The second man tried to intervene, “Sir, you need to remain calm; we’re here to help-“

The driver interrupted in a shout, “I’ve had enough of you!”  He spun around to face Reese and began to speak just as the doe decided to step into their lane.  Reese grinned as he buckled his seat belt at the last moment.

The Suburban slammed into her at full speed. The doe slid up the wide hood and smashed into the windshield. The loud crash and sudden jolt caught both of the agents by surprise.  The driver instinctively hit the brakes and jerked the steering wheel, only making matters worse.

As they careened out of control on the slick pavement, Reese produced the revolver.  He struck the man beside him as hard as he could in his temple.  The man grunted and slumped in his seat.  Reese glanced up just in time to see the massive live oak less than twenty feet from the driver’s door as they slid sideways toward it.  He braced himself as they collided with the unmoving, unmerciful giant.

***

He awoke groggy, not knowing how long he had been unconscious.  He unbuckled himself and carefully rolled out of the SUV.  His ribs underneath the shoulder holster were painfully sore to the touch, but they did not seem to be broken.  Besides his throbbing ribs, everything else seemed to be unharmed.  He searched for his revolver but it was nowhere to be found.  He retrieved his pistol from the holster and circled the SUV, checking the status of the two men still inside.

The men had pulses, but were unconscious.  The driver looked to be in worse condition than the second man.  Reese searched their pockets and retrieved their wallets, weapons and phones.  He dragged the men from the Suburban and laid them on the shoulder of the road.  He once again circled the vehicle and surveyed the damage.  The hood was wrinkled and bloody, and the driver’s door was hopelessly smashed shut against the tree, but it looked operable.

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine sputtered for a moment before roaring to life.  He selected 4wd low and slowly backed up onto the highway.  The sheet metal on the door scraped and scratched along the tree trunk as he eased out of the ditch.  He realized the steering wheel was turned about forty five degrees clockwise as he straightened the tires on the pavement.

He took one last look at the men before driving away.  He checked his watch and sighed as he realized it was already getting late.  Reese conceded that this was just the beginning of another, long night as he headed for Austin, and there were probably many more like it to come.

Chapte r 22

Senator Ames

St. Ansgar, Iowa

The people of St. Ansgar crowded around the station as they cheered and bid farewell to the senator.  He turned back and gave a final wave before stepping onto the train.  He had just concluded another powerful speech, but was unable to stay and mingle with his supporters.  Time was growing short and they still had a lot of stops ahead of them.  It was not easy campaigning 19th century style.

The shipping of goods by river and rail had begun to exhibit a marked resurgence in recent months.  It was much cheaper and safer to transport cargo by train or barge than by truck.  The senator chose rail as his means of transportation, because like his values and ideals, it was experiencing a rebirth of its own.

They felt the jolt as the three diesel locomotives, two on the front and one in the rear, began to slowly push-pull the train from the station.  The payload consisted both of mixed freight and the senator’s passenger cars.  Ames had a dining car, the “war room” and three sleepers.  His advisers had argued vehemently against the use of the vulnerable train for transportation, but the senator insisted. If it was his fate to die on the campaign trail, he accepted it.

The senator stopped by the dining car to get some coffee before making his way to the war room.  In the center of the open carriage was a large oak table.  The surface was covered with laptops, half-empty coffee mugs and documents scribbled with notes.  Chairs and benches lined the walls, and the walls themselves were plastered with charts, diagrams and maps.

His running mate, Governor Hawkins, and his staff were already busy at work when he arrived.  He approached the table and sunk into his plush leather chair.  He sat in silence for a while and stared out the window at the endless, Iowan fields occasionally interrupted by a solitary oak or a barbed-wire fence.

The campaign trail had been difficult for him.  The faces of the people he met were full of heartache and pain.  They had lost so much so abruptly; they were a broken people.  He could see in their eyes that they looked to him for the hope of a brighter future.  He would never admit it, but the burden of their expectations was utterly crushing his soul.  He knew he could not right a century of wrongs in four, eight, or probably even twenty years and had told them so, but still he could see the glimmers of hope in their eyes.  They wanted a savior, but try as he might he could never fill those shoes.

To say his campaign had not been traditional was quite the understatement.  He had no polls analyze, no television personalities to chat with, and no presidential debates to square off in.  Some parts of the country had probably not heard anything from him in months.  Other people might have heard his name mentioned on the nationalized radio and television stations, but it would have been a complete take-down by the marionettes.  A few independent media outlets were bravely carrying the torch, but they were under constant assault by increasingly oppressive regulations aimed at elimination or assimilation.  The machine of disinformation was fully mobilized against freedom.

In spite of, or maybe because of every concerted effort to silence or disparage him, the strength of his message grew in favor.  The truth of his words blazed like a wildfire across the nation.  Everywhere he went, he was met by people who longed to hear his vision of a new America, or rather a very old America – the original America.

He had shied away from the urban areas of course; they were simply too chaotic for him to control. He was afraid that agents of the opposition would try to sabotage his rallies and pervert them into violent clashes with protesters.  The small towns across America, however, had welcomed him lovingly and with open arms.  Every additional stop inspired him and burdened his soul at the same time.

If there is an election, he thought. If there is an election and it isn’t halted; if there is an election, and it isn’t halted, and if it is even reasonably close to being even reasonably fair, we just might have a chance.

The rail turned east just above the tiny town of Floyd and followed the banks of the Cedar River for a short distance.  Occasionally Ames would catch a glimpse of the muddy waters between the thick growths of oaks and maples along the bank as he lost himself in his own thoughts.

But there won’t be an election.  A nd if there is, it certainly won’t be free and fair.  So why am I still doing this?  But, I can’t quit now; there has to be a record that someone took a stand.  God will not hold us guiltless…

The senator had just fallen asleep when his senior aide nudged his shoulder.

“Sir, can we have a word?”

The senator yawned and stretched his arms wide as he replied, “Of course, what is it?”

“Let’s talk about this one alone.”

Ames nodded and arose from his chair.

“Folks, let’s break for the evening.  Go down to the dining car and get something to eat, or catch a couple hours of sleep in your room.  We’ll meet back here at eight o’clock to go over tomorrow’s agenda.”

The group quickly dispersed, leaving only the senior aide and the head of the senator’s Secret Service detail.