Dallas went beyond their comprehension.  The fact the Chinese were in control of the country was unimaginable, dreamlike, anything but real.

Now past midnight, Davis was not yet home and hadn’t called to leave any messages.  Calls to his cell phone went unanswered.  It wasn’t like him.  He was always good about keeping his parents in the loop.   Having not heard from him since he’d left for batting practice, Thomas decided to call the police.

“…but officer, he’s always let us know when he’s coming in late.”  Thomas complained.

“I’m sorry sir, but there is nothing we can do.  The Chinese are keeping us busy with their own plans.”

Thomas grew angry.  “Look, I’ve paid my taxes all these years and always supported you.  You have to help.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Thomas hung up.

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