Edwards Collective Retribution

1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-0-9910323-2-7
Verlag: Storehouse Entertainment
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 335 Seiten

The United States has collapsed. The question is; Who will survive? Can America be rebuilt and return to her former glory? Or will she turn into something quite different than the Founding Fathers dreamed of? Something ugly-Something evil. 'Collective Retribution' is a prophetic look at the coming fall of The United States, and those who will be the catalyst in bringing about her destruction.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Edwards, D. S.

Leseproben

22

NIRSCHELL RANCH, SENECA, OREGON

APRIL 20

SPRING HAD DEFINITELY SPRUNG IN EASTERN OREGON. MOST OF the snow had gone, except at the higher elevations. Elk and deer had mostly shed their antlers and Canada geese had begun pairing up to nest. Steelhead and Chinook salmon made their way up the John Day River to spawn. Wild turkeys had begun to strut. Their gobbles thundered through the timber each morning as the sun peeked over the Strawberry Mountains and kissed the tops of ponderosa pines.

Nirsch stood in his kitchen next to the cook stove, warming his backside, sipping black coffee, and watching baby calves in his field. The smell of bacon, eggs, and baking bread filled the air.

“I am a blessed man,” he said, “but what I wouldn’t do for a white chocolate mocha right now.”

Michelle laughed.

There were a few things Nirsch missed since the attack, and yuppie coffee was definitely at the top of that list.

Michelle came up behind him, put her arms around his waist, and kissed his neck. “Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock. What are you thinking about?”

“I was just thinking how much I miss the coffee in D.C. I was also thinking that I’ve been cooped up here all winter. It’s a beautiful spring day, the turkeys are gobbling in the hills, and Adam needs to go hunting with his dad. How would you like a fresh wild turkey for dinner?”

“Did somebody say turkey hunting?” Adam came around the corner, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“I don’t know. You think you can shoot straight?”

“You bet I can!” Adam ran to his room, no doubt to get his camouflage gear on.

“You need to eat your breakfast and do your chores first!” Michelle yelled after him.

“But, Mom,” Adam whined from his room.

“Your mom’s right,” Nirsch called. “The animals need their breakfast too.”

“He’s definitely your son,” Michelle said. “He’d spend every day hunting and shooting something if we let him.”

“I’m glad to know he is actually my son.”

“Well, he could belong to Brad Pitt, but he has your eyes and your chin, so I’m 85 percent sure he’s yours.”

Nirsch pushed Michelle away. “Only 85 percent, huh?”

“Okay, maybe 90 percent. Now sit down and I’ll grab your breakfast.”

Michelle dished it up, then sat beside him while he ate. “I keep thinking about your niece and her son. Do you think Debbie and Jake are okay?”

“I don’t know,” Nirsch said. “But I do know that Austin wasn’t one of the cities leveled. The fact that they’re close to Mexico worries me the most. I pray for her daily and hope she’s okay. If she prepared herself and is able, it wouldn’t surprise me if she and Jake showed up here one day. That is one tough girl!”

“Do you ever wonder about people we knew in D.C. and other places?”

“All the time, but we can’t dwell on that now. Some of them may be okay, and we don’t know what kind of recovery efforts have been made in the rest of the country. Sometimes I’m curious about how other parts of the country are faring. One of these days I may have to travel south and see what’s happening. The little bit of chatter I pick up on the radios from the base doesn’t tell me a whole lot. I know they’ve started relocating people toward the coast. I know they have a semblance of a working command structure. I’ve heard enough to indicate not everyone is thrilled about being told to relocate. Some folks are fighting it, and from what I heard, are being met with force. I would not want to be near a medium-sized town or a military base right now.”

They both stared out the window. Nirsch thought about what it must be like to have lost all freedom. He wondered how they’d gotten here as a country, how the political leadership could have been so naive to think they could treat terrorists like a normal enemy and meet their violence with negotiations and platitudes. They actually bought into the idea that if they were nice, everyone would coexist and love each other. “Peace through understanding,” was the phrase President Hartley had coined. More like “defeat through appeasement,” Nirsch thought. Boy, do I miss Ronald Reagan and “peace through strength.”

Adam came into the kitchen in his camos and sat at the table.

“Where do you want to go, Dad? I was thinking up toward Dry Soda or Summit Prairie.”

“I don’t think we have to go that far. There should be birds in the meadows up the creek four or five miles. Besides, that way we can check on the Beckers. I haven’t talked to Charlie since Christmas. I want to see if they need anything. Now hurry up and eat so you can get your chores done. We’ve got some serious huntin’ to do. When you finish your chores, saddle up Joker and Moe and put the scabbards on them.”

Adam shoved two pieces of bacon, an egg, and a full slice of bread covered in butter and honey through his lips. He chewed loudly and spoke at the same time: “Awl white dud hurwy ub, I waana gohh.’’ Adam hurried outside, a mixture of egg, honey, and butter trickling from the corners of his mouth.

Nirsch winked at Michelle and slapped her on the behind. She turned and shoved him. He grabbed her and kissed her just as Jillian came around the corner.

“Eeeww, yuck! Old people should not do that!”

Nirsch chuckled. “Who are you calling old?” he said. “I can still take you in a fair fight.”

“Oh yeah? Bring it on, old man, or are you afraid you’ll break a hip?”

Jillian lunged at him. He easily sidestepped and grabbed her around the middle as she passed by.

“I’ve got her, Michelle! I’ll hold her, you get the wooden spoon. It’s been a long time since we’ve had to spank her, but she has been a little mouthy lately.”

Michelle grabbed a wooden spoon and plowed into Jillian, knocking them all over. They fell into a tangled pile on the hardwood floor, laughing. Nirsch stood and feigned injury.

“Oh, my hip, I think you broke it,” he said. He limped toward the bedroom. “I better get my turkey gear while I can still walk.”

“Turkey gear?” Jillian asked. “Are you going hunting?”

“Adam and I are heading up the creek a few miles. Do you want to go with us?”

“Maybe next time. I thought I might go over to the Hansons’ and see if Brett wants to look for elk sheds today.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time there lately. You’re not overstaying your welcome, are you?”

“It’s fine, Dad.”

“You are behaving yourself with Brett, right?”

Jillian blushed and rolled her eyes in typical know-it-all teenager fashion. “We’re just friends, Dad.”

Michelle broke into their conversation, rescuing Jillian from further embarrassment. “I’m going to need some help in the greenhouse before you go. Kathy and I thought we’d get the seeds in today and repot the tomatoes. I could also use help getting more wood put up. The nights are still cold enough that the fire has to be going in the greenhouse. Amanda may also join us and get out for some fresh air. I told Larry I’d like her help. I might need you to help lift her spirits. She’s having a hard time.”

“Sure, Mom,” Jillian said. “I don’t mind. You want me to wash some clothes too? I’m running low on jeans.”

“Thanks, sweetie. We should have you out of here by eleven. That should give you plenty of time before dark.”

“Thanks, Mom. I was also hoping we could talk a little.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Michelle asked.

This was Nirsch’s cue to exit. He went to the bedroom, put on his favorite pair of camos, and rummaged through his gun safe. He grabbed Adam’s Winchester model 1300 20-gauge, some three-inch Nitro Magnum six shot, and reached for his grandfather’s box call, a contraption about four inches long with a thin wooden paddle attached above it with a hinge. Nirsch smiled and wondered who first had the idea to rub a piece of wood on the side of a box to perfectly imitate the sound of a hen turkey.

He reached back into the safe. His fingers found the turkey carrier that his hunting partner, Dusty, had made from an old buck horn back in the nineties. He held it in front of him and his smile grew wider. Holding his grandfather’s box call and Dusty’s carrier, Nirsch realized how much he missed both men. His grandfather had taken him hunting and fishing anytime he asked, rain or shine. He’d learned so much from him growing up. He’d taught Nirsch how to fish and hunt. He’d also taught him how to pray. He was the toughest guy Nirsch had ever known, and he would help anyone without asking for anything in return.

Nirsch’s best friend Dusty had passed away in 2010 from a heart attack. He had a genetic flaw in his heart that wasn’t detected until he was gone. Dusty had an awesome funeral that Nirsch was sure his friend would have approved of. They stuck Dusty in a pine box and read his favorite scripture. Seven of his friends stood graveside and gave him a twenty-one-bow salute. Nirsch laughed out loud at the memory as he glanced at the picture of the two of them, grinning from ear to ear, standing over a six-point bull.

Nirsch looked at his bow and had the urge to take it instead of his shotgun. He chose the shotgun. He...