As I put together my upcoming novel, UnCivil War (A modern day race war in the United States), I am already aware of the potential for the material to be considered offensive. I am sure that I will take heat from just about every side on this issue. Whether it is the use of the hated "N" word, which (sadly) must be a part of the dialog in something like this, to people say that I am modeling after negative stereotypes.
Here is the hard, cold fact behind my writing this novel. It is a worst-case scenario about something that is eating at the fabric of our country. No mater what your actual belief might be, the truth is that we are still a nation divided along lines of color, ethnicity, and sexual orientation.
The bottom line is that this is simply fiction. It is a story. Make-believe. It has nothing to do with my views or beliefs. Some of what I write is offensive to me, for crying out loud. But I stand behind this novel as a work of cautionary fiction. Do I expect it to make even the slightest difference? Nope. Do I hope it will entertain? Oh yes.
That said, enjoy another snippet of what I hope will be a late spring release. Below is another excerpt from UnCivil War (A modern day race war in the United States).
“…are ordered to disperse,” the voice
from the bull horn demanded. The crowd grew louder as voices hollered their
defiance and refusal to obey any such demand.
The wall of uniformed officers stood
shoulder-to-shoulder, riot shields in a row like a Roman Legion. With visors in
place, it was impossible to tell if any of the officers were angry, scared, or
eager. Earpieces crackled with the order to advance half the distance to the
crowd. As one, the row moved forward.
The crowd grew even louder as shouts of
alarm mixed in with the defiance. From somewhere, a large chunk of concrete
flew through the air and smashed into a shield. From behind the long line of
riot police the order was given to the dozen officers holding M-32 launchers to
fire a volley of tear gas into the crowd. The hollow thumps were drowned by all
the noise, but seconds later, pillars of the acrid smoke began to rise from the
midst of the agitated mob.
A volley of bricks and other debris
flew back at the officers. Individuals began to break from the mob and rush the
wall of shields. There was a cacophony of sound, but when the booming report of
a shotgun sounded, there was a brief instant of near silence. Real or imagined,
it felt as if everybody on both sides froze, trying to determine where that
shot had come from.
That instance passed, and the sounds of
voices drowned in the barrage of gunfire. The police were caught completely unaware.
They were prepared for bodies charging them, for thing to be hurled at them. They
were unprepared for a flurry of bullets and buckshot.
The mob rushed forward, smashing into
the crumbling wall of policemen. Screams and shouts drowned out any orders
being given. More tear gas was fired along with a hail of rubber bullets. It
was too little, too late, as the mob overwhelmed the police force.
Rioters walked away from the skirmish
with pieces of gear from the decimated squad. The yells, cheers, and taunts
increased as the few uniformed officers able to still move made their way up
the streets away from the chaos. Some were dragging their fellow team members;
others were simply running from the carnage. Even the seasoned vets had been
taken off-guard by the attack. They were used to a few agitators rushing their
position and being hauled away in cuffs. The fierce violence of this mob
coupled with the surprising number of firearms brought to bear had been more
than they’d bargained for.
***
Russell watched the video feed coming
from the camera team set up on the roof. He couldn’t have asked for a better
outcome. He had a hard time not laughing at the arrogance of the police. They
believed that their uniforms made them invincible. Their overconfidence had
been their undoing and played right into his hand. He turned back to the camera
and waved for the frightened young woman running the cut-ins and such up in the
producer’s booth to bring him back up for broadcast.
“So, I believe your insistence that
this is simply a bunch of ‘uppity niggers’ has been sufficiently thrown in your
face. And as I promised…” Russell
nodded and Panama dragged a middle aged Hispanic woman into the area between
the news desk and the camera. “I warned you that any show of force against my
brothers and sisters would result in another death.”
The woman had been sobbing up to that
point. She stopped and shook off the hands holding her in place. She climbed up
to her knees and folded her hands under her chin and began reciting a prayer.
“You can’t!” the cameraman yelled,
tossing his headset down and stepping away. Slick stepped in, bringing the butt
of his shotgun into the man’s gut, sending him doubling over.
“Perhaps you’d like to take her place.”
Russell motioned the man forward.
The man stepped out from the darkness
and into the bright studio lights. He cast a wary glance at Panama, then walked
over to the praying woman. “Let her go. Not just delay her execution for
later…I mean let her leave,” the camera man said as he stood over the visibly
pregnant woman.
“You wish for her to go outside into
that crowd?” Russell asked. “She might be better off in here.”
“What? So you can just kill her later?”
the man retorted.
Russell gave the portly man a hard
look. “If I give my word, unlike the
White community and this country’s politicians, I keep it.” He let his statement
hang for a second before continuing. “So I will ask again…are you willing to
take this woman’s place?”
The man looked down at the form still
praying at his feet, then back up at Russell. “I am.”
Russell nodded and Slick walked up
behind the man and put a pistol against the back of his head and fired. There
was still an outpouring from those present, but the worst came from the woman
who had been spared. She crawled to the dead cameraman and began sobbing, her
body shaking as she tried to form words of prayer over the man who had just
given his life for hers.
“You are animals!” she finally managed,
glaring up at Russell.
“Perhaps,” Russell nodded, “but we are
animals that have been backed into a corner and have no choice but to fight our
way out.”
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