SEVENTEEN Captain Benjamin Evans
Trinity County
He extracted the knife from the back of the man’s neck and let him sink to the floor as if he had no bones in his legs. Captain Benjamin Evans gave his militia members the thumbs-up to begin clearing out another home in the community of Salyer. It was the first of many in Trinity County they would pillage for supplies. Small, insignificant, unincorporated communities along the infamous Route 299 were perfect.
It would give them everything they needed to gain a foothold in Humboldt County.
“I hope this is worth it, Ben,” Elijah said.
“Trust me, old friend, I’ve waited for this day for a long time. If we work outside the county, demonstrate our worth, we will be embraced by the people. We don’t need the sheriff’s approval, the people will give it to us. Gain their hearts and minds, and mutiny is as easy as taking candy from a baby.”
“I hope so. Eventually, they’ll find out.”
He reached into a fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer, and cracked off the top using the counter. “Elijah, by the time they hear reports of towns falling, they will assume it’s desperate refugees from larger cities, petty criminals, or gangs. Heck, they might even think it’s locals. Either way, it will only bolster their need for us.”
“And the police?”
“How long do you think they will last? This event is here to stay, my friend. You heard the radio. FEMA is far from here. The National Guard is too busy dealing with big cities to worry about these small-town folk. No, this is our opportunity. Play our cards right and we won’t just see people joining us, they will worship us.” Benjamin took a swig of beer. “I’ve always fancied myself as a deity. What about you?”
Elijah laughed. “Well, I do have a religious name. So I guess I’m already halfway there.” They both chuckled as they assisted the others in carting out whatever supplies they could find. Soon, they would bring their gift to the altar and lay everything they had before the people’s feet. It was all about timing.
Benjamin allowed his mind to wander, thinking back to days earlier.
As desperation began to set in, and people voiced their concerns, he’d heard Dan stumbling over his words. That’s how they’d picked Humboldt. A few days earlier he’d slipped unnoticed into a city hall meeting, sunk in a chair at the back, and listened, watched, and looked for the telltale signs.
Disgruntled locals. Dwindling supplies. Half-hearted leadership.
That was how he was able to decide which county to target.
Opportunity was there, ripe for the picking.
And they were about to deliver.
The perfect part about where they were now was most of the residents they approached in Trinity couldn’t tell whether they were militia or National Guard until they were under the glow of lights, and by then it was too late.
A knock at the door. A simple introduction — we’re assisting the evacuation of locals. A vetting question — how many will need a ride? And with that, they could discern how many they would need to kill. Kids were the hardest — collateral damage — but they couldn’t leave anyone behind to identify them. That’s why they approached at night and focused on a county outside of the one they’d planned on convincing.
And convince they would.
Every single resident would see them as saviors. A strong defense against the criminal underbelly, a provider for the weak, and a shepherd to the lost. That’s exactly what they would be. It wouldn’t take long for the people to trust them and when they did, those in leadership would have to step down.
They wouldn’t make the mistakes others had.
Too many militia groups pandered to the whims of the people. They wouldn’t. Too many would try to force their way in. They wouldn’t. That approach only led to bloodshed and people under the rule of a dictator. That never lasted. No. He’d spent years thinking about how this would play out, and so far it was going to plan.
“Captain. Captain! We got a runner.”
Had they overlooked something? Had the homeowner forgotten someone? Several of his men fanned out, running, searching the woods near Trinity River.
“He exited the back window.”
“How old?”
“Looked like a young boy to me. Maybe two of them.”
“Shit.”
Flashlight beams bounced against the trees as they moved through the woods, searching for any sign. A blur of movement off to his right, and they all chased the urchin like wolves pursuing prey. “Go around. Cut him off.”
He heard the kid sobbing as he fled. It was unfortunate but necessary. It didn’t take long to catch him on the banks of the river. Scared. Trapped. He had nowhere to go. Still, he attempted to wade out. Dawson bulldozed into the river and scooped up the wriggling mass, returning and dumping his body before him.
Benjamin placed a heavy boot on the kid’s chest so he couldn’t move.
He was no older than ten at a guess.
“Please. Please.” Tears streamed his face or was that water?
There could be no mercy in their line of business. Cut a man loose, and he could become their downfall, and he had every intention of sticking around. This boy wasn’t the first to die, and he wouldn’t be the last.
“Captain.” Elijah came up behind him.
“What is it?
“We found a girl. Says she’s his sister. They were hiding.”
A moment later, she was brought forward through the group and dropped on her knees. She begged, pleading for their lives. It was pitiful. “Please, we won’t say anything.”
“No. No, you won’t.”
He wasn’t in the habit of making his guys do the dirty work. He would handle it. He was the spearhead of this unit, and to remain that way, he had to be the one to do it. Benjamin took out his handgun and told the
