Quaranteam - North West Ch. 20

That's where I stopped, taking in a breath and swallowing. I could smell the cheap beer and sour sweat smell from outside. Or maybe that was the piss from the guy earlier along with whatever else was staining the old wooden porch. It wasn't what stopped me though. What stopped me, for a moment, was the risk I was taking.

I walked into the bar without a mask.

The interior of the main floor was mostly one large room, or had been converted into that at some point. There was a bar splitting off a third of the room with a small kitchen area behind it. The rest of the space was mostly seating, though there was a small stage along the back wall with a stripper pole mounted in the middle - unless the good ol' boys had been hiring proper strippers to come out here back before the pandemic I had a feeling I didn't want to know the women who made use of it.

The walls of the building were crowded with taxidermied trophies, old posters that would make a mechanic's break room blush, and various maps and printouts that seemed to be all about the sovereign citizen movement. A 'Don't Tread On Me' flag was slung over the bar right beside a Confederate flag. How either of those belonged in Oregon, I couldn't say. There were also boxes and palettes stacked with supplies jammed into the corners of the room, and under the rickety set of stairs that led up to the second floor. Most of it seemed to be food or beer, though I also noted a crate of what might have been looted valuables.

The bar also happened to be populated by about thirty men, women and several children, all of whom turned and looked at me as I walked in and the door swung shut behind me.

"Who are you?" one lady, a redhead who looked like she'd probably lost a fight with an oxy addiction, asked me.

"Is Barry here?" I asked the room.

A couple of guys stood up from a table near the middle of the room, the clatter of their chairs was only covered by the scratchy audio from the boombox behind the bar that was playingBorn in the USA, which I found highly ironic.

The pair stalked towards me, both glowering heavily with a hand on the pistols holstered at their hips. The taller one was bald and had a longer, coppery-coloured beard while the shorter one had a slicked-back head of hair and an old scar that split his lips. The scar and the beard didn't stand out from my notes from earlier.

"Barry ain't here," the bigger one said, his voice rumbling a bit in his chest. "What do you want him for?"

Fuck, I thought. "Oh," I said. "Well, he invited me to come out here. We went to high school together."

The short guy sneered a little but I couldn't tell what the big one was thinking - he had the sort of face that barely moved and showed very little beyond gradations of disgruntlement.

"Barry ain't been here for a week or so," the shorter guy said. It wasn't really fair to think of him as 'short' per se, considering he was about average height, but the big guy made him seem smaller than he really was. "You know anything about that?"

"Not a clue," I said. "He gave me the invite a month ago or so - he'd invited me before too, but I've been busy."

"He might be a Federal," the red-headed junkie spat.

I snorted derisively, but that didn't seem to impress anyone.

"We ain't used to folks just walkin' on up here," the shorter man said. "And Barry knows he can't just hand out invites when the Government is makin' people disappear and the social fabric of our community is fallin' apart. You some kind of a pinko Commie? Or are you a fascist, tax-paying pig?"

There wasso much to unlock from that, but I couldn't correct him.

"He's got a gun!" shouted a man down the room, pointing at me.

Immediately both men had their pistols out and pointed at me, and I raised my hands. "I thought this was the kind of crowd who believed in the right to bear arms," I said slowly, trying my best not to show my nerves. I could feel a drip of sweat slowly crawling down my spine.

"It is, for true sovereign citizens fighting the oppressive, illegal DC dictatoriate," the shorter man grunted. "Now don't fuckin' move, y' Commie Fascist."

I didn't move, and the big guy closed the distance with me and pulled my pistol from the holster I had strapped to my belt in the centre of my back. "Sit," he ordered, gesturing for me to take a seat at the nearest table. It looked like the chairs had been liberated from someone's kitchen table.

Things were quickly sliding out of control - I'd been hoping Barry would be here to vouch for me like he had at the grocery store months ago, but now I needed to try and prove myself somehow to these assholes if I was going to get out of here.

"Look, fellas," I said, letting my wording slip a bit into the slightly slurred, lazy way the rednecks spoke. "I'll admit, I ain't exactly an old hand at the Sovereign movement, but I'm here 'cause I want to learn my real, God-given rights. I used to own some land over on the other end of Jewell, did what I thought was right and supported the government with my taxes and shit. But now, after all those years of shellin' out my hard-earned cash, they go and fuckin' steal my land right out from under me. My family has been livin' there for generations, and now they've gone and hoovered it up with their legalese crap."

There were some murmurs and mutters in the crowd as different people commiserated with my story. The shorter guy, who still had his pistol trained on my kneecap, eyed me carefully. "They hit you with that imminent domicile shit?"

"Yeah, that," I agreed readily even as I cringed internally at the butchering of 'eminent domain.' "They didn't even give me a choice. Just up and took it from me."

The taller man grunted and spit on the floor in disgust, and the shorter one sighed and then holstered his weapon. "Alright," he said. "That all might be true, and there's always space to learn thetruth here at the Golden Beaver. But we ain't in the business of just inviting any old Joe up into our community. What's your name?"

There was a big part of me that wanted to lie my ass off and tell them something like 'Gary Blake,' but if I was going to use these assholes as a source or for clues I couldn't burn myself with them. Barry would eventually need to vouch for me all over again once he came back around here - unless he was dead, of course.

"Harrison Black," I admitted. There weren't any immediate flashes of recognition among the people I could see, but I did notice the shorter guy glance and nod over to someone else, who started typing on his phone.

"Well, Harrison Black, if that's your real name," the shorter guy said. "You're going to need to prove to us you aren't a commie, a fascist or a cop."

"Just tell me what to do," I said agreeably. "I need to figure this shit out."

The two men put their heads together and muttered back and forth before both nodding. The big one stood straight and looked down at me as I sat in the chair. Then he pulled a combat knife from the sheathe on his belt and stabbed it into the table. "Put your hand flat." I followed his direction, but tensed, ready to pull away. "Now take the knife."

I took the knife in my hand, and then he leaned in close and wrapped his bigger hand around mine, prying the knife from the table and lifting it up. He started moving it, digging the tip into the wood in between each of my fingers, one gap after the other, and then back again. It was the 'knife game' or whatever people called it. I could feel his breath on my face and had to stop myself from gagging - not because of the smell, which was bad because the guy clearly used dip, but just from knowing the asshole went around all day without a mask. He could have been breathing Duo Halo all over me.

"Keep going," he grunted, and let go of my hand. After a small falter, I kept going with the knife game at the same speed he had set.

The shorter guy pulled out the chair opposite from me and sat. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Harrison Black," I said, and quickly realized what they were doing. I had to concentrate on the knife or risk stabbing or nicking myself, which would make it harder for me to lie. Any hesitation would be suspect.

"How do you know Barry?"

"We went to high school together," I said.

Thunk-thunk-thunk, went the knife.

"When was the last time you saw Barry?"

"Last month, at the grocery store," I said.

There was a grumble from someone behind me.

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

"How long ago did the Government take your land?"

"They first showed up a few months ago, offering me money. I tried to say no," I said, watching the knife as I dug the tip into the tabletop over and over. "Now the house my grandfather and father built is gone."

More grumbles behind me.Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm an artist," I said, and it was my immediate response. I wasn't technically being paid to be a Sheriff. "Before that, I was in the military."

That got more reactions.

"What branch?" the big guy asked from over my shoulder. I had a feeling he was holding his pistol pointed at my back.

"Army," I said. "Two tours as an infantryman."

"Where did you deploy?"

"Iraq," I said. "Spent some time in Afghanistan, too. Plus some stops in Europe."

"Did you kill anyone over there?"

"I did."

"Saw a lot of your friends get killed?"

I nodded, trying not to lose focus on the knife by thinking of the friends I'd lost.

"To stupid orders made by political assholes?"

"Obviously," I grunted.

"You ever take some revenge on one of them?"

That made me smirk a little, thinking of the standoff with the Air Force Colonel after I caught him assaulting Miriam.

"I'll take that as a yes," the shorter guy said. "You looking for some more revenge on the Pols?"

I grit my teeth and looked away from the knife and up into his eyes, my hand keeping the knife moving in its path.Thunk-thunk-thunk. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

"You can stop," the shorter redneck said.

I dug the tip of the knife into the wood beside my hand and pulled back from it.

"My name is Rodrik Nell," the shorter man said. "My friend with the beard is Big Paulson." Then he turned to the rest of the bar. "Someone get Harrison a drink!"

The music got turned up, and the chatter started as people stopped watching the spectacle, though there were a lot of glances my way. Big Paulson sat down heavily in another chair at the table, while Rodrik got up to go get us all a beer. I noticed that the guy who had been checking on his phone went and whispered with him at the bar briefly - I had to assume he'd been Googling me and he probably had some info. I was trusting that Miriam's communication teams had been keeping the site quiet on the internet so there was nothing easily accessible to tie me to it at the moment.

Rodrik came back over and handed me and Paulson our beers, and then sat down and started in on a diatribe that lasted a full half hour. He only stopped talking to take a swig of his beer or to suck in a breath. The man was all over the map - he hated liberals and what they'd done to the cities, but he also hated conservatives because the bad ones were fascist religious freaks and the 'better' ones were too weak-kneed to stand up for what they wanted. He hated immigrants for stealing jobs, natives for being lazy, and capitalism for turning people into wage labourers. He despised every level of government from federal down to local, and he respected the military but wanted to see it dismantled because it was unconstitutional and could be turned against the people.

He was a man caught in a web of his own distrust, with a ready finger to accuse anyone other than himself for the problems around him.

Paulson spoke little, and once Rodrik ran himself out of his monologue I endeavoured to keep him speaking. I asked questions, leaning into the idea that my land had been taken by eminent domain. What could I do? What recourses did I have? Who should I blame?

Rodrik was happy to give his thoughts on the matter - completely unfounded as they were. I stayed away from asking about their group and looking like I was digging into their 'operation,' if it could be called that. I focused onhis thoughts onmy situation; I empowered him and made him feel important.

It wasn't my usual interrogation technique or one that I had used outside of theoretical classes from my MP days. I wasn't a spy, and I hadn't been an MP investigator long enough to have gone undercover. But I had the basics, and Rodrik and Big Paulson weren't sophisticated enough to really identify that I was easing them along the conversation.

"But what can Ido?" I asked again.

"Well, short of tracking down and laying a beating on whichever politicians signed off on the land grab, you're stuck while the Federals have the whole country on lockdown," Rodrik said. "Not that the false courts would listen to you anyway. But unless you're willing to really stand up for what you believe, it's better to go off-grid as much as you can."

I leaned in, frowning. "What if Iam willing to stand up?" I asked quietly. "I heard there was a thing that happened a couple of days ago over on that big construction site. That's why I came looking for Barry; I wanted to know if he knew anything about it 'cause that's the kind of thing onmy mind."

Rodrik and Big Paulson glanced at each other briefly and then turned back to me. "It was yesterday," Rodrik said. "And we heard about it, too. Someone... organized, I guess you could say, took a shot at raiding that big construction site. Sounds like it worked, too."

"Do you think that's something... interesting?" I asked, trying to clearly hint that I wanted it to be while trying not to make it obvious. It was a weird verbal dance.

Another glance between the two. "Not for this group," Rodrik said. "We've got plenty of folks who would defend this place, but they aren't hungry enough for something like that yet."

"Not every Sovereign Citizen is the same though," Big Paulson said. "We've had visits. A couple of guys looking for help on certain things."

"Really?" I asked, leaning back and trying to smile in a way that said I wanted to talk to those people.

"We don't have any contact info for them," Rodrik said. "And they don't tell us when they're coming. But your background is definitely something they would be interested in. If you hang around more, come by every once in a while, I can hand off your information to them. You got a burner phone?"

I shook my head.

"We'll get you one and give them the number," Rodrik said. "Whether they call you, or take you in, is up to them though. If you're serious, wait to do anything. They hate it when someone does something that might disrupt their own plans."

"Who are these guys?" I asked. "They aren't neo-nazis, are they?"

"No," Big Paulson shook his head firmly. "Just Americans. Real ones. A lot of them are ex-military, we guess, and pissed off. You'd fit in."

I grunted and nodded, then stood. "More beers?" I offered. They nodded, and I headed to the bar. When I got back my pistol was on the table, and I re-holstered it without a word. I wasn't one of them, I didn't have their full trust, but I had enough.

* * * * *

"I'll let the FBI know," Miriam said over the phone. I was driving back to the site, having left the Golden Beaver and the very talkative sovereign citizens in the late afternoon. After a quick text to Erica to assure her I was OK, I had pulled over a couple of miles away from the bar and checked over the truck for GPS tags or recording devices. I'd been in the bar for a few hours, which would have given them plenty of time to plant something. Thankfully I hadn't found anything though, even crawling under the truck to check the undercarriage, so I felt safe heading home.

"Hopefully they'll have some sort of a lead," I said. "The best I could figure it, this group is like a feeder cell for the more militant one. Recruitment and basic necessities. They don't know much of anything about the militant cell, which makes me think it's gotta be some militia group."

"If I can get someone on the phone, they'll get me what they have," Miriam said. "The main problem is going to be getting them on the phone at all."

"Please tell me I don't need to go ransack their offices or something," I sighed.

She snorted. "No, it's not that bad. It just might be some phone tag before I can get someone who can actually release the information to me."

"The real problem is they might not even have anything useful," I said. "From the receipts I found, they are moving all over the region. The raid might have even been more than one cell in a network. Narrowing these guys down to a specific location is going to be a problem."

"Time for some out-of-the-box thinking," Miriam said. "Where are you headed now?"

"I need to decontaminate. I was just in a room with over thirty people who opposed the most basic of government safety guidelines. They probably ignore 'Careful, Hot' warnings just to be contrarian. Then I'll head over to Erica and the girls."

There was a beat of silence from the other end of the call. "Alright," Miriam said. "Just stay safe, and get healthy. I'm going to need you for more than your sneaking and stealthing, soldier."

"Got it," I said. "Everything OK on your end, Miriam?"

"Just a lot of pressure coming down from the top," she said. "And not enough time or resources to handle everything at once. And, Harri, I haven't forgotten about your ask earlier. I haven't been able to shake loose any more vaccine yet, but I'm looking."

"Thank you," I sighed. "Keep me updated if anything does come out of it. I'll take 'fell off the back of a truck' if I need to."

"I will," she promised. "Stay safe."

"You too," I said, and we hung up.

Back on the construction site I stayed masked as I signed back in with the airmen at the gates, then drove the truck around the main office site and down to our RV compound. I sent Vanessa a message that I was done with the truck and it would need a thorough decontamination scrub down, then headed in and stripped off my clothes. I hesitated, considering throwing my clothes directly into the fire pit, but ended up bringing them into the RV and shoving them into the little washing machine that was built into the expensive vehicle. It was a good thing Greerson had sprung for some of the highest-end units on the market because if we'd needed to do our laundry at a laundromat one of us would have been down there every day.

After a quick but thorough and rough scrubbing in the shower, I got dressed, hopped into my own truck and headed out.

Pulling into the Valkyrie Falls driveway, I felt a sort of tension release from between my shoulders as the trees on either side of the driveway loomed over me. There really wasn't all that much of a difference between the driveway to the Golden Beaver and the one to the Falls, other than the lack of potholes here, but as I smelled the air through my open windows I found myself calming down and feeling more centred.

I pulled through the gate, hitting the remote to close it behind me, and as I reached the parking lot I had to grin. As soon as I could I hopped out of the truck and Ivy was leaping into my arms, kissing me as she wrapped her arms behind my neck and hugged herself to me.

"Mon amour," she laughed breathlessly, still planting little kisses across my cheeks.

"Ma Chére," I grinned back, holding her tightly.

"Fuck me," she demanded, pulling back a little so she could look into my eyes. "I spent a whole night without you, and now most of a day. I miss you. I miss your taste, and your smell, and your laugh. I need you."

"I need you too," I groaned. "Am I carrying you all the way to your room?"