“Hi Mulder. It’s me, Scully. I hope you get this message before you head out to the airport. I had some car problems on the way to Atlanta, and I missed my flight. I’ve been towed to a small town, Hazzard County, Georgia, and it looks like I’m going to have to spend the night. It’s a real wild place. The main source of entertainment here seems to be beer and watching the corn grow. Remind me to think of some devious way of getting back at you for trapping me here. Anyway, the mechanic says that I should have my wheels by tomorrow morning. So, I leave for civilization tomorrow at noon on American Airlines flight 28. I don’t know the gate information. You’ll have to figure it out yourself. Crack any hillbilly joke at me, and I swear I’ll hold your Millennium tapes hostage. If you need me, I’m at the Hazzard Hotel. Bye!”
DOWNTOWN HAZZARD
MONDAY 9:30 am
Ignorance is bliss. When it was finally all over with, Bo Duke looked back on his life and realized that he and his cousin Daisy had lived over twenty years in the bliss of innocence for they never really experienced treachery. Small town Hazzard with its tight knit, churchgoing citizens successfully buffered and insulated her population from the cold reality that lay beyond her borders. Bo never faced and fought an enemy like his cousin Luke did in the rice patties of Vietnam, and he never experienced loss like his Uncle Jesse did in his youth.
That wasn’t to say that he was totally naïve. Bad guys did slip through the borders making life complicated for him and his family because it was usually him and Luke who ended up putting them in their place. But still, even these villains were not that bad. Boss Hogg and Rosco were more comic relief than a threat, and the other ugly folks who came to town were simply so caught off guard by Hazzard style shuck and jive that they never had a chance to do any real damage. Bo’s life consisted of knowing your neighbors, not having to lock your doors, and helping a friend or stranger in need. The good guys always won in the end. They swept the girl off their feet and drove off into the sunset. It was nice living in the Hazzard bubble, but inevitably, it could not last. There is nothing more disillusioning than the death of innocence. The night Bo lost his was the same night that sweet bliss came to an end and the fight of his life began.
It was a nippy October night when the world fell out from under him. The evening started out pleasant enough. An ordinary night followed a rather slow day. None of the Hazzard police hounded the boys on the road to and from town. Boss Hogg was ill with the flu, and because of that, he didn’t have the energy to conspire against the boys or their farm. Daisy Duke had just finished cooking a casserole, and the family sat down to enjoy the meal. Usually, dinner was a leisurely activity. The family gathered round the table not only to enjoy the meal but each other’s company as well, but on that night, Bo eagerly broke the status quo by shoveling food in his mouth at about the same speed with which he drove the General Lee. Jesse stared condescendingly at the scene and shook his head. There was no way his nephew could even be tasting the dish.
“Where’s the fire?” the older man finally asked.
Bo looked up, his cheeks bulging with pasta. “Huh?” he grunted through the noodles.
“What he means,” Daisy said breaking in, “is that either the food is that good, and you can’t get enough of it, or it’s that bad and you’re trying to get rid of it.”
“Oh no!” Bo mumbled. He quickly chewed and tried to swallow. Luke saw his younger cousin struggling and generously finished the sentence for him.
“He’s got a date y’all.”
Jesse’s eyebrows arched. “Oh? With who?”
Bo took a swig of water and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “With Karen Sherwin, Uncle Jesse. She said that she was coming over tonight.”
Daisy gave her cousin a naughty smile. “Y’all gonna watch the meteor shower?”
Bo’s blue eyes lighted up, and he smiled back. “Yup!”
Jesse gave his nephew a confused glance.
“The radio said that a large meteor shower was happening tonight,” Luke said. “The announcer said that the sky would be full of shooting stars.” Luke turned to his cousin and gave him a sarcastic smile. “Bo’s trying to be roooomantic.”
“You’re just jealous,” Bo replied playfully digging his elbow into his cousin’s shoulder.
“And you’re a flirt.”
“Yes I am! And a proud one at that!”
Jesse shook his head. “I suppose y’all will be watchin’ from the porch?”
“Oh no, Uncle Jesse. We’re going to watch from the roof of the barn.”
The three listeners dropped their utensils and gave Bo wide-eyed stares.
“Well, you see, the roof is the highest point here. You get the best view when you’re that high up.”
“Where’s your mind, Bo?” Daisy playfully scolded. “The roof of a barn ain’t no place for a girl to be. And besides, it’s nippy out there!”
Bo’s grin turned into a full-blown, ear to ear smile. “Oh I know that. Now, the way I see it, in order for us to keep warm, she and I will have to snuggle close to each other.”
Luke shook his head. “You’re shameless.”
“And I still say you’re jealous.”
“Well,” Jesse broke in picking his fork up and continuing with his meal, “you both just be careful up there. There ain’t nuthen that can kill a romantic evening like a couple of broken bones.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any of those shingles get loose and you’ll have to replace them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll also have to clean your dish before you leave.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You behave like a gentleman now.”
“Yes, sir.”
And with that, the dinner continued. When he was done eating and cleaning, Bo told Luke and Daisy not to wait up for him and if they were going to spy, at least don’t be obvious about it. Then, he walked outside and waited for his date. As he sat behind the screen door that separated the porch from the lawn, he looked through the window and saw his family laughing and carrying on, and he smiled.
That was his world in there. He loved them more than anything, and he counted his blessings everyday. Rarely do orphaned children fall into the hands of a loving family. But for some cosmic reason, when Bo’s parents passed while he was still a child, fate smiled on him and sent him into the loving arms of an uncle whom he considered a father and two cousins who were his closest and most intimate friends. He sighed contently and leaned against the door. Then, he faced the dirt road and watched for the car of his date.
She never arrived. No headlight, no movement, no sound of an engine came down the road to his farm. After about half an hour, the shooting stars began to fall. Bo gazed up and sighed. He was disappointed at being stood up but not upset. He was about to give the girl a call but decided against it as the astronomical phenomena above put on a show which quickly distracted the young farmer. The shooting stars streaked silently through the night air in clusters of threes and fours. He had never seen them fall so intensely before. Bo jumped off the porch and jogged to the barn. A tall ladder lay against the wall. He quickly scaled it up to the roof, laid down on his back against the rough wooden shingles, and stared at the sky. It was an impressive sight, but the serenity did not last long.
He heard the helicopters before he saw them. The raspy and rhythmic thump of the blades encroached from the west. Bo turned to the noise and at first didn’t see anything. Then the noise got louder. Finally, he was able to make out the black silhouette of a dozen Apache helicopters flying in a row. The young farmer propped himself up onto his elbows and stared in confusion at the almost invisible scene.
The machines glided past him less than ten feet away. As they left, Bo suddenly felt a windfall of invisible ash slap against his face. The fine dust fell into his eyes and nose. He shot upright coughing and rubbing his irritated eyes. He wandered out loud what hit him, and as if responding to his question, he suddenly felt his chest clench. To his horror, Bo felt his tongue and throat swell cutting his air supply in half. He jumped to his knees. He felt like he was gasping for a breath through syrup, and he got scared. He had to get to the ground and get help. His head spun. His vision grew blurry, and the roof and sky danced in and out of focus. He fought to keep conscious and reached for the ladder, but because of his dizziness, he knocked it over and heard it crash to the ground. He had only a few seconds to regret his clumsiness because the spinning in his head grew violent, and then, a few seconds after that, all went black.
***********************************************************************
Fox Mulder arrived that Sunday evening in his house after spending a frustrating afternoon at the airport. He should have worn his portable phone. Most of the time, he never left home without it, but because he was enjoying the first weekend of his two week vacation, he decided to chunk the thing in a drawer. Because of that, he missed Scully’s message of her flight cancellation and spent a fruitless afternoon skulking around the corners of the airport. It finally dawned on him after a couple of hours to check his answering machine, and when he did, the word stupid could not begin to describe how he felt. Murphy’s Law strikes again. It figured.
On the way home, he picked up McDonalds and a six pack of beer. Because it was almost Halloween, there was a plethora of horror and sci-fi movies on the tube. Fox planned to turn into a total couch potato that night and feed his obsession with films of the fantastic. The obsession, of course, was the great alien conspiracy that he had spent his whole professional life trying to prove.
Mulder was the main worker of the FBI’s X-FILES department which meant that he was commissioned by the government to investigate the unexplainable. What he did for “work” was unique to say the least. He happily spent the majority of his professional life chasing down rumors of monsters, psychics, and aliens who boldly broke the law. The job description coupled with his serious attitude towards it provided an endless resource for cynicism and snide remarks from the other agents whom he worked with. Known by his colleagues as “Spooky”, Fox Mulder’s career with the FBI seemed to be an in-depth chronicle into the life and times of the frustrated and paranoid. Proving the unexplainable and often times intangible was an almost impossible feat.
Many made fun of his passion, but once in a while, Fox was actually able to vindicate himself. With the year coming to a close, the young FBI agent figured that he had “arrested” three monsters and two psychics who had the power to move things with their mind. In an attempt to show how macho they were, the two criminals made a table and chair set fly right in front of Skinner, his boss, and a bunch of other agents. Mulder had instigated the incident, of course. He goaded the predictable egos of his prisoners questioning their manhood. He was shamelessly looking for bragging rights to stick in the faces of his co-workers and got it. The two convicts threw a large table and chair from one end of the interrogation room to the other. Wood splintered and cracked upon impact with the cement wall. The violent display lasted only ten seconds, and was done with will and mind alone. From that day on, not one FBI agent ever made fun of his work again. Well, at least not to his face.
Fun though it was, the arrest of a psychic here and a monster there was not the BIG catch that Mulder chased for. He was after something much more dangerous than the individual, paranormal incidents that crossed his desk on a daily bases. He was after THEM.
THEY were a secret world order with more power than any solitary government on earth. Their influence stretched unhindered across borders, cultures, and religions. THEY had their fingers extended into world politics, banks, and military forces. THEY were international...and universal. A lot of their power came from intelligence given to them by extraterrestrial beings ~ creatures from outer space. In one of the largest conspiracies in history, the extraterrestrials and THEM partnered to mislead the world population by creating a false picture of the reality. By manipulating the media, by using intimidation and violence, and by using military might to enforce secrecy and cover ups, the two powers hid their existence from the eyes of the general public and put their various plans into motion silently.
THEY were poison which fed the public with lies as their soldiers and spies insidiously infiltrated the general population undetected. Although Mulder didn’t know the details of their plans, he knew what the general goal was: worldwide domination. It was nothing less than Armageddon, and Mulder could do nothing to stop it because no one believed him. Except for Scully and a few other friends, Mulder was alone and on his shoulders hung nothing less than the fate of mankind.
The phone rang and broke Fox from his daydreaming. He put the food on the bare kitchen table, reached for the phone and snatched the receiver.
“Fox.”
“Hey! What you up to.”
Mulder recognized Langly’s voice and smiled. “I was planning to become a catatonic blob in front of the television set. Haven’t heard from you guys in a while.”
Langly chuckled. “Well, let’s just say that the Lone Gunmen have been very busy! The net has been smoking for the past three days!”
Mulder reached for a beer and pried it lose from the plastic ring. “Three days, huh. What’s the big pow-wow about?”
“Conspiracy theory!” Langly was getting excited. “There’s a chat going on in the Anarchist’s Boardroom that secret military experimentation is taking place in Georgia.”
Mulder popped the tab of his beer then put it back down on the table. “Georgia?” he remarked in concern.
“Yeah! Georgia! A town-wide experimentation is taking place as we speak!”
Mulder’s mind flew with thoughts of his stranded partner. He almost exclaimed over the phone that Scully was spending the night in Georgia but stopped in mid breath. The Lone Gunmen were an excitable lot who sometimes jumped to the wrong conclusions. Conspiracies were their passion. They were just too geeky to live in the ordinary world. Normal, quiet days bored them so badly that they actually searched for news on the apocalyptic. When they were this excited, they were unreliable.
“Is there any proof of it on the net?” Fox asked.
Langly hesitated. “What does proof have to do with anything?”
“Langly, these kinds of conspiracy theories are all over the net, and most of them aren’t real! You’ve been chatting for three days, and you don’t have anything to prove the report true?”
“Well, there’s nothing on the board to prove it false! When did proof become a necessity for you? Look, the guy writing the messages is not coming across as a poster child for the mentally ill and paranoid. He writes intelligently and in great detail. That proves to me that he is truly knowledgeable, and he is not some nut with a twisted obsession.”
Fox picked up his beer and took a sip. He was losing interest fast.
“You just described the profile of a serial killer.”
“Mulder!” Langly whined. “Look, the guy just feels authentic.”
“I’m sorry, Langly. I’m just not impressed.”
Fox heard his friend sigh in frustration. “You’ve been hanging around Scully too much. Very well. I’ll let ya go, but you’re missing out.”
“Oh I’ll muddle through the night somehow.” Fox said sarcastically. “I’ll see you guys sometime this week.”
“Later.”
And with that, the phone went dead. Mulder grabbed his food and walked to the living room. He jumped onto the couch, propped his feet up, and took a bite of his burger. He put the wandering thoughts of aliens, THEM, and government conspiracies into the back of his mind. He would go back to the world of deceit when he reported back to work in a couple of weeks. For now, he wanted to lose himself in fantasy and watch stories of men like himself triumphing over evil forces that threatened to consume the world. If he couldn’t savor a victory like that in reality, then he wanted to live vicariously through the t.v.
His self-induced exile would not last long. Though he did not know it yet, Dana Scully was about to bring him back into battle. The presence of the enemy had finally infiltrated Mulder’s tight circle of family and friends. An inevitable clash lay in ambush for the unsuspecting lawman, and the battle lines were drawn in a small Georgia town.
***********************************************************************
Hazzard ~ The Duke Farm
Monday 8:30 a.m.
Bo took a breath and felt a sharp pain on his throat. He was lying with his face to the shingles and his back to the chilly dawn air. The roof had soaked up enough morning sun to be uncomfortably hot, and it stirred him from his hibernation like sleep. He opened his eyes and quickly rubbed them. They were still irritated by last nights dusting, and now, they were puffy too. The dust? He sat up and looked at his clothing. He was covered in fine, yellow powder. His throat was dry and in pain, and his tongue felt like leather. He saw a drool stain were his head lay.
Then, he remembered: the swelling in his mouth, the inability to breathe. What was he dusted with? Maybe it was better not to know. He looked into the blue sky but didn’t see any black helicopters circling the area. He didn’t know who was flying around last night, but he was going to find out! What those idiots were doing he couldn’t even begin to guess, but he was sure as heck going to give them a piece of his mind! He just had to get down first.
He looked below and saw the ladder lying horizontally on the ground next to the watering trough. Great. He looked around the farm for signs of Uncle Jesse or Daisy. They were usually up by sunrise doing chores.
“Uncle Jesse!” he yelled into the air. There was no response.
Bo staggered to his feet and wobbly walked the incline to the top of the roof. He looked around the farmstead and saw it was empty. He couldn’t believe it. He could tell from the sun that it was early dawn which meant that Uncle Jesse was getting milk and that Daisy was gathering the eggs for breakfast. Were they still inside the house?
He jogged back down to the edge of the eaves and tried to look into the kitchen through the window. Nothing. Bo turned to the house and yelled hoping that his family inside would hear him.
“Luke! Daisy! Uncle Jesse! I’m stuck on the roof! I need help getten’ down!...Hello?”
Silence. Bo swallowed gingerly. The sting in his throat grew worse with his yelling. His family was probably still sleeping. He’d have to get down the hard way.
He bent down, grabbed the eaves, swung his legs over the edge and dropped ungracefully to the ground. He quickly rolled on his back and winced as the impact sent a vibration of pain from his ankles to his knees. Great. All he needed now was to break something. He staggered to his feet and headed straight for the watering trough.
He stuck his head into the water and rubbed the powder from his face. The cool liquid acted immediately to relieve the irritation in his eyes. Bo leaned back and started scooping and drinking the water with cupped hands. Uncle Jesse would have a fit if he saw him. The horse and goat drank from that trough, but right now, Bo didn’t care. If the animals could drink from it, then so could... The animals? He stopped and looked around confused. Usually by dawn, the goat and chickens noisily bleated and clucked demanding breakfast, but right now, Bo couldn’t hear anything.
He jumped to his feet and jogged to the barn door. He swung it open, ran inside, and slid to a stop almost falling backwards with shock. The barn was empty. The horse, the goat, the baby pigs, they were all gone!
He stood with his mouth agape for a few seconds barely soaking in what he was seeing. He ran to the back door, flung it open, and sprinted to the chicken coop in the backyard. The cage was there, but the birds were gone. A chill went down his spine, and concern suddenly turned to fear. Where was his family?
Bo dashed to the back door of the house and threw it open.
“UNCLE JESSE!”
His heart drummed loudly in his ears. He ran to the living room and kitchen but found them unoccupied. He tore across the hallway and burst into Luke’s room. The bed was disheveled and empty. When he found Uncle Jesse’s and Daisy’s room the same way, he panicked. He ran back to the kitchen, tore the receiver handle off the phone and gasped. The phone was dead.
Bo was breathing hard and broke out in a cold sweat. He pulled a chair from the kitchen set and sat down. Think this through, he told himself. He suddenly remembered the CB, and he jumped up from the chair and ran to it. He flipped the dial to Cooter’s handle and pressed the button on his mic.
“Lost Sheep calling Crazy Cooter! Do you have your ears on?”
Silence.
“Cooter, this is Bo Duke! I’m in trouble! Are ya there?”
Nothing. Bo flipped the dial again.
“Bo Duke calling Sheriff Rosco! Are ya there?...Enos!...Cletus?”
That tore it. He pulled his car keys from his pocket and headed out
the door to the General Lee. He didn’t care if he dragged Rosco to the
farm by his sideburns. The helicopters, the powder, and the disappearance
of everyone were all signs that something really bad was happening, and
Bo was confused and afraid...more afraid than he had ever been in his life.
Bo pushed the engine of the General to the limit down the Hazzard dirt roads. His head swam as he thought over everything that happened last night and this morning. He was so lost in worry that he missed his turn and had to stop and back up. He took the shortcut into town and purposely drove by every speed trap Boss Hogg had ever laid out for him and his cousin. He was hoping that someone, Rosco, Enos, anyone would pull him over, but the roads were unusually empty.
The young farmer didn’t think anything of the oddity until downtown Hazzard came into view. As he entered the town, what he saw shocked him so badly that at full speed he rammed the breaks in front of Ms. Tisdale’s office and temporarily lost control of the General Lee. The car swerved hard and knocked one of the outside mail drop boxes over. Bo didn’t care. He scrambled out the window, lost his balance, and almost fell over.
Bo did not see anyone at all.
Except for him, there was not a living soul in town, no people, no stray cats or dogs, no birds, not even a freaking pigeon pecking around in the alleyway! All the doors to the various stores hung open and swayed slightly in the breeze. Windows which usually showcased various goods lay bare. Bo stood on the windy street and swore that he just walked through a STAR TREK wormhole. He felt a paradoxical sensation of claustrophobia creeping up on him as he sprinted back to the General.
He gunned the car down the streets and brought it to a screeching halt in front of the sheriff’s office. He scampered out the car window, up the stairs, and into the building. The place was empty, but that didn’t surprise him. He ran into Boss Hogg’s office and found a long-range CB lying on the desk. He snatched the handle and flipped the dial.
“This is Bo Duke calling the Chickasaw County Sheriff! Are ya there?”
Static.
“This is Bo Duke calling Sheriff Little! I am in an emergency situation! Is there any lawman in Chickasaw with their ears on?”
Silence. Bo threw the handle of the CB on the desk in frustration.
“What is going on!”
He ran out the office and headed back for the General Lee. Was Chickasaw empty too? He tried not to think about it. He came to the conclusion that he was going to have to get help by driving to it. He would just keep plowing down the road at top speed until he found another human being. It wasn’t the best thought out solution, but he didn’t know what else to do.
**********************************************************************
Fox Mulder woke up at about 10:00 in the morning sprawled on the couch with a bag of potato chips on his chest and an empty beer can by his head. A stale, residue of cheap alcohol lingered in his mouth. He swallowed hard trying to clear the acrid taste from his throat, sat up, and quickly cradled his head. He partied a little too hard last night. He downed all six cans of beer in an hour and a half and found out only after he was drunk that it was not fun to watch the EXORCIST while smashed.
He was about to lay down and catch a few more hours of sleep when he suddenly remembered that it was Monday. Dana Scully was arriving at the airport today, and he promised to pick her up...Crap.
He pulled himself out of the couch and sluggishly shuffled to the kitchen. He was greeted with a mound of unwashed dishes bulging from the sink. His head buzzed, and he needed coffee or some other caffeine fix to shake him out of his stupor. He could also go for a hearty breakfast. Problem was, he was just too dang lazy to make coffee much less breakfast, and he was too buzzed to drive to IHOP. So, he grabbed a Hershey’s candy bar from his almost bare pantry, opened the fridge, and pulled out a carton of milk that was on the verge of expiring. He turned on a small t.v. that rested on a stool and sat down ready to enjoy breakfast. The life of a bachelor. You had to love it.
CNN came on the tube, and a pretty Connie Chow anchored the morning show. Mulder really didn’t pay much attention to what she was saying. He usually turned on the t.v. because he liked to hear noise while he ate. He unwrapped the candy bar and popped the whole thing in his mouth. He opened the spout of the milk carton and drank it while he kept an eye on the news.
“And this just in,” the anchorwoman said, “a rural town in Georgia was placed under quarantine late last night.”
Mulder shot straight up in his chair and choked on the milk. He coughed the liquid all over the table and his shirt. He stumbled to the television and turned the sound up while he gagged.
“Reports have come in stating that animals infected with the Ebola Virus have been found in Hazzard County, a rural town near Atlanta. Officials say that exotic goats imported from Africa carried the disease. Officials also claim that the situation has already been contained. The animals found to be infected were destroyed in the early morning hours, and the residents of Hazzard have been brought by authorities to several medical facilities in the surrounding area. And now, back to CROSSFIRE and the Monica Bareallski crisis in the White House.”
Mulder turned the t.v. off and stared blankly at the empty screen. He turned towards the telephone which sat on the kitchen table. Scully’s telephone and room numbers rested next to the handle. He quickly dialed what he saw on the paper and received a message that technical difficulties were preventing the completion of the call. Fox’s mind raced back to the conversation he held last night with Langly. THEY were striking again, and now they had his partner!
He raced to his bedroom to grab new clothes and his car keys. Should he call the office for help? He didn’t have time to explain things to Skinner, and he knew none of his colleagues would want to help. He couldn’t call the state or local police either. He didn’t trust them. Too many times he had seen the local law in bed with the enemy. He had to go to Georgia himself, and he had to think and move fast. The enemy’s tactics were always the same. They struck hard and fast. They left no traces except for the devastating results of their subterfuge. If Mulder didn’t keep up with their pace, Dana Scully, his partner and the one person on earth he trusted intimately and completely, would be dead. What if she was already? No. He couldn’t think of that. Just get to the airport and get there with a really, really big gun.
************************************************************************
Though he was the only one in town, a voice in the back of Bo’s head told him that he was being cornered and that all the exists to this trap were already shut. He shook his head and tried to ignore his gut feeling. You’re being paranoid, he told himself. Focus on something else, something to get you out of this mess.
He started the car engine and immediately came to the decision that he would drive to Chickasaw County and that he would take a dangerous shortcut to get there. The path he wanted to follow was littered with potholes which almost always blew the General’s tires, but it was also the shortest route to the sheriff’s department. Bo decided to chance it. He left the main road the second he crossed the city border and roared down the winding dirt path to the neighboring county. The road cut through Hazzard’s deepest forest. Fall was on the onset, and it was turning trees from green to gold. The path was covered over with leaves which made the potholes almost invisible. Bo gritted his teeth when he saw the camouflaged trail and knew he made a mistake. Lord, the last thing he needed right now was a flat.
He thought about turning back but decided to just go through the gauntlet as fast as possible. The young farmer’s knuckles turned white as the General hit several deep holes and bounced. He braced himself for the explosion and jolt of a blown tire. As he got closer to Chickasaw, he eased on the gas pedal and his grip of the wheel. He passed a row of trees and entered a clearing which marked the end of Hazzard and the beginning of Chickasaw. Then, at the bottom of a hill, he saw something that hit him with a wave of relief and gave him reason to give his rebel yell.
A camouflaged Hummer with a soldier in full uniform stood as sentinels ten feet away from the county line. Finally, he had found help, real help, not the clumsy antics of Boss Hogg and his police force! He honked the horn and the tune of Dixie rang in the air. The soldier turned and stared in shock at the orange, ostentatious racing car. Bo brought the General to a swerving stop in front of the guard and clambered out the window of the car. He was so thrilled to see another human being that he felt like kissing the guy. The soldier watched cautiously from a distance. His hand dropped to the sidearm snug tightly against his holster.
“Identify yourself!”
Bo saw the guy rip the gun from his side, and he immediately raised both hands into the air. “Hey! I’m unarmed!... Man am I glad to see you.”
“I said identify yourself Mister!”
“Bo Duke...I’m, uh...I live in Hazzard. Look, you don’t need to point that gun at me. I’m trying to find help. Something really bad is happening in town! Everyone’s disappeared!”
The guard lowered his gun a touch and looked at his target in confusion. “How did you get passed security? There are guards all around the Hazzard border.”
“What security? I woke up and the town was empty!”
“How did you escape the midnight military sweep? The town was totally evacuated last night.”
Bo swallowed hard. He lowered his arms and started walking towards the middle aged recruit. “What...what do you mean by evacuated?”
The soldier pulled his gun back up. “Keep your hands up and keep still!”
“Oh come on!” Bo screamed back. His short temper was running paper-thin. “I said I’m unarmed! I’m not the bad guy here! What is going on? Are we being invaded or something? I woke up, and my family was gone. I went to town, and it was empty. I got in my car and was driving to Chickasaw County to get help when I bumped into you! Will ya just tell me where everyone is, and what’s going on?”
The soldier looked skeptically at the young man and for a few seconds tried to figure out whether or not he was telling the truth. Bo didn’t know whether it was his passionate confusion or his pathetic demeanor which finally made the guard acquiesce. The soldier lowered his gun but didn’t holster it. “You’re town has been quarantined,” he said reservedly. “There has been an outbreak of Ebola here.”
Bo’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “EBOLA!”
The soldier nodded.
“Are we talking about the same thing? Ain’t that some kind of African disease that...”
“It is a highly contagious virus that is fatal,” the guard said finishing the sentence. “It melts your muscles from the inside out turning you into a gelatinous bag of blood. Because it is so painful, you can’t die fast enough.”
“But where did it...how did it get to Hazzard!”
“A farmer imported a flock of infected goats from Africa.”
Huh? Bo’s mouth hung agape. “A farmer imported a flock of goats from Africa? You’ve got to be kidding me! Look, y’all have made some kind of a mistake. You’ve got the wrong town.”
“We don’t make mistakes!” the soldier replied defensively.
“Congratulations friend, you just made your first blunder! I live here. I know almost everyone in this town. I grew up with them, and I can guarantee you that no one imported no goats from Africa!”
“You are the one who is mistaken, sir. And, I’m afraid I’m going to have to place you under quarantine with the rest of your neighbors. We’re going to take you to a medical facility outside of this town for a thorough check up. For the safety of the citizens of Georgia I am going to have to place you under the custody of the United States Army. Please step up to the car.”
Every alarm in Bo’s head went off. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he knew for sure that the guard was lying. He stood still in angry defiance to the order. The guard reacted to the young farmer’s fearful misgivings by once again raising his gun.
“I said STEP UP TO THE CAR, SIR!”
Bo didn’t say a word. He quietly stepped up to the Hummer and leaned against it with his eyes locked on the weapon. Seeing that the “prisoner” was resigned to following his orders, the soldier once again lowered his weapon. He grabbed a walkie-talkie from the pocket of his vest and pushed the communications button.
“This is red cardinal number six. Come in.”
Static came over receiver, and then a scratchy female voice responded. “Operations reads you cardinal six.”
“Tell the brass I have a situation out here by the Chickasaw, Hazzard border. I’ve found a straggler.”
“I read you cardinal six,” the voice responded. “Stay online for connection with the top brass.” A few seconds of silence ensued.
“So tell me somethen’,” Bo said coldly. “If the United States Army is here to quarantine a bunch of sick, helpless farmers, why all the guns? Why ain’t you in a biological space suit? And what’s up with this bull crap commando attitude? Or do you soldiers just get a kick out of threatening a bunch of scared and defenseless people?”
The guard responded with a silent glare and was actually about to answer the question when the crackling female voice popped onto the walkie-talkie.
“Prepare for connection.”
************************************************************************
Alex Krycek stood at the pulpit of the Hazzard church and gazed below at the large array of men and machines scattered among the pews. It was a fitting setting for him. When they commandeered the building, they took down the large crucifix, the stone statues, and the altar. They left the pews and the stained glass windows and replaced everything else with various computers, arsenals, and men. The change was almost symbolic. Faith had finally shown its fickleness, and Alex Krycek was filling the gap.
His high-ranking position in the Secret Society and his dignified stature were long overdue. It took many years of hard labor to reach this level of success. Finally, after four years of physical abuse by his employers and the F.B.I., after spending two years on the run from the law and the crime lords, and after spending the last year on military missions that most people wouldn’t torture Saddam Hussein with, Alex Krycek was enjoying the might that came from power. He was now one of THEM.
When THEY asked him to head this operation, he was skeptical. It was an ambitious plan, maybe too much so. The idea of kidnapping a whole town under the nose of the F.B.I. and Congress sounded like a risk that only a sociopathic adrenaline junkie would ever dream of taking on. But, when THEY showed him the projected results of the experiment and the overall plan they had for the world governments, he changed his mind. True, the danger was unnaturally high, but the rewards!
Krycek couldn’t help but give himself a proverbial pat on his back. For this particular project, he had played his hand well. With the use of diplomatic savvy, he was able to manipulate THEM into agreeing to his conditions. He would take command of the grand experiment if and only if the military might THEY wielded were placed under his command. He demanded access to the blackmail materials that THEY used to threaten and control the politicians and media moguls with. He wanted access to large sums of money in order to bribe the officials and authority figures who might unwarily cross his path, and he wanted the permission to kill anyone as he saw fit.
This was not a game, he told THEM. Never in the Secret Society’s history was anything this bold ever tried before. There was no room for mistakes. For this project, he demanded the control of a general. And what did he want in return for all his hard work? Equal footing and respect with the members of the Secret Society and a high political position in the new world order. Power and money, the gears which ran the world and which separated the men from the sheep were finally within his grasp. He was no longer a simple errand boy cringing in a dark alley hiding from Fox Mulder or the countless other enemies who intimidated him with their power. Now he controlled the wealth and the weapons, and from now on, all his enemies would fear and run from him.
“These men that you have given me are about as useful as hammering nails with raw eggs!”
Krycek turned and saw the scowl of his second in command.
“General Lewinsky, unless you didn’t notice, due to the sensitive nature of this particular mission, regular channels had to be avoided.”
General Thaddeus Lewinsky grabbed a cigar from the inner pocket of his leather jacket and chewed on it. It was a nervous habit. Though the urge to munch on tobacco was a controllable one, he knew that the act irritated his commander. He was never allowed to voice his misgivings on the younger man’s leadership capabilities. THEY made rules about such conduct. But the cigar trick was his way of indirectly voicing his displeasure at the current situation. Every time he stuck that long piece of tobacco in his mouth, he was protesting Krycek, and Krycek knew it.
“General, when you agreed to this mission, you knew that we wouldn’t be working with the Navy Seals!”
Lewinsky grunted. “I knew I wasn’t getting the best, but I wasn’t expecting to be commander of a bunch of convicts! These men were placed in military prisons for a reason, Alex. They’re doing a sloppy job.”
“Well that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To be out with the men and to make sure they do a thorough job. So instead of whining like an old woman, why don’t you go out and earn your pay!”
“An army is only as good as it’s people!”
Krycek turned towards the general scowling. Nothing, absolutely nothing angered him more than people who questioned his authority. The general stuck his cigar back in his mouth, and Krycek had to control an urge to shove the tobacco into the older man’s nose.
“General Lewinsky. Do not make me make you a disciplinary example to your men.”
The general immediately backed away in shock, as if a hiding snake had bitten him. Krycek kept his still stance and did not break his cold gaze on the older man.
“You know how I discipline those under my command, don’t you?” he said in a stern, soft voice. “I’m through talking with you. Leave.”
Lewinsky glared in silence at the pompous young man, then reluctantly, acquiesced. If there was one thing he had learned in his short career with the Secret Society, it was that Alex Krycek always followed through on his threats and now that he was giddy with power, he had finally become a man to be feared.
The general turned to walk down the church aisle when a flustered private suddenly burst through the chapel doors. He had a walkie-talkie in his hand, and by the worried look on his face, Lewinsky could tell right away that there was something wrong.
“Mr. Krycek! Mr. Alex Krycek!”
Krycek turned to agitated private. “What?”
“Sir,” the young man said trying to catch his breath. “I have red cardinal six on line. Sir he...he says he’s found a straggler.”
Krycek’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean he’s found a straggler?”
“He says he found another Hazzard resident.”
Krycek turned to Lewinsky. “I thought you told me the population count was complete!”
Lewinsky smiled wryly. “Don’t look at me, sir. I didn’t hire these men.”
Krycek glared at the sarcastic remark then turned towards the masses of soldiers mustering among the pews.
“Gentlemen! You’re prison terms are terminated if and only if this mission is a success! Our customers paid ten thousand dollars in American money for each person. Believe me, if one body is missing, they will notice it! They will crawl all over me, and then, I will take it out on you! Now, who did the body count!”
“Private Ryan,” the messenger replied.
“Give me the walkie-talkie and go get him.”
The private handed over his communication device and jogged out the door. Alex put the mic next to his mouth and pushed the communication button.
“This is top brass calling red cardinal six. Do you copy?”
Static flickered across the receiver and then a scratchy voice said, “This is red cardinal six.”
“I’ve been informed that you found a straggler?”
“Yes sir. Young man in his late twenties. Said he’s a resident of Hazzard and that he missed last night’s evacuation sweep.”
Krycek hesitated. “...Hold him...Make him comfortable...I’ll be with you shortly.”
He put the walkie-talkie down and turned to the general. Lewinsky answered the young man’s inquisitive look with a shaking head.
“Just kill him. Refund the ten grand.”
“Patience,” Krycek said softly. “I want to know who he is first.”
************************************************************************
There was something about the voice on the radio that made Bo’s hair on the back of his neck stand on end but which made the soldier standing across from him settle down. The guard holstered his weapon and leaned against the mottled green and brown Hummer. Bo was still on edge, and it showed. The guard smiled.
“Relax,” he said. “This won’t take long.”
“What hospital did ya say everyone went to?” Bo asked suspiciously.
“What?”
“The hospital. You said everyone was sent somewhere for medical attention?...Where?”
The guard forced a smile. “Several places. Don’t worry. You’ll be joining them shortly. Settle down, son.”
Bo didn’t answer, and he didn’t settle down.
************************************************************************
“Sir, the body count was correct. I counted the group twice. There is no way I could have made a mistake, sir.”
Private Ryan stood at attention in front of the pulpit. From inside its wooden interior, Krycek loomed over him demanding an account of his actions. When Krycek questioned the accuracy of the body count he performed, the soldier unwaveringly stood by his results, and that made Krycek grow deep with concern.
“If that’s the case private, then who’s talking to red cardinal six at the county line?”
“I don’t know, sir. But I can assure you, my count was accurate. I’d stake my life on it, sir!”
Krycek turned to his communications man who was standing next to a brass piped organ. “Tell the helicopters to make a sweep over the Chickasaw/ Hazzard border.”
“Who do you think he is?” Lewinski asked.
“I don’t know.”
The general took his cigar out of his mouth. “What are you going to do?”
Krycek shook his head. “Screw it.”
**********************************************************************
It was the residue on his jeans that tipped him off. When Bo got tired of standing, he opted for pacing, and as he stood upright from the Hummer, a fine, fresh powder left a mark on his jeans. Annoyed, he brushed it off.
Yellow powder? He looked into the back of the Hummer through the window. Four gray, metal drums lay fastened to the floor. Large yellow letters spelling CAUTION marked the sides. The top of one drum was open and filled to the brim with yellow dust. It was at that second that reality hit him like cold seawater in the face. These were the people who flew over his farm last night in black helicopters and who almost killed him with their dust! This whole evacuation drill was show! It had to be! And his family...
Bo felt his heart race as an adrenaline surge kicked in. He turned to the guard. The walkie-talkie suddenly crackled.
“Kill him,” the voice said.
The guard dropped the machine and drew his pistol, but Bo didn’t give him a chance to aim. He kicked his attacker in the wrist. The gun went flying from the guard’s hand. Bo lunged at the soldier and threw a cross punch for the face. The seasoned soldier dodged the strike, grabbed the arm, and flipped Bo over his back. The young farmer hit the ground hard and stared up with dazed eyes. The soldier didn’t give him a chance to bounce back from the blow. He grabbed Bo by the hair, dragged him to his feet, and pummeled him in the face.
Bo reeled backwards into the car. His head spun, but he knew he had to keep moving, keep attacking. He rolled to his haunches and charged like quarterback ramming his head into the soldier’s gut and tackling the guy by the knees. The soldier flipped over Bo’s shoulder and hit the ground face first, but he quickly went back on the offensive. He gave a sharp kick to the backside of Bo’s knee. Bo screamed at the pain. His leg buckled, and he too fell to the ground. The soldier jumped on him, and the fight turned into a wrestling match.
The soldier maneuvered to the top, pinned his opponent to the ground, and clamped his fingers around Bo’s throat. Bo struggled against his grip but couldn’t break it. He felt the fingers press into his windpipe. In desperation, he gave a sharp jab into the soldier’s throat. The guard fell backwards reeling from the hard hit to his adam’s apple. Though he could barely catch his breath, he quickly found his footing and charged blindly. Bo scrambled to his feet, scurried to the side and dodged the tackle. The guard skidded to a halt and turned. Bo maneuvered to the soldier’s blind side and gave him surprise upper cut.
The soldier fell to the ground and lay still. Bo took a few steps back expecting the guy to stand up and rush him, but the guard didn’t move. After a few seconds, Bo realized to his surprise that the fight was over.
He leaned against the car letting his guard down and breathing hard with relief. He felt something wet and salty on his lip and wiped it off with the back of his hand. His mouth was cut wide and bleeding. The rest of his face stung, and his knee throbbed, but he tried to ignore it. What was happening! And who the heck declared war while he lay comatose on the barn roof!
He looked at the unconscious soldier sprawled across the grass with his face towards the ground. He wandered whether he should go through his pockets but decided to go through the car instead. He opened the driver’s side of the Hummer and jumped inside. Several maps of the Hazzard countryside and a cold thermos of coffee spread out on the tan leather seats. A compass and pocketknife rested on the corner of the dashboard, and next to the steering wheel, a bulging wallet lay crosswise in the cup holder. Bo grabbed it, flipped it opened, and frantically dug through the pockets searching for identification. When he found the military id, he dropped the wallet as if it was scalding him.
My God. He really was with the army. Were there more soldiers where this guy came from? Was the whole freaking government attacking Hazzard? The walkie-talkie suddenly crackled. Bo jumped and turned to the sound. From a patch of dead dandelions, a scratchy voice spoke through the hand held machine.
“Red cardinal six this is top brass. Has the target been eliminated?”
Bo froze. He stared wide-eyed at the machine.
“Red cardinal six this is top brass. Has the target been eliminated!”
The unconscious soldier moved slightly. The voice was stirring him from his black out. Bo jumped out of the car and grabbed the walkie-talkie. He fumbled with it trying to figure out what to do. The soldier moaned, and Bo knew he had to act fast before a swarm of men fell on him. He brought the receiver to his mouth.
“This is red cardinal six...Target has been eliminated.”
A second of silence passed. Then, a voice came over the speaker.
“You’re not fooling anyone!”
Bo dropped the walkie-talkie and bolted for the General. His heart pounded wildly against his chest. He jumped through the side window and slid into the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition, and the General started with a roar. Ahead of him, the Chickasaw County line lay on the apex of a steep hill ten feet away. He pressed the pedal to the floor, and the car flew kicking a flurry of dust and pebbles behind it.
He drove up the hill in seconds, passed the black and white county sign and headed down the mile long slope when he suddenly slammed on the breaks. Flying low to the ground, an Apache helicopter swooped across the General’s hood, stopped in mid air and turned. Bo looked ahead and knew he’d never reach Sheriff Little. He threw the gears into reverse.
Suddenly, a loud series of bangs cut through the air. The rear window of the General shattered as bullets exploded through the glass and metal roofing. Bo hit the floor and rolled under the dashboard. The helicopter hovered over the car mercilessly pelting it with bullets. Bo cowered as the front window shattered and the seats shredded. A flame suddenly burst from the engine. Bo knew he didn’t have much time. He rammed his fist into the gas pedal opting to send the car speeding without him watching the road.
The wheels of the General spun frantically as it sped backwards up over the hill. The helicopter followed above. It aimed its guns at the engine and fired a round into the heart of the car. The flame rose higher and the General died, but gravity kept its iron grip pulling the car downhill into the forest. The General rolled off the dirt road, across the grass, and into a canopy of trees. The helicopter pulled up incapable of penetrating the natural barrier. Bo scrambled back into the seat trying to assess his location, but the flames from the engine blocked his view. He pressed the breaks, but they didn’t work. Suddenly, the back end of the car dipped. The nose of the General shot in the air as the car fell trunk first into a dry riverbed.
The jolt threw Bo from the driver’s seat to the backseat and out the hole where the rear window used to be. He slid down the trunk into the dirt. Above the helicopter circled over the trees using the fire to zero in on its target. Bo scrambled to his feet and ran through the dry silt. He heard another round of bullets and hit the ground. A second later a huge explosion erupted as the flames and ammunition finally engulfed the General’s gas tank turning it into a huge fireball. Bo sat up and stared at the searing, twisted metal.
“MY CAR!”
The helicopter flew a few feet away from the giant fireball and hovered. Bo darted to the edge of the ditch, pulled himself out of the riverbed, and crouched behind a large tree staring with a fearful gaze at the flying tank. The side door of the helicopter slid open and four rappelling cables fell through the sky. They brushed against the dry leaves of the trees sending down a shower of forest debris as they hit the ground.
Bo jumped to his feet. He knew men would come rappelling down that cable to look for his absent body remains in the car. Like a hiding deer startled by a hunter, he ran blindly into the woods hoping to lose his enemy in the foliage. He had to move fast. If this truly was a military operation, men would soon be swarming the Hazzard forest like fire ants on the attack. With the CB and telephones down, with downtown Hazzard empty, and without his bow and arrow, Bo knew the only way he could stay alive was to run.
************************************************************************
Krycek stood near his pulpit waiting for a response from his helicopter pilot. Not knowing who the intruder was scraped away at the surface of his calm, cool exterior. He held the walkie-talkie in his hands twirling it impatiently as if the action would force a response from the speaker. Lewinsky walked up to the podium. He wanted to chew on the cigar but resisted the temptation and stuck it in his pocket as a sign of respect.
“It’s taking too long,” he said.
Krycek stared at the man and didn’t say a word. He was right, of course. He twirled the machine one more time, and finally, the walkie-talkie crackled and the pilot’s scratchy voice came over the speaker.
“Top brass this is eagle eye one. Do you read?”
“Did you catch him?” Krycek stated bluntly cutting to the chase.
“Sir...he’s a wily one. I’m sorry. We have a rabbit on the run.”
Krycek sighed. Who was this guy? Secret Service? FBI? Or just some lucky hick? He had to find out. Loose ends disturbed him for they had a way of unraveling everything you worked so hard to patch together.
“Lewinsky, you get Private Ryan back up here and tell him to do a recount! And don’t just do a head count either! Get the pictures from the files and verify each face! Get red cardinal six here immediately. I want a description of this jackrabbit on my desk by this afternoon! I want the border guards on alert, and I want a crack platoon sent into the forest.”
He stepped off the podium.
“Let the hounds loose, general. We’re going hunting!”