First issue of what would have been Vol. 3
Long story short: I signed the contract to write this third volume, only to be told nah never mind by Dark Horse. Mack was in the middle of drawing the first issue. It was very sudden and in an effort to keep me and Mack earning money, we quickly launched Sword Daughter. I took a paycut to ensure it was a go. Some months later, I talk to Mike Richardson who, with a smile, told me he would have let Briggs Land continue, I guess... if I pushed harder? Asked nicer? I don't know. The whole thing was a joke.
I took the first script and turned it into prose, just for easier reading. A few references to past story that won't make sense if you don't know.
BRIGGS LAND
FALSE FLAG 1
© Brian Wood
DRAFT June 1, 2017
NOTES: Time of year, spring-summer, very, very bright, hot, and dry.
The late spring heat bore down relentlessly as James pushed through the dense underbrush, branches catching at his backpack. The woods were thick here at the border of Briggs Land, where an old chain-link fence, rusted and half-consumed by undergrowth, marked the boundary. Yellow "NO TRESPASS" signs hung at regular intervals along its length. He found the section where the fence had been cut and crawled through the opening.
Minutes later, he was retrieving a mountain bike from a dried-up culvert by the highway. The bicycle had been hidden carefully, laid on its side among the dust and overgrown vegetation. James pulled it out onto the road, glancing nervously over his shoulder before mounting up and pedaling hard down the empty asphalt.
The landscape rolled past as he rode. At a four-way intersection, he slowed and looked left. Far in the distance, perhaps ten miles away, a mass of gray smoke spread across the horizon. Not the narrow column of a house fire, but something wider, longer. James furrowed his brow, but after a moment's hesitation, he made a right turn and continued on his way, leaving the smoke behind him.
-
The town of Wrenton's main street bustled with activity. James locked his bike at a public rack, kneeling down to secure it.
"Hi, James."
He stood and turned to find Shari smiling at him. She was his age, the daughter of Indian immigrants, dressed modestly in long sleeves and jeans despite the heat. Her long, thick dark hair fell past her shoulders.
"Hey."
"Hey, Shari."
"You ready?"
They walked together down the street, a little awkward.
"Did anyone see you leave?" James asked.
"No. Did anyone see you leave?"
They arrived at a small storefront movie theater and headed inside.
-
At the motel where the ATF had set up operations, Agent Daniel Zigler opened his door to find a local police officer waiting, along with a beefy guy in a polo.
"Agent Daniel Zigler? Can we come in?"
"I'll step out."
Zigler emerged in a white undershirt and gym shorts, barefoot. He looked like he'd been asleep, maybe hungover. He squinted against the brightness and closed the door behind him.
"I'm with Federal Emergency Management," the polo guy said. "Need your help with something. We need you to talk to the Briggs."
Zigler glanced around the parking lot, checking to see who, if anyone, might be listening in.
"Agent Zigler, might be better to talk inside."
"Out here's fine." Zigler crossed his arms. "And I can tell you right now, the Briggs community is not going to want to talk to FEMA. Come on, you really don't know what you're dealing with here?"
The FEMA guy pressed on. "That's why we're here. We need you to broker something. We need access to their land."
"Oh, is that all?" Zigler, sarcastic.
"There's a forest fire. The Briggs property, the Mohawk rez, both in the path. We need road access, flyover permission for the firefighters, and use of their water supply. The lake on their property. We also need to relocate the Mohawk on Briggs Land, if it comes to it."
"Relocate?"
"If the winds shift. Temporarily. Get people out of harm's way."
Zigler took a moment, looked down. "Jesus," he muttered. Then looked up. "So you want to drop troops on their land, poison their drinking water to make them docile, and then round them up into FEMA concentration camps."
"What?"
"I just translated it for you. That's what they'll hear if I don't frame it right." He paused. "How bad is the fire?"
"Couple thousand acres now and gonna get worse. Weather calls for nothing but dry and hot. Will you help?"
Zigler thought: If I don't, this'll turn into another Waco. Times fucking ten.
"Yeah. I'll help."
-
On Briggs Land, Grace Briggs was at target practice with the militia. The shooting range was set up in an open area, with men dressed in tactical gear lined up with their weapons. Grace stood among them in her usual clothing, while her daughter Abbie, dressed in ripped black jeans and a sleeveless band t-shirt, fired single rounds from a heavy ACR machine gun. She looked badass. Everyone wore ear protection as they systematically shredded the targets downrange.
Several hundred feet away, in the grass, young Annie sat drawing on paper while baby Sara slept in a car seat beside her. Annie had cotton wads in her ears. Sara was sleeping with headphones on.
During a break in the shooting, Grace called over to Abbie. "You want to take a break?"
"Not yet."
Grace handed her weapon to one of the militia men as she walked to the rear.
"She was here yesterday too. Went through nearly five hundred rounds of 5.56 NATO."
"Let her shoot as much as she wants."
"Copy that, Mrs. Briggs."
As Grace walked toward the two kids, she took off her ear protection.
Annie pointed up and over Grace's head. "Grandma, what's that?"
Grace turned to see a smudge of smoke.
Annie's ear cotton was gone. "It's smoke."
"Something's burning somewhere," Grace said, picking up Sara's car seat by its handle. Sara's headphones were off now too. "It's pretty far away."
"Should we check?"
"I'll call Noah. He can figure it out."
"Uncle Noah's right there."
Grace looked ahead. Sure enough, Noah was standing at the front of the house, by the driveway and the trucks. Like he was waiting for them.
Grace could tell something was up. "So he is. That's lucky."
"Uncle Noah!" Annie ran ahead, and Noah had his arms out to hug her.
-
Inside the house, Sara was still asleep in her crib in her bedroom. Grace exited the room into the hallway where Noah was waiting. He handed her a business card.
"You had a gentleman caller. Our friendly neighborhood federal agent, the one who just can't seem to quit us."
It was Zigler's ATF card.
"Where?"
"He said he'd be at the Lamoille Bridge."
"Why there, I wonder?"
"Why at all, Mom?"
-
At Hillson Home Value, the store Grace's family had recently taken control of, a line of folding chairs stretched down a back hallway near the offices. About fifteen to twenty chairs. Several women of color sat waiting, all wearing their Hillson employee smocks. Black women, Indian women, Arab women with headscarves, Latina women, and a couple Latino men. No one looked happy.
Through a partially open office door, another woman of color sat by a desk. Ellie Briggs was interviewing them one by one.
A woman left the office, upset, as Jessica Lewis entered.
"Jessica Lewis?"
Ellie handed her a single sheet of paper. "This is your new schedule."
Jessica sat on the edge of her chair, reading it.
"Mrs. Briggs, I can't work with this. These new shifts, this is when I need to be taking care of my son. Plus it's only thirty-two hours a week. I need forty to get benefits."
"Jessica, with new management, there's always changes. We need to take a hard look at the bottom line, and it's unfortunate, but we can't afford to be as generous as Bud Hillson was. Between us, he was running the business into the ground. Isn't it better to have a job, even if it isn't perfect, than to have lost it in a couple months when the store inevitably went out of business?"
Jessica was upset, bordering on panic, on fear. "But it's not enough money! And my son can't be on his own. Mrs. Briggs, it's like you're forcing me to quit!"
At that, Ellie picked up an envelope from a separate pile. "I completely understand. And we want to be as fair as possible for people who experience hardships."
She handed it over. Confused, Jessica took the envelope. "What's this?"
"A check for what we owe you, plus a small severance."
Jessica looked inside. "Fifty dollars? I've worked at Hillson for almost three years."
She looked up, suddenly a little angry, a little suspicious. "And why aren't the white people who work here waiting outside right now?”
Her voice carried, and the people sitting outside all turned their heads in the direction of the office door.
Ellie's face was tight with controlled anger. "Someone will escort you to your car, Ms. Lewis."
-
Jessica hurried through the parking lot, her purse over her shoulder. Following her, about five paces back, were a few of Caleb's crew. She reached her car, an older import model, worn out. She was beeping it open.
"Hold up a sec."
She stopped, suddenly afraid, reflexively crossing her arms over her chest. There were tears beading up on the edges of her eyes. "What is it?"
"Your tunic. It's Hillson's. Give it back."
They watched and waited as she took it off, revealing a black tank top underneath. It wasn't underwear or particularly revealing, but it still made her feel terrible, with their eyes on her. Humiliating.
-
In the darkened movie theater, Shari's hand was holding James’. She looked forward at the screen, a big smile on her face. James was preoccupied. He was thinking about that fire, thinking maybe he should have said or done something. His eyes looked down, like at his knees or the back of the seat in front of him. Even as Shari edged closer, he kept that same expression. He was that preoccupied.
-
At the Lamoille Bridge, the same bridge from the end of issue six where Zigler and Noah had tossed the guns overboard, Zigler was getting out of his car. He'd cleaned up. Maybe he didn't shave, and he wasn't wearing a tie with his white dress shirt, but it was better.
Grace was pulling up behind it in her truck. He walked over to Grace, who was inside the truck, with the window rolled down.
Grace was guarded. "What do you need?"
After they talked, Grace gripped the steering wheel, looking straight ahead. "I just put down an uprising on the Land, Daniel. Barely. The answer's no."
"I think the fire's for real, Grace. And a forest fire doesn't play politics."
"Briggs Land's held for a hundred and fifty years." The truck's exhaust pipes came to life. "We'll take our chances."
As she started to drive off, he called after her. "Not sure they're asking so much as telling, Grace!"
He stood there, alone. "Shit."
-
A massive convoy of FEMA trucks headed down an interstate highway through upstate New York. Big white command buses, smaller police trucks, and a few military vehicles. FEMA was clearly visible on the vehicles, and the whole thing had a militarized feel to it.
Drones lifted into the sky.
At an airfield, firefighters in full gear boarded a Sikorsky S-70 painted in firefighting colors, white and red, with an American flag on the tail.
-
The sun was setting. Dinnertime. James was biking down those same lonely roads, heading home.
On the porch of the Briggs house, Noah and Abbie were having a couple beers, chilling out. Abbie was sitting back in a chair, pressing a bag of ice to her sore shoulder, and looking satisfied.
"Heard you shot the shit outta some paper today."
In the basement, where Caleb had an office, pretty austere and functional, he was placing multiple bundles of cash into a heavy, old-school style safe. He was wearing a white tank top that exposed a bunch of his racist tattoos.
"How's the store?" Grace asked from the top of the stairs.
"Results speak for themselves."
"Good, glad to hear it."
"No offense, Grace, but a deal's a deal." He was crouching down over that safe, his back to her. "Appreciate it if you just stayed out of it."
-
Up in her room, Annie was wandering around holding a stuffed animal, playing the way five-year-olds do, talking to herself, lost in thought. Her room had a lot of detail, looked lived in. Typical little kid stuff, colorful and very lived in, but wholesome.
By her window, she noticed something. There was a reddish reflection on the glass. She went to the window, right up against the glass, palms on the glass.
In the kitchen, Grace sees what Annie sees: fire.
-
James had stopped in the middle of that intersection from earlier. Staring at the glow over the trees.
Over the trees, on the horizon, the glow from the fire was widespread, reddish.
(V.O.) "They'll be here by morning. What they can't accomplish with warrants or subpoenas, this means they can just walk in."
(V.O.) "Who's coming, Grandma?"
Grace's expression was hard. "The Feds."
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