Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

They followed Savannah downstairs quickly, bringing their packed backpacks with them. They left the bags against the kitchen wall. Marcus was already heading toward the front room.

“Lorraine, take Micah to the basement,” he said. “Now.”

Lorraine put a hand on Micah’s shoulder and guided him out of his chair. He looked toward his father, then followed her to the basement stairs in the kitchen.

Outside, the engines shut off one after another. A screen door slammed somewhere nearby. A dog barked once, then stopped.

Savannah moved to the side of the front window and crouched below the sill. She lifted the edge of the curtain just enough to look along the street.

“County militia,” she said. “Three pickups. Church bus behind ’em. Two Humvees at the corner.”

“Are they coming for us?” Donya asked.

“Does it matter?” Gladice said. “We can’t get out now.”

Marcus returned to the dining room with a shotgun in both hands.

“Stay off that window.” His voice remained calm.

Savannah let the curtain fall and turned toward them. “They brought white families. Women, kids. Boxes in the bus. Blankets, pillows. Look like they’re moving in.”

Someone pounded on the front door of the house across the street.

“County relief authority,” a man called through a megaphone. “Open the door.”

Louis moved to the wall beside the front window. From there, he could see a narrow section of the street without standing behind the glass. Gladice joined him, her Glock held low at her side.

A black woman in a sleeveless yellow blouse stood on the porch across the street, one hand pressed against the screen door behind her. An older man stood beside her in suspenders and a white undershirt. One of his slippers was missing, and he held the porch rail for support.

A militia captain stood in the yard with a sheet of paper folded beneath one arm and a megaphone in his hand. A rifle hung from a sling across his chest.

“By emergency county housing directive and war powers vested in district command, negro-owned properties within the emergency relief zone are now subject to requisition for the temporary sheltering of displaced Christian refugees. You have ten minutes to vacate the premises with whatever personal effects you can carry.”

The woman on the porch stared at the captain for a moment.

“This my house.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the captain said. “Not for long.”

Savannah made a short sound through her nose. Marcus came up behind them quietly.

“So that’s how they doing it,” he said. “Refugees. Of course.”

Louis kept his eyes on the street. “They’re taking the whole block?”

“Whole block, if nobody stops ’em,” Marcus said.

Across the road, the older man stepped onto the top step. One foot was bare; the other still wore a slipper. He pointed a shaking finger at the paper in the captain’s hand.

“You can requisition your own mama’s house,” he said. “You ain’t taking mine.”

The captain struck him with the rifle stock. The old man fell to his knees with a cry and caught himself on the step. The woman screamed and moved toward him. The bus engine continued to idle. Behind the grimy glass, one of the white women looked down at her knees. Another kept watching.

Farther down the street, the door of a second militia truck opened. More men climbed out. One wore an armband marked with a Blood Drop Cross. He walked toward the house without hurrying.

Savannah tightened her grip on the curtain. Louis stayed beside her. No one behind them spoke. The man with the armband stopped in the yard and looked up at the woman on the porch.

“Ma’am, I suggest you gather your things. This home is now property of the Christian Relief Authority of the Holy States of Dixie. The state will provide you hotel vouchers and a travel stipend. These people need shelter tonight. And the Lord has called us to share what we have.”

The woman looked down at the man on the porch steps. Blood darkened the shoulder of his undershirt.

She spoke. “Get off my land.”

The man with the armband sighed and looked back at the captain. “We gave them a chance. Secure the residence. But do not break the furniture.”

He raised his voice. “You hear me? We are not here to destroy anything! We are here to correct an imbalance!” Then he turned toward the porch and spoke loudly enough for the people in the bus and the surrounding houses to hear. “No Christian family ought to sleep in a church parking lot while niggers sit fat in three-bedroom houses on the Lord’s side of town!”

A curtain moved in a house farther down the block and remained open. Somewhere out of Louis’s sight, a side gate creaked and shut. Two boys in white tank tops stepped away from a chain-link fence and disappeared into an alley.

Marcus stood behind Louis. “This right here is a declaration of war.”

The captain crossed the yard with two men behind him. The woman remained on the porch. One of the militia reached for the gate latch. The older man tried to stand. The captain turned and kicked him in the chest, throwing him back against the railing. A shot cracked from the left side of the block. The man beside the captain spun around and grabbed his neck. Blood ran between his fingers.

“Shots fired!” The man with the armband shouted as he took cover. “Kill every nigger on sight!”

The captain and the remaining man raised their rifles. The woman on the porch flinched. The militia opened fire. Bullets struck windows and doors. The porch railing broke apart under the rounds. The older man collapsed against the steps and did not move again.

The bus engine roared. It lurched backward, crushed a mailbox, then swung into the street and carried the families away from the gunfire.

“Move!” Marcus shouted.

Everyone moved. Another burst came from the far end of the block. Several pistols fired from somewhere nearby, and the militia trucks answered with machine-gun fire. Rounds punched through the wall beside the front window, spraying plaster into the room. Louis jerked back. Gladice stayed against the wall.

Marcus pointed at Louis. “Keep your people inside and down low.”

“We have guns,” Louis said.

“Y’all got three pistols and five people. I got a neighborhood war.” Marcus pulled Savannah away from the window. “Stay alive till the county gets bored. Don’t do nothing brave.”

“I can’t just sit here.”

Marcus turned and faced him. Another burst struck the front of the house.

“Fine. Be useful.” Marcus handed the shotgun to Savannah and took his rifle from the rack in the hall.

“Do you have a sniper rifle?” Gladice called.

“Basement. In the locker. Ask Lorraine.”

Gladice headed for the kitchen stairs.

“Take Donya to the basement, Angi!” Louis shouted. “And get our backpacks down there!”

Angelique nodded and took Donya by the wrist. Donya’s face had gone pale, but she followed as Angelique hurried her toward the kitchen. They grabbed the backpacks stacked beside the kitchen wall, Donya fumbling with one of the straps before they rushed toward the basement stairs.

Louis turned and found Willa crouched on the floor with both hands over her head. He went to her and pulled her upright.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Willa raised her head.

“I’m with you. We’re getting through this.”

“Okay.” She drew a breath.

“I need you to get the drone in the air,” Louis said. “We need eyes on the street.”

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. He guided her to the hall table. She crouched beside it, and her fingers slipped once on the latch before she opened the case.

The next burst struck the front of the house. Both front windows shattered, sending glass through the hall. A heavy piece of furniture overturned in the front room. Louis dropped behind the wall beside the dining room arch. Plaster and wood fragments struck the side of his face and neck. Dust from the wall and insulation filled the hall.

Willa had moved to the kitchen doorway and crouched with the drone case open on the floor.

“Can you get it up?” Louis asked.

She nodded once, her face pale and her eyes fixed on the equipment. “But not long. They’ll see it or shoot it down.”

“Give me the feed anyway.”

She did not look at him. “It’s almost ready.”

A mounted gun opened fire outside. The burst lasted longer this time, and rounds struck the houses along the block one after another.

Gladice came back up from the basement with the sniper rifle. She crossed the hall without slowing.

“Where?” she said.

Marcus jerked his chin toward the stairs. “Attic. Front window.”

Gladice nodded and went upstairs. Louis remained behind the wall beside the dining room arch. Through the gunfire, he heard scattered shots from farther down the block and men shouting outside. Several pistols fired from the left side of the street. More shots followed from a porch and a side alley. A window opened, a pistol fired twice, and the window shut again. Residents were firing back from several houses.

The drone lifted from the floor and flew out through one of the broken front windows.

“Drone’s up,” Willa said.

Her voice was tight, but she kept her eyes on the screen. She crouched lower beside the cabinets, holding the controller in both hands.

“What do you see?” Marcus asked.

“One gun truck in the middle of the block. Bed mount.” She swallowed and continued watching. “Humvee still at the corner. Men moving house to house on the right. Bus is gone.” She paused. “They’re trying to take the west side porches under cover of the truck.”

Marcus nodded.

“Jacob,” he called. “Locker. Bring it.”

Savannah stood beside the breakfast-room door and looked through the narrow pane beside it, keeping most of her body behind the wall.

“They pushing the Givens house,” she said. “Three in the yard. One at the porch.”

“Ain’t for long,” Marcus said.

Jacob came up from the basement with the launcher over one shoulder and a spare round in its carrying tube under his arm. He handed the spare round to Savannah and passed the launcher to Marcus. Marcus took it without hesitation.

Louis stared at the launcher.

Marcus looked at him. “First time?”

“Yes.”

“Then learn quick.” Marcus settled the launcher on his shoulder and released the safety. “Everybody down!”

Before he could reach the breakfast-room door, the mounted gun swept the block again. Rounds tore through the front room and struck the dining room wall. Another line of fire shattered the breakfast-room window. A framed photograph broke apart in the hall. Willa bent over the controller and kept her eyes on the feed.

“Report the location!” Marcus shouted.

“Twenty-two degrees from my marker. One hundred fifty yards.”

Marcus crossed the breakfast room. Savannah backed away from the exterior door with the spare round and joined the others behind the interior wall. Marcus opened the door, stepped just outside, and crouched beside the frame with the rear of the launcher clear of the house.

Willa remained crouched beside the cabinets with the controller in both hands. “Little more left. Stop. Hold. Truck is broadside now.”

Marcus fired. A flash filled the doorway, and the blast sent dust and loose papers across the breakfast room. The cabinets shook. Glass broke somewhere nearby. Louis felt the concussion through the floor, his teeth, and his injured knee. Half a second later, an explosion came from the street. The mounted gun stopped in the middle of a burst.

Someone shouted outside. The militia’s return fire became scattered.

Willa kept watching the screen.

“Truck’s burning,” she said. “One man down. Maybe two. Humvee backing. No, wait, holding at the corner.”

Marcus lowered the empty launcher.

“Load?”

Savannah brought the spare round before he finished speaking. Marcus passed the launcher to Jacob, and Savannah handed him the ammunition. Jacob locked the fresh round into place and handed the launcher back to Marcus. His movements were quick and practiced. Louis thought they had prepared for this before.

Gunfire came from the opposite side yard. Rounds struck the kitchen window over the sink, shattering the glass and breaking the faucet. Water sprayed across the counter and floor. Marcus turned toward the sound. Savannah moved with him. Louis heard the chain-link gate on that side strike the brick wall, then strike it again. Boots crossed the ground outside. Men spoke in low voices just beyond the wall.

Marcus looked at Louis.

“Side hall.”

Louis held the M1911 in his right hand. He made the turn into the side hall with the cane, then let it fall so he could use the wall and hall table for support. The exterior door stood at the far end of the hall beyond the laundry alcove.

A man hit the door with his shoulder.

“For the Lord!”

The frame split, and the door swung inward on one remaining hinge. He came through with his rifle raised. Louis fired three times. The man jerked and fell backward into the yard. The second man behind him dropped to one knee. Louis could not tell whether one of the rounds had struck him. When the man tried to raise his rifle, Louis fired again and hit him in the shoulder. He fell sideways, and the rifle landed in the grass beside him.

“Back!” Savannah shouted.

Louis retreated with her toward the kitchen, keeping one hand against the wall for support. Marcus had moved beside the breakfast-room window with the launcher held low. Willa remained crouched beside the cabinets with the controller in both hands. Her face was pale, but she kept watching the screen.

“Commander’s in the open,” she said. “Middle of the street. White shirt. He’s trying to regroup them.”

Then a single rifle shot cracked from the attic.

Willa kept her eyes on the screen.

“He’s down,” she said.

The shouting outside changed. Men shouted conflicting orders to advance and pull back. Someone on a radio called out unit numbers. The Humvee fired a short burst, then went silent.

Residents opened fire from both ends of the block. Shots came from windows, porches, behind fences, and a roof farther to the left. A man in the side yard screamed for a medic. Another called for smoke. Someone farther up the block shouted Marcus’s name.

Marcus set the launcher aside. “Jacob. Out back. Get the truck. You know the way.”

Jacob did not answer. Marcus turned. Jacob was leaning against the hall wall, his eyes and mouth still open. A bullet had struck him high in the head. Marcus stared at him for a moment. Jacob slid down the wall and collapsed in the hall. Marcus crouched beside him and closed Jacob’s eyes. Louis looked away.

Marcus stood still for a second, then turned toward the rear lane.

“Reese!”

A man ran in from behind the fence, keeping low as more shots cracked farther down the block. He looked about ten years younger than Jacob.

“You drive,” Marcus said. “Take my daughter and these people to Charlotte. Get ’em to the textile plant. You know the road?”

“I do.”

“Go.”

Reese nodded. He looked at Jacob, then turned away.

Marcus faced Louis. “Y’all leave now. This block bought you a few minutes. Don’t waste ’em.”

Louis looked at Jacob’s body and then at Savannah. She had not moved or looked away.

“Marcus—”

“No. Not now.” Marcus held his gaze. “You keep my daughter alive. That’s what you owe me.”

Louis met his eyes for another second, then turned to the others. Willa had brought the drone back through the broken window and was folding it into its case. Angelique returned from the basement with Donya, carrying the backpacks between them. Gladice came downstairs with the sniper rifle and set it beside the rear door.

“We go.”

They shouldered their backpacks and left through the kitchen, crossing the back yard to the gravel lot behind the house. The truck stood near the rear gate, its cab facing the lane. One side of the cargo box extended beyond the corner of the house, exposed to the side yard. Several fresh bullet holes marked the metal panel. The gunfire had stopped. Smoke rose above several houses, and men called to one another farther down the block, but no more shots followed.

Reese opened the cargo doors. They climbed inside without speaking. Savannah was the last to move. She stopped beside the truck and looked back at her father. Marcus stood near the rear gate with his rifle held low. The damaged house rose behind him.

Savannah climbed into the cargo compartment. Reese shut the doors. The cargo compartment went dim, with a few points of daylight showing through the bullet holes. A moment later, the engine started. The truck rolled through the rear gate and turned into the lane behind the houses.