Believe Them

The cold rain cascaded off Noah’s black polyurethane jacket and fell into pools of water in front of the glass double doors. It didn’t snow anymore in December so all you got was cold rain. Noah paused in front of the department store entrance under the awning and slid the hood of his jacket off his head. As he opened the door, he held it open in case a man with a black knit cap walking by wanted to enter also. But the man never turned the coke-bottle eyeglasses on his face toward Noah and kept walking into the dark night. Hadn’t Noah seen that man in the parking garage?

Noah contemplated the man for an extra second before walking into the luminous store. An artificial tree laced with silver garland parked near the entrance heralded the time of year. Behind the tree, there was a small nativity scene on a wooden pedestal. Noah headed to the jewelry counter to look for a pair of earrings for his wife. Behind the counter was a fiftyish white woman with frosted blonde curls. He didn’t see Samira, the gregarious woman who assisted him over the summer with a birthday gift for his wife. He was going to ask where she was, but thought better of it.

He found a nice sapphire pair of earrings and gave the attendant his credit card. He glanced to his left and saw the man with the coke-bottle glasses again. The young man still had the cap on his head, along with a full-length gray raincoat. The man was nodding his head to the AirPod in his ear and was intently looking at clothing in the men’s section. He presented no tangible reason to be alarmed, but the man unnerved Noah nevertheless.

“Mr. Good? Mr. Good?”

 Noah jumped a little at the sales rep’s repetitions, forgetting for a second that was the name on his credit card. She handed him his card and a gift bag. Noah glanced back at the men’s section and the coke-bottle glasses man was gone.

“Merry Christmas,” the sales rep said pointedly as Noah stood there for a second.

“Oh, sorry, merry Christmas,” Noah responded sheepishly, privately castigating himself for not saying the greeting unprompted.

Flustered, Noah walked to the elevator in the department store. Any ideas for Ethan, he texted his wife as he waited. He hit send but got an error message. He tried again, but same result. As he was fiddling with his phone a man scurried next to him and jolted to a stop. Noah glanced up and it was him, slightly out of breath and coke-bottle glasses pointed upward to the digital display indicating the floor level of the elevator.

Noah stared at the man, seeing if he would make eye contact, but the man’s face was as still as a statue. Noah thought there was a scrawny kid underneath the raincoat, but Mr. Coke Bottle was a physical specimen, muscular with an angular cheekbone.

“Excuse me, this is gonna seem silly, but are you following me?” Noah said in as gregarious a manner as he could muster.

The man’s face did not move but his eyes moved laterally in his sockets to appraise Noah. He turned away from Noah and lifted his hand to his mouth. “Golf. Oscar,” he spoke into his right fist.

His free hand reached into his jacket and he rotated back to face Noah, brandishing a long gun with two barrels, which exploded at Noah by the time he noticed it. The shot hit his left shoulder, causing his body to rotate 180 degrees before he kersplatted on the floor. For a second, Noah was stunned, his senses overloaded by the throbbing pain in his shoulder, the echo of the shot and a burning smell. He tried to move but his left arm wasn’t responding. Noah used his right forearm and legs to drag himself across the carpeted floor, which absorbed his blood like a sponge. He headed to the entrance to the row of dressing rooms. He heard excited utterances behind him and one younger male voice exclaimed, “Bro, this is awesome.”

He pulled himself up by the door frame and glanced back. Behind the shooter was a man with a large handheld camera pointed at Noah. A few people had gathered to watch the spectacle but a man with a black jacket—emblazoned with the brand “America’s Most Hunted” in gold letters on the back—was telling them to keep their distance. The shooter had lost his coke-bottle glasses. Of course, Noah thought. Probably some camera in them filming his every moment. He took cover behind the wall. He saw a small cylindrical fragment in the pool of blood he had left behind. He peered down at the gash on his left shoulder, blood steadily sliding down his raincoat in rivulets. The fragment was likely a bone, his clavicle or a rib.

The pain was intense, making focusing on anything besides it difficult. But he heard his name. “Noah Goldstein, by the power invested in me through the Department of Justice under the Constitution of 2025, I declare you an enemy of the state. You have aided and abetted terrorist organizations,” the shooter intoned. 

Terrorist organizations? Noah did like some social media posts in support of Black Lives Matter and the citizens of Gaza before the election, before it was obvious where the country was headed. And social media companies were helping the regime quell dissent. Maybe that’s why they targeted him. His wife told him he needed a gun in case this happened. They were less likely to go after someone with a gun. But why would they want him? He was a nobody. But a nobody who works for the government his wife would remind him. His dad told him to ignore the rhetoric, that the regime would be good for “our” people. Now the world could go after the “terrorists” without worrying about humanitarian concerns. Still, Noah could not see how anything good could come from a movement that glorifies ignorance and ridicules truth. Homeland Security was offering bonuses to people who turn in relatives. Maybe his dad …?

“You have been identified as a leader of the Deep State. You have plotted to assassinate our leader. You are a traitor to our country,” the shooter continued.

Noah needed to act quickly; he was losing too much blood. He used his right hand to dig his phone out of his pocket. He tried to resend the message to his wife but no luck. At least now he knew why. He would write a note in his Memo application. Maybe they would give her his belongings, including his phone. His right hand was shaking and he typed hurriedly: luv u keep fightin

“Noah Goldstein, surrender peacefully and you will be given a chance to confess your crimes and name your conspirators.” 

Conspirators? Noah crunched numbers for the Department of the Interior. He got that job after his lost his previous one when the Department of Education was abolished. He hardly knew anybody, and he made sure to never discuss politics at the office. His wife wanted to move to Canada after the election. If only he had listened. How naïve we were, assuming liberty is some part of America’s manifest destiny to continue into perpetuity. It’s not like the administration had hidden their intentions. They had clearly stated their contempt for elections; they proudly adopted Third Reich rhetoric. Common Cause has sent him e-mails before the election about the effort to rewrite the constitution using Article V that he glanced at before sending them to the virtual trash can. What had Maya Angelou said? “When people show you who they are, believe them.”

Noah stuffed his phone in the back of his boxers. He decided he would go out with the Declaration of Independence, Seneca Falls version. He used his right arm and legs to prop himself up and turned the corner. “I’m coming out; I don’t have a weapon,” he shouted. 

Mr. Coke Bottle went into a defensive posture with his automatic rifle pointed at Noah. “Show me your hands and get down on the ground!”

Noah raised his empty hands and began reciting: “We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men and women are created equal.”

Coke Bottle stood up and grimaced. He spoke into his fist again, “Can we edit out this crap in post?”

He pressed the microphone in his ear while Noah continued: “… deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. Whenever any form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of those who suffer from it to refuse allegiance to it.”

“Got it,” Coke Bottle nodded, getting the answer he was awaiting. He raised his rifle, aimed and fired a quick burst of rounds. Noah crumpled to the floor.

***

Transcript of interview between America’s Most Hunted sideline reporter and hunter Stone Morrison.

ERIN: I am here with one of our favorite hunters, Stone Morrison. Stone, tell us about today’s kill, any complications?

STONE: He did spot me and that’s something the team has got to work on. We had to rush into action and you never know what tricks an enemy of America can pull. But the end result is what matters, and he will not be poisoning America’s blood anymore.

ERIN: What did the terrorist say before you had to put him down? It was hard to make out during the live feed.

STONE: Some pro-Antifa, anti-America garbage. He said some blasphemies against our leader and against God that I will not repeat for our TV audience. The important thing is he won’t be saying things anymore. (APPLAUSE and CHEERS in background)

ERIN: Tell us about the guns you used today.

STONE: Of course, Erin. I used a Mossberg, 12-guage, pump action shotgun for the initial shot. For the kill shot, I went with my favorite, the Daniel Defense AR-15. (STONE pats rifle)

ERIN: Remember, viewers, you can go to the America’s Most Hunted website to order your own version of these guns for your home protection needs. Mossberg is a proud sponsor of the show. If there are people trespassing on your property, show them you’re a boss. A Mossberg boss! Since we are talking about guns, do you want to respond to concerns about the unfortunate incident that happened at last week’s show in St. Louis?

STONE: Look, collateral damage has always been part of exercising second amendment rights. The best way to not get killed by a gun is to have your own gun so you’re ready for any emergency.

ERIN: Couldn’t have said it better myself, Stone. Any last words for our fans before I send it back to the studio?

STONE: Remember to report or text any suspicious behavior to the hotline number. If your information leads to an arrest or a kill, you could get a mention on our broadcast. And to the little hunters watching, say your prayers before you go to bed tonight. (STONE points at camera) And to the enemies of the people out there, the terrorists, the Deep State, the illegals, those who contradict God and science, those who defile the name of our leader, you may think no one has witnessed you crimes, you may thought that you were safe while you cowardly watched others succumb to their fate, but we are going to root out all traitors to America and we are going find you!