Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [120]
“Yeah, you said that,” Callahan cut in. “You can squat out here if you want to, son, but I’m gonna get right in the middle of that ruckus.” The rancher nodded toward the town and then abruptly exclaimed, “What the hell?”
Earl looked and saw a column of smoke rising from something on the edge of town. Shots began to ring out again, more of them than ever now. He sensed that whatever was happening in Home, it was starting to reach its climax.
Callahan scrambled out of the gully and took off toward town, carrying the rifle at a slant across his chest. Earl hesitated for a moment as he pondered his choices. Plunge right into the middle of that violent chaos, he thought, or stay here by himself and maybe risk being alone when the bad guys came looking for him, as they inevitably would?
“Damn it,” he muttered. That was no choice at all. How come life didn’t offer a “none of the above” option?
But it didn’t, so he climbed out of the gully and trotted after Callahan, his short legs moving fast as he tried to catch up to the rancher.
With the rotors beating the air, the helicopter flew toward Home. General Weldon Stone opened the steel case that sat at his feet and looked at the hardened plastic canister nestled within it. The canister had a simple nozzle on it that could be attached to a hose. Stone had such a hose. All he had to do was attach it to the canister, run the other end out of the helicopter, fly over Home, and turn the handle on the canister’s valve. The gas would do the rest. It was possible that some of the people in town might survive, but the general and his men could dispose of them a short time later, after the gas had become inert.
It should have bothered him, the idea of killing fellow Americans. He had been a career military man, after all. He had devoted his life to serving his country. But over the years he had come to realize that those on the political left were right … sometimes the few had to suffer for the good of the many. Sometimes the many had to suffer for the good of even more. He had seen how the poor and those of color had flocked to the military because civilian life held nothing for them but injustice. He had seen how the rich and powerful—most of them Jews—always got richer and more powerful, and the unfairness of it ate at him. The politicians never seemed to do anything about it, even the ones who had once shown promise, like the previous president.
Then a special politician, a different politician, had come along, and General Stone had recognized at last a kindred spirit, although the man had no service experience and generally held the military in disdain, like most of his ilk. But he had a dream of transforming the country, of spreading the wealth and making the United States a kinder, gentler nation.
And when General Stone looked in the President’s eyes, he knew the son of a bitch was willing to kill anybody he had to in order to make that dream of tolerance and equity come true. The President, to Stone’s way of thinking, was the perfect blend of ideals and utter ruthlessness.
Kill for good. Murder for equality. Wipe out a whole town if you had to in order to be sure nobody found out the truth.
It was all collateral damage, and General Stone was enough of a pragmatist to know that such things were inevitable if true change was to come about.
“General!”
Stone looked up from the canister and all the dreams it held. “What is it, Lieutenant?” he asked his aide.
“There’s a big cloud of smoke up ahead. It looks like it’s coming from the direction of the town.”
Stone stood up, bracing himself against the side of the helicopter, and looked past the pilot and co-pilot. He saw the column of smoke rising in the distance.
“What do you think it is, sir?” the lieutenant asked.
“I don’t know, son,” Stone replied, “and in a few minutes, whatever it is won’t matter.”
Jack, Rowdy, and J. P. Delgado crouched behind a parked car on Main Street, trading shots with a squad of Rey del Sol killers. Jack was more scared than he had