The Insurgent's Journal

By Don Martinez

The United States is no more. The New Empire of America holds power now.

The people of the former U.S.A now live in the "glory" of President-for-Life Carleton Regent, his wife and Vice President Jennifer, and the immensely powerful Supernatural Suppression Agency.

Their goal: eliminate all supernaturals!

A victim of the SSA's purges is Alanna Sharpe, now missing her supernatural parents Ariel and Cole. Summoned by her parents' former ally Gabe Francis, she takes the burden of her Sharpe birthright ... the Sword of the Guardsman.

Gabe presents Alanna with a quest. To save her parents, she must bring down the New Empire of America!

Alanna pushes forth against the SSA and its field commander, General Tyrelius Scolar. But will Alanna be prepared for the haunting secret behind the rise of Scolar, the SSA, and the New Empire?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Martinez
• Release date: Mar 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466075542

Don Martinez

The son of two 20-year Navy vets, Don A. Martinez spent much of his formative years around the Pacific Rim before settling in the continental U.S., first in Michigan and New York before finally reaching Texas.He has been writing all his life, getting his start in elementary school as a two-time Young Authors selection in Oak Harbor, Washington. He holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Writing and a Master of Arts degree in English from SUNY-College at Buffalo (Buffalo State College), where his academic focus was mythology and folklore, particularly how it is applied in modern storytelling.Currently, he lives with his wife and four cats in northeast Texas, where he works as a college writing professor.

Book preview

The Insurgent’s Journal

Don A. Martinez

Smashwords edition

Desert Coyote Productions

Scotts Valley, California

Text other than quoted material © 2012 Don A. Martinez.

Cover design ©2012 Don A. Martinez.

Character and situations depicted within TM and © 2012 Desert Coyote Productions.

Phantom Squadron/Advance Guard/Dinétah Dragon/Insurgent’s Journal Publishing Rights

© 2012 Don A. Martinez, all rights reserved.

Lyrics to Holy Water (K. Alphin/J. Cohen/V. L. McGehee/J. D. Rich)

© 2004 Big Love Music BMI/WB Music Corp. ASCAP/Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp./As You Wish Music BMI

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First edition 2012. Available in print at most online retailers.

Smashwords edition 2012

For Stacey, the mother of all my inspiration

Contents

TRANSCRIBER’S FOREWORD

CHAPTER ONE: HOME LOST

Intermission: The Rise of the New Empire Party

CHAPTER TWO: BIRTHRIGHTS

Intermission: The United States becomes the New Empire

CHAPTER THREE: QUEST INITIATION

CHAPTER FOUR: TRINITY

Intermission: Supernatural Activity in the New Empire Era

CHAPTER FIVE: ENCLOSURE

CHAPTER SIX: MOTHER’S LEGACY

CHAPTER SEVEN: SWORDPLAY

CHAPTER EIGHT: RAID

CHAPTER NINE: THE COUNCIL OF TWENTY-FOUR

Intermission: The Formation and Function of the SSA

CHAPTER TEN: ESCAPE FROM SAFETY

CHAPTER ELEVEN: ASSEMBLED ALLIES

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE LONG ROAD

Intermission: Changes Under New Empire Rule

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: FACE YOUR DEMON

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: WINDY CITY

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: WINGED RAGE

Intermission: The Fall of Chicago and Public Enemy #1

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THOSE CLOSEST TO HER

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SACRIFICE

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: RETRIBUTION

CHAPTER NINETEEN: MY SOUL’S SHADOW

CHAPTER TWENTY: BOTTOMLESS WORLD

I have sworn upon the altar of God, eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.

--Thomas Jefferson

Transcriber’s Foreword

2012 came and went, with nary a rapture-connected disappearance. Life went on. Three years afterward, I met an extraordinary family, with an extraordinary story to tell.

Dear God, now I wish it had all ended 20 years ago. My family would not have been destroyed, my life would not have been wasted for twelve years in a secret government prison, and we would not have had to witness the greatest tyranny ever seen.

The year after my last book came out, all hell broke loose. I suppose it had been festering disillusionment with the traditional two-party system which had caused it, but with nothing to step in to fill the void, it remained powerless anger. Then the Party came about, with its charisma and its language and its appeals to those same disillusioned voters. Suddenly, they had something to get excited about: a third party with a genuine chance to shake up the American political system.

My friends, on the other hand, saw the Party for exactly what it was. A threat.

The first indication of trouble was a phone call I received late at night from Ariel Sharpe. In fact, I still recall her words:

I can’t protect you. You need to get out right now. You and your family are in danger.

I had no idea what she meant by that. At the time I was chugging along with coverage for my blog of the 2020 elections. My editor was trying to convince the third-party candidate, a political upstart from Nevada named Carleton Regent, to allow me to interview him at his campaign headquarters. His party, the New Empire Party, was the hot thing in popular politics, but I was suspicious of him from the start mainly because of his vague messages.

I found out soon what Ariel’s warning had meant. An angry group of blue-shirted thugs broke into my house the next night. We were caught flat-footed by the invasion, leading to myself and my wife being roughly abducted. I was knocked out, so I never saw where I was taken.

My mental haze seemed to last an eternity. When I finally came out of it, I was in a hidden prison, far from civilization, with only my captors … still wearing those damned blue shirts … keeping me company. It took, in my estimation, about three weeks to get anyone to even talk to me, and then it was only verbal abuse. When I finally was able to demand an explanation, I was told that I had been convicted of being a supernatural accomplice.

While I rotted, the world witnessed the rise of the New Empire Party. They watched, but did nothing, as the Regents, Carleton and Jennifer, assumed the reins of power; witnessed silently as they trumped up the danger of supernaturals, convincing the nation … the constituents who had elected them with the first unanimous vote in the modern Electoral College … that they were the only protection against the threat. Observed from a distance as the Regents indefinitely suspended the Constitution to ensure the New Empire Party could remain in power forever. As far as the world was concerned, America was a lost cause.

The United States of America ceased to be, replaced by the much more threatening New Empire of America. Ruled with an iron fist by the Party, headed by the Regents, we allowed ourselves to become the world’s most affluent police dictatorship. Even communist China has more freedom than we do now. All of this happened while I rotted in an undisclosed location, unable to get word out to the reality of the situation. (Not that it would have mattered: any press outlets considered to be pro-supernatural, including my old blog, were dissolved by the Party.) It went on with me in a position to not be able to contact my friends on the outside, who by then had gone into hiding.

Eventually, last year a general amnesty was negotiated by the Canadian government with the Party. I’m sure it was equally distasteful to the Canadians as it was to me that they gave up territory in exchange for the release of political prisoners … I’ve heard that the Party governor of British Columbia rules through fear. In any event, many prisoners who had been held without trial, most for years, were released from the undisclosed prisons and granted asylum by the Canadian government. I was one of them.

I was downhearted to learn upon my release that my wife and child were not among the freed prisoners: apparently, the Party had manufactured a charge against them that would keep them locked up for life. I know why they did this, though … they did it to silence me. With the threat of my family’s continued imprisonment, they reasoned, I would have no motivation to write any more anti-Party works, and thus one of the more prominent voices for supernatural amnesty would never set words to paper again.

I have been living in Manitoba now for the past nine months, trying desperately to get messages to my wife, using my remaining network of sources to accomplish this. Several supernaturals here have offered me accommodations, and arranged to get me a job with a local newspaper. If it comes down to it, I am content to remain here for the rest of my life, should I never be allowed to enter my country again.

Not long ago, though, I found that I still had more friends out there. I received a large box from the New Empire … at least it had NEPS postage on it. There was no return address. The package was addressed to an alias I had been given by my hosts. I was very suspicious of this package, with writing on it in a very feminine hand.

Once I figured out it wasn’t ticking, I braved opening it up. Inside, there were six writing journals, similar to what you would find in a stationery store. There was also a strange pair of glasses, a letter, and a digital voice recorder.

My old recorder!

I could never forget the appearance of this device, as it had sat on a convenient coffee table in the Sharpe family household and recorded the life’s story of a true heroine. I eagerly pulled the recorder out of the box and looked at the control panel.

There was one track recorded on it. It was three seconds long.

Who could be sending me messages in three seconds? My heart sank. Sighing, I finally decided that I should at least hear how much sound three seconds could hold. My thumb, of its own volition, found the play key.

Time froze around me. I watched a bird flying past my window, immobilized in midair. The recorder crackled to life. I heard rustling, like it was being taken out of someone’s pocket, and then a voice that I did not recognize, a female voice that sounded like it belonged to a teenager.

"Hello, Mr. Martinez. Yes, we know where you are and, more importantly, who you are. Let me first assure you that we mean you no harm. We are friends. As a matter of fact, one of us knows you very well.

Allow me to give you an explanation, which I’m sure you’re looking for right now. This digital voice recorder has been enchanted by my father, to prevent anyone but you from receiving this message. Once you started playing this back, a spell triggered which halted time for you but only long enough for you to hear this. I should let you know, he’s especially proud of this one, even more so than he was of his submarine transmission you wrote about many years ago.

One mystery was enlightened for me. This woman was Cyrus Salem’s daughter, apparently.

"Since you’ve probably deduced who my parents are, there’s no harm in me introducing myself to you. My name is Michika Salem. My father Cyrus and my mother Kitty send their regards to you.

The contents of this package is a series of journals, kept by my best friend. You’re very familiar with her, I think: her name is Alanna Sharpe.

Good God, I had been locked away for a long time! My memories of Alanna were of a winged three-year-old girl flying over the canyon behind her family’s Arizona home. Apparently, Michika had allowed for some reverie on my part, because her voice had paused while I thought about the little girl I knew. Eventually, she continued.

Alanna has, for the past three years, been seeking out a means to defeat the Party. As a result, this has marked her as Imperial Enemy #1, according to the Regents. This search for a means to end the New Empire has coincided with a personal mission to find her parents, who have been missing for some time.

Missing? Where would a Guardsman be taken where he couldn’t use his Sword? Where could Ariel be held that she couldn’t release the dragon?

"I’ve spent some of that time with her, away from our shared home, offering my assistance in any way possible. We have other friends with us. We’re both safe, so do not worry.

The journals chronicle this time. Alanna felt it was time for our story to become public, and she also explicitly told me that you were the only person on God’s green Earth that she trusted with them. If you take a look at the journals, you may notice that they are also enchanted, much like this recorder is.

I absently took one of the journals out of the box and opened it. The writing within was in a runic hand, undecipherable to a normal human being. It did not even look like human language.

"Me and Dad have been training Alanna in writing in this special hand. She writes it with enchanted pencils I’ve brought with us the whole trip. The writing itself is Celtic runes, but directly translating it will produce gibberish. Use the glasses I’ve included in the package to read the journals.

We’re counting on you, Mr. Martinez. There’s one other thing, too. Someone else here wishes to talk to you.

The sounds on the recording changed to rustles again, like the recorder was being handed off. Another voice, another feminine voice but much different, appeared.

Hi. This is Alanna.

The sound of her voice nearly brought tears to my eyes. I knew she could not be 20 years old, yet her voice showed the scars of living under the Party regime. I remembered her little-girl voice. I remembered the cheerful winged youngster she had been, and could not conceive of this voice coming from that little girl. With bated breath, I continued to listen.

I’m really sorry about what’s happened to you for the last 12 years. I truly apologize for the trouble that one little interview with my family has created for you. For what it’s worth, I’ve been trying to search for your wife and child along with my family.

Cole and Ariel … they were missing because of the Party. My blood started to rise in my throat.

I promise you, we’re going to do everything we can to free your family. Legally or otherwise. They do not deserve the imprisonment she has endured, nor did you, nor did my parents. The Party must fall.

Her voice hardened. "Freedom and justice will win out, I assure you. Read the journals, and see my story for what it is: the chronicle of a daughter’s love for family and country. Our insurgency cannot fail, and it will not fail.

You have my trust and my eternal friendship.

The recording stopped. The bird in the window resumed its flight, picking up right where it left off. I realized that I had been crying as Alanna’s message had ended. I wiped my eyes and took the glasses out of the box.

Here goes nothing. I put the glasses on.

The bird became motionless once again. As I looked down at the journals, I realized that the scribbling on the front of the books had also been the enchanted writing. Each of the six journals was dated. I picked up the one with the earliest dates, my eyes intently focused on the writing on the cover.

The Insurgency Journal of Alanna Sharpe

January-June 2028

The experience was stunning. I could feel the emotions that had gone into the pages. I could feel Alanna’s hand, placing each of the enchanted runes on the paper. Realizing what I had to do, I quickly started up the computer my hosts had loaned me and started retyping the journals’ contents.

What you now hold in your hands, what you read from this point on, are Alanna’s recollections of her journey. Her story, like her mother’s, fascinated me with its tragedy and triumph. More than that, however, it galvanized me strongly to Alanna’s side of the world’s struggle against the New Empire. In her is our hope, our chance to break free from these chains we have, by our own choices, shackled ourselves with. Alanna is tireless in her fight to tear down the Regents’ power. I take her story as a warning to everyone … this could easily happen to you, as well.

This may never reach another reader, with the way the New Empire clamps down on dissent. Still, I am duty-bound to present this: duty-bound to my country, to my friends, to my family, and to my own conscience. Read this tale and remember the lessons Alanna presents in fighting tyranny.

Don A. Martinez

August 2032

The Insurgency Begins

Chapter One: Home Lost

January 9th, 2028

The desert is the only home that I’ve ever known, along this majestic canyon, in our simple Navajo home. It shames me to know that we will have to leave it soon. It’s not our fault we are the way we are, not our fault that fate chose us to have these abilities. I just mourn for my home.

Mom does, as well. She has been sitting outside for the last three hours, sitting before a small fire, motionless. She’s had her back to the house, and is just letting the smoke drift across the canyon. It’s sad to think that we won’t be allowed to glide through the canyon anymore.

After another hour, when the fire burns out, she comes back in the house. The dust coats her nearly head-to-toe, light brown sand contrasting to the dark green skin I’ve known her to have all my life. She has an expression on her face that screams her sadness. I pour her a glass of water as she sits down at our dining room table.

Does it help? Burning an offering, does it help you?

She looks up at me absently when I ask my question. The red eye that isn’t hidden by her hair shimmers with tears that desperately want

Reviews for The Insurgent's Journal

[dalene.k.rodman · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this book, it kept me hooked until the end. I like the characters, I was able to feel for them, especially Alanna. I thought is was odd how Don inserted himself in the story as a reporter, I do not recall reading an author doing that before. It wasn't a bad thing, just odd to me. He is good at adding in politics that make the whole story feel real. I was at a loss when Alanna was at the refuge and the council wanted to talk to her, when instead of going in for what most would think would be a question answer session and gave a speech. The end left me wanting more, which is a good thing since I am going on to review the next one. Good job Don, I look forward to reading more.