Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [76]
Parker shook his head. “They’re operating openly now. Amazing.”
The newsman continued, “Last night, a number of people gathered with their guns in the First Baptist Church of Home and refused to come out and surrender the weapons.”
Nighttime footage of a church appeared on the screen. The building was surrounded by armored cars and black SUVs, behind which black-uniformed men crouched and pointed assault rifles at the church.
“This potentially disastrous situation was defused by the actions of local chief of police, Alexandra Bonner, who managed to talk the insurgents out of the sanctuary.”
“Insurgents?” Ford repeated angrily. “They’re calling Americans insurgents?”
“And this is the unbiased channel,” Callahan said with a dry, humorless chuckle.
Chief Bonner appeared on screen, a harried-looking but attractive woman who appeared to be in her thirties. “Kinda hot for a police chief,” Ford commented.
“None of this would have happened if the federal government hadn’t bulldozed in here where they’re not needed or wanted,” Chief Bonner told the microphones extended toward her. “The city leaders and I firmly believe that the actions being taken by the Federal Protective Service are unconstitutional.”
“Ooh, there’s gonna be red flags all over her tax return next year,” Earl said.
“We believe that the courts will eventually side with us on this issue,” Bonner went on, “but in the meantime, because the people of Home are all good, law-abiding American citizens, we’re going to cooperate with the FPS in hopes that this will soon be settled.”
“If they give up their guns, they’ll never see ’em again,” Ford said. “Surely they know that.”
“Yeah, but how can a bunch of regular folks from a small town argue with the sort of firepower the FPS has?” Parker asked. “They can’t, not without getting slaughtered. They have to cooperate.”
Callahan pointed the remote at the screen and muted the sound. “You know what started this whole business?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “A few months ago, a couple of low-level thugs who work for one o’ them Mexican drug cartels came across the border and broke into the house of an old couple in Home. The fella who lived there had quite a few guns, and I reckon the thugs were after them. But the old-timer surprised ’em and fought back. He killed one of the varmints and wounded the other, but his wife was killed in the shooting.”
“That’s terrible,” Ford muttered. “How does a tragedy like that lead to this?”
“Because the thug who survived turned around and sued the old fella, along with the city and every-body else he could think of to sue, includin’ the federal government. And he won.”
The other three men stared at him. “That’s crazier than the story we just told you,” Parker said.
“Yep, but it’s true, too. The Feds settled with him, and as part of the agreement, they said they’d disarm the whole town. And now they’re doin’ it. Sooner or later, they’re gonna get all the guns, and then folks won’t have anyway to defend themselves anymore.”
“Except to rely on the government,” Parker said.
Callahan shook his head. “They won’t have any way to defend themselves against the government. You boys probably aren’t old enough to really remember what it was like back in the old Soviet Union, but I do, and I’m here to tell you that’s just what we’re headed for here.” A sigh came from the rancher as he looked at the TV and shook his head. “We’re not that far from this country bein’ turned into a dictatorship, fellas, and what’s goin’ on in Home right now … that’s just the first step down that road.”
CHAPTER 32
Alex couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. It had been forty-eight hours, at least. The longest two days of her life. She had been kept busy the whole time by continuing confrontations between the citizens of Home and the Federal Protective Service.
Wendell Post