“I guess the point is… if we gon’ be in here a while, together, we can’t let ‘em get in our heads. We gotta stay strong up here.” He tapped on the Rusty Wallace cap that rested crooked on his head.
“I understand.”
Winston laid his head on hers and they both closed their eyes, each thinking about the late great Mayor Wellbeloved. Winston was afraid to tell May that he didn’t have a good feeling about their predicament — that he felt this was the calm before the storm — that he wasn’t sure if perseverance and patience would save them. Suddenly, the sound of several motor vehicles pulling into the driveway stole their reminiscing. Winston stood and looked out the front observation slit to find a caravan of three blacked-out Mercedes-Benz Geländewagen armored trucks. These were not the same utilitarian military trucks that had chased Med down. Those trucks were painted in a desert camouflage scheme, contained no creature comforts, and were only meant for armored troop transport. And while these expensive flat-black Mercedes-Benz military flagships were also designed for troop transport, they were of the utmost caliber of luxury, and meant for only the highest-ranking officials. A fourth vehicle — a Tigr troop transport — parked sideways across the driveway. Six heavily-armed PLA soldiers and an officer spilled from the Tigr. The soldiers took up defensive positions around the caravan of Geländewagens, while the officer waited for the drivers to open the passenger doors.
Winston presumed the three passengers who emerged from the trucks were some of the PLA’s multinational division leaders, judging by their decorated uniforms. They were, in fact, the PLA’s ranking generals — one for each invading nation: North Korea, Russia, and an Iranian who represented the interests of the Middle East. The generals stretched and walked with the North Korean officer toward Med’s stiffening body. Winston changed slit positions to follow them as they stopped at the body. The North Korean officer bent down to examine the corpse and expressively demonstrated with his hands the precision of the decapitation. Then, based on their hand gestures and facial expressions, the officer and the generals appeared to engage in a serious discourse regarding the Sparrow residence. The Russian general motioned for the drivers to dispose of Med’s corpse in the woods, which startled Winston, because the general seemed to point directly at him. The three drivers took hold of Med’s body — one each taking an arm, the other Med’s legs — and slowly hiked the corpse past the barn, out of sight and into the woods.
The North Korean officer spied the basketball, picked it up, and bounced it on the ground. It had lost some of its pressure over time, but the officer dribbled and held the ball like a man who had done it before. The generals said something that made the North Korean officer laugh, and they all meandered to the street and down the road in the direction of Ben’s house, the North Korean officer bouncing the basketball all the way down the road until they were out of Winston’s sight. It looked like they were considering moving into the neighborhood. And Winston’s heart sank into his gut.
Ben had been sitting quietly on his front porch drinking warm sweet tea, rocking in his chair, and clutching the rifle in his lap. He witnessed Med’s Jeep crash, and heard the horror of his beheading. As he watched the Russian Tigr troop transports speed away, he assumed that May and Winston had been slaughtered on the hallowed grounds of Mayor Wellbeloved’s property, and he wept silently while he prayed for their souls to be delivered to Him.
And in the lull between the trucks leaving and the generals arriving, Ben napped like old men nap. He dreamed a vibrant vision of his wife, June, and of the day they were married. It was a typical Southern Georgia shotgun wedding in the spring of 1957. They were too young — both seventeen — but June was pregnant and it was the right thing to do. Just as Ben was about to kiss the bride, an odd and deliberate knocking sound disturbed his slumber. He left June at the altar and opened his eyes into a squint. There, standing before him on the flagstone pathway that led to the front porch, was the North Korean officer, bouncing the basketball slowly and methodically, watching him. Startled, Ben abruptly stood and trained his large-bore rifle at the officer, the glass of sweet tea sailing from its resting spot on the arm of the chair and shattering on the porch. The soldiers targeted their rifles on Ben, the officer bounced the ball, the three generals watched on from a safe distance, and a bird landed and perched in a nearby tree to gawk at the commotion.
“You come any closer and I’ll blow your fucking gook head off,” Ben warned.
The officer bounced the basketball several more times until securing it under the wet pit of his right arm.
“Hello, my friend. How are you today?” he asked.
“One step closer and I’ll be doing a whole lot better!”
“Of course! Of course! Look! A basketball! I am armed only with a basketball.”
“Them other fellas aren’t.”
“No. They are armed pretty heavily,” the officer laughed, “but so are you. May I approach without you blowing off my fucking gook head?” he asked.
“Why?”
“I would just like to talk. If we wanted to kill you, we would have done so while you were sleeping. But you are old and our customs dictate otherwise. I am required to honor your age and wisdom.”
Ben waved the officer onto the porch with his gun. The officer approached slowly and bowed his head to Ben as in Korean tradition. Ben held firmly onto the rifle as the officer bounced the basketball occasionally while they conversed.
“I am Major Chaek Sojwa of the People’s Liberating Army. What is your name?”
“Ben.”
“Well, Ben, soon our vast army will crush Atlanta… and Amer—”
“Like you crushed New York?” Ben interrupted, “got your asses whooped up there, didn’t ya?” he snickered.
Major Chaek frowned, kept slowly bouncing the ball, and asked, “do you like basketball?”
“Can’t say that I do. More of a football fella myself. American football.”
“I prefer basketball. It’s the only sport where a player can legally draw a foul against his opponent. You actually make them commit an offense against you. Much like your American president did to provoke the PLA to invade your country. And so, while your American forces may be fighting the PLA bravely in other parts of America, this army of PLA soldiers has enjoyed great success. I believe it was your famous General Patton who once said in World War Two about the Germans and Japanese — ‘we’re going to kick them in the ass, twist their balls and kick the living shit out of them all the time.’ Well, Ben, it is now our turn to kick America in the ass, twist your balls and kick the living shit out of you all the time.” Major Chaek laughed. “Do you like kimchi?”
As Ben started to ask what kimchi was, the Major heaved the basketball at Ben’s face, catching him in the nose and breaking it. Ben’s rifle shifted away momentarily, and Chaek seized it and punched him in the gut, sending the old man reeling to the floorboards.
“Put him with the other prisoners,” said Major Chaek as he gathered up the basketball and bounced it against Ben’s house. Several soldiers entered the house to scavenge for food and supplies while two other North Korean soldiers trotted onto the porch, picked up Ben’s unconscious body, and followed the generals back to the Sparrows’ house.
Winston didn’t see Ben’s limp body tossed into the back of the Tigr, but he did murmur oh oh when the entourage marched back down the driveway and onto the back porch. None of the generals seemed to notice Med’s open-eyed death stare as they passed by his mounted head. Hell, they didn’t even seem to notice Robin Lake and its pristine waters. Or had they? Perhaps the helicopter that had flown overhead yesterday had scouted out the Sparrow residence for the generals and their house had been chosen for its location. Major Chaek tossed the basketball into May’s hydrangeas as he trotted up the stairs.