1st Novel: Fake Attack

By Kenneth Johnson

Joe is an ordinary guy who overhears an extraordinary conversation. Now he's leaving his local barbeque restaurant intertwined in a plot against America. In his truck is a mysterious device holding a deadly virus, a nuclear weapon or something worse. Joe embarks on a quest that takes him through five states in search of someone to tell him what to do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098323073

Kenneth Johnson

Kenneth Johnson has been a successful writer-producer-director of film and television for more than four decades. Creator of the landmark original miniseries V, he also produced The Six Million Dollar Man and created iconic Emmy-winning shows such as The Bionic Woman, The Incredible Hulk, and Alien Nation. He has directed numerous TV movies and the feature films Short Circuit 2 and Steel. Johnson has received multiple Saturn Awards from the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror Films, as well as the Sci-Fi Universe Lifetime Achievement Award and the prestigious Founders Award from the Viewers for Quality Television. His previous novels include V: The Second Generation. He has presented his unique graduate-level seminar, The Filmmaking Experience, at UCLA, USC, NYU, Loyola, New York Film Academy, the National Film and Television School (UK), Moscow State University (Russia), and many others. He and his wife, Susan, married for forty years, live in Los Angeles with their latest two golden-retriever rescues.

Book preview

Copyright 2020

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN 978-1-09832-306-6 (print)

ISBN 978-1-09832-307-3 (eBook)

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

J

oe Jackson remembered it like this.

He had been hunched over a cup of coffee at Papa Buck’s truck stop, just trying to make it home after spending long hours on the highway. He was coming from a Tall Timbers Fire Ecology conference. He had pulled off the interstate when he realized that he couldn’t tell how many lanes were there. His blurry eyes were seeing two or three exit ramps, but luckily he picked the right one. Now inside the restaurant, he was slouched down in the booth with his hands over his eyes, trying to stop his head from spinning.

That’s when he heard it. He was in the corner booth behind the potted palm and out of sight of two guys who were arguing in a loud whisper. One of them was saying, No!

They were hauling a bomb up the interstate all the way to Atlanta to blow America off the map. But that isn’t what they were arguing about. They were lost. Their instructions had been to meet their replacements, a fresh crew of drivers and armed thugs at a place named Crawdaddy’s Barbeque on I-16 out of Savannah.

But Crawdaddy’s Barbeque wasn’t there. In fact, they could find nothing with that name at Exit 104, the Metter exit. So, they were arguing. The driver was whispering (partly in some foreign language, like maybe Chinese or Botswanan or Klingon or something). The name of this restaurant must have changed from Crawdaddy’s to Papa Buck’s (which was true but they didn’t really know). He said, We must wait, they will come, they will meet us here. But the other man, the one in charge, whispered emphatically, No! We cannot take the chance. We cannot wait; we must keep going. The cargo is too valuable. The clock is ticking and the merchandise must be delivered on time. Meanwhile, their truck sat in the shadows out back, the armed guards waiting for the instructions on what to do next.

Sleepy-eyed Joe heard all the whispers but thought they were talking about delivering a load of fireworks or incendiaries or something like that. Or maybe they were talking about the movie Gone with the Wind and the Yankees burning down Atlanta. He didn’t know. He couldn’t understand much anyway. He slid farther down in his seat and pressed his warm palms against his eyes to block out the light. Let somebody else worry about it this time, he thought to himself. He did not realize (until later) that they were talking about an armed attack on the United States of America.

An attack on the United States? Sleepy-eyed Joe did not understand. He did not comprehend what he had just overheard.

Meanwhile, the leader had reached a decision. He said, We are all tired and need to eat but this place is too crowded; too many cops. Let’s move the truck and trailers down the road a mile to that quiet little café, the Little Chic Restaurant in downtown Metter. This is a quiet little town. What could possibly go wrong here?

***

Two local girls with their hair in pigtails were walking down the sidewalk toward the Little Chic Restaurant. The giggly pre-teens were headed for home. Local people who knew them slowed down and offered them a ride home but they cheerfully refused, No, thanks, we want to walk. The city policeman cruised by slowly and asked, Hi, girls. Are you ok? They grinned and said, Hi, Mike. We’re fine. It’s just a few blocks down the street.

But they were bored. Their trip to the Enmarket convenience store had been a failure, in their young eyes. They had hoped to find somebody legal-age who could buy beer for them but the clerk knew them and so did almost everybody else in town. Marie was the preacher’s kid and Jeanne was her cousin visiting from Savannah. Their bright young eyes said they were looking for mischief. Something they could do for fun without getting into too much trouble. So, they were walking down the sidewalk looking for something to do.

As they walked past the Little Chic Restaurant, they saw the truck parked outside. Nobody was in the truck. It had a trailer full of pine straw. Actually, there were two trailers in tandem, both piled high with bales of pine straw with nobody in sight. The driver was inside the brightly lit restaurant.

As the girls walked by, they stole a quick glance through the truck window for cigarettes or anything interesting they could easily grab. Nothing. They peeked through the restaurant window and could see the driver sitting at his table. He was young, maybe seventeen, clean-cut and harmless looking (which is probably why he had been picked for the job in the first place, in case of being pulled over by the police.) He was boyish looking with his baseball cap on backward. Marie said to Jeanne, Look, he’s kinda cute.

Jeanne said, Hey, I have an idea. Let’s catch a ride. Let’s go on a hayride! Just for fun. We can hop on here, and hop off at the red light. It’s only a couple of blocks. Nobody will see us. Nobody will ever know. So the giggly girls crawled in the back of the pine straw trailer. They pushed two or three bales aside and hid. They hissed to each other Be quiet! and then giggled at the excitement of their new adventure.

Inside the restaurant, the driver thanked the waitress, patted his stomach in satisfaction and stepped out of the brightly lit restaurant onto the sidewalk. His three companions followed along behind, whom the girls had not seen. They climbed in the extended cab and cranked up the engine. The truck with its two trailers in tandem moved slowly down the street, with the stowaway girls hidden excitedly in the back.

Marie exclaimed, Whee! as they picked up speed and a few pine needles began to blow out the back. But it was only a short distance to the first red light. It took only a minute to get there. The girls were disappointed when the truck stopped so soon. Their ride was too short for their adventurous spirits. Jeanne whispered, I don’t want to get out yet. Let’s ride a little bit further. Marie whispered, "Ok, let’s