Life won’t be restored in this land for a long time, and it will stay in the dark unless Ricas start using lights during their hunts.
I leave the cockpit and go back to my seat in the back of the military cargo plane. I walk between three black Chevrolet Suburbans locked in the middle and a tactical team sitting on the side. They are pre-apocalypse SWAT and SEAL soldiers who think the Highland Republic is the successor of the US Government.
While walking by the SUVs, I glance over the Saviors logo on their hoods. I thought I would never see this logo again. I also thought I’d never in a million years be flying back to North Carolina with ten special ops soldiers and a militia commander who are determined to take down one of the most powerful men in the East—Leyton Fowler.
Our plan is to bring him with us back to Republic so my brother can use him as leverage to stop the massive war on the horizon. If things don’t go as planned, we have a kill order. Even this would work in our favor.
My brother wanted to use a bigger force to invade Washington, DC, and unite the nation one more time for good. However, I was able to convince him for a black op to remove a player from the equation instead of starting a full-scale war.
Leyton has a family tradition that is hopefully still happening. He and his family have lunch after church every Sunday. Thinking about how strict his parents are about their decades-old routine, we are likely to find them at their restaurant today.
“Four hours to go, sir. Get some rest,” Captain Burn says. Barry told me that I can trust him and his team. The question I have is: how much I can trust my brother?
We went to UC Davis Hospital after our conversation in his office. My dad is held in a quarantined room with numerous devices around his bed to keep him alive. It was an unforgettable moment seeing him again. He was awake, but he couldn’t talk because of the tube going into his lungs. The tears fell from his eyes when he saw me, then he told me everything I needed to hear.
I stayed at a guest room on the same floor that night and checked on him through the window every few hours. I spent the next day at the hospital and before leaving for the airport.
Kathleen is being taken care of in the same hospital. She is in slightly better condition, but the fight has just started for her. The doctor said the virus hasn’t spread to all of her lungs. Considering she is younger and doesn’t have chronic issues, this treatment will likely get her healthier soon.
I can trust my brother at least for taking good care of my dad and Kathleen. I will see if he keeps his promise about ending cruelty and moving toward democracy after this operation. I am assuming that the operation will be a success. If it does, it will be remembered as what prevented the second Civil War in the country.
I told my brother about Murray’s bunker and kids who are abused there. Even though Barry uses cruel ways to rule his people, he is always overprotective when it comes to children. He promised me to send a team of militias to rescue the kids from Murray and his sons.
Grabbing my backpack from the floor, I put it on my lap and rest my head on it. I will need to sleep as much as I can to be ready for the day ahead. The day that will change the course of history.
When I open my eyes, the plane is flying lower. We must be close to Charlotte Douglas International Airport. The captain approaches me by holding on the ceiling rail to keep his balance in the shaky cargo cabin.
“Both runways are blocked by stalled planes. We will land at an executive airport about an hour away in the south,” he says.
This will delay our plan. We will need to drive faster to get to the restaurant and prepare for the ambush before Leyton and his Saviors arrive.
I go to the cockpit to have a look at what is waiting for us on the ground. Unlike the runways, the main highway seems to be open.
We land in a small airport. The pilots say nobody radioed them to ask for the identification of the flight or instructions for landing. It looks like Saviors don’t have full control over their airspace yet. I am pretty sure that they have an air force though. The airplane I saw with the Hernandez family weeks ago probably belonged to them.
As I guessed, the executive airport is completely abandoned. Only a few jets remain, which are probably not owned by anybody anymore.
The soldiers drive the cars out while I revisit the plan with the captain and his lieutenant. He asks the pilots to wait here for us and be ready to lift off before dark.
Shortly after, three SUVs speed up on the highway. We pass by several gas stations and rest areas patrolled by Saviors. We go through a checkpoint without even stopping. There are no Saviors who would want to stop three black Suburbans with their logos on them.
“Right there.” I point to the restaurant.
The captain radios to drivers about the location of the place.
I had visited The Carolina Oven three times in the first weeks of the outbreak. I wanted to see my so-called bug-out partner was who he claimed to be. I spent a few hours around the restaurant to watch him and his family during their daily routines. I even ate there once to talk to his parents when he wasn’t around. They both seemed to be ordinary people who were just getting by in their lives.
The standalone one-floor restaurant
