Six months after Joe Biden replaced Donald Trump in the White House, Joshua McIntyre, founder of the Brawny Lads, addressed a crowd of his fellow citizens in Putnamville, Indiana. Speaking from the courthouse steps, Joshua, also known as the General, spoke in a loud, measured tone. He was a veteran of both the Iraq War and the January 6 siege of the United States Capitol Building, and his voice rang with the authority of one who is battle-tested. After reminding the crowd that American jobs were still being shuttled to China, he said that his spies had informed him of the deep state's latest plot. According to his spooks, the U.S. government, having deemed the American worker expendable, was planning to eliminate the middle class entirely through a sterilization campaign. "Neighbors," he boomed from the courthouse steps, "that China virus is no more dangerous than the flu, but those vaccines are laced with antineoplastic agents that will keep you from havin' children."

"Do they poke you in the butt?"" shouted Toby Dawes, a simple-minded farm boy who made his living inseminating hogs. "If they poke you in your butt, Donald Trump oughta be told."

The General shook his head stoically--he was not a gullible man. "Toby," he said, "there's no point in confiding in Donald Trump. Didn't that coward turn tail and run after ordering us to attack the Capitol Building?"

"Maybe he had an appointment to go to," Toby cried hopefully.

The General sighed like a punctured tire. "More likely, he set us up," he muttered. "The government is busting us in droves since they have us all on film--and now Donald Trump is claiming that we acted on our own. You know, it wouldn't surprise me if he was part of the deep state himself."

Were the General a less-respected man, this comment would have drawn hoots of derision. Instead, the townsfolk stood as though hog-tied and muttered among themselves. It was a dawning of sobriety, an awakening of pawns. If the General was right, their Mussolini was just a hot-air balloon.

A few plaintive shouts of "USA" erupted from the crowd, but these scattered voices faded when the General bowed his head. He made no further mention of Trump, his expression said it all. Putnamville had married the wind, and now the wind had stalled.

* * *

The General went on to inform the crowd that the deep state's campaign was accelerating--that government agents, armed with the vaccines, would soon be going from door-to-door.

"Them shots gotta hurt!" shouted Toby who had turned as gray as a corpse.

"Ah, they're only a scratch," said the General, "but they're enough to do the job."

Billy Babbitt, a reporter for The Putnamville Gazette, suspected the General had paraphrased Shakespeare to get his point across. Although the General's claim seemed shopworn, he was an educated man. Before founding the Brawny Lads Militia, he had been a high school English teacher. It disturbed Billy Babbitt to know that the Capitol raiders were not just knuckleheads--that doctors, lawyers and teachers were included in the mix.

Hoping to harness the General's better instincts, Billy Babbitt spoke up. "Joshua," he said, "the county hospital is filled to capacity. Dozens of people on ventilators are gasping their lives away."

The General drew a labored breath. "Billy," he said, "we're a people at war. It's not a war that we asked for, but it's one that we may as well fight. Since the government plans to make us extinct, the virus can't hurt us that much."

No further comments were necessary. How could one not be aware that the time had come for true citizens to make a final stand? But since it was clear that the Donald was not going to fight the arrests, it was implicit that passive resistance would now be the order of the day.

When Toby Dawes piped up again, he was speaking for them all. "I ain't gonna take no injection," he cried, "if they stick you in the butt."

* * *

After the rally, the General and Billy had a beer in Flakey Jake's Bar, a dive on the outskirts of Putnamville where locals drank away their government checks. Both were town-trapped men in their forties whose lives had not come to fruition. The General had once tried to publish a tell-all book he had written about the Iraq War, but the corporate-run publishing houses had shown no interest in printing hard truths. Billy Babbitt had once tried to write literature, but he had no true genius for that, so now he was covering trivia for The Putnamville Gazette. The men had been friends since college where they had performed for the drama club, and it was an intimacy fostered by Ibsen and Chekov that enabled Billy to speak candidly.

"Joshua," Billy said, "why did you lie to them? You know they'll believe anything."

"A lie may set them free," said the General.

Billy salted his beer. "If you're going to start an insurrection, I think you should stick to facts."

"Facts!" said the General. He spat out the word as though it had blistered his tongue. "The fact is the country's been stolen and a lie might help folks get it back. I don't mind blowing smoke in their eyes if it gives them a rallying point."

"Well, this is the only revolution I know of where the rebels are killing themselves."

"Naw, I saw plenty of that in Iraq. Suicide bombers blowing up servicemen who were conned into being there."

"You take that war too personally, Joshua. You left Iraq ten years ago."

"It's not personal," shrugged the General. "Hell, my feelings are broader than that. You know, the only occupation that makes sense to me was when we took over the Capitol Building."

"It's not like you stormed the Bastille," Billy said. "Your brawny boys were in there for less than an hour, and then they got bored and left."

"Insurrections fall apart," said the General. "Governments fall apart too. Hell, what's happening in America happens to all countries sooner or later."

"Maybe you're too keen to pick a fight, and any lame cause will do."

"All insurrections are lame," said The General. "All of 'em follow the same stupid script, and they're all betrayed sooner or later. Hell, I'm just a clown in a comedy that was written long ago."

* * *

If the General's script had been written a long time ago, it soon suffered in translation--perhaps because he was diabetic and feared being put in jail. And since firing up crowds was conspicuous work that might expedite his arrest, he decided to make no more speeches to citizens of Putnamville. Convinced that a printed slogan would better serve his campaign, he confined his clarion call to placards the Brawny Lads passed around. Go away, government goons, read the signs. We don't want Doctor Fauci's ouchy. Before too long, these placards appeared on all of Putnamville's lawns.

After a Brawny Lad handed him one of the placards, Billy Babbitt dropped by his friend's house. "Joshua," he sighed, "has it come to this? My god, you taught high school English."

The General blushed and shook his head. "I don't wanna preach over their heads," he muttered.

"No danger of that," said Billy. "Your message demeans even the stupid ones, including Toby Dawes."

"Don't overestimate 'em," the General said, and his cynicism proved correct. None of Putnamville's citizens removed the signs from their lawns, which deterred the government from sending its goons out to knock on people's doors. A month later, when a fleet of refrigerated vans pulled into the hospital parking lot, it was clear that the General's slogan was working very well.

But the government was not to be stopped by a bunch of dumbed-down signs. The following month, the mayor of Putnamville, who was obviously in league with the deep state, issued a mask proclamation. The order read that public buildings and restaurants would be barred to anyone not wearing a mask. To facilitate the order, the mayor arranged for a special delivery. Trucks from the National Guard Armory roamed the streets of Putnamville, and drivers tossed boxes of masks onto the lawns of unsuspecting citizens.

Incensed by this tactic, the General ordered that all the masks be destroyed, so the Brawny Lads strolled from house-to-house, retrieving boxes of masks. Within a matter of hours, the Lads rendezvoused at the town dump where they soaked the boxes with gasoline and set them aflame. Weeks later, when more refrigerated vans squeezed into the hospital lot, it was clear that incinerating the masks had been a huge success.

While sitting in Flakey Jake's with the General, sharing a pitcher of beer, Billy Babbitt asked him why he had ordered the burning of the masks. "What's the point?" Billy snapped. "Those masks can't do any harm."

"Don't you see?" said the General. "It's a matter of folks keepin' their faith. They need to believe that God will protect them--not those fucking masks."

"But those vans are packed with cadavers, Joshua, and God is just letting it happen."

"All that matters," the General said, "is for folks to think that God's on their side. If they put too much trust in the government, they won't take their country back."

"How many will live to take it back?" Billy muttered. "You must have thought of that. And why are you trying to liberate people you hold in such contempt?"

The General belched like a cannon then topped off his glass of beer. "Billy, you're too damn logical. Let's talk about something else."

* * *

Putnamville's death toll continued to climb and townsfolk grew irritable, and the deep state tried to exploit their displeasure with yet another ploy. In a sneering attempt to blunt the resolve of those who had lost family members, it set up vaccine information clinics in the high school and the fire station. Adding insult to injury, the deep state also mailed out fliers, informing the townsfolk that a trip to these clinics would lay their fears to rest.

Not to be outdone, the General drew up a message of his own. Beware the Zombie Apocalypse, the flier boldly announced. Those vaccines are laced with pesticides that are going to destroy your brains. With the speed of Minute Men, the Brawny Lads dashed through the town, stuffing the notice into mailboxes and shouting the alarm.

Toby Dawes, a fan of The Walking Dead, a popular Netflix series, was quick to add his voice to the chorus. "I don't wanna be no zombie!" he hollered to anyone who would listen. "If the government turns you into a zombie, they'll get to shoot out your brains!"

Sensing their friendship ebbing, Billy Babbitt again challenged the General. They were sitting in Flakey Jake's again, drinking whiskey sours, and Billy made no effort to hide his irritation. "When fighting the FDA," he sniped, "be sure not to become a pill."

"Leave the puns to Shakespeare, Billy. I don't think that's very funny."

"But a zombie apocalypse? My god! And the sad thing is they'll buy it. What's the point in them owning the country if they're dumb enough to believe that?"

"I think they know it's a lie," said the General. "It's just one they want to believe."

"What about the Dawes boy? You scared him shitless, Joshua. He really thinks that the deep state is planning to turn him into a ghoul."

The General shrugged. "All rebellions have collateral damage, Billy. If all that gets damaged is Toby Dawes, we're getting off pretty cheap."

"The poor, stupid kid," said Billy.

"Let it go," the General replied. "If the rumor doesn't work, I'll take Toby aside and tell him it was a lie."

But the fliers proved effective in keeping suspicions high, so it made no difference whether or not the town truly bought the lie. Nobody went to a government clinic where he might have been propagandized. Even the thought of becoming a zombie was more than the townsfolk could bear.

* * *

The next tactic the deep state used was comical to a fault--a ploy so desperate that the General could only laugh. One day, a fleet of Krispy Kreme trucks invaded Putnamville, and loudspeakers, perched on top of the trucks, offered the townsfolk a Faustian deal. Simply put, those Putnamville citizens, willing to compromise, would be given a donut in exchange for rolling up their sleeves. "They're fresh and creamy and sticky," the loudspeakers declared, an artless attempt to entrap the good people into devaluing their souls. Sadly, this tactic had some success. Although the General spread the word that the donuts contained tracking devices, a handful of Putnamville's citizens, who had reached their tipping point, chose to receive a vaccination in exchange for a sugary snack. Among them was Toby Dawes who seemed indifferent to being collateral damage. The General spotted the boy near one of the trucks, munching a Krispy Kreme. He had apparently forgotten the deep state's plan to turn him into a ghoul.

"You too, Toby?" The General exclaimed.

Toby smacked his lips. "Them donuts are mighty tasty," he said.

The General rolled his eyes. "Toby, you disappoint me. I thought you had principles."

"Principles don't got cream filling," Toby replied, and he went on stuffing his mouth.

Sensing capitulation, the deep state pressed the donut campaign. "Bliss in every bite," the loudspeakers now proclaimed. Several days later, the deep state doubled the price it would pay for a soul. The loudspeakers announced that residents, willing to take both shots, would, upon receiving either vaccine, get two of the tasty treats. This piping-fresh deal was enough to unravel Putnamville's waning resolve. Overwhelmed by the tangy smell of fresh donuts, more townsfolk crowded the trucks where they stood like storks while paramedics jabbed them in the arm.

When he met with Billy Babbitt again in Flakey Jake's honky-tonk, the General sadly conceded that he had given up on the town. "My neighbors have let me down, Billy," he said. "I don't think I asked them for much."

"You're not to blame," said Billy. "You gave them your best shot."

"That I did," The General sighed. "I gave 'em my best shot. But principles don't have cream fillings, and I should have realized that."

---

James Hanna is a retired probation officer and former fiction editor. His work has appeared in over thirty journals, including Sixfold, Crack the Spine, and The Literary Review. He is also a frequent contributor to Fear of Monkeys. James is the author of six books all of which have won awards. Global Book Awards gave his recently-published anthology, Fact Check and More Probing Tales, the gold medal in the Contemporary Fiction Category.