Indivisible (Overlooked by Liberty) by Blair Smith Page A

considered turning herself in; so far she had only been responsible for distributing prescription drugs and doping her ex-husband's drink.  Bitterness convinced her not to.  The Feds were responsible for the death of her son, and Bradley was a part of that group.  Up to this point, she had not been involved with the Covenant.
             Helen pulled the picture of Barry out of her shirt pocket and stared at it.  She spoke aloud to herself, "This is a town where people stop their cars to let you cross the street.  My biggest gripe used to be cleaning up after the dog."  Tater's eyes rolled up and her tail flopped once, knowing Helen spoke of her.  She reached over and patted the animal's head.  "I don't know what to do now.  I guess I don't see much of a future for me, Tater."
           She thought about Max.  "He was so sure of himself.  'There are still things worth fighting for,' he would say if he were here."  Lifting the picture of Barry again, she gazed at it and smiled.  Tears formed and rolled down her cheeks; she could taste the saltiness as one crossed over her lip.
            Helen had been an avid reader.  She particularly appreciated poetry.  A single verse from a poem she had read in high school haunted her: Crush my dreams and I'll awaken .  Though her life had been ordinary, her son Barry had been exceptional.  A child who had been a total joy to be with was taken from her by a heartless administration concerned only with preserving itself.  At the time, she hadn't known what the verse to the poem meant.  "Max is right," Helen spouted to herself, "there are things worth fighting for."  She had awakened.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
    Washington, D.C. (December 4)
           "What do you know about the Dixville incident?" asked Paz.  The Secretary of Defense sat across from Steve Morrison of Spectator News in a restaurant located near the outskirts of Washington D.C.  General Paz positioned himself so he could view the rest of the establishment, particularly the entrance.  Waitresses and busboys rushed from table to table, scurrying to keep up with the noon rush.  A myriad of conversations riddled the room as the two studied each other's faces for clues.
           Steve chewed his gum anxiously, he wasn't sure how to proceed.  Kyle had phoned him, extending an invitation for drinks.  The Secretary of Defense hadn't clarified his intentions.  Another oddity: from the background noise, Steve could tell the General had made his call from a pay phone.  Steve knew Kyle had a reason for inviting him there.  It wasn't social; such a thing doesn't exist in Washington D.C.
           The General was probing, "What do you know about the Dixville Massacre?"
           "I only know what I've heard through the media," replied Steve, smiling at his own joke.  When Kyle failed to react, Steve continued seriously, "I listen in on the CB broadcasts out of the North Country.  Some nights I can pick it up.  They tell a different story than the President."
           "What's coming out of the North Country is true."
           The reporter stopped gnawing his gum, "What?"
           "You heard me."  Kyle confirmed.
           "Why am I here, General?"  Steve knew this new information source was a big break for him, but he couldn't understand why Paz would divulge such information.  The General could be indicted.
            Paz had trouble telling him.  He looked away as he spoke, "We are on the brink of a reelection year and--"
           "The Massacre?  What really happened, General?" 
           "What would you say if I told you that the Dixville Massacre was a tragic mistake, and that some of us in the military would like to set the record straight before the North Country starts their own revolt."
           "Whose mistake?"
           "As commander of the armed services, mine."  The General finally turned and looked