They Became Silent: Book 2

By LaShawn Evans

The journey of Joseph Freeman, a Black high school football star, continues. 

The setting is Cullingland, Georgia, the first racially-integrated town in America. It is a place of real peace in the US, a country on the brink of another civil war. The year is 1963, and throughout the country there is total segregation, const

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Aug 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885909716

LaShawn Evans

LaShawn Evans was born and raised on the south side of Chicago. He is currently pursuing his PhD. He is an avid reader, a lover of science fiction, horror, comic books, and Afrofuturism. His aspiration is to build a brand and independent publishing house dedicated to letting Black authors tell their stories their own way.

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Charleston, SC

www.PalmettoPublishing.com

They Became Silent: Book 2

Copyright © 2022 by LaShawn Evans

All rights reserved

No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

system, or transmitted in any form by any means–electronic,

mechanical, photocopy, recording, or other–except for brief

quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission of the author.

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-88590-970-9

eBook ISBN: 979-8-88590-971-6

Table of Contents

Declaration of IndependenceIn Congress, July 4, 1776 The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen United States of America

Chapter 20: Waiting Game

Chapter 21: Welcome Back

Chapter 22: 3 Strikes

Chapter 23: The Lies We Tell

Chapter 24: Faceless Things That Haunt Us

Chapter 25: Bait, Trap, and Switch

Chapter 26: Kinfolk or Skinfolk

Chapter 27: The Plantation

Chapter 28: Reunion

Chapter 29: Whatchaknow, Whatchadontknow

Chapter 30: A Crowd Favorite

Chapter 31: You Or Him

Chapter 32: Kill or Be Killed

Chapter 33: Run

Chapter 34: Digging Deeper

Chapter 35: Show and Tell

Chapter 36: My Brother’s Keeper

Chapter 37: Only A Man

Chapter 38: Zugzwang

Chapter 39: King’s Gambit

Chapter 40: Laying Siege

Chapter 41: To Live or Die on The Plantation

Chapter 42: The Escape

Chapter 43: Blackout

Chapter 44: The New Spooks

Note from the Author

Special Thanks

GATEK33PERS

Declaration of Independence

In Congress, July 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the

thirteen United States of America

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.—That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate, that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Objective evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security…

THE COCOON

Chapter 20

Waiting Game

A

lmost four weeks.

That’s how long things have been out of place.

The entire world stood still for a day, maybe two, when Dr. King’s death was announced. Since then, riots and protests broke out across the country. The government has tried to snub them out as quickly as they can by doubling up on Sweeper manpower and enforcing stricter curfews, but the fighting persists.

Hundreds of Sweeper units in giant search-and-detain trucks roam the streets during the daytime now, and new zero-tolerance policies make it impossible to even look out your window at nighttime.

More fuel was added to the fire when a church in Birmingham, Alabama, was bombed a couple of weeks ago. The deaths of the four little girls—Addie Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Carol McNair—took the wind out of everyone like a punch to the gut. Dr. King’s tragedy, along with theirs, has been too much to handle. The people refuse to be silenced.

They want blood…

Not to mention, RAGE Radio has reported that thousands of Negroes have been missing for several weeks now. It reminds me of how people disappeared during the very first days of the Sweeping, but this time, it has been more brutal; men, women, and children have been hunted like animals and detained for disturbing the peace.

It’s been hell all over again.

But Cullingland—America’s beacon of hope—has been untouched by the unrest. We haven’t seen one riot, fight, or protest. It’s been…normal, if that’s the right word for it.

Everyone has gone about their days as if nothing has happened. Business hasn’t been interrupted, school hasn’t been canceled, and everyday life has remained the same. Nothing’s been set on fire. No mobs have taken to the streets. Everyone in town just smiles, laughs, and keeps on going, especially after the big payday; the government announced Cullingland as the recipient of a new $100 million dollar universal income and economic booster package two days after Dr. King died. If there were ever any signs of tension or anger in town, they vanished quickly when part of that money arrived at our doorsteps in the form of five-hundred-dollar checks. The first payments were delivered to everyone on a bright Monday morning along with a letter from the president. "Tax-free living wages for those who are fighting for the country’s real cause—integration, prosperity, and making America great," it stated, then went on to describe how Cullingland’s integrated lifestyle and booming economy were the way of the future.

We’re supposed to continue receiving the checks at the beginning of every month from now on. Our family has gotten two so far, but it hasn’t helped one bit.

Pops started back drinking heavily after the DC incident, and it’s done nothing but continue to destroy him. He was fired from his new maintenance job at an auto shop a few weeks ago after getting into a fistfight with a customer. Now he spends most of his days drunk or sleeping or both.

Ma recovered from her head injury and started back working, but she’s never around—staying on the move is her favorite coping mechanism for stress. With her being the only one bringing money into the house and the Revolution being so busy with cleaning up the country’s mess, she’s barely home. Her AHAP card was extended from eight o’clock to nine o’clock in the evening, allowing her to work late and travel in the early hours of the night. She hasn’t given me or Nugget the same privileges, though; she’s kept us home from school ever since we got back from Washington, for fear of something—I don’t quite know what exactly—happening.

It’s really just code for I think you’re both still babies, and I want to protect you from the world and Keep an eye on your drunk, useless father, and make sure he doesn’t leave the house.

I guess she has her reasons. I just wish it wasn’t so damn boring.

My days have dragged by—looking after Joanna when she comes home from daycare, cleaning Pops’s vodka-filled vomit off of the floor, doing physical therapy in the living room with Dr. Otis, and catching up on my schoolwork have all drained me. The rest of my free time has been spent playing my guitar on the front porch with Sharon when she comes to visit.

We were trying to figure out if Charles was a part of her mother’s murder or not before she left town last Tuesday, but we still haven’t come across anything solid. Even if we had, I don’t believe I would’ve been in the right state of mind to recognize it. Nothing’s been easy. Actually, it’s been the complete opposite.

I haven’t admitted it to Ma yet—or anyone, really—but she’s right: I have felt different. Depressed. Cornered. I just shake it off every day and pretend that everything is getting better. It’s worked so far, but sooner or later…

There’s no telling.

The break I’ve had the past two days has been amazing, though. Dr. Otis finally cleared me to walk without my brace after our last session, and Ma took Joanna and Pops out of town with her to Louisiana for work. They should be back soon, but I’m not rushing their return. Having a peaceful house is relaxing. It’s just been me and Nugget, like when we were little.

Look at ’em…still eats like a damn two-year-old.

I take a bite of my catfish sandwich and slap the top of Nugget’s head. Slow down and pick your head up, greedy. You goin’ after that grub like you starvin’ or somethin’. I laugh when he flinches and looks up, cutting his eyes at me. Hey, it’s been nice and quiet with everybody gone, huh?

Man, yes! he says, wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve. He drops his head back into his plate and finishes his smothered pork chop and biscuits in two bites. Yup, that was good. Slouching back into his chair, he belches and smiles. That hit the spot. Thanks for actually buying the meal this time, Joey. I owe ya. I probably would’ve kicked the bucket if I had to eat any more of that crap you call cookin’.

Shut up, fool. Ma left us enough food to last till they got back, but, as always, your greedy ass ate all of it. I laugh. And look! I point to his gravy-covered shirtsleeve. You just…man, you ain’t no better than a fat rat in a cheese shop.

Nugget stands and slips his jacket on. Whatever. Dig this, baby: I gotta go drain the main vein. We can split when the kid gets back.

This guy is ridiculous.

Go head, I say, shooing him off. Hurry up.

I check Pops’s pocket watch to make sure we have enough time to get ice cream and catch a movie before the Sweeping.

4:51. That’s plenty of time.

I look around the Chicken Shack as I grab nine dollars from my trousers and remember how amazing the energy was when I first came. Kids of all ages danced, ate, and hung out by the milkshake bar at the end of the counter. Flashing red, blue, and green lights from the jukebox bounced along the polished, tiled walls as boys and girls swung each other around, doing the Lindy Hop. Mrs. Johnson gave everyone a free slice of apple pie when one of her big orders was canceled.

Now it’s dull, cold, and empty. The warmth is gone. There’s no life other than a humming old man enjoying a coffee and a brown cat staring at me from the front windowsill.

Still, Mrs. Johnson and the rest of her cooks are happier than ever. They chat about something called chink and laugh, passing around a small, yellow-stained container and straw in the kitchen as I approach the register. None of them notice me at first, but Mrs. Johnson comes out when I knock on the countertop.

Well heya, handsome. Ain’t seen’t you here in a good ole while, Mrs. Johnson says, wiping her nose with a white towel before swinging it over her shoulder. She folds her arms and rests herself over the counter. How ya been?

Hey, Mrs. Johnson. I’ve been just about as good as I can be. I had surgery on my leg a while back and been in the house since then, but I’m just about good now. I lift my pants leg and show her the scar. How ’bout yourself? Everything ’round here is lookin’…all right.

Oh, chil’… She flips her hands down and flutters her eyes as if I’d just given her the best compliment in the world. "I am great, honey, ya hear? What I got to complain ’bout?"

A lot!

I nod, reluctantly. Yeah, I hear ya. But it’s a lot goin’ on, though—not here, but everywhere else. It’s crazy. The radio says our people are disappearing, and probably dyin’, all over the country, but everybody in Cullingland is just livin’ the good life. I pause and collect myself. I was gonna get some ice cream and catch a movie with my brother before the Sweepin’ starts, but I’m not sure if I’m even in the mood anymore. Everything feels off.

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes light up. Ice cream? Tha’s all you had to say, chil’! She turns and yells into the kitchen. Henry! Henry! Brang summa that vanilla ice cream out here fo’ these chil’ren! Bring ’em a slice of peach pie with some of that new special sauce! Hell, brang me some too!

Wow. Th-thanks, Mrs. Johnson, but I can’t afford all that. We still have to—

Aht-aht! Don’t ya go worryin’ ’bout all ’at. She dabs the sweat off her forehead with her wrist. It’s on the house!

Free pie? Free ice cream? That ain’t a bad deal. Plus, everything tastes better when it’s free.

Thank you, ma’am. We definitely ’preciate it. I say as I hand her the money for our lunch. Mrs. Johnson takes it and pulls a roll of ten-, twenty-, and fifty-dollar bills from inside her apron. She leans on one elbow, adds my bill to her collection, and starts counting. Whoa, business must be good.

Mrs. Johnson fingers through the wad of money. A proud, damn-near conceited look settles on her face. Yessum, business good. Gov’ment checks good. Everythang good, honey.

Not everything, though, right? You’re not upset about what’s been happening? I ask.

Like what, baby?

Like what? I mean… I ponder, my face wrinkling a little. It’s like she hadn’t heard a word I just said about all of our people outside of here fighting for their lives. For one, Dr. King being killed, then the riots, the protesting, and everything else that’s been goin’ on ’cross the country. None of it bothers you?

Oh, honey, why should it? She laughs, holding back when she sees that I don’t find any of it amusing. Issa damn shame what happened to that reverend but, what you ’spect from dem white folks, baby? You can’t go ’round talkin’ all loud and proud ’bout what you gon’ do and how you gon’ do it and thank nothin’ gon’ happen to ya! Nope, ya sure can’t.

A slither of frustration grips my throat, but I force it back down. "You think he…deserved what happened to him?"

I’m not sayin’ that, baby, but one thang I do know is you can’t just threaten dem white folk and thank they ain’t gon’ try to get ya. He was a hootin’ and a hollerin’ ’bout fightin’ this and Negroes bein’ mad about that—a bunch of mess—and they was tired of it. As for the rest of it, dem niggas’ just actin’ a damn fool, and fools always get what’s comin’ to ’em. Tha’s all. Can’t go out in the streets thankin’ you can do what ya please, chil’. That ain’t how it work nah. Uh-uh, no suh. She shakes her head, still counting the money. These ain’t no slave days like when my nanna was a girl. We livin’ pretty good nah days, long as we act righ’…if they just get with what we got goin’ on here, they’d be just fine. Mm-hmm.

C’mon, Mrs. Johnson. I fight back all the words that really want to jump out of my mouth. You don’t really believe that, do you?

Listen here, baby—we’s got too much good goin’ on here to mess it up tryna pick sides. We just gotta stop bein’ so damn stubborn, tha’s all. Mrs. Johnson places her hand on top of mine. I know ya smart, ’specially bein’ Gloria’s oldest boy. Be like ya mama, hear? Work with dem white folks to make more towns like this one righ’ here. See, Gloria got some sense, and she know better than to go out in the streets actin’ like she run some-damn-body. She twists her mouth and looks away. "Now that damn daddy of yours…don’t know what she see in that fool. Yeah, I heard all ’bout ole Smokin’ Joe from Chicago, with his big, bad ass. But that can’t fly here, no suh. Nah he on the run, usin’ different names, duckin’ the police, and workin’ under the table for scraps. You don’t wanna be like that."

Everything in me, every bone in my body, wants to turn this place upside down. I wouldn’t mind putting one of these stools through the front window or knocking down the Chicken Shack sign or lighting the jukebox on fire and watching it burn. I even want to swing the cat around by its tail and then throw it in Mrs. Johnson’s face.

But I don’t.

I smile and nod. It takes all of my willpower to bite my tongue and control myself. I don’t want to become the problem. The heathen. My father’s son.

The poor, pitiful, angry black man…just like him.

I-I. Positive words escape my every attempt to collect them, like a family member who’s borrowed money and doesn’t plan on paying you back. I—

Hey, Mrs. Johnson! Nugget says, wrapping his long arm around my neck. This guy givin’ you any trouble?

And hello there to ya too, young man. Good to see ya again. You’s just as handsome as I rememba. Old age and gravity have taken a toll on Mrs. Johnson; her elderly face shakes, and her right eye twitches as she winks. If I was still a young girl, you’d be my boyfrien’. Yes ya would.

Nugget laughs and looks at me to gloat. He raises his thick eyebrows high enough to let me know that he’s accomplished something great here today and that I should acknowledge it. I can’t help but grin as his smile grows wider with every second.

Okay, boys!

Suddenly the kitchen doors swing open. A very large, extremely dark, and overly happy man—Henry, I assume—waddles out with three bowls between his hands.

Y’all ready for some pie? He waves the bowls in front of us; three hunks of vanilla ice cream sit atop three generous slices of peach pie. Steam shoots off the crust where the ice cream has melted. Three rivers of yellow sauce, thicker than syrup, are drizzled over the desserts. Dig in!

Aw, man! Nugget gasps. Time to get down—

Actually, we’re gonna take off, I say, cutting his joy short.

"Take off? But we gotta—"

I said—I pinch the skin on the back of his neck to shut him up and give Mrs. Johnson and the large man a half-hearted smile—we’re gonna go now. Thanks, though.

"You sure? It’s gooood, baby, real smooth. Especially with our secret ingredient. Mrs. Johnson grabs her bowl and scoops the yellow sauce up first. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she swallows it. Just gotta sit on down and enjoy. No need to rush on outta here so soon."

Nah, I say. We’re okay. Thank you again.

Sure you don’t wanna reconsider, young blood? Henry asks, displaying the bowls in front of us like a grand prize. His chin and lips quiver as he bares his teeth. This here is the best pie in the state. Don’t get no better than what we got here in good ole Cullingland.

We’re good, thanks.

Well, y’all make sure y’all come on back now, ya hear! Mrs. Johnson wipes more sweat from her forehead and waves goodbye. We’ll be right here waitin’ for ya. We ain’t goin’ nowhere no time soon.

I glance back at them as I drag Nugget through the front door; both of their smiles make my skin crawl, especially Henry’s. They look like puppets under the bright light. Humanlike but phony.

Why are they sweatin’ so much? It’s not even hot in—

Dammit, Joey. Now explain this to me, jackass, Nugget says, clapping his hands together to release his frustration. "Why wouldn’t we stay for free ice cream and pie?"

Calm down, and stop cussin’. You’ll be a’ight. Besides, you ain’t see how weird they was actin’ before you came out the bathroom.

Couldn’t have been that weird if they were offering us free food. He looks away and whispers, The hell you talkin’ ’bout—

What? I grab his ear, twist it, and push his head into the wind. Keep on tryin’ me.

Ah! Okay! Okay, man, okay. But still—he smirks his way into a convincing plea—let’s just get some ice cream from somewhere else. It’ll be my treat, then we can catch the movie.

Well, I consider the idea of him buying me something for once. If it’s on your dollar, why not.

"Yeah, I