Clay couldn’t help but admire the bolt-action rifle that was now mounted in the center of his boat. He had never felt inadequately armed with the M1 Garand that rested at his side, but having the fifty caliber gave him a completely different feeling while on the water. With the shallow-water capabilities of the boat, the night vision gear and now the large bore rifle, he felt indomitable. The fifty reduced nearly all cover on the river to merely decent concealment.
They were much more careful than normal on the trip to the opposite side of the river. The typically-nimble craft felt sluggish with the heavy load of whiskey. Clayton had to plan his maneuvers well ahead of time to ensure he could navigate the meanderings of the rivers’ cutoff. He would yank the motor’s tiller hard as they approached a curve, and then drift sideways as they skipped across their own wake.
Nights such as these always drove Moses wild. He would pounce about the boat, searching for somewhere he would not slide about. As soon as the cur felt satisfied with his new perch, they would begin to drift in the opposite direction as they navigated another bend.
They burst out from underneath the dense, tunnel-like canopy of the cutoff and onto the open water at full throttle. Clayton considered the final leg of the journey the most dangerous. The banks’ bluffs were higher and there were fewer side sloughs and bayous to escape into. Of course, now he had the fifty. Moses shrank into the bottom of the boat as they blew past Wolf Gut, Silver Lake and countless other backwater lakes and tributaries.
He scanned the high bluffs on either side, searching for any signs of trouble. He noted the numerous oil rigs that were barely visible from his low vantage point. He watched as the rigs’ traveling blocks moved through the varying stages of their up and down cycle. He reasoned it was a small positive; at least the oil wells were still pumping.
He hugged the opposite bank as they passed the wide sandbars just beyond Sibley Lake. They passed several more sloughs and bayous before abruptly turning to the east. He slowed to an idle and eased through a wall of dense brush. Beyond was a narrow slough, invisible from the other side of the foliage.
They crept along in an eastwardly direction for several hundred feet. As they rounded a sharp bend, Clay killed the motor. Moses perked his ears and listened for the sounds of any interlopers. Nothing but the sounds of the swamp could be heard.
After they were both satisfied with their solitude, Clay silently trolled deeper into the swamp. They continued on for several hundred yards. Finally, they drifted into a thick growth along the water’s edge.
Clayton plundered through his dry box until he found his coyote call. He licked his lips and brought the call to his mouth.
“Yip yip, hoooowwl!”
Clay sat in silence for several moments. Moses stared curiously at him all the while.
Again, he called, “Yip yip yip, hoooowwl!”
Finally, not far ahead, something called back.
“Yip-yip, hoooowwl!”
The howl made Moses anxious, but to Clay it was a welcome relief. It was the sound of another successful delivery.
“Come on Moses, let’s go see our friends.”
Chapter 11
William
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The riot police tried to contain the restless crowd, but it becoming rather obvious that the protesters had come in search of trouble. The radicals were milling about Independence Park and clustering in small groups. They restlessly listened to different speakers discuss varying topics ranging from what to do if you get arrested, to the weak points in a riot gear uniform. The day was perfect for the event; the weather was mild and the sky was clear. The turnout was larger than even the organizers had expected.
Independence Park was over 55 acres. It housed Independence Hall, the site where the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were fiercely debated and ultimately adopted. The hall was built in the 18th century, and was the original home of the Liberty Bell. The site was chosen as the rally point for the protest mostly because of the historical significance and the size of the area.
The park was also chosen because the buildings that surrounded it were despised by many of the agitators in attendance. The Philadelphia Mint, the National Museum of American-Jewish History, the Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia and the Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit all towered over the park. WHYY-TV was also just north of the site, so William’s event was certain to receive plenty of media coverage.
The area of the park that they had decided to occupy was slightly larger than five acres. It was bounded by Arch Street to the north and Market Street to the south.
William was hiding in Christ Church Burial Ground. He was in full disguise: a hoody, ball cap, gloves and sunglasses. He did not prefer the company of his acolytes. Most of them could not even articulate what they really believed in. He supposed that was well enough, as long as they would help him accomplish his goals.
He sat alone in the walled cemetery on a solitary bench and stared at the headstones of men who had been dead for hundreds of years. He despised the values of the men that rested here, but he grudgingly admired their accomplishments.
The men in the ground around him helped mold an entire continent nearer to their heart’s desire. If he should be so fortunate, he might one day mold it again. If the world was to be remolded, it would take a hot forge and a stout hammer, and perhaps a little help.
William knew he was not a good person, but he believed his goals were noble enough, perhaps even admirable. In his society one would not be allowed to be poor. One would be forcibly fed, clothed, lodged, taught, and employed whether they liked it or not. If it were discovered that they had not character and industry enough to be worth all the trouble, they might possibly be executed in a kindly manner; but while they were permitted to live, they would have to live well.
As long as the mementos of the past still endured, there would be no societal evolution. As long as the names of the men and the documents they forged could still be remembered, there would always be those who would resist him. The past would have to be destroyed, or the population would have to be made to forget. Ignorance was indeed strength.
Back at the park, a crowd was starting to gather around the main stage. William was scheduled to address the throngs shortly. The main stage was centrally located and faced south towards Independence Hall, affording him a commanding view of his disciples. The large speakers that rested on the stage were playing “Ohio”, and feeding the angst of the attendants.
A line of protesters along Market Street were hurling insults at the police. The officers stared back in stoic opposition. A steaming cup of coffee flew over the heads of the front-line agitators and exploded on an officer’s helmet. The man roared and leapt forward, but his companions grabbed him by the back of his uniform and jerked him back in line. The radicals erupted in loud jeers and catcalls that only served to escalate the tension.
One defiant youth leaned forward within inches of an officer’s face and began to berate him relentlessly. The crowd cheered him on as he continued with his audacious tirade. Chants began to arise from the crowd and the youth stepped back and joined in the chorus. The officer exhaled deeply and regained his composure. It was going to be a long day. Suddenly, the speakers thundered with the sound of deep bass beats. William would be onstage soon.
The mob squeezed in closer to the stage in anticipation of his appearance. It had been several weeks since he had spoken at an event. The crowd erupted in cheers as he emerged. The beats reached a climax as he stopped at the center of the platform. The music abruptly stopped as he thrust both arms skyward.
Their enthusiasm empowered him. He could feel their energy coursing through his body with electrifying intensity. He was a fiendish parasite and they were his oblivious hosts. He grabbed and spoke.