Boxall had said he was too smart for the journalist, had sworn he’d stonewalled her, claimed total ignorance. Hollis was used to this very tech-bro response, many in the Movement thinking their material success translated into brilliance in all other things. But it didn’t matter whether Boxall was overconfident. To be successful, the Movement needed to work in darkness. If Thorsen knew to ask about the Gun Club chat group, she already knew too much.
Even more significant, Hollis thought, was the fact that Boxall was one of the few people who actually knew the plan. He’d helped Reed pull off the intrusion that would give them the access they needed to carry out the plan on a truly national scale. Boxall appeared devoid of any moral compass. If he was taken, Hollis had no doubt he would tell everything to save his skin.
They had to deal with Thorsen, that was clear. But Nickels and his brother were busy making the armor-piercing rounds. Vance was the Messenger’s bodyguard and couldn’t be spared. Hollis was too valuable to the Movement to risk himself. In the end, the Messenger had thought Geoff Reed would be perfect. He’d already finished his computer work. He wanted to prove himself. Enderby was the backup, useful but ultimately disposable.
Still, removing the journalist was only part of the problem. They also had to deal with the traitor to the Movement, the person who’d shared their secrets.
It wasn’t difficult to find the betrayer. Whoever he was, Hollis assumed he had a prior relationship with Katelyn Thorsen. He searched online for Movement members she had written about in the past, and two dozen names came up. Sanjay Mishra was one of them. He was the only member who’d recently canceled his subscription.
Hollis had always been a little concerned about Mishra. He had the wrong values, for one thing. He’d put technology he’d invented in thepublic domain rather than profiting for himself. He’d also given away a substantial amount of money. All of which told Hollis that Sanjay Mishra simply wasn’t self-interested enough. He cared too much about people he’d never met. Which was not how the Movement worked.
The Movement worked because people knew what was coming and wanted to secure a protected place for themselves and their loved ones. They knew that, in a dangerous world, safety was only possible in a small, well-prepared, and tightly knit community. Caring about people outside the community was a waste of limited resources. In retrospect, Mishra had always been a bad fit. And now he knew far too much.
So Hollis had reached out and asked for a meeting. He’d called it an exit interview. He’d never made it past high school, but he was smart enough to talk to the tech people in their own language.
Mishra had agreed to meet in a parking lot south of town. The clouds had briefly cleared and they’d stood outside and talked. After a few minutes of bullshit, Hollis had asked him point-blank if he’d talked to Katelyn Thorsen about the Movement.
Mishra said no. But something showed in his face and Hollis knew there was more. You sent her a cassette, he said. It was only a guess, but Mishra’s frozen expression told him the rest.
Right there in the parking lot, Hollis took out the Taser and got him in the neck.
Unlike some in the Movement, Hollis didn’t enjoy hurting others. But sometimes it was necessary. The betrayer went rigid from the voltage and fell back against his car. Hollis lifted him into the Toyota’s back seat and leaned in to tape his wrists, ankles, and mouth. He’d thrown a blanket over the man and told him to stay still and keep quiet or he’d get zapped again.
Then he’d driven the betrayer to the camp.
The Messenger’s People would have their justice.
—
The Messenger’s People were the ones who had joined the Movement early. Unlike the techies, they were true believers, not only in the truth of the Messenger’s vision, but in the Messenger himself.
In every case, they had experienced the limitless cruelty of the Industrial Machine and were committed to the necessary action to free the world from it.
The Messenger’s People were working people, a community of sixty-three families and a dozen singletons, four hundred strong. The Messenger himself had selected them from many possible candidates, because of the knowledge and skills they brought with them, essential during the Dark Time to come.
They were men, women, children, and even a few grandchildren. Most were skilled in multiple areas, even the kids. They were hunters and trackers, ranchers, farmers, loggers, master gardeners. Carpenters, masons, plumbers, electricians, mechanics, machinists, teachers. They also had eight nurses, three doctors, even a dentist. Many had been soldiers. All were familiar with firearms.
This was not a political group. They were beyond politics. That system had been bought and sold years ago. Nobody was coming to help them. Everyone in the community was in agreement on that. Instead of politics, the Movement was about belief in the Messenger and his vision for the future. They were the cornerstones of the new world to come.
All had signed the Messenger’s Protocols, every man, woman, and child over the age of ten, using their own blood as ink.
Many of the most skilled had already relinquished their lives, sold everything they owned, and moved to the camp to prepare for the Dark Time. Others still worked in the Machine, sending money in every month.
None of them knew what would bring on the Dark Time, of course. That was a carefully guarded secret. Only the Hardcore Originals knew about the larger plan. Hollis, Nickels and his brother, their cousin Vance, and a few others. Reed and Boxall had learned the secret after their recruitment. Their knowledge and computer skills were essential to the plan.
Reed was one of the few tech people the Movement truly needed, however. In fact, in the Messenger’s vision, the tech people were actually fueling the Industrial Machine, hollowing out America, hastening the inevitable end. They would not be notified when the Dark Time was truly upon them. To the Messenger, they deserved to die.
The only thing the tech people provided was funding. After a sizable deposit, they paid monthly dues ranging from one to six thousand dollars. A thousand-dollar subscription paid for a single bed in a bunkhouse and food and water for one. For two thousand, you’d get a private room, a private bath, and food and water for two. Six thousand got you a cabin for four. Everyone would get electricity, running water, two years of rations, and armory privileges, of course. Or at least that was what the tech people thought they were getting.
They always chose the more expensive options, too. Many of them were quite wealthy. Hollis felt not a single pang of guilt for fleecing them. The tech people were causing the problem. It was only fair that they help provide for the solution.
And they were providing. The average monthly subscription was just over four grand. Taken together, it added up to a monthly income of almost two million dollars.
When the Dark Time came, money would be irrelevant. So the Messenger’s People were spending it as fast as they could. They’d laid in a huge supply of dried food, dug multiple wells, and added enough solar panels and storage batteries to power the expanded camp several times over. They’d built enough bunkhouses and cabins andgreenhouses for a future population of two thousand souls. They had a backhoe, a bulldozer, and a tanker truck. They had thousands of gallons of diesel and gas in buried tanks, and enough propane to last for years. They had an armory of twelve hundred rifles, twelve hundred pistols, and four million rounds of ammunition, plus whatever other goodies Nickels had found on the open market.
Moving up the timeline was not a significant problem. The Messenger was already reaching out to their allies across the country. They’d already been planning for spring, after they got the greenhouses planted, but November was better.
When the Dark Time came, the food supply would collapse in a matter of days. The remains of the government would have to focus on that problem. But without adequate refrigeration and fuel for transportation, they’d be shoveling shit against the tide. Canned goods and bottled water would only last so long. Mass starvation would thin the herd. Winter would only accelerate that process.
