ELECTION NIGHT 2020

By Dan McCrory

CNN reporters were saying it was too late to call the winner. “Due to the large number of mail-in ballots, we probably won’t know until Thursday how much President Trump has won by.”

“That’s right, Shannon. We can show you why, right now, we’re calling the election for Trump.”

The camera pulled back and there were two vigilantes, one of each side of the dais, hidden in the shadows till now.

“What we’re seeing, Carl, is a takeover of polls by even more vigilantes.”

“This just in. Citizens in Detroit, waiting to vote decided to rush and subdue armed vigilantes. We go live to Chris Steel in Detroit.”

“Shannon, things have gotten out of control. It seems some Democrats also came to the polls armed and returned gunfire after a vigilante shot and killed two protestors. The death toll stands at three vigilantes dead and two protestors dead and five wounded.”

The armed vigilantes in the newsroom cried, “Fake news!” and shot the anchors. The screens in millions of homes went to a test pattern.

Andy turned to his wife. “It’s happening. Get my Glock and ammo out of the closet.”

“It has to be an isolated incident,” Carrie said.

Andy went through twenty more channels. Chicago, LA, Boston, buildings burning, gunfire everywhere.

Carrie was crying in fear, just barely holding it together. She came back with the gun.

Andy loaded it carefully. “Remember how to use this?” he asked calmly.

She nodded and looked at her husband, still in the grips of terror.

“Good. Lock the door till I come back.” He grabbed the baseball bat they kept by the door.

“Can’t we just wait here together till the cops come?”

“At this point we can’t say whose side they’re on. They’re probably rounding up everybody with Biden bumper stickers or lawn signs. Stay here. Keep the lights off and I’ll check out the neighborhood.”

“Be careful!”

As soon as Andy had closed the apartment door behind him Carrie slammed the deadbolt home. She went to the window and tried to peer out without disturbing the vertical blinds.

She could see vague forms running up and down the street, the occasional flashlight played on the walls of her neighbors’ homes.

She watched as a police cruiser pull up across the street. The couple directly across the street walked with rifles slung over their shoulders and embraced the cops. Carrie couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the neighbors were gesturing to the next to theirs. Frank had a Bernie bumper sticker he had slapped on in 2015. A minute later, he was dragged into his driveway. Cortez from down the street pulled out a 45 and shot him in the head.

Cortez then picked up a bullhorn. “THIS IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO EVERY SOCIALIST, EVERY MUSLIM, EVERY BLACK LIVES MATTERS TERRORIST! WE ARE NOT SURRENDERING OUR COUNTRY!”

Carrie was distracted as the TV roared back to life. It was Trump.

“This is your president. As we predicted we have uncovered large amounts of mail fraud in this election. Illegal immigrants, voted by the thousands using the IDs of deceased Americans, were hired, it is reported, were hired by Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Shumer working hand-in-hand with George Soros through actions directed by QAnon. This is worse than even I could have predicted and the corruption runs so deep. Democrat leadership in the congress and senate is being rounded up. Their attempt to overthrow our government and hand it over to Socialists has been stopped in its tracks. Currently Socialist ringleader Bernie Sanders has fled the capital and is considered armed and dangerous. Well done, America!

“Law enforcement is going through a similar purge in our major cities and are moving on city halls to round up corrupt mayors and governors. The only way we can make sure this never happens again, is by cutting out our infection. It is clear these terrorists will never work with us and will, in fact, stand in our way as we make America great again! They pushed us! We are going to finish that wall now and they will be on the other side.”

Carrie thought of Josh on campus in Berkeley and Candy at Harvard. She called Candy first.

“Mom! Are you and dad okay?”

“We are. What about you? Where are you?”

“In our dorms. There were some gunshots and we were told to hide till we get the ‘all-clear.’

“Stay put! Let me know if the situation changes.”

“Okay. Mommy, I’m scared.”

“Me too, honey. I’m going to call your brother now.”

“Tell Josh I love him.”

“I will, honey.”

Josh’s line was busy. There was a tap at the back door that made her jump. A glance revealed it was Andy.

“There’s not enough cover out front,” he explained.

She brought him to speed on the kids. He pulled out his phone. “Let’s try Josh again.”

“Dad!” Josh was whispering.

“Where are you?”

“Hiding in the basement of Sigma Pi. Some military vehicles and some soccer mom vans drove onto the quad by guys dressed in military gear without patches or insignia.”

“Have we been invaded?” asked Carrie.

“Are they armed?”

“It might be rubber bullets. Hang on. A couple of them are chasing a black guy.”

There was silence, then, “Oh my God! That’s real blood! They’re picking him up. He’s not moving. They’re throwing him in the van.”

“Josh, is there any way to get out of there safely?” his mother asked.

“I don’t know; I could try.”

“Then, no.”

“Honey, he has to get off campus.”

“And I’m not going to wait for them to come get me,” Josh replied with more bravado than he felt. “I’ve got to find Savannah and make sure she’s safe.”

Andy turned to Carrie. “Get in touch with Candy. I’ll drive to Boston if I have to.”


The president was impressed with the smooth transition America was making to this new form of government. He knew with a cold certainty that the Democrats had been trying to overthrow the U.S. government with these fake elections. But as long as he held the reins of power, the glory of these United States was assured.

“Get me Putin on the phone,” he commanded a faceless sycophant who rushed to do his bidding. “Did they catch Acosta yet?” he asked the underling.

“I’m not sure. I’ll find out.”

Trump smiled to himself, recalling the reporter’s quick exit from the Rose Garden. It was just a matter of time till he was caught. He was going to make him lick his shoes before they sent that uppity asshole to the re-education camp in Bethesda.

Melania was looking at him with new respect, maybe even fear. Fuck her. He didn’t need to keep up appearances anymore. It had always been Ivanka. He had created her to rule beside him. He had already promised that pussy Jared to some Christian biker gang. Hell, he’d probably love it.

“Where’s that Putin call?” He loved it when people jumped and scrambled to serve.

“Here you are, sir. President Putin.”

Putin was in a good mood. “How are you, Mr. President?”

“That plan you sent me worked beautifully. It was a very, very beautiful thing.”

“How does it feel to have real power, Mr. President?”

“Amazing, Mr. President. If Iran fucks with me, pfft. If North Korea tries to embarrass me again, boom, boom, boom,” laughed Trump.

“All I ask, you brilliant, handsome man, is a courtesy call before you go after one of my neighbors. We don’t want all the power of nuclear war going to the heads of your stupid generals.”

“I don’t think they’d take a shit without running it by me first.”

“Still, just to be working together…”

“That’s what I like about you, V. You get me.”

“Of course I do, Donald. I respect you and everyone else must respect you because you are the most powerful man on the planet.”
“Now you’re just trying to feed my ego.”

“Yes, but is it not true, Mr. President?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Come visit soon. I have to go now. I have a country to conquer.”

“I understand.”

Ivanka stuck her head inside the oval office. “Daddy, are you busy?”

“Never for you, cupcake. What do you need?”

“I can’t find Jared anywhere. Do you have him off on a secret mission again?”

“Yep, that’s it. But don’t be too upset if one of these days he doesn’t make it back.”

“Can he take Melania with him?”

“Sweetie, she’s the First Lady.”

“I could be your First Lady, daddy.”

“Would you wear your skirts a little shorter, maybe get a boob job? Oh, what was I thinking? I can only push those bible thumpers so far.”

“But, daddy, aren’t you about to become premier…?”

“We haven’t settled on a title yet. I need our little snake charmers and the rest of the holy gang to become the new Supreme Court. Get it, Supreme?”

“They’ll love that!”

“Let them get a little blood first and they’ll give me a pass. Then we can bond. But I may keep Melania around just to kink things up occasionally.”

Candy heard the pop pop of distant gunfire.

She and several others had decided they were going to make a mad dash for the nearest parking lot from the library.

“Run like the devil!” Professor Ingram advised her. “They always target the pretty ones. And the fact that you’re articulate and intelligent…”

“I’m fucked,” she offered.

“You’re fucked.”

The group of five made it to the alley before they were stopped by self-appointed fire marshalls. There were three of them, brandishing a variety of firearms.

Their apparent leader appraised Candy before announcing, “That’s my girlfriend. She’s with me.”

Sandy, looking much like the weary surfer, said, “What’s her name, man? You know you can’t just pick somebody to save.”

Candy made a quick decision. “No, I’m his girlfriend.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Brenda. Trump all the way.”

The nervous leader pulled him to her. “Thank God you’re safe, Brenda.”

He reached out to grope her, sure that he had assuaged all doubt. She stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “You may get what you want now, but I promise you, one night you will die unpleasantly.”

He pulled back his hand and grinned. “I’ll grow on you. Brenda.”

“I need to get home.”

“Where ya headed?”

“San Francisco.”

“I’ve got a Bentley, a gas card, and a Trump/Pence bumpersticker. That should get us to California.”

“Great. I’ll let my parents know I’m on the way.”

He stopped her mid-dial. “How do you know you won’t become a Republican in the next few days?”

“I’ll still be related to them.”

“But maybe you won’t be so interested in joining them in a re-education camp.”

She studied his face, looking for humor and decided he meant every word.

Cotton wraparound masks for COVID-19 had been replaced with masks that ranged from whimsical to terrifying. Every time they reached a checkpoint on their way west, they were stopped long enough to determine they were young and white. The bumpersticker was merely a clincher.

They drove through the night, only stopping for gas just to have the tweakers in the middle of nowhere marvel over the car, the girl, or the clear passage to their intended destination.

They finally pulled the Bentley into a hotel parking lot just outside Albuquerque.

“No more excuses,” he told her. “Tonight you’re mine.”

The hotel was a dump with sheets that would tell a sordid story if subjected to a blacklight screening. Their air conditioner worked well enough to stir the dust in the room.

“Take off your clothes and lie down,” he ordered.

“No!”

He pulled a gun from a fanny pack around his waist. “Remember the old days when no meant no? That ‘no’ doesn’t exist anymore.”

He waved the gun from her to the bed. “I’m going to take it any which way I want it.”

The door flew open toward them followed by a Native American, solid, but his scalp almost totally gray. He buried a tomahawk in the other man’s skull. Candy’s bloodcurdling scream seemed to go on forever and reverberate throughout the little hotel room.

“Any more of them?” he asked.

“Nope. He was the only one who could get me past all the checkpoints and into California to my folks.”

“Can you sound a little more grateful? I risked my life to protect your honor.”

“That ship sailed a few frat parties ago.”

They both looked at the man lying dead on the floor.

“I’m Ronnie. Are you from around here?”

“I’m not sure I want to answer your question.”

“If you’re a local, everybody is going to know your politics and if they know your politics, they’re going to make some deadly assumptions.””

“What’s your part in all this?” she asked him.

“Navajo tribe. We’re taking out the militias.”

“This guy wasn’t militia. He was just a one-percenter, a student at Harvard like me.”

“The Trump administration is counting on militia support especially from the south to help put down any resistance.”

“What about the military? Isn’t it their job?”

“The police and military have been compromised. In Flagstaff, a few hours ago the pro-Trumpers killed all the decent national guard who were trying to desert.”

“So, how am I going to make it to California?”

“You should probably come with me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because chances are, you won’t make it to California, especially alone. Have you ever shot a gun?”

“Occasionally. But I need to get to my family.”

“We really could use you. We’re all brown so we’re immediately suspect. A blonde Aryan-looking woman like yourself would provide some cover for us.”

“Are you saying because I look a certain way I could make them think I’m one of them?”

“You could be. I’m new at this. Who did you vote for?”

“I could lie and say Biden. You would never know until it was too late.”

“True. That’s why we need you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“The Navajo Nation. At least those who left the reservation before they rounded us up. We’re working with the Hopi, some Cherokee, Black Panthers…”

“The Black Panthers? I didn’t know they were still around. Who’s on their side? Do we even stand a chance?”

“They took the president to an undisclosed location. They have the Republican members of Congress and the conservative judges pretending we still have a democracy. They’ve got most of the military though some got away before the purge and took some firepower with them. It’s hard to hide a tank, though so it’s mostly RPGs, AR-15s, stuff like that. Most of the police are Trumpers. Should have seen that coming.”

“So, they’ve got most of the guns, the heavy weapons, the illusion of law-and-order. Can we leave soon? The body is starting to attract ants and flies.”

“We’re meeting down the road in a gas station.”

“I can drive the Bentley, but you should probably hide in the back.”

“You know, I’m very impressed. Most women who look like you would be crouching over the body, practically catatonic.”

“And most guys like you would be passed out in front of the TV. Stereotypes are their thing.”

“Still, impressed. What’s your name?”

“Brenda for now.”

“Okay, Brenda. What was your major?”

“Pre-law with a bachelors in poli-sci.”

“A budding politician. I figured you for pre-med since the sight of blood didn’t seem to faze you.”

“Shouldn’t we be leaving? Do we take him with us?” she asked.

“Leave him to rot. This is war.”

Ronnie had her park the car around the corner from the Ecco service station in case the army had come, arrested everyone, and left a couple of decoys to arrest or kill any other people of color who came to serve.

Ronnie texted ahead to announce their arrival. A little white girl stood on the path leading to the rear of the station.

“Follow me.”

One solitary figure in coveralls was in the working bays with cars on both hydraulic lifts. He looked at his phone and raised one of the lifts. There were six under the body of a Jeep Wagoneer.

Another man about Ronnie’s age climbed out first.

“Who’s this?” he asked.

“Brenda somebody. She’s trying to get to California to check on her family.”

“Then why did you bring her here? She looks like one of them.”

“She was about to get raped by one of them. I think I presented a compelling case to throw her lot in with us.”

“You didn’t leave your weapon at the scene, did you?”

“He buried a tomahawk in the guy’s head. I think it was well-lodged in his skull.”

“Shit. There goes our element of surprise. I’m Reggie, Ronnie’s brother.”

“Is this it? Is this the extent of your army?” Candy asked.

“No, we’re keeping the size of assemblies deceptively small and communicating by text message.”

“You can’t rely on technology too much. I’m willing to bet the Russian bots will figure out a way to shut us down. Either that or they’ll do what they did in 2016 and the last two years: disinformation blitz.”

“I’ve got a plan and you can play a major part,” Reggie said. He turned to Ronnie.

“We’re going to need reinforcements and allies.”

In California the situation didn’t seem less dire in the light of day. The TV occasionally roared to life to announce every little victory. McConnell said, “These Democrat criminals will be rounded up and dealt with.” The screen showed perp walks of known lefty celebrities in handcuffs. “Hollywood has been dismantled, the leftists controlling the media were found guilty of treason for broadcasting fake news and undermining the authority of the US government.”

“Governor Newsom turned himself in and was attacked by an angry mob in Los Angeles. California for all intents and purposes has been locked down. Resistance has failed. In a matter of hours, we will see a peaceful transition to power. God bless America. All hail, Donald Trump!”

Andy’s phone buzzed.

“Josh, are you okay?”

“Coming home, dad. There are checkpoints on every road out of Berkeley. The local sporting goods store had been ransacked. Idiots took all the guns and left the archery stuff.”

“Are you alone?”

“Nah. I’ve got Savannah with me, my roomie, Curtis and his girl, Lisa. We’re going to have a short training session on the bow-and-arrow and be on our way. We’ll probably see you around nightfall.”

“Be careful, Josh. This is a helluva way to meet your girlfriend.”

“Dad, Savannah is African American and so are Curtis and Lisa. We’re going to Oakland first to check on Curtis’ mom.”

“Son, I hate to say this, but your group is going to attract a lot of unwanted attention.”

“Look at it this way, dad, we’re headed into friendly territory.”

There was a loud roar outside that even Josh heard on the phone.

“What was that?”

Carrie was looking out the window. “It’s a biker gang! They’re wearing swastikas!”

“Josh, call us when you get to Oakland or if there’s any trouble on the way. Keep your phone on vibrate so if I call you, it won’t give away your position.”

“Good idea, dad.”

“Oh my God! They’re going house to house!”

“Talk to you soon, son. We love you.”

“Me too. What about Candy?”

“We’ll call her as soon as we deal with these bikers. Hang up now!”

One of the bikers was pounding on their door. “Open up in there!”

Dennis Tanner across the street, wearing a Nazi arm band, yelled, “It’s okay! They’re white!”

“They could be sympathizers!” the biker shouted back.

“Concentrate on the colored ones. Then we’ll worry about the others!”

“Who are you to tell me how to do my job?”

“Block Captain Tanner.”

“Fine! If I don’t get to hurt somebody soon, it’s going to be you!”

They heard the sound of splintering wood as the biker kicked in the door next door. They watched as he pulled Grace Oh to the curb by her hair. She was crying. Her husband Jack was either not home or had been dealt with.

“Hey, Tanner! What are we supposed to do with the chinks?”

“What do I care? Is she white?”

“She’s Chinese or something.”

“Then do what you want!”

“Hey, Cal! Give me a piece of that!”

“What the fuck, Tommy? You didn’t get enough of that in Nam?”

“Best I ever had!”

Cal tore off her clothes and lay her face down across his bike.

“Yo, Tommy! Dinner is served!” Tommy dropped his pants to his ankles.

A silver Mercedes came tearing up the street and slammed into Tommy, the bike, and the neighbor. A distraught man jumped out of the front seat and started shooting. One of the bikers pointed a sawed-off shotgun at him and shot him point blank in the face.

Andy pulled himself away from the gruesome scene outside. Carrie was curled up in a corner whimpering and crying. He thought about something similar happening to the women in his life. Carrie, for the moment at least, was relatively safe. But where was Candy? Was she all right or was she facing something equally horrific?

Candy, still hiding behind the name Brenda, listened to Reggie’s plan and doubted.

“I can give you a list of tribes between here and the west coast. There will be other groups you will encounter who will ask to join our mission. Some of those will be vigilante plants who will kill you as soon as they know the plan. Others will be sincere. You and Ronnie need to determine if these groups will help or hinder our mission. Tell them as little as possible before you size them up. If you think they’re ill-equipped to provide any sort of help, walk away.”

“That’s a little brutal, isn’t it? Especially if they are POCs,” said Candy.

“The objective is quick and decisive action. You’ll be moving fast so we don’t need stragglers or the weak. If you’re attacked, you’ll be utilizing the “fight or flight” method to determine your options. We need to strike before these militias get their shit together and coalesce into an army.”

“Let’s go!” said Ronnie.

“We’re packing you with some basic camping gear. And you’re going to need to rest up and leave after dark. There are eight to ten tribes in Massachusetts alone. We’ve been in touch, but we need a commitment on troops and weapons. We can only get that in person.”

“What if they want to gauge our ability to fight? What if they want to know how big our army is or what kind of weapons we have?”

“You can’t tell them what you don’t know. Tell them this is the time for the white man’s lies to end. That we wish to claim our sovereignty and revoke all treaties. Tell them we are kicking the white man off our lands and taking them back. Tell them all former claims of individual tribes will be adjudicated by the United Tribal Government.”

“What about other countries? Are they doing anything to help us?”

“Mexico has offered, but before they’ll assist they want to know that after the war Texas and southern California will be ‘returned.’ I was hoping for a positive message from France, but we’ve heard nothing to date.”

Commander Trump had opted for a title that summed It all up, as the commander of everything. He was getting tired and cranky and the revolution was taking much too long.

“How long does it take to round up traitors who don’t believe in the second amendment? Obviously, they don’t have guns.” he asked the joint chiefs.

He looked at the lot of them, eagerly waiting for his next command. His eyes narrowed as he studied them all and discovered that one had a nametag that read “Rodriguez.”

“Where are you from, general?”

“El Paso, Texas, sir. Born and raised.”

“And your folks?”

“Dad was born in El Paso, went to Zacatecas to visit, and fell in love with my mother.”

Trump was still eyeing him suspiciously, then slowly smiled.

“That’s a beautiful story. Just beautiful.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Which one of these guys is your boss, general?”

“Well, you are, Mr. President.”

“It’s commander now, General Rodriguez, just commander. Tell me, if I wanted to fire one of these other generals, how would I do that?”

“We serve at your pleasure, Mr. … Commander.”

Trump turned around and beckoned to two guards. “No offense, General Rodriguez, but you’re fired.”

Rodriguez had expected that decision to have played out somewhere else at another time, not in the conference room adjacent to the oval office.

“Yes, sir!” he snapped to attention and saluted Trump. Turning smartly on his heels, he left with his head held high.

After he was gone, one of the other generals asked, “Why?”

“I like him, but in a pinch I need to know where his loyalty lies. I was a successful businessman because I could always smell a rat and knew how to handle them.”

An aide approached him. “How’s it going out there?”

“Sir, overall, the liberation of the U.S. has reached about 50 percent.”

“Fifty percent! Do I have to go out there and stamp on these cockroaches myself or can you get it done?”

“We’re meeting pockets of resistance.”

“Armed with what? Spears?”