Chapter 6
It was nearly 4 AM by the time Claire and the rest of her dad’s unwilling entourage made it to the cabin that belonged to Margaret's son, Jermaine. Claire had not been there in three years. It amazed her at how quickly that Huntington County had transitioned into more of a wooded area. Mill Creek had been long evacuated during the war and was only now being resettled. No longer considered a borough, Huntington County had become isolated and the large cabin was more or less off the grid.
The log house had not been occupied for a long time. Leaves covered the rooftop and the yard. Fallen limbs from aging trees covered the driveway. John and Claire had to get out of the car and clear the branches so that Margaret could park. It was a bit tidier inside the cabin but would need a thorough cleaning. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, dust particles were everywhere and it was cold and damp.
“It’s not the Taj Mahal, but I suppose it’ll do,” Bill said. “We’ll need to replace the air filters and do some tidying up.”
“There is some in the closet, down the hall to the left, I think,” Margaret said, exhausted from their ordeal. She went and stood in the center of the room. “So, this is the living room.” She gestured to the left. “There are two bedrooms down the hall, a closet, and a bathroom where y’all can shower. Over this way to the right, one guest room behind the kitchen area. The master bed is mine so y’all fight over who gets to sleep out here on the sofa.”
“Well, I’d like to think since Captain John Hemingway invited us to this party, he should oblige his guest and take the couch,” Bill remarked.
Margaret stumbled over to the couch and collapsed. “If y’all still hungry there’s probably some crackers in the pantry. There’s a store about twelve miles up the road. We can go pick up some groceries tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Claire said. “I’m good for now. Thanks for packing us some food for.”
“Well, I knew you hadn't eaten in a couple of days. I just didn’t know it was gonna’ be my last time cooking."
Claire's heart ached for the woman she had come to know as her guardian angel. Margaret had proven to be a friend through and through to her family, and this is how this was the thanks she got. In addition to watching her own family die, she had lost her restaurant. Claire could only shake her head.
“Marge, I’m so sorry you're involved in all of this,” she whispered. “I know you loved that diner.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Sugar. You won’t the one running around like Rambo.”
John rolled his eyes at Margaret. “I’m going to make sure we weren’t tailed,” he said. “Tex, where is that Siq I gave you?”
Bill removed the pistol from his waist and handed it to John. “You know paranoia is a symptom of sleep deprivation, right? We weren’t followed. No one in this town knows us or that we’re here.”
John ignored him and headed out the door.
“I'll take the guest room, I guess,” Bill said, removing his cowboy hat.
“Yo,” Claire called after him. “How’s your head, cowboy?”
“I feel like I just got kicked by a mule,” Bill remarked.
“Maybe I can re wrap-
“No, no, Dr. Hemingway,” Bill said, putting up a hand. “I can do it myself. Just give me that nifty kit of yours and I’ll be alright.”
Claire lifted her sweatshirt and unstrapped the turner kit from her waist and handed it to Bill. He nodded at her and told them goodnight.
Claire stood and looked around; her soul was flooded with nostalgia. She picked up one of Jermaine’s jerseys draped across the back of the couch and put it to her face. She knew that the scent of his cologne had long worn off, but sniffing the shirt would remind her of how it smelled. She often did this when she was away from him, and he had let her hold on to his jacket.
Margaret gave her a compassionate smile and her eyes began to fill. “I miss him, too, Sugar. You two made the cutest couple. Y’all had your issues, that’s for sure. But he loved himself some Claire."
Claire closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, her body racked with grief. “Mom,” she mumbled, tears streaming down her face. “First Aunt Vi, then Jermaine, now my mom.”
Margaret opened her arms and beckoned Claire. The young woman could see that she was exhausted. Her body was all but limp and her eyes were bloodshot. Still, she had summoned the strength to comfort her. Touched by her love, and the sense of abject sadness over losing her mother, Claire laid her head on Margaret’s chest and broke down.
She had done all she could do to keep it together. The very day Sasha is buried, she had to relive the nightmare of fighting for survival. Now here she was, on the run once again without a moment’s notice and without time to grieve.
“Why does everyone I love die, Marge?” Claire cried. “God, I miss my mom so much. My dad kicked down every door to find out what happened to her and we still know nothing."
“I know baby,” Margaret said, holding her tighter.
"I can’t take it anymore, Marge. Please don’t leave me.”
Margaret gently took Claire’s face in her hands. “I’m not going anywhere, Darlin.’ Do you hear me? We are all that we got, and as much as your dad gets on my nerves, I’m not losing another family to the Alliance.” She kissed Claire’s head and rubbed her back until she had fallen asleep.
***
Friday, January 16
The year 2034:
Mill Creek, WV
Over the next week and a half, the four got acclimated to their new surroundings. The first order of business was to dump Margaret’s CTS. John was certain that JKF had her license plate and was tracking the car. Not-to-mention, the bullet-riddled vehicle with no rear window and a dented bumper would draw major attention. It took a few hours of convincing from her friends, but Margaret finally gave up the sentimental gift, given to her by her late son.
John and Bill dropped her off at a junkyard & auto salvage in town and instructed her to purchase something practical that wouldn’t draw a lot of attention. While they discreetly got rid of the CTS, Margaret, outraged at the prices, made several attempts to negotiate the price down for a 2022 Ford Explorer.
"You’re going to charge me $9,052.00 for a twelve-year-old used car?” Margaret haggled. “This thing's all nicked up, the driver-side window doesn't work and it’s missin’ it's floor mats.”
The salesman, a middle-aged frail man, sporting blue overalls over top a black sweatshirt, spit on the ground and came around to Margaret’s side of the SUV.
“First off,” the fast-talking hillbilly began. “This “thing," ma’am is a classic. Ford Explores hold their value long after purchase. Secondly, vehicles are a more expensive commodity, and dare I say a luxury nowadays. You won’t find a vehicle this size and reputation any cheaper here in the north. Trust me, I checked.”
“But I only have $6,500,” Margaret protested.
“Hmm,” the salesman said. “I tell you what. I can’t sell it to you for that price. Plus, that’s a lot of vehicle for such a pretty lady.”
“Excuse me?"
The hillbilly snapped a finger and yelped with excitement. “But ma’am, I got something’ that’s gonna' tickle the feathered hairs under your chinny-chin-chin. It’s a douse. Come on, this way.”
He placed a palm on her back and guided her two rows over. They stopped at a light grey SUV and he made a flourish with his hands. “Woo-wee! Take a gander at this beauty; a 2020 Honda CR-V; chrome wheels, large console storage, perfect steering, and large cargo area. Now tell me the price doesn't just wanna’ make you cut loose and dance like ya’ steppin’ on pop rocks?”
Margaret sneered at him. “Dance like what?”
“Pop rocks! You know, those little white foam pieces that look like… Never-mind. Ma’am, this is the perfect car for a sweet delicate flower such as yourself.”
“Look here, Grease-monkey, I-
“Uh-oh, grease-monkey? Now see here, little lady. Ain’t no need for insults, Jack."
“My name ain't Jack,” Margaret said.
The hick gave her a muddled expression. “Huh? I never said your name was Jack."
Margaret rolled her eyes. This salesman was starting to piss her off. “Yes, you just did! You said that there was no need for insults, and then you… You know what? If you don’t like being called a grease-monkey, then you need to quit tryna’ take me for a ride. What you sellin’ I ain’t buying, you dig? Pun intended.”
“Ma’am, I ain’t taking you for a ride. I’m fittin’ to put you in a ride. You dig?”
“But that’s not the car I want," Margaret said, raising her voice. “It’s the wrong color and this Honda has only a 2.4-liter four-cylinder engine at 184-horsepower, compared to the Explorer’s turbocharged 2.3-cylinder at 300 hp.”
The salesman’s eyes widened. “What the… I mean I’d… How in the-
“Yeah, that’s right,” Margaret said. "I may not know cars like you, but I know what I like. I want to drive out of here in that Ford and you can make it happen.”
Just then, Margaret heard the sound of barking behind her. Out of nowhere, a chihuahua came charging at her, yapping and nipping at her feet. Margaret jumped out of the way and lost her balance. The hillbilly caught her before she toppled onto the pavement.
“Oh, my Lord,” she gasped, grabbing the car salesman by his shirt and hiding behind him “Get that thing away from me.”
“Who, Fairfax?” he laughed, patting the dog. “He’s not gonna’ hurt you. He just wants to say hi.”
“I don’t get care,” Margaret said, clutching her chest and panting. Her heart thumped and she shuffled and spun the salesmen in a circle, avoiding the dog’s attempt to sniff at her ankles. “I don’t like them things.”
Suddenly, the dog dashed under the man’s legs and licked Margaret’s ankle.
“Aaaah!” she screeched and backpedaled. "Go one now. Get away from me. I’m gonna’ kick this dog’s head off if you don’t get him.”
“Okay, okay,” the country boy waved her off. “Dolly!” he yelled. “Getcha pampered keister out here and get this dog.” He lightly planted his foot under the chihuahua’s belly and slid him away. “Go on, Fairfax. Git now.”
The dog protested and barked at its owner.
“What I tell you, dog?” The hillbilly said, raising his backhand. The dog darted away but still held its ground. “Git now! Dolleeeeeeeeey! You hear me calling you, woman? You’re worse than your mammy.”
“Really?” Margaret said. “Her name is Dolly?"
While she was speaking, a middle-aged Caucasian woman dressed in an oversized West VA State UN sweatshirt and tight blue jeans briskly walked up, clearly peeved.
“What the heck are you screaming about now, Dale?” the woman barked, twisting the last of some pink hair rollers in her hair. “I swear I can’t get no me-time for nothin’ round here.”
“Don’t be hollerin’ at me bout no cotton-pickin’ me-time,” Dale fired back, matching her tone. "You do some work for once, then maybe I can get some me-time. And I done told you about letting Fairfax around my customers.”
The woman, apparently unaware of Margaret’s presence smiled pleasantly when she saw her.
“Ooh,” she said. “Dale, you didn’t tell me we had company.”
“She’s not company,” the old man grunted. “She’s a customer."
“Hello,” the woman said, shuffling over to her, careful not to trip over her open-toed flip-flops.
“You’re Dolly?” Margaret said, stifling a grin. The stereotypical definition of trailer trash stood right before her.
“In the flesh,” the moderately attractive blond smiled, stretching out a dainty hand. “Like Dolly Parton, but without the money and fame.” She elegantly put a hand on her chest and laughed, seemingly enjoying the joke a little too much.
Margaret arched an eyebrow and looked the woman up and down. “Um-hm,” she said, shaking her hand. She found it remarkable how Dolly’s tone had magically transformed from one that sounded as if they belonged in a trailer park to a sweet southernly charm.
“You know?” the woman said. “You remind me of that fabulous looking-
“Dolly, Dolly, Dolly,” Dale said. “Ain’t there a mirror somewhere with your name on it? I’m tryin’ to conduct business here.”
“He’s a rude old bastard, ain’t he?” Margaret said louder than she intended.
Dolly rolled her eyes at Dale and then turned back to Margaret. “I don’t pay that man no mind. He talks a good game but he knows that this place would fall apart without me.” Dolly adjusted her halter top and patted her curls. “I’m the eye-candy. I attract the business and he brings home the bacon. Ain’t that right, stud-muffin.”
Dale’s sour expression turned to a grin. “Girl, you know I love it when you call me stud-muffin.”
“Is that so, daddy?” Dolly cooed.
Margaret’s mouth dropped open.
“I sure do, baby. Come on. Say it again.”
Dolly slightly bent at the knees, pursed her lips, and lightly laid a hand on her chest. “Hello there, stud-muffin,” she purred.
“Oooowwweee!” Dale whooped. “Get over here, girl, and give daddy some sugar."
“Try and stop me, honey,” Dolly said and scuffled over to him, her sandals scraping across the pavement. Dale took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. He lifted her in his arms and leaned her against one of the cars. Dolly wrapped her arms around his neck and she moaned with pleasure as they kissed.
“Hey now,” Margaret said, covering her eyes. "Uh-uh. You know what? This here is just too rated-X for me. I think I’ll just come back some other time. Y’all go ahead and continue with whatever this is.”
She turned to leave, but Dale dropped Dolly and skipped over to her. “Hold on, sugar-plumb,” he said, taking her by the arm. “What about the SUV?”
“Honkey, if you don’t get your nasty hands off me, you better.”
Dolly pulled Dale away and jumped in front of him. “Ma’am this is all my fault. I am so sorry. Dale is a hound-dog and he can’t stay focused around me. And I mean, well… Look at me. Can you blame him?”
Margaret rolled her eyes and bit her tongue.
“I’m gonna’ get Fairfax and get out y’all way. What kind of vehicle were you lookin’ for?”
Margaret stared sharply at Dale. “Well, I had my eyes on that Explorer, but yo’ hound-dog is price-gouging me.”
“Price-gouging?” Dale disputed. “The 2020 Explorer is a limited edition vehicle.”
Dolly squinted her eyes at the SUV. “You mean that old beat-up thing sitting over there? How much did you want for it?"
“Now, Baby?” Dale told her. “Selling cars is my gig.”
“How much?” Dolly repeated, ignoring him.
“I told him $6,500.00.”
Dolly put her hand on her chin and took another look at the Jeep. “Well, it is a classic. And it’s not as if we have many of those lying around.”
"Why don’t I add another five to it, make it seven grand even?”
"Absolutely not,” Dale said.
Dolly put her hands on her hips and smiled effervescently. “Sold!” she said.
“Woman, are you high on something?” Dale cried.
“Oh, come on pudding’ cup,” Dolly said. “I like her. Plus, you need that money so you can get that mole removed.”
“Come again?” Margaret said. “What you got on, Pops?”
Dale shushed Dolly, lightly shoved her aside, and forced a sheepish laugh.
“She don’t know what she’s talking about,” he said sheepishly. “She drinks, you know?”
“Dale,” Dolly thundered.
The old man jumped and attempted a couple of pet names, but Dolly turned and walked away.
“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you?” Margaret grinned.
“What about you?” Dale replied. $7,000.00? I thought you only had $6,500.”
Margaret stretched her eyes at him and rolled her neck.
“You’re not the only one who can give rides, grease-monkey.”
***
The next phase was to make the cabin hospitable as possible. Claire supervised the cleanup and insisted that everyone participated. She and Margaret took to cleaning the cobwebs off the ceiling, dusting, and sanitizing the bathroom and kitchen. Bill changed the air filters and replaced the nozzle on the showerhead. He even put his HVAC and trade school plumbing skills to use and repaired the furnace, and rigged the toilet to flush. It was only a short-term solution until he could acquire some income to buy the right parts.
John spent time securing the place and creating exit strategies in case they needed to make a quick escape. He also chopped wood for the furnace and used an old shotgun that belonged to Jermaine to hunt deer meet. The Navy Vet was glad they were twelve miles from town and only the creatures in the woods could hear the shots. Margaret would then salt the meat and put the uneaten portions in the freezer.
Claire would never reveal this to him, but she constantly worried about him. Sasha’s disappearance had taken its toll on him. Even in her induced state of drunkenness and depression, Claire could see that the fire that once burned in his eyes had been doused by despair. But even then, he had shown a fortitude she never knew he had while searching for her.
But since coming to the cabin, John appeared to be on autopilot. Every so often he would reach out to Claire for human contact, but his constant state of survival made him distant. At times, he seemed lost and unsure of what to do. He threw himself into his chores and most of the time wanted to be alone.
Claire and Margaret went to the store to purchase some much-needed items. Claire had always hated shopping. Before the collapse of the U.S. government, Sasha would drag her from grocery store to outlet to farmer's markets, making it an all-day affair. Claire treasured spending time with her mother, even as a teen, but all she really wanted to do was get home and think about boys.
But Claire now longed for those days again. Not only did she think about her mother every time she went to the store, but this new system of shopping brought out the worst in her. The war had caused the stock market to crash, sending consumer goods prices soaring to heights never recorded. Unable to keep up with the rising cost of supply and demand, thousands of factories, plantations, fresh markets, distribution and shipping, retail, and catering businesses went bankrupt.
The shortage of goods forced stores to ration their supplies to their customers. The tasty foods and snacks Claire loved were hard to find. What she would give for a hot cheesy pizza, chicken fajitas, beer, rice crispy treats, Tootsie Rolls, and Twizzlers. She loved the cherry and strawberry flavored licorice candy and yelped with excitement on the rare occasion she discovered an outdated pack on the back of a barren shelf.
There was one nagging yearning, however, that she abhorred and couldn’t seem to escape. The craving for alcohol never seemed to leave her. Even with abstinence, the taste for it hounded her. She was prone to fits of rage which she mostly took out on her father. Missing her mother or attempting to blot out the images of battle made it near impossible to pass by the section of alcoholic beverages, which weirdly were not in short supply.
Another thing Claire hated was this new system of shopping. First, you had to be assigned a number to enter the store. Each store set its own standards for how many people were permitted in the store each time. This meant long lines and hours of waiting for one’s turn. Each person or party had thirty minutes or less to shop. Then you were escorted by security to the cash register. Stores all across the fallen nation employees this practice. It was COVID 19 all over again but on steroids.
Claire and Margaret entered the store, attempting to avoid eye contact with everyone. They had seen the news reports of the four of them wanted for their shootout with JFK. They purchased can-food, eggs, crackers, spaghetti noodles, toiletries, a battery-operated radio, fresh batteries, first aid supplies, two cheap cellphones, and plastic utensils. After Margaret ran out of money, she rationed their food into twice-a-day meals.
"I don’t get it, Dad,” Claire said one morning as she watched the rising sun through the blinds in the kitchen. “I thought your liaison trusted you.”
John paced the floor, desperate for an idea. “If Mathis trusted me, he would’ve given me more than his last name.”
“You’ve been dependable since day one. You miss one point of contact and they just discard you like trash?”
“That’s how it works, CW. The Horsemen of Justice can’t afford to take any risk. You miss an appointment or a dead drop and people start getting nervous. They think they’re being set up. And if I’m being honest, I’ve been reckless as of late."
Claire flipped on the switch of the coffee grinder and waited for it to pour into the pot. “Well, I didn’t like in the first place. HOJO sending you a client you knew nothing about? And still, you risked getting arrested or shot to meet him? Yeah, that was a bit reckless.”
"Huh?" What's HOJO?"
The Horseman of Justice Operations. You like it?"
"Justice operations? No, it's just Horsemen of Justice."
“It sounds like an Avengers team. I'm going to keep the HOJO thing going. I like it."
John rolled his eyes but said nothing. At least Claire was talking to him again. He was finally able to explain to her that he only found out about her mother’s insurance policy the day before the funeral, and thought it would have been in poor taste to bring it up while they were grieving. Not to mention, they didn’t have the resources to take such a journey across the states.
She poured herself and John a cup of coffee and sat down at a small table. “So, what are we going to do?” she asked. “Marge emptied her savings to help us."
“We have enough food to last us a week, maybe,” John told her. “Just relax. I’ll think of something."
“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Dad. I’m not a child. You and I both know that with JKF hunting us, it’s just a matter of time before they find us here. We have no money. They’re going to shut down Marge’s diner, take Tex’s pension and Mathis burned you. We're out of options.”
“Yeah, I know!” John snapped. “Just… Let me think, okay?”
Claire relented, but John could tell she had more to say.
“What is it?” he sighed.
Claire’s bottom lip quivered and she rose from the table. “It’s just that I miss Mom. She was the only one who knew how to talk to you. She was the one who always made things OK. And now she can’t because…”
“Yeah, I know, Kiddo.”
“We don’t even get to grieve, you know? As long as the GRA is hunting us, we’ll never stop looking over our shoulders. I just need one moment to feel OK. Is that so wrong?”
John had rarely known his daughter to show this kind of vulnerability. He had seen it a few times in her life; her first crush, her prom, and the anticipation of learning if she was accepted into Penn State. Claire had always been independent. Like her father, she never let anything shake her focus.
John loved that about her, but her hard coded shell often made it impossible for him to connect with her. He soon realized that he was paying for the mistakes he made in raising her. The lack of a father in the home gave her the tools to be a survivor. Claire’s survivor mode brought hell to earth whenever he was around. But it was on those rare occasions when she didn’t have the answers, that John's contempt melted away. Her helplessness made him want to move mountains to please her.
“What if we didn’t have to run anymore?” he said, not believing what was coming out his mouth.
“What?” Claire sniffled.
“What if I made all of this go away? What if I just turned myself in. We could even spend it that I forced you, Margaret and Tex to become accomplices.”
“You would do that for us?”
“I thought I was protecting you. But all I did was make you a target. You’ve already been through so much. I would give anything so that you don’t have to go through this anymore. If it means sacrificing myself, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Just say the word.”
John locked eyes with Claire and marveled at how much she resembled her mother. At the age of twenty-three, if there was any woman who could match and surpass Sasha’s beauty, it had to be Claire. The stubborn young woman’s eyes filled and her lip quivered. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. John gently kissed her forehead and they stood quietly, healing, and grieving together.
“You can’t turn yourself in,” she finally said. "We both know what the Alliance does to prisoners. I couldn’t sleep knowing you’d be subjected to some awful torture they’ve invented.”
John pulled his daughter away from him and gazed into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“And deprive Margaret, Tex, and I the chance to blame everything on you? Plus, Miles would never stop looking for us. We can’t fight him alone.”
“Yeah, that whack job is never going to stop until he gets his hands on that money."
Claire’s eyes lit up the way her mothers' did whenever she had a bright idea. “You know, two million dollars is a lot of green. We have a vehicle and enough food. I heard that the west coast is littered with shady insurance agents. If we promised them a piece of the pie, they could get us new ID and passports and we could disappear forever.”
“That would be amazing if we didn’t have a cash flow problem. We would need supplies and gas to cover the trip."
Claire cocked her head and stared off as in thought. “Tell me again what happened when you tried to contact Mathis."
“I spoke to a woman, gave her the code phrase, and she put me on hold. Seconds later, she came back to the phone and said that I was no longer active with HOJ and hung up on me.”
“You mean, HOJO?” Claire teased.
John rolled his eyes.
"And you tried to call back?” Claire asked.
"At least a dozen times. The number is no longer active. Why do you ask?"
Claire’s eyes filled with mischief. “If you can’t get to Mathis, then why not bring Mathis to you?
John beamed. He recalled to his mind a conversation he had overheard about a year and a half ago. He had been invited to attend a private gun show introducing new military-grade weaponry. It was there he picked up some chatter about a newly built sugar cane mill in Charleston, West VA. Then four months ago, Mathis had spoken with him about a possible dead drop with nearly identical coordinates of the sugar mill’s location, before abandoning the idea.
“Claire, my dear,” he nodded, taking her hand in his hands. “You are brilliant, just like your mother. I might know of a place where we can create some fireworks. It’s a long shot, but it’s all we have.”
If there’s anyone who can make this work, Captain Hemingway, it’s you.”
***
Pasadena, CA
Press Conference ten days earlier
“Ladies and gentlemen of the freed states. My name is Sir Bowen Graham. I hail from Great Britain. I am the Spokesman for the Glory Revolution Alliance. I consider it an honor that the leaders of the GRA have chosen me to represent the newborn nation as its chief officer. This press conference will be short and to the point. I entitled this speech, the fate of a fallen nation. This is the message I bring to you.”
The elegant speaker paused knowing that the entire world anticipated this very moment. He knew that what he was about to say would set off a firestorm. He knew that it would bring the ire of constituents and detractors alike. He enjoyed holding the world at bay and peered at Alice, his assistant who stood in the front row, clutching her iPad to her chest. The young woman nodded and winked as dozens of news journalists and photographers jostled for prime positions.
“Thirteen years ago,” Bowen began. “This nation coward under the heel of tyranny, corruption, and the lies of a broken constitution, written by men who claimed to be lovers of God, yet were proponents of slavery. For two hundred plus years, this system of laws would serve the United States of America and would produce some of the vilest, destructive, self-serving people we had ever come to know.
“But it was in 2020 when a group of courageous men and women had finally had enough. They had had enough with the lies. They had had enough with racism and bigotry. No more will the rich thrive off the backs of hardworking middle-class citizens; no more will the slothful, capable of working make a living off our taxes. No more will politicians deceive our great nation by spreading false propaganda to serve their self-interests and profit from the millions of our tax dollars spent on fool-hearted campaigns.
"And on that fateful morning of September 11th, on the heels of the pandemic, known as COVID 19, the liberation of this nation began; the first explosions, ringing ever louder than the bells of so-called liberty, right here in California. And one by one, the great states began to fall. The so-called strongest nation in the world could not stand up to the fortitude of real patriots seeking a better world.”
The crowd gasped and murmured in shock at this revelation.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Bowen continued with a flourish of his hand, spurred on by their reaction. "Look into my eyes. This nation is no more. America, the Great is fallen. The war is over. Your White House and your Capital are gone. The District of Columbia has been destroyed right before your eyes. Your constitution has ceased to exist.
"And out of the ashes, a new nation arises! Members of the Glory Revolution Alliance, with dust and mortar on their faces, stand together, their fist in the air, awaiting you, the downtrodden, to join them and declare that the United States of America is now The United Republic of the Alliance."
The crowd responded with more murmuring and shock. Bowen waited for the noise to subside. He leaned forward and stared into the cameras with eyes of fire. The journalists waited breathlessly for more of the most provocative content they would ever report.
“Anyone caught promoting propaganda to resurrect the fallen nation, anyone caught bearing the American insignia on their persons or in their possession will be considered an enemy of the alliance, and will forthwith, without prejudice be brought to justice. May God bless you all and may God bless the Glory Revolution Alliance.”
***
“And that is spokesman Bowen Graham, a representative of the Joint Alliance Command's U.K. Coalition branch in an unprecedented speech at a long-awaited press conference nearly two weeks ago," reported CNN Analyst, Greg Gingrich. "Graham came under heavy fire for his statements regarding the future of the United Republic of the Alliance. Senator Blare Fitzpatrick and other high profile members of the Reformation Colony, another branch within JAC, accused the British nationalist of going rogue and misrepresenting the views of the GRA.
"The Colorado Senator stands behind Graham’s proclamations that the United States government and the constitution are no more. He adamantly rejects however, Graham’s incendiary claims that citizens of the fallen nation were responsible for World War 3. The RFC Branch firmly holds that it was American spies who were members of the now-defunct Afrocentric extremist group the, Akachi Tribe who started the war. The terrorist organization posed as a nonprofit foundation to recruit black American, African, and Caribbean men and women as young as ten to join the occult.
“The U.K. Coalition branch has declined to comment on Graham’s provocative statements, but on Monday, a source close to the U.K.C wishing not to be named affirmed that no one in the JAC instituted a ban on American insignia. This isn’t the first time the spokesman has come under fire for controversial statements. Graham is a former politician and member of the Labor Party in Great Britain. He ran as a top contender in two campaigns but was ultimately defeated both times as a result of his ties to a right-wing group known as the British National Party.
Graham was accused on multiple occasions of making comments related to neo-fascism. When he refused to apologize, he was ousted by the group which led to him joining the labor party. The JAC will decide on Monday what the future holds for who some call the most controversial politician in modern history."
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