

CALIFORNIA RESISTANCE

Big Bad Brad

©2019

PROLOGUE

My weary eyes have witnessed hell from every angle. My next stop in hell will be the overheated real one. My name is Kevin Thacker, and on this Valentine's Day in 2048, I reflect back on another Valentine's Day 32 years ago in California. That day in 2016 that awoke me to the fact, it wasn't merely a political discussion, merely casting a ballot, merely election rhetoric between leftwing and rightwing. This was a deadly war of the ugliest kind. And I jumped into that ugly, carrying the handle, Explosive Assassin.

ONE

"Blow Coachella off the map!" When I heard that statement on Valentine's Day in 2016 my life, and millions upon millions of other people's lives would change for ever.

I received the call from my boss first thing in the morning on that faithful Valentine's Day. "Kevin, get your sorry ass over to Sunnylands," Hector screamed. "Something screwed up on the secure landline. The President of the United States is some pissed!"

I put the pedal to the metal on the Verizon company van. I raced over to the 200 acre Sunnylands Estate in Rancho Mirage California. This playground in the heart of the Coachella Valley was where many President's of the USA fled to dabble in foreign chats and frolic with celebrities. Construction on Sunnylands began in 1963. When it was finished, the elegant and tucked away facility sat perfect to host foreign dignitaries and lavish star studded events.

I pulled up in a line waiting to pass through the gate to the estate. A giant of a Secret Service Agent strode up to my open window. There appeared to be some confusion. He'd no knowledge of any telecommunication problem, going back and forth on his cell to sort out the issue. "There's no authorization for you," the burly man growled. "Pull over to the side punk."

Frantically, I looked around. I was boxed in, car in front, delivery truck behind. "Ah Sir."

"And punk, wipe that stupid look off your face."

I froze. I attempted to breathe, but this dude hovered large and mean. Then as the car in front of me inched forward, it allowed me enough space to wiggle the red and black van over to a side parking lot which the Secret Service used as a preliminary screening area. I stepped out of my new Verizon vehicle. I shook like a teenage kid on his first date.

I'd worked for Verizon for five years as a technician, ever since receiving my degree in engineering at the University of California, San Diego. For the summers while going to school, I worked as a technician for a competitor. Upon graduating, I accepted the entry level technician job with Verizon. Even though, I'd better offers.

I wasn't what you'd call a high flyer in the company, not promoted once in those five years. Many of my fellow engineering grads rode high in their corporate careers while I lived a laid back life in the California desert. Except, this job afforded me plenty of spare time to pursue my true passion.

"Kevin Thacker," the same agent who instructed me to pull over now hollered out my name. He approached the side parking area. His gun bulged out from under his suit coat, walking towards me like a bear on the loose! "Kevin Thacker! Please identify yourself."

"Right-right here sir," I whispered, tipping my San Diego Padre ball cap. I raised my hand and waved with knees knocking. "Right here sir," I repeated with a little more force.

The humongous man strode up to me. He removed his Maui Jim sunglasses, sizing me up like a wolf before he dines. "We've received clearance for you to proceed through. But first, we'll search your van punk." He slapped me on the ass. "And then go over you." The giant chuckled. "More then once."

Within minutes two more Secret Service agents hauled over their high tech equipment. They rummaged through the van. They checked me out. It wasn't as bad as I imagined. After 15 minutes of this, I was ordered to drive the van through the heavily secured front gate to the next clearing area.

I'd been to the Sunnylands Estate in Rancho Mirage once in the past. That was on a trouble call a couple of years before. Sunnylands Estates consisted of two sections. First, there was a 15 acre Sunnylands building Center and Gardens. It was one lavish green paradise with walking trails, extensive flower gardens, and a new structure, displaying many historical artifacts.

The second larger area was the exclusive Sunnylands Retreat. It consisted of a sprawling historic mansion, surrounding cottages, golf course, lakes and a veritable paradise. All sorts of tours hosted the public in both areas when the President of the United States wasn't here.

Finally, my van and I were shepherded through the security gate. It took another 15 minutes to be assigned a parking spot which was the next step in being cleared. I gazed about at the panicking government officials prancing around as if they had sticks up their ass. While the Secret Service agents stood motionless like well-sculpted statues. But those statues could crush a tank on a moments notice.

With tentative feet I eased out of the truck. A geeky looking official approached me. "I am Steven Atkins, Assistant to the Communications Director for the President of the United States." He flashed me a badge.

I never had time to read it, before the hook nose man put it away. "Pleased to meet you Steven."

"Around here, you will address us formally," Steven snapped.

"Sorry, Mr. Atkins. What's the next step?"

"Again, let me remind you, yours is to not ask questions." He then stuck his weasel like face up into mine. "But to follow whatever fucking instructions we relay to you."

"Sorry Sir!" I gulped loud, making a sound that scared a robin from a nearby tree. Unfortunately, I made an unconscious gesture that the man in the dark blue pin striped suit with a red power tie, noticed.

"Did you just roll your fucking eyes at me?" Steven asked, blood vessels bursting in his neck, hands balling up into fists.

"I'm so sorry Sir," I said while attempting to keep a straight face. "I meant no disrespect." This little fella stood as a real clown.

He jammed a threatening finger into my chest. "Listen you piece of blue-collar trash. I attended Yale. You should be bowing to me right now."

"I am truly sorry if I offended you Sir," I apologized with all the sincerity I could muster.

Except, anything I said seemed to make the situation worse. He turned fifty shades of red, I swear steam rose from his head. "You are a fucking asshole!" His rage erupted as he whacked off my San Diego Padre ball cap and screamed, "You will pay for that eye rolling gesture for the rest of your sorry life."

This guy was some full of himself. But this sat as close to the President of the USA that I'd ever get. So, I tucked my tail between my legs, continuing to play the kiss ass game. "Yes, Sir. I am sorry Sir, very sorry."

Mr. Atkins, who was all of 24 years old, was such a pencil neck with his wire rimmed glasses, skinny arms, short stature and thin lips, it was difficult to take him seriously. But certainly, he took himself that way. The five foot two man rode taller in his platform shoes. "Here's what you will do." He glowered up at me, shaking his fist in my face. "Remove whatever tools you require to diagnose and repair the telecommunications problem here at Sunnylands."

With a sheepish shuffle, I moved to the side door of the van, grabbing the toolkit I'd require. I tossed in a few extra items at the last minute, receiving scathing looks from Mr. full of himself, Atkins. "I think I'm ready Sir."

"Secret Service!" Mr. Steven Atkins bellowed with two more gorillas in suits scurrying up to the van. "Scan this toolbox. Stay with Mr. Thacker every step of the way. Never let this tradesmen scum out of your sight." Steven studied me with intense eyes for the longest time, then issued a contemptuous sneer that would have done any aristocrat proud. He motioned with one hand, some sort of signal.

One of the Secret Service Agents slammed me up against the van, rocking the van, and rocking every organ in my body. The gorilla held me there while Steven hissed in my ear, "Listen you son of a bitch, I can have you eliminated with one command."

The gorilla agent delivered a lightening quick shot to my solar plexus. He followed up with a hard stomp on my foot. My six foot frame plummeted to the ground. I gasped for desert air. I grasped my injured foot.

Steven Atkins trampled my favorite baseball team's ball cap, and screeched like an eery vulture. "Thacker will require another search. Make it a full strip search before he is allowed into the Retreat area."

My stomach churned as my boss joked about the possibility of a humbling and intrusive strip search on this service call. All I could think of was why the hell was I stuck getting this assignment? Why couldn't my long time work partner and best friend, Orval Henderson, be with me?

Henderson hated his first name, so he nor anyone else, ever used it. Two weeks ago Henderson transferred back to his home in Houston. My rightwing pal had enough of the left coast and California, fleeing back to greener capitalist pastures. I hadn't been assigned a new sidekick yet. Unfortunately for my boss, all the other hot shot technicians were off today. So, a fuming Hector felt stuck sending me, and with no partner in crime.

Slowly, I managed to control my breathing. I massaged my throbbing foot, taking my time.

Steven tapped an impatient and expensive shoe as he glared at me. "Thacker, get off your fucking ass, and go fix that weird outage."

It ranked as a weird outage, that's for sure. Right when the President of the United States of America was hosting a summit with the Chinese at Sunnylands. All the government's secure high tech equipment in place, and the big man couldn't get his secure lines to work. Was somebody tampering with the equipment? Had the Chinese or Russians caused this? I hoped it wasn't an issue way over my head.

After a minute, I breathed normal again. I rose to my feet.

Mr. Atkins scowled up at me. "This is Agent Ross and Gomez. Do whatever they say, and fix the issue properly." He narrowed his beady little eyes. "And you might depart in one piece." He poked me in the chest. "But if you don't." Steven and the two gorillas shared a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. "Then you're out!" He tromped on my ball cap again.

TWO

Without my Padre ball cap and with my nasty limp, Agent Ross and Gomez led me to the Sunnylands Center. They found a private room in the spectacular building. They conducted the strip search. I felt violated. Man, those agents were jerks. Felt as if we should all enjoy a cigarette after they finished with me.

"Let's go princess," Agent Ross said as they toss my clothes back to me.

"Thank you Sir," I muttered. I wondered if I get some sort of extra pay for being put through this ordeal? Was I now part of the LGBTQ Community? Was that what the Q meant?

Next Ross and Gomez guided me and my scanned toolbox along a walking path through additional security gates, toward the gem of this estate, the renowned Sunnylands Retreat. It was the pride of Rancho Mirage. A magnificent stately home where all those Presidents and dignitaries stayed and played over the years.

This palatial house hid tantalizing stories of important people drinking heavily, smoking weed, taking all sorts of mind altering drugs, resulting in numerous overdoses. In addition, this mansion whispered of anything goes sex thrills. Politicians and celebrities engaged in a wide variety of erotic and deviant sexual behavior. All in the name of building a better world.

Security agents from both China and the US positioned themselves everywhere. I stood six feet tall. But each one of these agents glared down at me. These piercing eyed agents would have held some sorted and scandalous stories inside themselves. At least, until their tell all book was released. Then there were those razor sharp teeth guard dogs that stared blankly at me, knowing with one sharp command from an agent these canines would rip my head off.

My appointed agents ushered me to our destination, the telecommunications room at the back of the sprawling house. A stern faced brick wall of a guard blocked the front of the solid steel door, along with another six foot six dorky looking Presidents assistant. There must have been a million of the pencil necks floating around here.

Turned out the tall scrawny freak was one of the technical experts traveling with the President's entourage. But the real technical hot shot wasn't on this trip. Therefore, Stretch briefed me in his nerdy manner, attempting to impress with techno speak. He knew bugger all. Eventually, he explained the problem in simple english. I recognized the problem in an instant. I asked to enter the room with Ross and Gomez trailing like sniffing birddogs.

It took me little time to rectify the issue. As I had my earphones on, testing the various lines and equipment, ensuring no more hiccups occurred, I heard a faint voice. Over the next few seconds, the voice grew louder in my earphones. I'd picked up a nearby cell phone conversation on my equipment. Occasionally, this happened on a job. These unexpected conversations would seldom be interesting. The fading in and out conversations were a pain in the ass as we went about our work.

"I'm on an unsecured cell," came from a familiar voice. "The fucking secure lines are down. But we gotta talk."

Holy shit! That voice belonged to the President of the United States. The Democrat President, whose second term was whining down. I shouldn't have listened, and he shouldn't have been talking on an unsecured cell.

"Go ahead, give it to me straight," spoke another familiar voice. That unforgettable irritating voice belonged to Gilda Founder, most likely the nominee for President from the Democratic party in the upcoming 2016 election.

"Here's the deal Gilda," said President Harry James. "Losing the election in November is not an option." "The Chinese and Saudis won't tolerate it. Especially, the Chinese who just met with me."

"I won't fucking lose," assured Gilda. "Did you see how many lame brain celebrities are speaking out for me?"

"And Gilda, I can't believe how the minions blindly follow their clued out stars." I thought how sad it was that our celebrity obsession culture had hit the point where those endorsements dramatically altered our election.

"No way I'll loose!" Gilda stated with a confident tone. "Got billions flowing in from all over to make it happen. This deck is stacked!"

"You shouldn't loose." President Harry James let out a long breath. "But, the deal is, if the real polls can't ensure a victory by mid October, even with our voting advantages."

My girlfriend, who was a passionate Democrat, bragged about their voting advantages. It was a combination of underhanded tactics involving vote manipulation via machine or human, allowing illegal immigrant and duplicate vote counting, fractional shaving and so on.

President Harry James carried on, "If we still fall short in those polls, then the real plan kicks in."

"Which plan?" Gilda asked.

"Straight to Plan C." The President coughed. "And that's a global plan with an October exclamation mark."

"Blow Coachella off the map!" Gilda cackled like a hyena.

At that precise point I realized these two were potentially talking bad shit. The stale air in the tiny room grew scorching hot. My left eye that would twitch uncontrollably, whenever I became extremely nervous, began to go wild. That one evil line delivered by Gilda Founder, I remembered distinctly for the rest of my life. That memorable moment resonated with me forever as I realized how corrupt and criminal our government could be. I'd heard the various conspiracy theories from my rightwing friend, Henderson. Never took him seriously. But now I knew there was substance behind the ideas.

President Harry James then pronounced, "And there is no way the 2016 election can go forward after that. So I'll stay in charge."

"What about me Harry?"

"I'll take care of you, we'll stay in full command for as long as it takes."

Gilda whimpered like a sick puppy. "But the repercussions could go on for years."

"Most likely Gilda! But at some point when the time is right, we'd hold another election. And there will be no doubt you'll win."

"Well, I deserve it," Gilda said sounding like a spoilt child.

"Yes, you do," President Harry James said with sarcasm in his voice.

Gilda chuckled maliciously. "Plan C will get the world's attention."

"And the pawns in the chess game won't know what their up against," boasted President James.

Gilda took on a tough voice. "Always wanted to kick their ass."

"For sure!" President Harry James sniggered. "Sixteen days into the month to remember, may be the kickoff of a new game for those chess playing fools."

Both leaders laughed long and hard.

"Let's get off this line, gotta go do some intense negotiations." The President sniggered again as he ended the call.

I damn near shit my pants right there. I must have had a shocked look on my face as Agent Ross grumbled, "What the fuck's your problem?"

"Ah, well, nothing Sir." I played with my equipment. "Just making sure everything is perfect for you important people."

He leaned in and snarled, "Hurry up."

"Done Sir!" I packed up quick as a tool-dropping bunny, leaving that telecommunications room and that place of horror, as fast as possible.

Exactly as we stepped out of the telecommunications room, out of the corner of my non twitching eye, I spied that famous redwood bench. Sitting on that storied bench was that devoted family man and cool guy, Harry James. The President of the United States necked passionately with one attractive middle aged Chinese lady who happened to be their Deputy Minister of National Defense.

THREE

I limped double time as they escorted me out of that nightmare. As I fired my stuff in the van, Agent Ross whispered something to Mr. hot shot government official, Steven Atkins. I never forgot the hate filled and deadly look the little self-important geek leveled at me. I drove like a madman, attempting to flee that spot, where what I heard and saw could send me to a very early grave. Would our government plant a false flag? Or was I imagining things?

Also, why did I have to inherit such superb eyesight? No wonder, the President left his wife and kids back in Washington on this diplomatic mission. For there was no doubt that the so called happily married President was locked in a lustful embrace. For on top of the locked lips, I glimpsed his hand feverishly working the Chinese dignitary under her dress. In my panic at seeing the sight, accidentally, I hit my cellphone attached to my hip, causing it to make a couple of odd sounds. It increased my pace out of there and the pace of my twitching left eye.

As I drove, sweat poured off my body in buckets. It caused me to pullover and park on a deserted side street, recalling that conversation one more time. I shook my confused head in disbelief. Would the President bomb our own people to start a war with the chess playing Russians? Would our current government stoop to that level to remain in power?

I'd followed these election primaries of 2016 like I never followed a Presidential election in the past. Hell, I never followed any politics in the past. I never joined a political party in the past. I never voted in the past. Except now with this info, what the hell was I gonna do?

"How are you doing Mom?" I inquired ten minutes later as I talked on my cell, driving down Bob Hope Drive in Rancho Mirage.

My mom relocated to Dallas in 2014. She followed my sister out there who went to University in the lone star state. For some strange reason, I drifted from her, calling less frequently. This time, it was different. My uncontrollable fingers punched in her phone number.

"Kevin. How's things?" My mom possessed one of those unwavering optimistic attitudes that was inspiring. Maybe I needed a cheerful voice to take my mind off what I'd just learned, or thought I learned.

"Ahem! I'm okay, I guess. Ah Mom, have you ever had one of those moral decisions to make, and weren't sure?"

"Oh of course Kevin, that's where I turn to the Bible."

"But Mom, are all your answers in the Bible?"

"For me, yes! But we're all different. For you and your father, you two had to look elsewhere."

"But, I'm not sure where to look for this one."

"You'll find your way Son. Just follow your heart."

I thought about that for a moment. I wasn't sure what direction my heart, nor my head were going. "Got to go, love you Mom! Thanks for the advice."

"Love you Kevin. And maybe this time you'll find your answer in the Holy Bible."

My dearly departed dad always said, "Your mother's an incredibly good hearted lady. A wonderful wife and mother, and an amazing person. But she does have a one track mind, and that track's her Bible. It works very well for her, but not so much for you and I."

I decided to head home for lunch. The condo I rented was in neighboring Palm Desert. I'd lived in the place for five years. It sat central in the Coachella Valley. For whether my service calls were on one end of the valley in Palm Springs, or on the other end of the valley in Indio, or in one of the many cities in-between, it meant a reasonable drive.

My on again, off again girlfriend sort of lived with me. And we were back on again. I think. She went by the handle Reign Sunshine. Well, her name for the last three years. Reign and I met at university in San Diego. Her name back then was Jana Rogers.

Reign attained a degree in Social Justice. In my narrow engineer's mind at the time, one of the most useless degrees a person could have attained. Not surprising of course was that four year degree took her seven years. Also, it transformed her from a caring person into a fanatical crusader, holding her head high as an activist.

The flaming red haired Reign rioted, protested, rallied, blogged, trolled, tweeted, proudly waving her social justice banner in everyone's face. She wasted countless hours drinking specialty coffees with fellow social justice warriors and activists. They plotted the destruction and then the saving of the world. Or was that in reverse?

Although, the one skill these activists lacked, were actually attaining meaningful results. They planned. They ranted. They chanted. They harassed. They'd do radical shit, many times involving vandalism, threats and yes lots of violence. Yet, at the end of the day she grew even angrier with their save the world efforts. Frequently, she slid into greater fits of rage and depression with her lack of success in changing the world to her way of thinking.

Oh yeah, Reign seldom got paid. On occasion the Democrat party or one of the George Soros backed groups dished out a few crumbs. But money was merely a figment of our imagination as she reminded me continually.

Of course, having my place to return to worked out great for the activist. She left me for good, numerous times, returning to the Coachella Valley weeks later from Lord only knows. She slipped back as if nothing had changed. Like the breakup never occurred. Yes, and I was stupid enough to let her back in the door, time and time again. Well, I happened to be in love with the girl named Jana, the girl I first met in university. Now I was just a fool who couldn't let go of Reign. A girl I hardly knew.

"Reign," I called out as I entered the front door.

No one stirred, no sign of life. I crept to the bedroom. I opened the door quietly. There she was, curled up into a ball, still sleeping sound as ever at noon. We'd crashed early last night. As I watched her with her eye shades on, she continued to sleep like a log. Last night, she claimed she was sinking into another depression. Certain the election primaries were causing her stress and anxiety. So, she dove back into the anti-depressants in mega dozes.

I shrugged my shoulders, shutting the door, whispering, "See you tonight." For I planned a romantic dinner, flowers and candy, all ready to dazzle Reign. Even though she'd bitch about the concept of love and Valentine's Day. But if I didn't deliver, she'd go ballistic on me. Even though the word love did not best describe our relationship anymore. I felt as if this relationship primarily revolved around sex!

I'd wait for tonight to get her view on my dilemma. Would her perspective be any more biased then my mom's? Where could I go? Who the hell did I know that could assist me with this situation? I could have called my cowboy boot wearing buddy, Henderson.

He was my only right of right friend. But Henderson threw in the towel in California, giving up the political fight. I could hear his words in my head, didn't even have to ask him, "Save your sorry ass. Cause if you come forward with your suspicions, they'll kill you just like they killed so many other patriots."

There were many days I wondered about this entire right-left on the political spectrum. Was the entire concept a sham? Was it manufactured to keep us peons fighting, while the real masters controlled us. And who were these real masters?

After the words I heard back at Sunnylands, for the first time, I understood some of the things Henderson was saying. If I was forced to plant my political flag at this point. I guess I'd plant it on the moderate right side of that fussy political spectrum. If that spectrum concept actually existed?

All my other buddies here in California shouted leftwing, dedicated Democrats. Or a growing number jumped on the communists bandwagon. California was becoming a haven for the expanding communists party in the United States. If publicly I mentioned I now supported the Republicans, there was a good chance I'd get my car vandalized, condo vandalized or most likely, beaten up. And I still figured if I uttered a word of what I knew, I was a dead man.

"This is another typical symbol of the capitalistic sickness flooding America," Reign commented in her smug tone. We sat at LePaon Restaurant on El Paseo Drive in the heart of Palm Desert.

She was adorned in an expensive black silk evening gown, not your standard activist garb. Reign despised this gown for what it symbolized, but could never throw it out. It highlighted her lovely slender body. It took the attention away from the thing she periodically complained about, her flat chest. That same chest which she wavered over whether to surgically enhance. For in her mind breasts were a disgusting symbol of the filthy male sexist world. Yet, she pined for more substantial cleavage about every couple of months.

That evening of 2016 Valentine's Day, found us in one fancy French restaurant, pianist playing romantic tunes, fine china on the table, crystal glasses filled with chardonnay, waiters in uniforms pampering us and so on.

"Kevin, those red roses you got me are just another commercial trap and symbol of what a sexist you truly are."

"True!" I grasped her hand. "But you threw a tantrum when I went to toss them out after you complained."

She yanked her hand away from mine. "You're an ass!" She slapped me hard on the shoulder. "And the only reason I put up with you is your nice ass. And you know I love roses."

Definitely, she reminded me of that as Reign served up mind blowing sex about an hour after I presented her with the dozen long stems. In spite of her objections to anything I do that flew in the face of her crazy ass activist values, deep down she loved it. Once she finished ranting and raging about the particular issue, like the flowers, she'd ravish me in the bedroom. She insisted the only reason she tolerated me was that I played a dim-witted, sex toy rather well, and her daddy liked me.

Last year when I purchased her a diamond necklace for Christmas, she deplored the gesture. That traditional symbol of male sexist attitudes which jewelry reflected in her mind. If I had a dollar for every time that lady used the word symbol, symbolic or symbolism in relation to one of her activist themes, I'd be one rich person. Anyway, the great symbol I got out of the jewelry present was well, let's just say I couldn't walk for two days after that steamy sex session.

Oh yeah, how could I forget her over the top passion for saving the environment? Save this animal, save that bird, that ocean or that wetlands. I happened to be concerned about what humans were doing to the environment, trying to do my small part. It should have been more. But I'd trouble determining what was extreme hell and brimstone alarmism, and what was the real truth on how we were effecting the planet?

Unknowingly, I put her dedication to the environment cause to the test. For one year, I bought Reign a leather jacket. She wailed on me for purchasing that environmental mistake. Except, fifteen minutes later she rode me hard in the bedroom, while she wore that soft Italian leather gift with pride.

I didn't want to mess with the hypocrisy of her activist values. Although, I did offend her continually, making errors in my off the cuff comments in that ever changing world. For I was raised in a traditional environment. In engineering school, I hung with unenlightened guys like myself. Never progressed in that area in my work life either. So, I lagged behind in the world of expanding political correct sensitivities.

Now my buddy Henderson took riding my social activist girlfriend to a different level, taunting her, pointing out her hypocrisy at every opportunity. The numbers genius Henderson was a masterful debater. Nothing pissed off Reign and her activist friends then well laid out facts backed up by numbers. Reign hated the dirty blonde haired rebel with a passion. It culminated at his going away party when the political discussion became heated.

Reign tore after Henderson with a butcher knife. Lucky he possessed a fifth degree black belt. One well-aimed, yet gentle kick from Henderson. That knife clattered harmlessly to the side. Reign collapsed to the floor with the skill of an actress. She cried hysterically, throwing a tantrum, while holding center stage in the middle of the room with the lefties consoling her.

So, as a gentlemen I gave her the option to leave this place, if it truly offended her. "And if you hate LePaon, we can go?"

Reign flicked her tongue ring a couple of times. "No way. You know I love French food. Even though I'm a proud vegan." She dropped her head. "But I can cheat once in a while."

That meant Reign would order the most expensive steak on the menu. I chuckled to myself for this girl grew up in a rich family in LA. She was used to living the spoilt life, before she gave it up in college. Except, she'd have her daddy's cash to run back to if saving the world ever became too onerous a task.

"Ah Reign, when you have a difficult ethical decision to make, what guides you?"

"There are certain strict values us social activists have, guiding principles. Its like our Bible." She made a hideous face. "But the Bible is stupid! And those bible toters are crazy like your mother!" Reign rose in her chair, raising her glass, theatrically toasting in a superior manner and tone, "Our social activism is the only way!"

"And you always find your answer in those values?"

Reign dropped back in her chair, popping another antidepressant, washing it down with the chardonnay. "You bet! It is as clear as day." Reign's fanatical expression and certainty of tone reminded me of my mother in her younger days, when she referred to her religion, but less so nowadays.

"So Reign, hypothetically, if you knew something that could rock the world. And if you came out with it, it could very well get you killed? And most likely, no one would believe you anyway."

"Depends on what it is. If it helped push the progressive activist agenda, then I would tell the world. If it didn't, I would say nothing." She pointed a finger at me. "It is all about changing the world, it is all about social justice."

"Hmmm!" I scratched my head, somewhat confused. "But what if it is the truth?"

"Oh Kevin, you are stupid!"Her face returned to being lovely as she laughed at me in her signature mocking manner. "Truth isn't real!"

"But what if you found out some truth about our President that was despicable? What would you do?"

"I hope you're not listening to those alt right nut cases that Henderson listens to." She wagged her activist finger at me. "I warned you about them. Our president is the greatest. Look what he has done for minorities. Anyone who slams him is a racist!"

I thought of how the plight of the minorities in the US had worsened over the President's time in power. Except, if I presented those facts given to me by some of the minorities I worked with, an emotional tirade would commence. I sipped my wine, thinking of another tactic, thinking of more stories from Henderson. "You know how Gilda is caught up in a number of scandals. You know, crooked shit, that the President has ignored."

Reign smacked the table. "Never mention that to me again! Damn you Kevin. Now you sound like an even worse sexist." She screwed up her face, changing her beautiful look to that of a witch again. "Gilda is a goddess. A golden goddess!"

The five foot, ten inch Reign stood proud and gave the universal activist salute, shouting for all to hear, "To the first woman President of this shit hole country, Gilda Founder!"

The crowd in the restaurant held a number of Gilda lovers that cheered Reign on. This seemed to wind her up even more. "Kill all republicans!" More hoots and hollers echoed through the restaurant. "Kill Robert J. Card!" The loudest cheer went up from the room.

For Robert J. Card was leading the Republican primary by a huge margin. He was a celebrity billionaire, who had no political experience and no tact. Yet, possessed a certain charisma and strength of character that was a definite threat. Also, he was backed up strongly by his attractive wife and family who enjoyed a celebrity status as well. Can't say I was a supporter of the brash and bully like Robert J. Card. In fact, I found the man obnoxious and thought of him as a goof.

Reign bowed to the crowd and sat down, glowing in her triumph. She sighed with satisfaction. "You see Kevin, there are some true warriors out there. We will win." She grew more feverish in her pitch. "We will crush anyone who stands in our way." She slammed her fist on the table with surprising force. "And we will start with Robert J. Card!"

"Aha! Sounds like democracy at its best," I said sarcastically.

"Fuck democracy!" She sneered. "We have the moral high ground. Most people are helpless victims, mindless followers, to stupid to know how to vote. We need to tell them what to do. They must follow in this revolution." She took on a psychotic look. "Or we eliminate them."

"You've been spending too much time with Lance."

"Fuck you! You are a homophobe!" She threw a napkin at me. "You've always hated Lance and his LGBTQ crowd."

I thought for a moment while I figured out another approach. "So there's nothing I could say that would change your mind on Harry or Gilda? Even if it were true."

"Never! Whatever they do, it is all for the cause." A radically super charged aura enveloped her body. All based on raw emotion. Once again, any fact I presented would have made no difference. What happened to critical thinking and logic with my generation? Although, critical thinking and our rapidly decreasing attention spans were directly related.

I leaned forward and whispered, "Even if it was outright mass murder?"

"Fuck you!" Reign tossed a full glass of water in my face. "Racist, homophobic, sexist fascist pig!" She threw her appetizer at me. I wore six heavily buttered escargots. "You Bastard!" She fired her appetizer fork at me, narrowly missing my left eye. "You need to die!"

Reign stormed toward the door, entire body enveloped in anger as she departed. She whacked the tip jar off the piano on her way out that door. That tip jar shattered on the floor like our relationship. I never saw her again. Although, I did receive one last romantic text that night. "I will kill you Nazi!"

FOUR

"You're a damn coward," I scolded myself.

From February 14 until October 15 of 2016, I came forward not nearly enough with my story. Although, one morning in mid March, my nerve held and I called one of Coachella's conservative talk show hosts, Cameron Gladstone.

Cameron hosted a popular rightwing talk show, that I began listening to immediately after that eventful Valentine's Day. After a forty minute wait, Cameron and his producer took my call off air. I used a phony name and muffled voice. I expressed my suspicions and concerns, never mentioning actual names. But I warned that October 16, 2016, was the critical day, a day of devastation.

I remembered Cameron's patronizing laugh. He had me go on his talk show, introducing me as the Triple C, Coachella concerned citizen. When I gave my warning on air in my muffled voice, he mocked me to his radio audience. He hung up on me. He proceeded to accept a series of calls that ranted about the crazy lunatics out there, egged on by a ratings greedy Cameron.

After that, I chickened out on numerous occasions. For I'd decided to come forward with my story, then I would back out at the last minute. I tossed and turned alone in my bed. I suffered through many sleepless nights, wrestling with myself. But in the end, I couldn't come clean on what either I had heard or seen. I hated myself every day of my sorry life for betraying my country. I could have made a difference. But I shivered shit scared and humiliated from my first attempt.

My guilt weighed heavy on me over those months. But it wasn't just guilt. For I felt anger as well, anger for being laughed at. Therefore, I directed some of that anger at creating a small bunker. I drove up in my old Chevy truck on weekends, building the eight foot by six foot, rectangular box with six feet of earth covering it.

I constructed the bunker out of short steel cross beams and posts, sturdy lumber and cement. I built two steel hatches, a main hatch and a smaller escape hatch. At that depth and with thick solid materials, I hoped I'd be well protected from severe blasts and radiation.

I installed a generator, ventilation system, and compartment for storage. I stocked it with all the essentials: Food, water, batteries, a wide range of portable medical equipment and supplies, etc. All carefully stowed away. I left little room for me to exist.

I buried the bunker a few hours drive northeast of the Coachella Valley hidden up in the mountains, out of serious radiation range, if the attack were nuclear. Only old unused logging roads accessed this deserted spot with very few humans in the vicinity. Occasionally, illegal immigrants passed through on their journey north. Or heavily armed drug runners raced to and from their drop offs.

On the morning of October 7, I summoned up the nerve one more time, calling Cameron Gladstone off air. I waited a half an hour before I repeated my plea with much more passion and details. I swore there was a point in the discussion he was leaning my way. But just like that, he reverted back, threatening to call the authorities if I dared contact him again.

The first weekend of the October 2016 Desert Festival went off without a hitch. Acts such as Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan rocked the sellout crowd. Except, on that first Coachella Classic weekend, I felt as if someone watched me come and go from my Palm Desert condo. My conspiracy theory mind ran wild at that point. Was I merely imagining things? Were my nerves getting the best of me?

On the Monday before that faithful second weekend of that historic Coachella festival, I purchased a weather-beaten jeep Wrangler. I didn't register the multi-dented jeep with DMV. I hid it in a vacant garage a few blocks from my condo. I wanted no one to identify me in that open air vehicle. That night, I packed the jeep, and made it ready to depart at a moments notice. I removed very little from my own place, not wanting to raise any suspicions in case I happened to be watched.

The next day I snatched up two discarded cellphones from work. I assigned myself private numbers under fake names. I copied important info and pics from my current cellphone and laptop to a memory stick. In addition, I created a false set of identification for myself, didn't know why. But my gut told me I might need it one day. All along I'd been removing cash from the bank, building up my stash.

On the morning of Wednesday, October 12, four days before the President's targeted date, with the second weekend of the Coachella Valley concert drawing ever closer, I knew something was up. All four of my green Chevy truck tires had been slashed. Thankfully, my jeep sat well hidden. I sped up my exit plan, ready to slip away that night.

By that afternoon, all details were taken care of. I waited in my condo nervously. I watched movies, waiting for the right moment. My gut still ate at me. I felt like a mangy dog slithering away in the dark. At 11:00 PM I snuck out of the condo via side window. I collected myself after wriggling through the tight space. I took a few steps when I received a shock.

A deep voice from the shadows asked, "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" A man stepped into view. "You've pissed off some important people!"

I froze. I perspired from every pore in my body. I attempted to control my breathing the way Henderson taught me when in danger.

The husky man stepped in front of me, blocking my path, wearing casual clothes. He wasn't showing a weapon. But that didn't mean anything. I thought, was this guy a professional or amateur? If he was a pro, I wouldn't be standing.

"I asked you a question," he said as he reached into his jacket pocket.

I hit him upside the head with a small baseball bat with a San Diego Padre emblem on it. I'd hidden the slugging tool behind my back. It was one of the few personal possessions I took with me. It was also my weapon of choice as my martial arts friend, Henderson, had drilled me for hours in its use. I checked the guy sprawled out on the ground. He was out cold, but breathing. Also, I felt the gun he had been going for. He'd be up and around in no time, hunting for my head.

I ran like the wind for my jeep with my trusty baseball bat gripped tight. Only, I made an impulsive stop before fleeing town. I slipped by my work office, no one in sight. Using an office desktop which many staff shared, I drafted an email from a phony account to Jason Adams, the owner of an alt right radio show and website run out of LA. This sat as the other rightwing radio station I began to listen to on February 15. The email was brief, "False flag on October 16! Blow Coachella off the map! Please warn!"

I wiggled on that chair for minutes, drumming up the courage to hit send. I inhaled a breath, hands trembling and my eye twitching like an out of control hummingbird. I stood up to run, thought of my dead father for some odd reason and fired off the priority email at 11:26 PM, October 12.

Only a few miles out of town in the opposite direction of my bunker, I pulled off onto a deserted area. I demolished my current cellphone and laptop. I dumped the thousands of pieces in a three foot hole, dumping acid in the hole that would eat away anything, and then filled that hole. Finally, I sped away to my bunker, knowing I would be hunted, waiting to find out if hell would break loose. Or was I just a paranoid fool?

On October 16, 2016, with the assistance of a high powered telescope from an elevated vantage point. I noticed a small cloud rising from the direction of the Coachella Valley. My uncontrollable left eye commenced to twitch frantically. All I could mutter was, "They really did it!"

From my high vantage point, I used my specialized telecommunications equipment to make one call to my mother. I ensured her I was all right and not to worry. I sent a text to Henderson in a code only he and I understood, relaying the same message. I made the long hike backdown to my bunker. I scrambled into that cramped box. I locked it up tight. I hunkered down for the after effect of the coming chaos.

An hour later a voice filled my battery operated radio as President Harry James spoke, "My fellow Americans. The Russians have attacked. A nuclear missile has struck Indio, California. The loss of life in the Coachella Valley is horrendous. The destruction is substantial. However, I can assure the citizens of the United States of America, we will punish this aggression. Moments ago, the United States of America, officially declared war on the country of Russia!"

I switched the radio off, throwing up in a bucket, knowing the hell had begun. Two hours later when I turned the radio on again, I heard the President canceling the 2016 US Presidential election indefinitely, and announcing that due to health reasons the current Vice President would step down. I puked again when the President further announced that the role of Vice President of the USA was being given to Gilda Founder.

FIVE

A dozen gunshots rang out. Only one day into my bunker stay, and I was startled awake by loud gun fire. It echoed like a jackhammer in my ears. I heard angry voices above me at the main entrance to my bunker. I thought I'd camouflaged well, but obviously not. I hoped I had done a better job with the jeep and the escape hatch. My body shivered. I realized if my steel entrance door and locks failed me, I'd die right here and now.

The pissed off group hammered repeatedly on the main hatch. They used a rock or something like a hammer. Over and over, the clunking sound filled the air. They graduated to a much larger object, hammering away with louder thuds. The bunker rocked and shook like the worst amusement park ride. Dust filled my tiny hide away.

I thought these guys might just bash their way in. I kept wondering if there was anything I could do? They halted the hammering. I breathed a sigh of relief. But they went back to the weapons, more gunfire echoed in my ears. I heard the ricocheting bullets. Finally, they stopped. Swearing and cursing blasted out in a wide range of languages. One I understood. Then came the sound of silence.

I stayed in that small bunker for two weeks. I felt claustrophobic cooped up in that tiny coffin like box. The only contact with the world came from my radio. The missile launches between the two warring countries numbered in the hundreds. Other countries of the world chose sides. Although, it sounded like musical chairs from day to day.

Millions of people killed and critically injured. The radio relayed the catastrophic devastation. LA absorbed multiple strikes each day. Every California City of any size took a hit at least once. Silicon Valley suffered repeated poundings. The East coast faired no better. New York was bombed extensively, even the Statue of Liberty, Trump Tower and the New York Stock Exchange laid in ruins. Many of the missiles fired were nuclear, some were not, but the damage throughout the United States and Russia was unprecedented.

Each day felt like a living hell. Six days into the process two events occurred which altered the length of my stay. A well hidden mouse destroyed some of my food rations. I simply couldn't kill the little intruder. So, he kept to his tiny corner, I kept to mine. As well, my radio stopped transmitting on that sixth day, cutting me off from the outside world.

That feeling of isolation when the radio died drove me crazy. Every slight sound from above, sent my imagination into high gear. My out of control mind concocted all sorts of madness unfolding in the world. I attempted to make sense of the confusion and turmoil, sorting through the various conspiracy theories. Except, some of this wasn't theory. It was bitter reality. Then to add to the nightmare, ten days into bunker life the tiny bomb shelter began to stink to the point where I gagged and choked. This due to the malfunctioning ventilating system. After almost two weeks of the underground confinement, I was 99% ready to surface. But I wasn't totally sure.

On the morning of October 30, 2016, I found a second mouse infiltrated one of my storage bins. That second invasion made my mind up, giving me the extra 1% I needed. So, that very morning, gun in hand, I slithered out with cautious eyes. Only a bright blue sky welcomed me. No humans lurking, and thankfully the hidden jeep was untouched.

I tossed my friends Mickey and Mini out so they could enjoy the sunshine as well. The fall out here rated minimal. A few trees lost leaves, but were still alive. A few birds still sung. Life went on. I stretched. I realized I lost about ten pounds eating the meagre rations I stored. I sucked in the fresh air, feeling alive again. Except, what kind of hell awaited out there?

First thing, I hauled my telecommunications equipment up to a much higher elevation. I called my mom, checking on her. Thankfully she and my sister were safe. I let her know how much I loved them both. My mom informed me that the US and Russia had just called a temporary ceasefire.

Second, I checked my texts to see if Henderson had sent anything. There was one text in our secret code. I followed up with one to him still using that code. We were both stoned when we created this secret code, never dreaming we'd communicate in it one day.

Next, I checked the news on the internet. How much had I missed since my radio went? My jaw dropped as I studied the headlines! Robert J. Card, the Republican candidate, who could have been the next President of the United States, was executed as a Russian spy. It was apparent the hurried fake trial delivered the already determined verdict. It didn't stop there. The number two and three candidates in the Republican Party were handed life sentences on trumped up charges, along with Robert J. Card's oldest son and daughter.

That was enough news for now. I shut down my equipment in anger. I grabbed a bite to eat. I jumped in a nearby stream. For I couldn't stand my own smell. Also, I couldn't stand what my country had become. I loaded up my jeep, locking up the bunker, heading for God only knew what back in the Coachella Valley.

About ten miles down the logging road, I came upon a Latino girl weaving and stumbling down the narrow dirt path. She looked in her early twenties, clothes ripped, barefoot and about to collapse. She didn't notice me. She struggled on in a daze.

I slowed, peering around for anyone hiding in the bushes. Leery of a well set trap. I touched my baseball bat sitting beside me on the seat, and then touched with fond fingers a pistol I hid in my jacket. I pulled the jeep to a stop.

Easing out of the jeep I yelled, "Need help?"

She continued to stagger ahead, head drooping, mumbling to herself. My words must have finally registered. For she stopped, fell, sprawling motionless.

Minutes later I revived the girl. For I filled her with sips of water and bits of food. She came to life. "Are you all right?"

She answered with a Spanish accent, "I'm okay."

"You gave me quite a scare," I stated. "I thought you were dead there for a moment."

"Thought I was finished." She graced me with a pained smile as she eased up to a sitting position. "Gracias."

"Where were you going?"

She stared at me with a blank look. "Ah, I do not know." She rested her head on her raised knees, beginning to weep. "I, I really do not know."

"Are you alone?"

She nodded her head.

"I'm Kevin Thacker. What's your name?"

"Paulina Rodrigues."

I hoped to find out info about what was going on in the area. "Where did you come from Paulina?"

"Papa and Mama were traveling with me when we came upon some coyotes back there." She pointed down the road. "But, the human kind." She seemed to gain some color in her face. Except, I thought it was out of anger. "They attacked us. My father fought them, telling my mother and I to run. So we did." The tears flowed. "But they caught my mother. All I heard as I ran were her screams." The girl broke down, reliving the horror.

I gathered her in my arms, consoling the distraught girl. "How long ago?"

"About an hour," she mumbled and sniffled.

"Wow! I think it's time to go." Carefully, I picked the weak girl up, settling her like a fragile piece of art in the passenger seat. The sound of the running jeep continued to hum in my ears as I made her comfortable. "Are you an illegal?"

She stiffened.

I patted her on the shoulder, attempting to give her additional comfort. "Don't think that's a concern as all hell has broken loose." I lifted up her chin, pulling her tangled hair away from her dirty face. I wiped the first of many layers of grime from that face with a rag. "All that's important now is to survive one day at a time in this new jungle called World War III."

"Hey amigo! You've got something of ours."

I glanced around to see three scruffy looking characters. All held eight inch knives gleaming in the sunshine. I was about to step into the jeep when they slipped out of the trees like a pack of silent wolves, catching me off guard. "Hi guys," I said with my left eye kicking into high gear. "We're just moving on."

The shivering Paulina whispered in a squeaky tone as she cowered in the passenger seat, "That's them."

The three crept closer as I grasped the baseball bat. Lucky for me, it rested inches from my hand. These grungy bandits snarled with bright red faces. They appeared as if they had been exposed to some radiation, yet not enough to do serious damage. Their putrid body odor hit me square in the nostrils. Their shifty eyes sized up the load on my jeep, salivating at the loot, waiting to make their move.

"We follow this señorita's trail," the obvious leader with the black bandana said. "She is ours." The three chuckled. "For we already became well acquainted with her mother." They all roared with malicious laughter, as that leader of the pigs scratched his crotch. "Before she met the same unfortunate fate as her husband."

I shook my head. I gripped the bat. "Time to move on."

"Aw amigo," said one of them who supported a bushy handlebar mustache and a laptop strapped on his back. "We just want what is ours."

"That is right," the leader said as he moved toward me. He turned his altar sharp knife slowly in his hand. I noticed his tattoo of a pistol on his forehead.

One large step and I nailed him square in his forehead. The leader dropped like a sack of imported potatoes. I tossed that bat in the jeep, whipping out my gun. I motioned the other two back. They never moved. They smiled, gripping their knifes tight, inching forward with caution.

I placed a shot between each of their feet, raising the dust. The two hopped, shuffling backwards like drunken two steppers, leaving their unconscious leader laying in the middle of the road.

Fortunately, that jeep kept running. Within a few seconds I'd that old clunker in gear, hammering down on the pedal. We sped off, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

Only I heard the threat the coyote with the handlebar mustache bellowed, "We'll get you Paulina!" He continued to rant at her.

The girl next to me squirmed and muttered, "The one with the laptop that's screaming at me, is a former friend of the family." She swallowed hard. "And he thinks my father owed him big time."

SIX

An hour later we approached a lonely gas station that had seen better days. Carefully, I scanned the out of the way gas station before we approached any closer. I hoped it had gas and food. Except, the leaning dilapidated structure appeared abandoned. I eased up to the one and only leaning pump which stood an unusually long distance from the building. I sat there with uncertain thoughts for a minute.

Paulina spoke, "She'll come out."

"You've been here before?" I inquired.

"My parents and I passed through here."

I learned the frightful story of Paulina's trip into the States as we drove. The corruption and thugs they dealt with to reach this side of the border blew my naive mind. Also, she described how her and her parents hid in a tiny cave for days after the fallout began. They were fortunate. They possessed extra food to make it through the hiding period without obvious damage to their bodies. Only for Paulina's parents to meet their end at the hands of those pigs we left behind.

Sure enough an old lady shuffled out the door with a shotgun aimed at me. "What'd you want?"

I swallowed hard with my eye doing double time. "Ah! Hello Ma'am. Can we please buy some gas, some food, maybe some girl's clothes?"

The five foot lady gripped that shotgun tight. "Food's real scarce. So is gas."

"Got cash to pay Ma'am," I assured.

The lady with a bright red scarf and red Nike running shoes, peered closer at Paulina curled up in the seat. "Aren't you that girl that came through here a while back?"

Paulina nodded.

The African-American lady smiled out of the corner of her mouth. "Where's your parents? They were nice folks."

"They're dead Molly!" The dark eyed Paulina replied in a flat tone.

Molly removed her tattered glasses, wiping a tear. "Oh no! Sorry girl. Turned ugly out there. Folks killing for scraps."

Paulina shook her head with tears falling down her dirty cheeks.

"Go get yourself cleaned up girl," commanded Molly. "Got some clothes and stuff in the spare bedroom that might fit."

I studied the structure. It was clear this lady lived in the back of her business.

Paulina tapped me on the arm. "I won't be long."

Within fifteen minutes I filled the gas tank, purchasing an additional full gas can to go along with the three already stowed in the jeep. Bought additional food and beverages, stockpiling lots of packaged crap. But food was food. The jeep overflowed, even brought the medical equipment and supplies. I thought that in the Coachella mess we were traveling to, it might come in handy.

As I paid the gas station owner, adding a generous tip, Molly shared the news, "Just heard on the radio, that alt right operation for Jason Adams in LA was shutdown for good. And the man was executed for being a Russian spy."

That shook me to the core. I felt as if my feet were kicked out from under me. I broke into a prolonged sweat. What happened with that email I sent Jason? Did anything? Why did I wait so long to contact him?

"Are you okay?" Molly asked.

I wiped my perspiring brow which had become a nervous habit since February 14. "Ah, just a bit surprised Ma'am, that's all!"

"Jason Adams was a fine man, real patriot! Not enough folks like that anymore."

"A fine man."

"Time for you to be a fine man." The protective Molly sized me up and warned, "Listen Mr. dark and handsome, don't you be taking advantage of that poor innocent girl."

"Don't have to worry about that Ma'am," I stated with confidence. "I promise I'll not touch her."

Right then, the dark haired Paulina walked out of the garage in sandals. The five foot three girl was all washed up, looking fresh. She wore a yellow teeshirt that was way too small, and super tight faded jeans, she somehow squeezed into. With a matching yellow ribbon tying back that lovely hair, highlighting silver hooped earrings, and exposing her striking facial features; Paulina was absolutely gorgeous. My jaw dropped. I kicked myself for making that hands off promise to Molly.

As we were going to be drawing ever closer to the Coachella Valley the radiation levels would increase in a dramatic fashion. Therefore Paulina and I dawned the ugly radiation suits. Thankfully, I had a spare. As we put on the awkward attire, I felt as if we were in a post apocalyptic Bond movie to a Mars rover mission. We left the gas station, making our way slowly as those back roads presented some bone jarring challenges.

"Where did you learn such good english?" I inquired as we cruised along after we'd turned on to a better road. It made conversation easier.

"University in Venezuela where my father taught."

"But that's a hell of a long way!"

"Been traveling for months." She sighed in exhaustion. "Seems like a lifetime since we left that hell."

"So, why did you want to come to the USA?"

"Desired real freedom." Paulina clenched her fists. "We didn't want any handouts like that snake Enrico that called my father and our family close friends. The geek was a computer graduate student at the university. He travelled with us to the US border, whining all the way from Venezuela, sucking off us."

"You mentioned he was owed something."

"My father owed Enrico absolutely nothing. And my father told him so." She hammered the dashboard with her fist. "So, the reptile threw in with low life trash just before the US border. He joined one of the sleazy crime gangs, running the border area. Then to pass his initiation, Enrico turned on us like the serpent that he is."

"Well, you don't have to worry about him anymore."

Paulina flinched. "Don't know about that. He's got a lot of reasons to want to find me. And to want to kill me." She assumed a reflective look. "Things go way, way back to where we came from."

I wasn't sure I wanted to hear any more of this story right now, and wasn't sure she wanted to tell anymore. So, I asked, "Was there a lot of poverty back there in Venezuela?"

"Ci, food, clean water, electricity, all in short supply. The list goes on and on." Paulina shut her eyes as she continued to talk. "The communists in Venezuela ran our once rich country into the ground. As they did in Cuba, as they do anywhere."

"My former Democrat girlfriend used to tell me our US President didn't like to let immigrants in from communist countries. Cause they don't vote left when they become citizens. But she'd brag, from other places, it's wide open as far as the President's concerned. Cause they'll vote the Democrat way."

One thing I did manage to do while in the bunker was read. I loaded a series of ebooks exploring all sides of the so called political spectrum. I attempted to understand the various levels and components of that so called spectrum. I studied material challenging the reality of that spectrum. And who were the real benefactors of this so called ideological fight. But it left me even more confused.

"We heard as much about our welcome to the United States," she said. "But came anyway." She moaned. "My father became involved in conservative politics back home, very involved." Paulina shuttered. "He had to run! He insisted we could never go back. And now he and my mother." She leaned back in her seat and cried uncontrollably. The grief of her parents death overwhelmed her. She let the tears flow like a rushing river.

Except, why was I coming back to the Coachella Valley? I guess I wanted to return to witness the damage for myself. The damage I could have stopped if I'd somehow gone public successfully. Constantly, I kicked myself for being such a chicken shit, for lacking the balls to take a real stand.

As we approach the outskirts of Indio, California, there were a few more vehicles on the road. Numerous military and emergency vehicles cruised. Along with large SUV's trolling about with many unsavory occupants, who brandished weapons, scavenging for the spoils of war. The one thing all had in common, they wore protective radiation suits.

I heard tires screech. I heard them before I saw them. An SUV of gun toting thugs pulled a wicked tire squealing U-turn with their SUV on the middle of a major street in Indio. They were coming after us, and coming fast. They let go with automatic fire. Bullets whizzed through the air. I slipped off onto a side street. They'd never catch us now. For I drove every street and back way in this area with my Verizon van. I gave Paulina quite the bumpy ride, taking the jeep over some rough terrain, losing the scum, realizing what a jungle we'd entered.

Within minutes we pulled up to a higher spot in Indio. One could gaze down on the massive Polo grounds where the Coachella Festivals were held. "Holy Shit!" I yelled. It was one giant mother of a crater. There was no chance any of the one hundred thousand spectators survived. Plus how many died from the radiation around the Coachella Valley?

"Oh my God, Paulina! What have I done?" I puke my guts out, tears rolling from my guilt ridden eyes. She attempted to calm me down, having little success. After a minute, I lifted my head, accepting the fact I failed as a human being. I should have tried harder to tell my story!

"I am scum!" I said as I buried my head in my hands.

Paulina grasped my shoulder. "Whatever you feel you have done, you must forget and move on."

"I will never."

"You must gringo." She lowered her voice, "I too, have regrets in my life. But I must move on." She squeezed my shoulder. "You must move on Kevin. So, get it out. Don't shoulder the blame for this." She pointed to the crater. "The Russians did this."

I turned to her, staring into her black eyes. "We did this!"

"What?"

"The US government did this!" I shook my head in disbelief. The anger spilled out of me. "Leftwing Bastards controlled by large foreign interests!"

Paulina kicked the dirt, fire in her eyes. "I hate the corruption of the leftist dogs."

I gazed at her in surprise, realizing the intense passion within. Also I realized there was much more to this girl than I first thought. "I do hate them now. Their thirst for power can't be quenched. And then they'll stoop to any means to keep it, to grow it." I pointed at the Polo Grounds. "And that's what we end up with."

Half an hour later we weaved our way back to my condo in Palm Desert. I stayed off the I10 and Highway 111, using side streets. Such an ugly sight, there was no vegetation, burnt buildings, abandoned vehicles. No sounds of birds, and a few more people wondering about. Except for the first time, we spotted humans, well almost humans, without radiation suits. Nothing could have prepared us for that sickening sight. It was as if we remained alive in an eery tomb of disfigurement, destruction and death.

Paulina tagged along like a scared puppy. She hid under blankets in the back of the jeep, still paranoid about her immigration status. I assured her to not worry. But she continued to shiver in the intense heat.

"Here we are," I said. A block from my condo, I pulled up into the back of a vacant car dealership. I planned to walk the rest of the way. "You stay hear. I'll be back soon."

A panicking Paulina grabbed my arm with terror in her eyes. "No, no gringo, I come," She said in a high pitched shrill. Squeezing my arm with incredible intensity, there was no way she was staying back.

We made our way with cautious steps to a point where I could see into my condo complex. It looked as if the looting was selective. Some condos seemed untouched. Others displayed broken windows, kicked in doors and junk scattered in front. There sat my green Chevy truck, still supporting four flat tires. My condo appeared untouched. Except, on either side of my ground level condo, slouched two men in radiation suits. They held machine-guns. These guys were US military through and through.

Moving quickly in those radiation suits proved difficult. Only stopped once. For my cell rang. I fished it out of a pocket, checking the incoming number. It was my mom.

"Hi Kevin, just phoned to tell you that two of the nicest government men dropped by my place asking for you."

I groaned. "I hope you said nothing."

"Oh I served them tea," she confessed in her cheery voice. "And gave them this number you last called me from. So they could reach you. No need to thank me."

"Thanks Mom, got to go! Love you."

Now the FBI, CIA, military and who ever else would be able to track me. I spotted a nearby dumpster. But first I checked for any texts. There was one from Henderson, and the coded message red, "Run!"

I smashed the cell into pieces before throwing it in the dumpster. I thought one phone down, one left.

We ran like awkward ducks in our suits the rest of the way, reaching the open air jeep. Only to find, that some looters were about to help themselves. These people wore no radiation suits for protection. They looked hideous. Their faces were burnt half off, limbs fried to a stump, starvation in their eyes and an utter look of lunacy.

"Piss off," I bellowed. My rage was met by a skinny man holding my very own baseball bat.

Paulina's frightened scream jolted me into action. I drew my handgun. I fired a warning shot over the heads of the group. All moved back, except for two men. They charged with little to loose. They advanced with a pent up anger in their half dead eyes. A second shot took the baseball bat holding looter down with a bullet in his leg. Right then, I became thankful for those many hours my father drilled me at the gun range. But not happy I shot a live body. "Shit," I muttered, knowing these gunshots may well bring the military men running.

I heard a loud blood curdling scream resonating from Paulina, followed by the second attacker's pained holler as his knife went clattering to the ground. For Paulina had slipped out a Swiss Army knife hidden in her radiation suit. She stuck the man in the ribs like a street wise pro.

I snatched up the baseball bat. I started the jeep. A feisty Paulina stood in the passenger seat. She attempted to hold the group at bay with her knife. She shrieked, "Come closer, I slit your throat!"

One of the looters, who had held back, burst forward from the pack as I was attempting to jam the jeep in gear. He grasped his fellow looter's fallen knife. He rushed at me. He sunk that knife in my vulnerable back as I shoved him tumbling to the ground.

I screamed in pain. We sped away from that group with that knife protruding from my body. Blood sprayed like a fountain. I gritted my teeth, driving on for a few minutes. Yet, it seemed like forever . Paulina worked with feverish fingers at halting the perfuse bleeding. Not a word spoken between us. For we somehow knew we were running for our lives together, and leg one of that race was in the direction of Texas. And who knew where leg two of this journey would take us?

My eyes began to blur. My head began to swirl. My arms grew heavy. The jeep swerved dangerously. I attempted to gain control. But weakness overtook me. The last thing I remember before I passed out was the distinct shrill of Paulina's scream.

SEVEN

"What the hell?" I muttered groggily as I woke in a fog in a dimly lit room. I moaned as I felt the pain shooting from my shoulder.

"Hush," a soothing sweet voice ordered me to be still. Paulina wiped my forehead with a cool cloth. "Go back to sleep gringo."

I drifted back into blackness, coming in and out of consciousness. I returned with a greater clarity in my thinking, having no idea if it was ten minutes later or ten days later. The good news, I experienced less pain in my shoulder. As my eyes opened, a foggy haze welcomed me. I inhaled the distinct smell of antiseptic with a dry taste smothering my mouth.

My eyes came into focus after a couple of minutes. I spotted Paulina folding fresh sheets on a tiny kitchen table. "Did housekeeping not show today?"

She wheeled in shock, smile shining through bright and radiant. "Ci gringo." She floated to my side, clutching my hand. "You sound and look so much better." Paulina placed her hand on my forehead. "Fever's broke."

"Where are we?"

"Only place I thought to run. Back to Molly's gas station."

"But how did you?"

She winked. "Well, after somehow wrestling that jeep back on the road. Barely missing a lamppost. I dealt with your wound as best as I could. Pumped you full of morphine, and raced for Molly's."

"But how did?"

She giggled. "Somehow, Molly and I got you in here."

With my good arm, I felt under the covers, realizing she'd undressed me. She cleaned me all over as well. I blushed. "Ahem, how long have we been here?"

I gazed around the one room cabin, about 12 by 16 feet, built out of logs overflowing with a rustic charm. The crowded cabin had a tiny kitchen area, bathroom, couch against the wall, and two beds crammed in the middle of the room.

"You've been here for two days," she said with a gleam in her eyes. "And you've been a very talkative and restless patient."

"But my shoulder feels like maybe stitches, and this thing." I touched a portable IV.

"You'd enough medical supplies to run a hospital," Paulina said as she tapped the IV. "This thing came in handy."

"How'd you know how to do this medical stuff?"

She wiped my forehead. "Was a nurse at a University Hospital back in Venezuela? And cause of understaffing, nurses did it all." I attempted to sit up, she eased me back down with gentle hands. "Not yet gringo."

"Are we safe here?" I inquired while I allowed her to fuss over me. It felt rather nice.

"Molly has us hid in this cabin set back about 100 feet above the gas station. No one can see this place from down there with all the trees. But we can see down."

"Where's the jeep Paulina?"

"Hidden away. No one knows we're here."

A shotgun blasted, followed by Molly yelling, "Get out of here, you coyotes!"

Paulina grabbed my handgun from a small dresser top, peering out a tiny window. "That damn Enrico and his scum friends have Molly barricaded in her gas station."

"My name's Moises," the leaders said. The sound carried well up here in our hide away. "My amigos and I are looking for a girl and a gringo in an old jeep. Have you seen them?"

Molly shouted from inside her gas station, "No, and go away you filth."

The three men laughed like villains in a B rated western. "Don't believe you," replied Moises.

Paulina whispered to me, "That Moises is such a pig. Hate him. He's down there, scratching his goods."

"Get back in your car," ordered Molly. "Or I shoot to kill."

So the scum now possessed a car, probably stole it I figured.

"Señora, We'll not fight you now." Moises cackled.

If they had firearms I thought, they wouldn't be standing down.

Their car started as Moises shouted, "But, we'll be back one night."

By the next day I managed to ease up, sitting on the edge of the bed. Lightening bolts of pain sliced through my shoulder. The rest of my body felt okay. I was restless after the visit from Moises and his two pals. I wanted to move, wanted to take action. Paulina insisted I needed more rest. Except, Molly and I sent her off to sleep as she was done in from nursing me through my critical period. So, Molly promised Paulina, she'd sit with me, ensuring I wouldn't do anything stupid, threatening to tie me down.

I looked over at Molly with the red scarf around her neck, slouching in a chair in the corner. She pulled out a handgun. She pointed it directly at me. "I heard on the radio, that a reward of 50 grand is being offered for Kevin Thacker, the Russian spy."

I wriggled like a caught mouse in a trap. I moved my injured shoulder more than I should. "That-that's not true."

"How do I know that? The US government's offering money for your capture."

My shoulder began to hurt even more. "Please Molly! I'm not a Russian spy!" Of course, my left eye quivered as I stared into that gun barrel.

Molly cocked her gun, touching her battered glasses, giving me her silly grin. "I know you're not. Paulina told me your story. I'm not turning you in."

I mopped my brow. "You're a tough lady."

She continued to look at me with her lopsided grin, setting her gun on the table. "And you're a lucky man!" She rose, moving to peer at my bandaged wound. "Do you know how deep that knife went? If Paulina hadn't been there, you'd be a dead man. She's saved your ass."

"She's awesome!" The more Paulina nursed me with her tender touch, checking this, or monitoring that, ensuring my comfort, the more I grew to appreciate her caring and uplifting aura.

"This is the first sleep she's had since she hauled your sorry ass back here."

"Thanks for letting us stay Molly."

"My pleasure! Don't have much to do now that I'm sold out of gas and stock. Except for what I hid away for us. But got the station bordered up tight."

"We'll get out of your way soon," I promised.

"Not until Paulina says you're ready to go." She chuckled. "Besides, I kinda like having Paulina around." She shook her head. "Can't figure why she thinks you're so great!" She snickered, poking me in the good shoulder. "Just kidding Kevin! You're growing on me. Growing on me a lot!"

Right then the door opened to the cabin. An underfed, gangly teenager entered wearing a Golden State Warriors sweatshirt and lid. He smiled from ear to ear, hugging Molly. "Grandma, I made it! LA is hell. Thousands of crazy survivors are heading this way!"

"Here they come," I whispered as I sat at the cottage window that night. My gun gripped in my hand, keeping watch while the others slept. Paulina, Molly and her grandson, Will, all rose from their beds, grabbing a firearm. It turned out Molly possessed a small arsenal. She even had a tiny bomb shelter built under this cabin. She spent most of her nights in the tiny bomb shelter once the war began.

"I heard them park their car three hundred yards back down the road," Molly said in hushed tones. "Hear more voices this time."

Wow! I thought, this lady has some kind of sharp ears. Sure enough Moises and his larger group returned in the middle of the night. They surrounded the gas station, figuring Molly was inside.

Will yawned and stretched. "When?"

"Hush boy," Molly said with her sharp tongue.

The reunion with her grandson was epic. Will was living with his Mom in the heart of LA's poorest area, crime ridden, yet he spoke like a well educated kid. It turned out Will lived with Molly most of his life. But lately, he'd been slipping back and forth more often, attempting to spend more quality time with his mother, who was Molly's least favorite daughter in law.

Will got caught in the bombing on his last stay with his mom. He hid out with his unstable mom in an underground abandoned LA rail tunnel. The intelligent young man created improvised radiation suits, scrounging food and water. Unfortunately, his mom's hard drug habit got the best of her. One night she slipped out of their hideaway, never returning.

Will described the utter terror and violence unfolding in LA, along with the major food shortages for the survivors. With those food shortages and reduced radiation levels outside the major cities, they poured out of LA and Orange County. They scattered in all directions with many desperate people flooding this area. Will became one of that crowd, scurrying out of the rail tunnel. He retrieved his motorcycle. He scrounged enough gas to return to his grandmother.

I watched two of the scum hammering on the backdoor of the gas station with the butts of their guns. The thudding sound filtered up to us. I thought how now that they acquired firearms, real harm and damage would come.

A crash came from the front of the building. "Looks like they're getting through," I whispered. I spied Moises and Enrico guiding the break-in gang from off to the side. Sure enough, there was Moises with a bandage wrapped round his head, scratching his crotch. Exactly like he was the day I dented him with the baseball bat.

"Señora, Come out!" Moises hollered. "We won't hurt you." Wicked Chuckles sounded from all the intruders. The pounding continued as the majority of the group began entering the gas station, smashing everything in side.

"Everyone down!" I whispered. Then I counted to three, hitting the floor and the detonation button.

A series of explosions rocked the gas station. We huddled together, covering our ears, holding our breath, waiting for the eruptions to end. We cowered behind the makeshift barricade we created, with Paulina's high pitched screams being drowned out by the blasts.

For my one passion was explosives and building demolition. I owned a small company that contracted jobs around the Southern California area on a part time basis. I was fully licensed in a wide range of explosives. I could blow up any building, leaving the building next door untouched. Thank goodness Molly's gas tank was buried deep enough and far enough from the building to make this job clean.

I hobbled around earlier in the evening with the assistance of Will and Paulina, setting the charges. For after clearing out Molly's few possessions from that rodent infested dwelling, she agreed eagerly to the destruction of the dilapidated building, if it had to be.

I'll never forget her words as she clutched at her red scarf. "Time for this rebel to make a fresh start."

A final scream rang out from a dying man, before an eery stillness filled the air. When I looked out the window, dust impeded my view. Except, I spotted two people dragging themselves away. With his laptop on his back, Enrico and the bandaged Moises slithered away with blood pouring from their wounds.

We spent a restless night, one of us on guard at all times. We figured with what Will described, it might be time to consider heading further into the mountains with the hordes approaching. I unpacked my telecommunications equipment, wanting to send a coded message to Henderson. I asked him to tell my mom I was okay. I avoided contacting her directly as I worried they'd have her internet under tight surveillance.

I received a message back from Henderson in our code saying, "Government now offering 200K for you!"

That message chased any thoughts of sleep away. How had I become a hunted man? The reward was going up. I surfed the net, sure enough, the government hunted for the dangerous Russian spy, Kevin Thacker. They'd pay a handsome reward for any information leading to my capture.

A second message arrived from Henderson in our trusty code, "Reign called again, trying to find you."

Reign wasn't calling out of concern. This was the second time Reign contacted Henderson. He'd sent me an earlier message more lengthy warning me as well. He indicated she was determined to bring me to justice for turning on my country, attempting to raise her stock in the radical leftwing movement. Also, he asked if I knew she now joined the transexual team?

I woke Molly, her turn to stand watch.

I crawled under the covers, finding myself a comfortable spot on one of the beds. Five minutes later I felt a warm body snuggle up to me. I froze, knowing it was Paulina. But I knew the protective Molly held her gun cocked and ready to fire.

Paulina whispered in my ear, "She knows." Paulina kissed me passionately. She said with fear in her voice, "Please hold me close!"

The next morning we found ourselves looking down on the first wave of scavengers flocking to this less populated area. First, a dented and windowless purple Mazda pulled up with four people jumping out, rummaging through the rubble. They spent ten minutes, leaving empty handed and with frustrated curses ringing out.

Next we viewed a group in an old Dodge van. Clearly, they had been over exposed to the radiation. I ordered everyone to look away. For the image stayed with me forever. This over radiated group appeared desperate. They were thorough, sifting through everything, claiming a few items. They snarled like animals, fighting with each other over the spoils.

There was a point when one of the women in the group, wearing a bright pink hat covering her head, looked straight up. I froze. I felt she may have seen something. She stared at the spot for at least a minute. She turned, pointing upward. She whispered to a man with no arms who stood next to her. I waited with anxious breath as the scavengers accumulated their goods. After an hour, the group drove off down the road, allowing me to relax.

A couple of other groups stopped later that day, hunting for treasures. Two men on a street bike, and a yellow school bus with a group of nuns and children, all fleeing from hell. Molly and Paulina slipped down unnoticed. They dished out water and treats to the nuns and kids. The rest of the groups that day, motored or walked on by with all of us watching from above.

Molly asked the obvious, "Are we safe here?"

I scratched my head. "Been thinking about that, it might be time."

"The traffic seems to be picking up," Paulina said. "Maybe we do need to move further back in the mountains."

"The groups I got ahead of on my motorcycle were large and some nasty," Will informed as he played on his laptop. I was amazed at the constantly smiling kids level of expertise with the tech toys. "I think we got to get way back in those hills, and hide for our lives."

I said with uncertainty in my tone, "Okay, let's go hide up near my bunker." The comfort of the cabin would be tough to leave. But we had stuff desperate people wanted, and they'd kill for it. So, getting even more remote made sense.

"First thing in the morning," said Molly as she wrapped another piece of tape around her ancient spectacles. "For this evening let's pack up. We'll take everything we can. I've got a four by four. Will's got his dirt bike, and Kevin's sorry excuse for a jeep."

We spent the next couple of hours loading up, using the last of the daylight, ready to make our escape in the morning. Molly had set aside food, gas and some essentials for a lengthy hibernation. We crammed those vehicles to the max. The three crashed dog tired with myself taking the first watch.

All was quiet on my watch as I scanned for anyone sneaking up on us, Moises and Enrico, or that pink hat lady who may have spotted the cabin. Paulina took the next watch, Will to follow her. When my head hit the mattress, I was out in a second.

"Everyone freeze!" a deep voice sounded, jolting me from my sleep. "No sudden movements."

Staring us in the face were two men and a lady, machine-guns in their hands. Will continued to sleep soundly in the chair, laptop in hand, where he was on watch. My twitching eye began to dance as I scanned the deadly faces on the trio holding military issue weapons on us.

Paulina let out a screech. Her noise woke up Will with a bewildered look all over his face.

The same man and obvious leader chuckled mischievously, "Looks like we done found us more vehicles, food, gas." He poked Molly with his machine-gun. "And some folks to terrorize!"

EIGHT

"Hands up," the burley leader ordered. "Up against that there wall."

The four of us moved our groggy bodies. We formed a line with our arms straight up in the air, shaking like brittle leafs. The other gun toting man, who stood like a giant, head almost touching the ceiling, snatched up our weapons.

"What's the meaning of this?" Molly asked with her forceful tone, stepping forward, adjusting her glasses which were about to fall off.

The snarling leader pointed his gun at Molly, motioning her to move back against the wall. "Shut up lady!"

"Hay!" Will protested, resulting in him receiving a gun butt in the stomach, dropping him to the floor along with his Warriors hat.

The barrel chested leader walked up to me, glaring in my face. "Who are you kid? And what the hell is with that nervous eye?"

I took my time responding, staring back at the man, waiting for him to strike me. He grasped my wallet out of my pocket. He flipped through it, tossing it back. This was my real ID, not the fake one I had stashed in my jeep.

"So, yous Kevin Thacker?"

I gulped, not ready to admit it for these well armed folks would be cashing in the 200 grand reward real quick if they knew.

The six foot blonde haired woman, who had not said a word so far, smirked. "We have the notorious Kevin Thacker!"

The leader stuck out his hand. "You're a hero, a real Patriot! Come join the Resistance."

"Gotta get rid of all them tech toys," Buck ordered a few minutes later. He was the leader of the trio. He had a knife strapped to his hip and one missing finger on his left hand. "Kid, download anything from your cellphone, and we'll exterminate it."

Buck insisted we dispose of my remaining telecommunications equipment as it was traceable. He used his machine-gun to blow them into millions of pieces. He let the athletic Megan finish the job. He instructed the blue eyed Amazon like lady to do the same with Molly and Will's tech devices. While the six foot ten Tony with a snake tattoo on his right arm, used his bulging muscles to rearrange the loads on the vehicles. It allowed Molly to bring even more goods.

Buck assured me that they had up-to-date tech equipment for all of us back at their Resistance compound. Along with military like garb identical to what they wore. All three were outfitted in brand new uniforms similar to the US military. Except for a blue patch with the words: Freedom USA.

The three from the Resistance talked us into joining their movement. They were thrilled when they learned of Paulina's nursing background, my telecommunications and explosive background, Molly's ability to cook and her feistiness, and Will's enthusiasm and computer hacking knowledge for one so young. They promised Will he could still wear his Golden State jersey around the compound. He didn't have to wear their uniform like the rest of us.

As Buck and his two soldiers assisted us in loading up the final few items, preparing us to follow their military jeep, he pulled me off to the side.

"We're gonna get you all oriented in our compound," he informed me. "And then on November 8, the day the US should have been having our election. A small team of us will make a statement to our crooked President, who just named a top Chinese diplomat as a Chief Advisor to the US Military." He kicked a stone like an angry little boy. "We're slowly being taken over. The dang person named from China is basically calling the square dance."

My mouth opened in surprise. I never thought the influence would be exercised in such a blatant manner. For Buck had explained how the Chinese were displeased with how the war with Russia was unfolding for the USA. The Chinese wanted more control. I wondered if the Chinese diplomat at Sunnylands, that our President was fooling around with, was the one named to the powerful position? Or was it one of her flunkies?

"What kind of statement would we make?" I asked with a tremor in my voice.

"Need your expertise to help us blow up the Chinese embassy in LA."

The convoy proceeded without incident to the Resistance compound. Ironically, the compound was situated about an hour from my bunker. Except, this terrain stood out, incredibly rough and rugged; no old logging roads. Only barely discernible trails that'd been created by the Resistance's vehicles coming and going. After our bones were pounded to a pulp, we pulled up to a small clearing. It sat jammed up against a sheer mountain, cliff rising a few thousand feet in the air. Buck waved at us from his lead jeep. He motioned us to stop.

I gazed around wondering how the hell did we get to this deserted place? This desolate world where not a ray of light could penetrate. Nor could anyone ever see us from the sky. Although, our vehicles would never be the same making this roller coaster ride, neither would our bodies.

"Why are we stopping?" Pauline asked with an apprehensive tone while grasping my hand.

"No idea," I responded, squeezing Paulina's hand to settle her down.

Buck trotted up to my jeep. "Here we are."

He fiddled with a handheld device. Slowly a large opening in the mountain side opened wide. He didn't even have to say, open sesame. An amazing feat of engineering. I'd no idea that a cave opening existed there. The camouflage was impressive.

"Let's go," Buck shouted. "Kid, go in first, just keep a driving, we'll follow."

As we proceeded into the tunnel, both Paulina and I gasped. This was no dirt cave. A well lit road descended into the middle of the mountain, with heavily guarded security stops along the way. Finally, we emerged on an expansive parking lot with high ceilings. Numerous military vehicles lined up in an orderly fashion. An armed guard pointed at an empty area, directing us to park in the vacant spots.

"Crazy!" Will shouted as he shut down his motorcycle. Thank goodness he had a dirt bike as a street bike would have never made it this far.

"I agree with Will," Paulina said in astonishment. "Crazy is right! What kind of place is this?"

Buck and his team pulled up moments later. "Welcome to your new home. And welcome to your new family." For they'd treated us like family, ever since that first encounter. I agreed to join the Resistance without a thought. But I was no far rightwing person. Or had I become one? What was I getting into? What alternative did I have?

"I can't believe this," Molly said as she stepped out of her truck with oversized tires. It seemed as if those wheels were as high as her.

"Who funds all this?" I asked Buck.

"Have many of these her Resistance compounds around the country, all funded by conservative Patriots; and some stinking rich ones at that."

"Where do they recruit from?" I inquired. "You look like regular army."

Buck stuck out his chest. "Many x-military personnel involved, such as me. Current military are joining the Resistance every day." He patted me on the back. "I'll answer all your questions later. But first let's get you all fed and set up. We gotta do further security clearance on you all. But I don't think we'll have any issues." He laughed and pointed at Molly. "Except for that one, she might be even too rightwing for us."

Security clearances were conducted with all passing, without an issue. During the clearance process our sir names were used. After that, first names were only spoken. Each of us were issued new security identifications, cell phones and laptops. Following that, we were ushered to our rooms after a short tour. Molly snatched the keys from our guide after he unlocked the doors.

They were two to a room accommodations. Bunk beds with new mattresses, basic dressers, tiny closet, even smaller bathroom, with a chair and desk in each room. The rooms were compact, but much more than I expected.

Also, the compound boasted of a mess hall and entertainment center which had Will's eyes lighting up. Large screen TVs plastered on the walls with every type of electronic game one could imagine as well as pool tables, poker tables, small putting green and so on.

The super tall Tony invited us to join him later at a well stocked bar in the corner of the massive entertainment center. He promised all drinks were on him. For his favorite team, the New York Yankees, would be playing up on the big screen. He loved to cheer them on, with a crowd around him and his Yankees hat on.

Aggressively, Paulina grabbed one key out of the hand of Molly who had held both keys. She pointed in one of the rooms. "Kevin and I take this one."

The following morning, I navigated my way to the highly secured area housing the explosives and the person who designed and distributed them. This thick walled section ran under the firm hand of a guy called Sticks. "Come on in Kevin," the jovial man insisted while he sat behind a desk, scattered with diagrams, three computer monitors, and a pile of Pepsi cans. "Have a chair."

"Thank you Sir!" I responded as I grabbed a chair across from his desk. I peered around on the tables in his large office/lab and was impressed. They held all sorts of devices, explosives and high tech gadgets. Some I'd seen before, some were totally foreign to me. This would be an education of a lifetime.

"Nice drone," I said as I pointed to the object positioned on a table off to the side.

"Very best! And we will use drones and robots much more frequently on our demolition missions. And you Kevin, are going to be a key part of that."

"Only used a small robot on a couple of jobs in the past. So I'm not real skilled."

"Well, I am!" Sticks smiled as he tipped the orange fedora on his head. "And I'm happy to have a new apprentice." "Got a bit of a bio on you. Think you got what it takes to be one of the best. But."

"But what Sir?"

"But I'm gonna first teach you to never make the same mistake I did." The forty year old Sticks rolled his wheelchair out from behind his desk.

An hour later Buck and I huddled in his office. He sat as the commanding officer of this Resistance compound, and also led the top mission team out of here. Buck was a veteran of both Iraq offensives, a long stint in Afghanistan, and numerous other dangerous military actions around the world.

I took him through the series of events starting with my overhearing the President's conversation with Gilda Founder on Valentine's Day. At the end of the story, I confessed, "I should have done more. I'm sorry!"

The fifty-two year old man shook his head. "Kid, you done the best you could. How could you have known that Cameron Gladstone is actually a dang communist? His Coachella Valley radio show is a sham. A real sham."

"No way!" I squirmed in the uncomfortable folding chair.

"Dang right kid! Can assure you he ain't the only one."

"He really did treat me like crap. But for a moment on my second attempt in the fall, I thought Cameron understood and might help."

"He's a real con man. He's still on the air, helping President Harry James's people root out opposition."

"But Buck, why didn't they come right after me when I contacted Cameron?"

"Our Resistance intelligence discovered, you did a dang good job for a greenhorn of leaving little trace. And by the time they got that amateur watching your place, you'd one run in, but you were gone."

I sighed in frustration. "Can't believe Cameron Gladstone was a fraud. Don't tell me Jason Adams was a phony."

"Jason Adams was a real Patriot." Buck assumed a sad face. "I knew the man. He was a good guy. He died for our cause."

"Wish I had got to him earlier," I admitted.

"Wouldn't have mattered. The last couple of months of his show before that there Coachella bombing, his organization had been infiltrated."

"Did he ever get my email?"

Buck shook his head. "Our intelligence learned that Jason's assistant intercepted it."

I slumped my shoulders. "All for naught!"

Buck hammered the table. "That same assistant lined up phony evidence to have Jason executed." He crushed a Coke can. "And that slippery bastard is now hiding away near Yuma, Arizona. So kid, before our big job on November 8, how'd you like to tag along on a small initiation mission tomorrow night?" Buck grinned like a sly army fox. "Time to visit that border city and deliver a Resistance message."

Dressed in my first set of military garb, I edged along a hill with Buck, Megan and Tony. We gazed down on an acreage on the outskirts of Yuma. A still desert night, but for a coyote that howled in the distance, and the hum of an electrical swimming pool pump running. That acreage supported a beautiful sprawling mansion, guest house and servants quarters. This assistant did very well by turning on Jason Adams. A hulking guard held a machine-gun as he stood at the front of the complex, a guard at the back.

"Watch and learn," Buck whispered. "If anything goes wrong, get the hell out of here."

"But."

"Only use that thing." He pointed at my automatic rifle. "If you're sure you can help. Otherwise run."

Twenty minutes passed, and I spotted the front guard drop. I spied Buck crawling up to the dead man. But what Buck did not see, while on the ground, was an additional guard, stepping out of the guest house. He tracked my leader's movement with his rifle.

No time for observing as the guard's gun was about to take out Buck. I drilled that unsuspecting guard square in the head with a silent kill shot, dropping him like a rock. Buck was alerted to the danger and what I had done. He glanced over at me, giving me a thumbs up. Smiling as if I just passed my initiation. Next I witnessed a slight movement at the back where Megan and Tony eliminated the last guard with little fuss.

What happened in that house? I'll never know? My three friends entered and returned within minutes, flames rising from the mansion. Buck appeared grim as he said, "That was for Jason."

Late that night when we returned, I assisted Megan to the infirmary. She took a nasty tumble during our escape. She limped badly. As we walked into the well equipped infirmary, Paulina greeted us.

"Oh my God!" She embraced me with feeling, then pinched my bum. "Thank goodness you guys are back in one piece."

"Except this one," I pointed at Megan, "decided to take a dive."

Megan slapped me playfully. "Shut up! You're new handle is gonna be, Assassin, with that shot."

Paulina's face showed massive fear, asking in a shrill voice. "Weren't you supposed to stay back?"

"He was," Megan explained. "Just made an incredible shot from way back." She whistled the amazement sound. "That was precise marksmanship. The distance was one thing, but from that angle you had little target."

I grasped Paulina's hand. "It was all instinct. Buck may have taken one. So I just fired."

Buck paraded into the infirmary, gripping my hand. "You saved my life kid!"

I looked down. "Ah, well."

"Thanks kid. Now enough about that. Go get some shuteye. Cause first thing in the morning, we gotta plan for November 8. And as of right now, you're officially the fourth member of my A team. Congratulations!"

"Thank you!" I said. Although I was not sure what I was in for, but I still figured it was better than the alternative.

Buck pounded me on the back. "I'm gonna keep planning our election blast." He left the room as quick as he entered.

I stayed with Paulina as she wrapped up Megan, sending her off with a smile. It was clear Paulina had made herself right at home here in the infirmary.

"How's Molly fitting in," I inquired as I admired her in the military nursing outfit.

"Running the kitchen, ordering the head cook, Sven, around."

"Have her talk about her wild past? She used to run with the Black Panthers way back. Then she said she saw the light, going far right."

"She's a pistol!" Paulina smirked. "They even have a place here to get new eyewear. Guess where Molly was first thing today?"

I chuckled. "How's Will?"

"They've got him working with a couple of tech folks. He's on cloud nine."

"And how's Paulina?"

She planted a kiss on my lips. "Worried sick about her gringo! Let's talk." She showed me her chewed down finger nails. "Don't think I can let you go on another mission!"

Wearing our radiation suits, our vehicle weaved its way through the out lying areas of LA on November 8, 2016. The day our Presidential election should have taken place. LA was unbelievable! Even though Will described the devastation and chaos. Until I saw it for myself, well, it was utterly horrifying. We parked, making our way on foot until we entered into the critical zone.

The remainder of the way we slithered on our belly's. We needed to plant the explosive charges as close to the Chinese embassy as possible in order to inflict the type of massive damage desired. Of course, the Chinese army patrolled the perimeter of their embassy which they had relocated last week.

The Chinese moved to a larger, more secure area, away from the worst radiation, further outside the city. Also, they were not as much operating as an embassy, but a quasi government. Everyday a new announcement naming some Chinese Diplomat to a senior US position was made and flaunted.

The advantage of the new Chinese Embassy for us, was some of the high tech security gear wasn't fully functional yet. Our intelligence let us know exactly which spot to exploit. Buck in the lead, Tony and Megan on each side with me bringing up the rear, we inched forward through the small gap provided to us in the electrical surveillance system. We still had physical obstacles to overcome. Barbed wire ripped our suits, spikes cut into us. But we trudged along. We scaled fences, walls and anything else in our way.

Oh yes, so far, a quiet Buck and company eliminated four guards and two guard dogs. I did my part. For a ways back, Buck had halted and whispered to me, "Guard up on that corner tower, one on the middle tower. You're our best. Do it!"

After the first kill in Yuma, although it bothered me, I got over it. Psychologically, I came to grips with one of my new roles. After talking it through for hours, Paulina came to grips with our new reality as well.

Within one minute the long range shots were completed with those high tech night friendly scopes. The shooting became much more accurate and deadly with that type of technology. Upon the two guards falling, it allowed us to advance to this point without detection. Only feet from where I'd start my other job.

As we approached the main wall of the compound, Buck halted the team again. He flashed me the hand signal. With careful fingers, I removed the sensitive explosives. These explosives were high tech and more powerful than anything I'd ever touched. Sticks schooled me over and over on their use. He acted like a nervous parent as I left the compound, giving me last minute instructions, ensuring every safety precaution was strictly followed.

At this critical point of the mission, calm nerves were everything. Therefore, I controlled my breathing as Henderson taught me, settling right down. I planted the first charge. I let out a relaxing sigh when it was done. We made three other explosive plants around the compound. No way we could have done this if the security had been fully set up in the new embassy. But we got lucky on this mission. We hightailed it out of there as fast as we could on our bellies. Timers set to light up the Southern California sky.

Upon making it back to our armed vehicle, we sped from the area. A minute later Megan peered at her watch. "What the hell? Something's wrong."

Buck added. "Should have gone off!"

"Hope it wasn't faulty crap," Tony chimed in with his Brooklyn accent.

Another minute passed with nervous looks being exchanged. Until a series of gigantic booms erupted. They were ear piercing. The night sky glowed like a humongous ball of white light. The vehicle rocked back and forth with Tony having difficulty holding the road. Particles of everything rained down on us as Tony finally got us back speeding down the street.

Another series of mega eruptions filled the night with Tony attempting to hold the road again. "Hang on gang," Tony warned. His muscles came in handy as he got the vehicle back in line.

"Yea-haw!" Buck whooped. "We blew the shit out of that place! So what do you all think happened with the timers?"

I pointed at myself. "When I realized the hell we had to go through to get there. I altered the timers right before I set them. So we'd live through the blasts."

"Great thinking! Now for my surprise," Buck chuckled. "Since there is a price on each of our heads anyway. I've just sent a note to one, Steven Atkins, the newly promoted Director of Communications for President Harry James. I claimed responsibility for this blast. " He laughed louder. "And listing each of our names. And by the way Kevin, behind your name, I put the words, Explosive Assassin!"

NINE

"Five million dollars," said Pauline two days later as she searched the net, while the two of us relaxed in our tiny room in the compound.

"Did you win the lottery?" I asked with a smirk.

She stared at me in fright. "That's what you are worth to the US President, dead or alive!"

She then scanned various sites. "much of social media is outraged. They want the four of you drawn and quartered."

"Wonderful!" I gazed over at a leftwing Facebook page. "Wow! We've made the big time."

"All over the net! Aren't you worried?" She slipped over to Twitter.

"Of course Paulina, but we chose our path, we'll live with it." Damn right I felt worry. My left eye twitched the entire night we bombed the Chinese Embassy. And then sped up its twitching when Buck informed us of what he'd sent to Steven Atkins.

"And look at Miley Cyrus, denouncing anyone who stands against her girl, Gilda Founder." Paulina continued to scan Twitter and giggled. "Beyonce and Jay-Z are in on the act, ripping the Explosive Assassin and the California Resistance."

"They're just puppets of the left." I stretched and took a relaxing breath. "I'm so grateful the Resistance has placed my Mom and sister in a safe area."

She poked me. "Saw pics of their new place, its paradise." Her eyes widen in surprise. "A tweet from your old boss Hector called you a lazy ass." She reached down and pinched my ass. "That ass isn't lazy. More like hot! And I saw an earlier tweet from Reign calling you a long list of isms."

"Knifes are really coming out!" I grinned. "Especially, after Will and the Resistance tech folks had been posting the pics Megan took of the big bang on November 8."

"The alt right media that still survives calls you guys the Bangers Four! Makes you out as heroes."

"Shit Paulina, that'll just fuel the liberals and government even more."

Paulina continued to scan. "Look at this tweet from Steven Atkins."

I leaned over to view. "He's taking it bombing rather personal."

"Ci." Paulina cleared her voice, reading out the long tweet. "I have physically bested Kevin Thacker before. This time I'll personally guarantee his death!"

A grumbling Buck limped into the mess hall and announced, "Dang war's back on!"

"Back in double hell again," muttered Molly who sat next to me, tugging on her red scarf. Will confided to me that the scarf covered a nasty knife wound, his grandmother collected in her Black Panther days. Also, Will indicated the person who slashed her ended up in much worse shape then her.

It was Black Friday in 2016 and the Russians and the United States, who were being run more and more by the Chinese, were going missile to missile again. The ceasefire ended with talks breaking down. Behind the scenes our intelligence told us there was no way the Chinese wanted this war to end. Their two largest military threats were kicking the crap out of each other. And it was too early to stop this heavy weight battle.

An earlier decree a few days ago, announced that the entertainment industry, run primarily out of LA, was now under the direct control of the Chinese Government. President Harry James said it was so the United States could focus its attention on the conflict with Russia. Not that this entertainment takeover mattered a ton.

The Chinese owned 90% of the Hollywood action anyway. They'd been normalizing socialism and communism for years in our country through their influence over content. Now they assumed complete control on all aspects of our entertainment. Within a day, the Chinese pronounced that all TV/movie making would be moved to China. It'd leave LA like a ghost town. As well, humongous Chinese flags were being set up around the famous Hollywood sign, ensuring the world knew who ran that show.

Will tapped on his secure cellphone. His head popped up. "Seattle Needle just took a hit."

Megan groaned. For Seattle was her home before she ventured to LA after high school. Megan never made as a stunt lady. But the army welcomed her. Then she joined the Resistance when she witnessed the gradual takeover of the US military by the Chinese.

Paulina gripped Megan's hand. "They'll be okay."

The two drew closer over the last few weeks, sharing confidences and providing support through the chaos. Megan started teaching Paulina basic self defense and firearms techniques. While Paulina taught Megan further first aid skills. Also, the two talked none stop health as they were both exercise and nutrition nuts.

Will piped up, "I'll find out." He continued to tap away.

I watched the young man work. His image was evolving in front of us. Constantly, he hung around our compound tech crew, becoming a permanent fixture in the tech squad pit, picking up many of their habits and lingo. He even got himself a pair of glasses that he didn't need. It made him look like one of the geek squad. But no way he was shedding one of his Warrior's Jerseys. For a couple extra were found and presented to him by his tech buddies.

Will turned to Megan. "Your family is fine." She leaned over and hugged the young man, bringing a blush to the teenager.

Buck turned to me, "How's that special training going kid?"

"Sticks running me through a crash course," I responded. "Still have a ways to go."

Buck slammed his fist in his open hand. "Better be ready. Time for the biggest New Year's Eve fireworks display ever!"

Late that night on Black Friday Paulina and I cuddled in our room. She scanned the web. "Look here gringo. She's a celebrity."

I leaned over to witness Reign being interviewed by CNN with a group of chanting activists in the background. She described her relationship with the Explosive Assassin, manufacturing stories about my political believes. In addition, she manufactured stories about the physical and mental abuse I subjected her to. She glowed on camera, clearly enjoying this nation wide attention. She put on a performance worthy of an Academy Award.

Her words rang in my ears, "This monster must be eliminated." This drew cheers from the crowd of activists, cheering on their new TV star. Reign grew more feverish as she carried on, "Kevin Thacker must be killed! Along with every other rightwing fanatic on the earth."

The following morning, Buck paced his office with me sitting in that uncomfortable folding chair. His limp grew more pronounced since we arrived. I asked him where he got that limp. The tough Oklahoman simply growled and shrugged me off.

"Kid!" Buck wrapped on his desk. "Gotta get them drones figured out quick. How's Sonya and Raj working out?"

Sonya, a brilliant grad from Cal Tech, and Raj, an experienced engineer from the aerospace industry, were assigned to work with me. Our handle was Team Boom Boom. I was to be the team lead. Sticks would oversee us. We were to use new delivery mechanisms to blow shit sky-high. Our mandate was clear and urgent. Sticks was fantastic about departing his wealth of knowledge into my brain. It was the super big bang stuff. I learned more with each lecture and demo. He taught me cutting edge techniques that took a certain size explosive, and have it operate as if it were ten times the power.

"Working out great! But Buck, that's complex tech, and for what you're asking. We must be bang on. Or innocent civilians will die."

"Dang! Wish we could just send a team in and blow things to kingdom come." He sighed, scratching his bald head. "But the Chinese got that area totally secured now."

"And Buck, getting a drone through won't be easy either."

"Yeah kid." Buck tossed an empty Coke can in the garbage. "But if what Raj tells me is possible, and if the Chinese think the contraption is one of theirs."

A knock on the door sounded.

"Come in," Buck ordered.

A stalky man stepped in the room, studying his cellphone. "Excuse me Sir."

"What is it Elias? Hey Kevin, this is Elias."

"Pleased to meet you Elias," I said.

The man nodded his head. "Likewise."

"Elias here is our new procurement head," informed Buck. "You need anything kid. This guy can get it. But no questions." Buck chuckled in a knowing manner. "And Elias, this kid's the second best explosive guy we got. And cause we ain't got tons of expertise in another area. He's gonna build skills in them dang headless flying and walking machines too."

Elias turned to me with his one good eye. "Whatever you need. Just ask." Elias turned back to Buck. "Want to let you know Sir. That the shipment of those highly secret robots has arrived."

"Yea-haw!" Buck pumped his fist. "Never know how our side got our paws on them top secret babies. More and more of our resistance gang infiltrating into the enemy."

"Silent majority's beginning to act Sir," Elias said.

"Dang right!" Buck pointed a get-it-done finger at me. "So kid, your team's got more toys to work with. And more shit to blow!"

Over the next two weeks, the testing process ran extensive. Sonya, Raj and I executed a number of mini blows, out in the California wilderness. I gave Sticks a blow by blow report after each test. Most were successful, a few screw ups. For example, we blew up one of our two jeeps we drove in to our test site. Thank goodness, Buck and Sticks were patient with us. But test by test, our sophistication in using the drones and robots with explosives grew.

The Resistance in California over this period kept a low profile. For the Russians and United States bombed the hell out of each other. Military targets were destroyed at alarming rates. Other then selected missions and our tests, which we performed with the protective radiation suits on, everyone stayed way down in our underground compound, hidden from the mass destruction out there.

On December 10, 2016, we decided to execute our own mini mission at night. Nothing big, simply a real life test that could make a statement. With our radiation suits on, Tony and Megan drove us within ten miles of the selected target. The elevation of the flightpath selected for the drone would run low to the ground. The terrain was relatively flat to the target with little civilian population. The security around the target rated as non-existent. This first mission would put our precision skills to the test.

"Launch," I ordered.

"Launched," responded Sonya. She'd proved to be more then brilliant. This girl who grew up in San Jose where her father had her playing with robots and aeronautical toys at three years old. Her passion and knowledge grew from there.

Silently, the small drone lifted and sped off into the night.

"We'll know in minutes," Raj said. "If the explosion is loud. We hit pay dirt. If we miss, the sound will be faint. For if we were successful, this area would be crawling with military within the hour.

The wait went on forever. Finally I said, "Should have blown. Let's go."

Raj rubbed his chin. "Hmmm. Let's give it time."

"Something's wrong," Sonya insisted as she studied her equipment tracking the device. "Being taken out to the ocean."

"Say what?" Raj asked.

She turned to me. "Only way that could happen on an out of the way unsecured site like this, is if they had advanced intel it was coming."

Buck huddled with me after the failed mission. "I swept my office for bugs. Nothing. Tell me the story kid."

I took him through each step. The experienced military man absorbed each detail like a sponge. Nodded his head at certain points. His face intensified into a hard mask of stone. When I finished, I wiped my brow, figuring I'd be getting hell.

"Okay kid. Next test only five people gonna know. Me, Sticks, and your Team Boom Boom."

"How's that going to find out who's the spy in here?"

"Ain't! But you're gonna keep blowing shit up. While I find the bastard and castrate em. If the bastard has any balls."

I strolled over to our compound infirmary after the meeting with Buck ended. Paulina worked alone in the room. I spotted a girl whose face had been dragged through the mud.

I raced to her side. "What is it?"

She cried like a baby. And this wasn't the first time she'd been crying over the past few hours. "Nightmare relived."

"What?"

Paulina collected herself. "Somehow, Enrico got through our air tight computer security."

"No way!"

"He's scum! A snake! But he's one of those tech geniuses. Sent me a note, claiming he knows where we are."

"How could he?"

Paulina held up her bracelet which was her mother's. "Said he put a tiny chip in here. So he'd always find my mother, or me."

TEN

One week before Christmas, Russia and the United States called a permanent ceasefire. Both countries were beaten. Both claimed victory, but no one was the victor in this type of nuclear battle. Industrial capabilities, infrastructure, military and so on, all required rebuilding. President Harry James talked of many lofty values protected in this war. He talked of the lengthy rebuild phase in which he' d stay on as President indefinitely.

The announcement that blew everyone away was that Vice President of the United States, Gilda Founder, would be stepping down due to a sudden scandal. That breaking scandal uncovered from a timely release of evidence of her involvement in murders back in her home state. Our Resistance spies discovered that evidence was brought forward by the Chinese. We experienced greater surprise, when the new Vice President of the United States was named, Lee Fang from China.

It appeared evident that the United States was too weak to resist anything the Chinese demanded. So, the Resistance stepped up its efforts. Team Boom Boom prepared its Christmas present for the Chinese. Two robots and four drones were programmed to strike. This was a real mission, tons of planning, and only five of us in the know.

Before hand, we'd run another test, blowing out a cluster of gas tanks used by the Chinese armed forces. There was no hiccups. Only us five knew about the mini test. A thing of beauty when we nailed the out of the way target, sending flames miles in the air.

The complexity and security around this Christmas mission ranked much larger. The code name for this Christmas mission was, Academy.

With everyone still wearing radiation suits, and Buck, Megan and Tony as our escorts, we reached our well-hidden launch location. It sat 14 miles from the target. Megan and Tony possessed no knowledge of the target. Once we got set up, Sonya and Raj finalized the programming. I finalized the explosives.

We sent the two robots off first. One about five minutes ahead of the other. For they'd take much longer to arrive. After what seemed like an eternity, the four drones were launched. Then we sat back and watched our tech devices. Wondering how many of our explosive toys would make it through the U.S. or Chinese security net? Or how many would actually get to the security net? But after the war, the security nets were still influx, giving us opportunities not ordinarily available.

"Holy shit!" Megan and I shouted at the same time, as our devices lit up.

"All but one got through," Sonya informed the group. "One robot was detected first and disarmed. He was like our decoy."

"Worked like a charm," said Raj.

Buck tapped away on his cell. "Steven Atkins just got another message from the Explosive Assassin who took credit for blowing up the Hollywood sign."

The next morning I received a coded message from Henderson. I hung in the mess hall with a group of us Resistors. He told me to go on CNN. Steven was being interviewed.

I flicked on one of the TVs in the mess hall just as Steven Atkins informed the world, "This Explosive Assassin must and will be destroyed. The Government of the United States and China are combining forces to eliminate this radical Nazi. We are increasing the reward for any information leading to the capture of Kevin Thacker, the evil Explosive Assassin." Steven cleared his throat. "The reward for any information leading to his capture, or if he is brought in dead. We will pay 100 million."

That night Paulina and I laid in our bunk, analyzing the recent activities. "Kevin, I hate this!"

"In for a penny, in until death."

She slapped me with her treasured bracelet back on. For upon her telling me of the chip, we marched down to the tech team. They pulled it out. I then programmed one of the long range drones, and sent Enrico's tracking chip on a ride to the corner of Northeast Oregon.

Buck insisted we strike fast. December 28 and he'd Megan, Tony and myself heading for LA. This seemed like a personal vendetta to me. Buck hated the way the LA Times reported the leaders running the Resistance in California. The LA Times military expert happened to be an old officer of Buck's. He thought he was a clown and a communist back then, and had become even more so. The LA Times published over the top left words, and of course, were owned outright by the Chinese government.

This was to be a precise blast. Hitting the section of offices where the military analyst for the rag sat. And it was to be done in the middle of the night. We slithered our way to within three quarters of a mile of the target. Tony crawled three hundred yards in front of us, clearing a path. Several machine-gun blasts sounded. Through my infrared scope, I saw Tony's large body jerking as the bullets tore him to shreds. Buck, Megan and I let loose with extended fire of our own.

Buck limped by me. "Trap! Tony's done."

Megan flew by. "Retreat!"

"Get the hell out of here Buck," I ordered. Buck moved as fast as he could. But the Oklahoman needed more time. And I was going to give it to him.

I carried a small pack of explosives for just such an occasion. I whipped out my special close range device. It could launch small explosives. But the accuracy was suspect. Kind of a shotgun approach. But I needed to give Buck extra seconds.

In rapid succession, I fired off many mini explosives, going on sound more then sight. For the area was filling up with armed security.

Ear piercing blasts, rapid gunfire, death screams and light flashes filled the air.

Two bullets thudded into my bullet proof vest. To bad Tony's vest didn't save him. But there were just way too many body hits. I saved my best for last. I then dropped timing explosives as I retreated a mist all the chaos. A few remaining security people rallied themselves to follow us.

As I fled after Megan and Buck, a series of explosions every ten-seconds could be heard, sometimes a scream, most times nothing. But it slowed any pursuit. When I returned to our assigned return spot, Megan and Buck where there, with the jeep started and ready to flee.

"Poor Tony!" Buck slammed the steering wheel. "No more old fashion shit. This ones on me!"

Megan looked back at me, pointing at my right thigh. "You're hit."

I looked down to see blood seeping out of two wounds in my thigh. I fainted.

I woke up in our compound infirmary, looking up into Paulina's worried face. "We've played this movie before."

She poked me in the chest. "And no more of this gringo."

"How am I?"

She sighed with fatigue. "Both bullets grazed you. Lucky." She shed a tear. "But Tony."

The night all came back to me. I shut my eyes, wishing the sight of Tony's body being hit would disappear. How I ran so fast with those two wounds, I'll never know? But I was operating on pure adrenaline and the wounds weren't serious.

The initial reports went out that the Explosive Assassin was dead. But then retractions were issued.

I looked at my secure phone. Henderson sent a message asking what happened. There was another message from him, saying how worried my mom was. I fired a coded message back, indicating all was well.

He replied, "Get the hell out!"

"You aren't going," Paulina screamed at me. "Your wounds will open."

"I'll be miles away from any of the real action."

Paulina hugged me. "Damn you gringo. You're gonna die on one of these."

I whispered in her ear, "This New Year's Eve party's way to important to miss."

"Launch," I commanded a few hours later.

Eight large heavily-explosive-laden drones zipped off into the night. Low flying devices that could travel over land and under water. Within an hour we didn't need our devices to watch this Dec. 31 show. As the sky lit up for miles around.

We hit a Chinese munitions ship sitting a mile out to sea. One of the reasons we got the drones in as close, was they were their own high tech drones. Our Resistance intelligence informed us there be a critical point where there would be some unloading onto two other small supply ships. We were to take advantage of this short window of confusion.

When the drones hit on that New Year's Eve, the explosives triggered the munitions inside to erupt. It caused the smaller supply ships to explode within minutes, resulting in mega waves to slam into the shores of Southern California.

On January 1, 2017, we toasted our success with Bud beer cans. We watched Steven Atkins, now Vice President of Communications for the White House. The recently promoted geek appeared on CNN again, vowing to eliminate the Explosive Assassin. For Buck wasted no time in taunting the young power hungry bureaucrat.

Molly held up her beer. "Wish I could get that creep in a back alley for one minute."

"I'd pity the fool," said Sven in his Austrian accent. The head cook in the mess hall had become friends with Molly. More then friends. For the two were now sharing a room. Much to the delight of Will as he now had his own room, and relished in teasing his grandma about her new slightly younger love interest.

Steven Atkins last words rang out, "Now that the war with Russia is over, a massive military offensive will be directed at eliminating all resistance in California. This joint offensive by the Chinese and United States military will once and for all rid the world of the California Resistance and this Hitler lover called the Explosive Assassin!"

The feeling that our enemy spy net was closing in on us became even more real when the next day I walked into Sticks office. I was ready to go over plans. His office was trashed. Items smashed, papers and computers wrecked. His wheelchair overturned with Sticks in it, orange fedora on the floor, and his throat slit.

ELEVEN

In the first two weeks of 2017, the propaganda campaign against the alt right intensified like nothing we'd ever imagined. People who were basic conservatives were being hauled off to prison. If you were a moderate conservative, you were considered part of the Resistance. In some cases executed. Even basic conservative material on all social media platforms was shut down. Any newspaper or radio station that didn't scream far left, was shut down. It felt like the book 1984 all over again.

All the large media companies shouted heavy leftwing, no trace of any conservative movies, shows or videos survived. The propaganda machine ran in high gear. Would any rightwing voice ever be heard? Those questions arose in my head again? Is this left versus right simply a false battleground? Who was actually benefiting from this disaster the most? Were they laughing at all of us suckers falling into their trap?

The joint military force was overwhelming. The largest operation ever undertaken in California. Except, the Chinese led the efforts. The United States military still reeled from the war with Russia, as were the Russian military. China rode number one in the military parade, and they let everyone know it. In short order, many of the California smaller Resistance compounds were being taken out. But then the news came in.

"Another day of sadness," Buck said as he addressed us in the mess on January 16, 2017.

Not more bad news, I thought. I was still reeling from the Sticks murder. We'd no idea who did it, nor who was the spy? My mentor was gone. Sticks taught me so much. I was determined to do him proud going forward.

Buck carried on, "Our largest Resistance compound, the one way up in Northern California, has been eliminated. And they used nuclear weapons to do it." He scanned the packed room. "And they were pointed to the exact spot by an inside spy from this here compound."

Will sat at a large computer monitor the next day. "Look Kevin. Blowing up!"

"Say what?" Molly asked as she hung with Will and I in the tech squad pit.

"Grandma. I posted these dated pics of Reign, showing her a continent away from Kevin. When she said she was actually with him, and he was abusing her."

I patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks dude."

Will snickered. "Reign's getting hammered for being a fake. Also, posted pics of her that you gave me with a fur coat and leather jacket on. Environmentalist are ripping the girl but good."

Molly adjusted her new glasses. "Piece a phony trash."

"Grandma. Best for last. I hacked into her personal trust fund. Posted all the investments."

"I didn't know about a trust fund," I admitted.

Will fiddled with his clear glass specs. "The girl's loaded. Played the broke card. Reign never donated a cent to all the causes she claimed to want to die for. And for someone who's an activist, she's got a ton of her money in oil, coal, munitions, South American forestry, traditional pesticide and inhumane animal agriculture, and so on. Let's just say, Reign's done as an activist."

"Kid, Team Boom Boom's on a big old roll." Buck slapped me on the back as we sized up more mega drones that just arrived, capable of hauling monster payloads. Once again, Elias, our procurement wizard, came through. "Blowing up that fleet of armored Chinese trucks at Riverside on the 20th was good. But then on January 23 when you blew them there dozen Chinese fighter jets being unloaded at the Long Beach docks. Dang impressive kid. Our Resistance spies are doing overtime these days."

"So is Team Boom Boom and Elias," I remarked.

For the team worked nonstop, and the one eyed Elias amazed us at his ability to somehow find whatever we needed. He admitted to me how he lost an eye in Iraq. But wanted to stay in the military. So, he transferred into procurement, and never looked back.

"Hey kid, how's Juan working out?"

"Fantastic Buck!"

I had an assistant assigned to me. Juan had experience in the United States military. He joined the Resistance when it first started. He worked at another compound, but was transferred to us when his compound was destroyed. It felt great to work with someone who'd some experience in explosives again. But no one would match the guru Sticks. Although, Juan's muscles, knowhow and ability to handle an 18 wheeler was helping out with the much larger charges we were working with, and heavy loads we were hauling.

"My emails got Steven aging 20 years over night." Buck slapped his knee as he laughed. "And kid, you're gonna keep it up. Time to change the playing field on this here propaganda war."

Megan dragged someone into the mess with handcuffs on and a hood over their head on January 28. "Look who we caught on our radar, slithering about 20 miles from our compound like a snake." She jabbed the person with her machine-gun.

"Let's get a look at this unlucky bastard," said Buck. "Cause there's gonna be no mercy here."

The other soldier with Megan jabbed his weapon into the person's ribs, causing a grunt. Megan ripped off the hood.

Paulina screamed.

I clutched her hand, pointing my fork. "That's Enrico!"

"Our bambino will be a boy," Paulina revealed to me that night.

I laid beside her in stunned silence.

She turned to me. "That's why I don't want you to go on any more missions." She hugged me. "Let's head to Mexico. Get away from Enrico. Get out of this madness."

These words bounced around in my head. "You know. You're right. Time for a fresh start. But how'd'd you know our baby is a boy?"

"Got only the best medical equipment in the world right here. And now that we have a doctor."

One of our Resistance teams broke the daughter and son of the dead Republican Presidential candidate, Robert J. Card, out of a California prison. They brought them here to hide. For our compound was one of the most out of the way, deepest, best built and best hidden of the bunch. One advantage for having the daughter of Robert J. Card here, was that she was a medical doctor. And the way our Resistance forces were taking a beating, Paulina needed the expertise in the infirmary.

Buck and Megan interrogated Enrico with a firm hand the following day. They squeezed out some basic information using some tried and true torture techniques. Buck laughed when he retold the story of their worst torture, shaving Enrico's pride and joy handlebar mustache. The man cried like a baby.

Enrico admitted he thought about contacting Steven Atkins for the reward. But Enrico said he wanted what Paulina owed him first. Except, Buck was sure Enrico was scared of contacting Steven. For there seemed to be something the Venezuelan had done in his dodgy past holding him back.

Enrico confessed the chip in the bracelet only gave him a rough idea of where the compound sat, not a pinpoint accurate reading, maybe within a 60 mile radius. He got fooled by the chip being sent to Oregon. But later realized it was a trick. Returning him to this area to find Paulina.

When not being tortured, Enrico pleaded to let him join the Resistance. He promised loyalty, promised he'd be of great value, and promised he'd be a fine example to all Resisters. That bullshit drew an immediate smack from Megan. So, that request from Enrico stopped after only a few attempts.

After one long interrogation session, Buck came to see me. "Kid, that reptile knows something else."

"What do you think it is?"

"Something big. Really big." Buck scratched his bald head. "I'd kill the little bastard right now. But if we can squeeze the piece of crap more."

My gut rumbled. For I wanted Enrico dead. He was one slimy dude. But I said nothing.

Buck clenched his fist. "Maybe the weasel will break. And give us some real shit."

Within a two hour timeframe in the middle of the night on January 30, 2017, key data farms in Northern California and Oregon were struck by multiple heavy-payload drones. Not all drones got through. But we launched dozens on that mission called, Social Bang! We halted the operations of five of the six data farms we targeted. All in all, a successful mission. And Facebook, Twitter and Instagram were dealt a nasty blow to their operations. They'd rebound. But it'd take a long while.

We ran our large launch site in a disrupted area between the Oregon southern border and Silicon Valley. With each successful data farm take down, Buck relished in rubbing each one into Steven Atkins. For with each take down, he knew that a key leftwing fang would be pulled in North America for a little while anyway. Buck fumed the way the social media world turned on any conservative view, and he smiled all the way back to our compound.

On that trip back home, I informed Buck of Paulina's and my decision to make a new life in Mexico. He stuck out his hand, shaking mine with warmth. "You take care of that lady and baby that's a coming."

When we arrived back at our compound, a crying Will greeted us. Buck got him settled down, and he explained what happened.

Molly's lover, Sven, broke Enrico out of the compound jail. The two of them, joined by another spy in our compound, went on a rampage. Enrico and Sven tracked down Paulina and Molly in the infirmary. Molly managed to take out her lover, Sven, with tears in her eyes.

Enrico fired at Paulina. Molly jumped in from of Paulina saving her life. It didn't matter. For the next machine-gun blast killed Paulina and my unborn son.

TWELVE

Two hours later I continued to stare at Paulina's dead body. I cried myself sick, and then cried again. "Enrico, you bastard!"

I was filled in on the rest of the story. Our compound forces were at its lowest point with a number of missions underway. And that's when Sven struck. The head cook was the spy all this time. He had another spy working in the laundry area. They possessed security codes to the jail. Killed the two guards, and Enrico was freed.

On the way back from the data farm mission, Buck had decided to kill Enrico immediately upon returning. He told me the reptile was not worth keeping around. Paulina and my unborn son would be alive, if we'd have illuminated that reptile before heading out on our mission. But I said nothing to Buck at that time. Once again, I could have spoke up. I should have spoke up. I was scum in my mind.

One of the Resistance people heard Enrico yelling at Paulina repeatedly before he shot her, "Where is it? Where is it?"

In the end, Enrico and the laundry room spy managed to escape with the Venezuelan only taking a bullet in the shoulder before he got out. The laundry room spy had more security codes and keys then one could imagine.

I slumped in my chair as I spoke to the lifeless Paulina, "I loved you. I loved my unborn son. In honor of both of you, I'm gonna do one mother Valentine's Day suicide blow."

"Take that you bastard," Will said as he plaster the pic throughout the web on February 4. Even though, the large social media sites were down or limping, there were plenty of other spots where exposing pictures could be posted.

Will used the accidental pic I took on my cellphone back at Sunnylands on Valentine's Day last year. I had it stored and other info on my memory stick. I never noticed the weird-angle, off in the distant shot of President Harry James on the famous redwood bench. But Will picked it out, blew it up, and he had scandal gold. That hot blooded pic showed the President and the Chinese diplomat necking with his hand way up her dress.

This was Will's revenge for his grandmother's death. He mourned hard. It involved many heart to heart chats, many tears, and many angry teenage rants. He felt lost. He gravitated to Buck and I for support. But this embarrassing picture in honor of his grandma seemed to give him a little life.

And man did it spark life into Steven Atkins. Another appearance on CNN, and more promises of the outright extermination of all California Resistance. Also, a later appearance by a sheepish President Harry James, claiming the passion filled picture was a fake, denouncing fake news, vowing to bring the sick minds that perpetrated this fake pic to justice.

"I'm blowing it," I stated that night.

Buck kicked his garbage can. "No you ain't!"

"Sorry Buck. I can't stand by and watch this anymore."

For earlier that day, President Harry James announced, that in honor of the Chinese government, the name of the Golden Gate Bridge in the Bay area, would now be, Lee Fang Bridge. It was in honor of our new Vice President of the United States who was Chinese. Why did they keep flaunting this obvious takeover?

"Kid, that'll take tons of explosives. And you'll have to get right in close. And the security is top notch."

"I'll get in."

"But kid, you'll never get out."

The next ten days were all planning, arguing with Buck, and grieving for my loss. Our few remaining Resistance compounds in California were destroyed. We were next. Buck and I couldn't figure out why it hadn't been destroyed yet. But we thought they were leaving us for the grand finale, one big show. It'd end all resistance in California for the world to witness. For we figured with Enrico and the laundry room spy, surely they had our exact location by now.

Therefore, Buck cleared out many of the forces, sending them to Texas. We shipped out as much equipment as possible. Our compound seemed like a coffin, waiting to be closed. But my Team Boom Boom worked on.

Valentine's Day of 2017, one year from that fateful phone call I listened in on. The world had changed. The world was ugly as hell in my dark mind.

"Launch the drones when I tell you," I commanded.

Our final twenty-two mega drones loaded to the max were ready to take off. Twelve would hit above ground, ten would strike from underwater. We'd sent out over fifty robots loaded up as well that would come at the Lee Fang bridge from all angles. They'd a huge head start. Not sure what would get threw. But I didn't care. Cause I was driving a semi-load of explosives to that very bridge.

As I drove along on that highway in the middle of the night, I reflected on this suicide mission. No way I wanted to come back. But I simply wanted a piece of that newly named bridge to fall. I wasn't right in my head. The grief left me in a dark place. I burned with an obsession around this one act.

"Launch the drones in exactly 60 minutes," I instructed the team back at the launch base. "Then head for Texas as fast as possible. And I love all you guys!"

At least, Sonya, Raj, Juan, Buck and Megan would get out in one piece.

"Pull over kid."

I felt a pistol barrel eased up against my head. I realized Buck hid in the small sitting area behind the front seats of the semi. "Go ahead Buck. I'm going to die one way or another."

"But if we're gonna go kid. We're gonna go out in style."

Buck's idea was simple, Create a diversion. Distracting security forces from the targeted bridge, as well as a reduction in the number of eyes watching the radar around the area. So, where did he pick? We drove the semi as close to a cluster of Sacramento Government buildings, which were primarily used by Chinese government officials. But few were around this time of night.

We eased the truck in to a quiet side street. "Okay kid. You got the handheld which will ignite this fireworks?"

"Right here." I pulled the device out of my jacket pocket. It'd set the explosives in this overloaded truck to destroy blocks around.

He took the device. "Let's go. Which button kid?"

"Little red baby."

We eased out of the cab. Not a sound. We made our way about a half mile through the secured area, searching for a car we could steal. We spotted a Chinese government car which seemed promising. As we crept toward that car, an automatic rifle opened up, followed by an explosion.

Three days later, I woke up in our compound infirmary. I went to rise.

Buck stopped me. "Down kid."

"What the hell?"

"We got out. You took some shrapnel from a Chinese grenade kid. But the semi blew ten minutes later after I hit the little red button. Later the drones and robots took over. The Lee Fang bridge took a punch that had it standing for a while. But then one side did a dip and a permanent bow."

Within two hours of my waking up the bombing of our compound was relentless. It rocked our compound. It sent chunks of dangerous projectiles in all directions. The dust choked us. The smell made me puke.

Buck crawled into the infirmary. "Kid, if we can, were gonna try and get out, when they take a coffee break."

"Think they ever will Buck?"

"Don't know kid. But we gotta be ready."

Six more hours of bombing. They came in waves. We'd dragged ourselves to a spot where the last chopper sat. It was well hidden in the compound and still in tact. But would the automatic door opener work? Could we get this thing out?

Finally, the blasts stopped. If they came back, or when they came back, this place would be our grave. The solid foundation of the deep compound was on its last leg. Next wave and one round of blasts and it'd crumble. But where the chopper takeoff and landing area sat; it managed to stay relatively in tact.

Although, the automatic camouflaged door didn't budge at first. But with some human intervention, it opened. Then came the removal of crap so we could haul the small chopper out. Megan, Buck, Will, Juan, and Robert J. Card's son and daughter pitched right in. I was pretty weak from my ordeal, wasn't much good.

Within minutes, I heard the chopper startup. As I made my way outside, I viewed the destruction. I shook my head, unable to absorb the mis shaped mountain and buried compound, knowing our home for the past few months was no more.

I thought of how Paulina and I were heading to Texas last year. Except, this time, I was going alone. It was for real. The Resistance had failed in California, failed miserably. Luckily, the Resistance grew stronger in Texas.

"Shit," I muttered. For Paulina, my unborn son, Tony, Sticks and Molly wouldn't be coming.

Megan sat in the pilot's seat in the crowded chopper with Buck co-piloting next to her. Juan strapped into a seat, with Robert J. Card's daughter and son sitting calm as ever, ready to flee with us. We were the last to leave our Resistance compound. Sonya, Raj and Elias got out with many others before the bombing started.

Will shouted from beside me, "Hurry! They're coming back!" Will had grown up to be a fine young man in these few months, one of the best young hackers in the business. He assisted me to walk, holding on to my right arm.

"Enrico, Steven, you bastards," I screamed. I began my final wobbly walk on California soil toward the chopper. The propellor blades swirled, blowing away a critical part of my life. I ducked, beginning to get close to the chopper. I shed tears for my lost love Paulina and my unborn son. As I approached the chopper, I reached for a handle to lift myself into the machine, forgetting that I had no left arm.

