The Bellwether (the Mother of all Disasters)
(environmental and economic meltdown)
This man's name is Daniel Friskop, a modern day mountain man. He has a cabin in the southern Minnesota woods that's due back taxes but he's not often there. Mainly he travels alone with his four animal companions. Horsefire, his mount, Applechaser, the smaller horse, Julian, a wolf, and Satire, a lynx which rides on the back of Horsefire.
He's one of twelve main secondary characters, which includes a farmer, a bar bouncer, a homeless man, a lady gambler, a lady factory worker, and seven Native Americans. Plus two seven-year-old girls, a nine-year-old boy, six villains, and, finally, an osprey.
As one Amazon reviewer said: "...a long book but not a slow read..." Her review (one of three) will appear at the end of this post.
Think of the 1800s, the wagontrains, and the people who
crossed the prairie looking for a better life. Now fast-forward to the new
millennium and the worldwide economy totally crashing, causing unbelievable
chaos and violence. Through Native American prophecy, Aaron Hodges (the bellwether) sees it
coming and envisions building a hidden colony to ride out the likely
decades-long crisis.
Caroline Jentner is the love of Aaron’s life. She has
a partly-crippled, seven-year-old daughter, Jennie. Little Jennie doesn’t have a big part, and
doesn’t appear until chapter 12, but
when she does appear she will capture your heart. You will come to love her,
and she helps Aaron and her mom finally get together near the end of story.
Caroline often has the viewpoint, and sees the world quite differently from
Aaron.
When the crash came nobody could point a finger and blame a
specific thing. The United States
More wood,
more metal, more food and drink, and more oil.
The oil
flow stopped.
Then the
flow of supplies stopped. The civilized world found itself trapped inside a
steel, concrete, and plastic wasteland with no utilities, no food, no water.
And
no gasoline.
Set in the near future, novel runs for two years. The main
theme is a modern-day wagontrain with over sixty people driving sixteen covered
wagons pulled by four-horse teams for 30 days across 300 miles from southern Minnesota Minnesota
Excerpt three scenes from C11 The
Hallowed Courage Creek Affair Part 1
****
Aaron’s horse began sidestepping
as the pickup roared toward them. All the horses did. They snorted and threw
their heads up, one began rearing. The horses couldn’t know that the speeding
pickup would, likely, stop, eventually.
“Hold
onto your horses, boys,” Aaron said uncertainly, “I can’t believe he’ll run us
down…!”
“I
hope Helm can’t believe it!” Kelly commented, “Whoa, boy!”
The
profane voice became plain, “Those people want to fight,” Luther Helm was
yelling, beating on the cab, “We’re sure as hell going to give it to’em!”
Violence.
“Head
right at’em!”
The
eyes of the younger man who looked like Helm were wide open, and almost
appeared frightened. All four horses were straining to move, to run.
“Slam
on the brakes!” Helm screamed.
The
driver—Aaron recognized Mallory Spicer—eyes wide and wild-looking, hit the
brakes. On the dewy grass the pickup went into a screeching skid and hit two of
the horses. It happened unbelievably fast. Twenty-five feet past the horses the
pickup finally stopped, was as if Luther Helm had actually planned the
uncontrollable skid. Two horses down, Kelly and Simon both thrown. Aaron jumped off and held onto his frantic horse.
Kelly
was up quickly, “Good Christ, Helm! What the hell you tryin’ to do?”
The
hunched man jerked around, lower lip sticking out prominently, brown juice
dribbling, catching in stubby gray chin whiskers. He spat in the direction of
Aaron, ”I know you, Bolander!” he yelled, sounding something like a broken
foghorn, “And I don’t mind seein’ you farmers so much, but who is that
hippie-agitatin’ longhair?”
Kelly,
back in control of his horse and himself, “That man’s Aaron Hodges, and he’s
got more right here than you!”
“What?”
Helm screamed so loudly the foghorn-sounding voice cracked.
“That’s
right, Helm.” Aaron led his horse to within ten feet of the silver-blue-white
pickup, “I was born here and plan to live here.” He saw two patrol cars
approaching, caution lights flashing, “I’ve never heard of you settin’ foot in
this valley until now, to destroy it.” The sheriff and two deputies were
approaching, “Now I and all the people you see.” He pointed toward the camp,
speaking loud enough for the nearing sheriff to hear, “…are here to inform you
that we have an injunction coming against your dam. We expect you to leave your
machinery sitting until we hear from the court!” He turned to the law officers,
“Sheriff, I believe you’re required to see our legitimate request is honored.”
The
sheriff glanced from one faction to another and didn’t appear certain of
anything, “Mister Helm,” he said in a shaky voice, “Maybe you ought to wait and
see if these people really do—”
Helm,
with several brown stains on his unshaven face, spat in the general direction
of the sheriff, “You are crazy, hippie!” he yelled, as if the sheriff didn’t
even exist, “My machinery ain’t waitin’ for no damn longhair! We’ll drive right
over you!”
“There’s
women and children out here, Helm,” Aaron returned, “I can’t believe you’ll do
that.”
An
evil glint shown in the hunched man’s eyes as he growled, “Don’t bet your life
on it, Mister.”
Aaron
felt a bit queasy staring back, but here was a chance to show the desecrators
that common people no longer would sit back and let power-hungry, money-mad men
run over them, or was it more personal than that. Suddenly he wasn’t sure.
A
smirk spread over Helm’s face, the other young one’s face too, and Mallory
Spicer was grinning.
They
think they’re winning. Aaron climbed back onto his white-faced bay mount,
and reached for his hat. He saw Kelly’s face, and Matthew’s, and Simon’s. Their
expressions said they would do what he thought best. He saw the waiting people,
the farmers, the businessmen, the senior citizens, the kids, the defenders of Hallowed
Courage Creek Valley
This
is best. He was doing right—violence. The breeze felt cool as he
removed his hat with his right hand and raised it far above his head, and waved
it wildly.
****
A cheer arose from the waiting
people. Josephine led the way with her four white horses hitched to a hayrack
loaded with children from seven to twelve years old. Joseph and the Bolander
wives followed with four more teams pulling wooden hayracks loaded with people.
Then came pickups, trucks, large and small tractors pulling plows, drills,
field cultivators, self-propelled grain combines and swathers, more than forty
rigs loaded with people who meant to remain living and earning their living in
the valley.
Aaron
watched as each vehicle reached a point and stopped. Then the people jumped off
and spread themselves, filling all gaps. In five minutes the site of the
so-called flood-control-recreational-municipal-water-supply-wildlife-refuge
Hallowed Courage Creek Dam-site was a solid wall of people and machinery,
blocking access to Luther Helm and his bulldozers.
Then
a second line, the twenty mounted riflemen led by Taylor Magellan formed about
a hundred feet in front of the line of protesters and farm machinery.
Aaron
smiled uncomfortably, and from the corner of his eye he saw the sheriff speak
to one of the deputies who went running. He put his hat back on and faced Helm.
The
hunched man was smiling, a sadistic, brutal smile, and the younger man who
looked like Helm appeared to be actually gloating. Helm leaned back, then
leaned forward and spat a huge glob of tobacco, landing it almost to Aaron’s
horse’s feet, causing the animal to step back. Helm took a fresh chew, grinned
mercilessly, then gave his own wave to his own waiting men.
“Luther,
I’m not sure you’re within your legal rights now,” the sheriff spoke up,
“People could get hurt here today. I—”
The
sheriff’s voice was drowned out by dozens of diesel engines starting and
revving, roaring, but completely audible came Luther Helm’s voice, “Same damn
thing all over the country!” Helm screamed, “Mark my words, Anson!” he yelled
at the younger man beside him,, “Any employee stops before I say—he’s fired! High
voltage lines! Nuclear power, goddamn hippie agitators!”
Violence.
“Get
your people out of the way, Bolander!” Helm shrieked, then pounded on the cab’s
roof, “Spicer, get us the hell out of here!”
Spicer
jammed into gear, floored the accelerator, dug in with all four wheels,
throwing dirt on the sheriff, scaring the horses again.
“My
god, Aaron!” Kelly cried, “Do you think he means it?”
“Got
a feeling he does, Kelly. Let’s get back to the other riders.”
Helm
yelled after them, “Yeahhh! Get the hell out of here, hippie! Yeahhh!”
Aaron
doubted many people heard him over the revving engines, but Aaron did.
His ears humming he tried to think as they rode the short distance to the other
riders. Some of the men were mounted on the slower workhorses, and what good
were they? Had he thought they could mount a cavalry charge? Against
bulldozers? Maybe time to admit a mistake. Pull back. Regroup. Ha! This was
their stand, their only chance! What the hell went wrong?
They
reached the line of horsemen. Kelly and his brothers joined them. Aaron stayed
in front hearing the revving, roaring engines growing louder. He glanced at the
people. A line of flesh blocking Helm’s path. Kids, old people, just good
people wanting to live in peace on their home farm that their ancestors
homesteaded. He jerked back toward Helm. The hunched man was waving wildly,
beating on the pickup’s roof. The machines began moving, coming at them!
“Uncle Kester!” he shouted, “Get back to those people! Get’em out‘a there!”
Kester
Hodges kicked his horse, looking strange as he rode furiously away, with the
wooden leg kicking. “All right, men!” he shouted again, “We’re going to hold
our ground! We’ve got to give those people a chance to get out of the way!” To Taylor Taylor
“Helm’s
vicious, Aaron.” Taylor
Than
this, right. Bulldozers closing. Aaron decided a bluff was about all they had,
“Take a bead, boys!”
Up
and down the line the horses were rearing and whinnying. They had not been
trained for battle. But for an instant the line quieted. Incredulously, the
riders stared at Aaron.
“First
volley goes over their heads!” Aaron shouted, barely able to believe the words
even as he was saying them, “Second volley goes at the passenger side of the
truck cabs!” Something would happen to stop this. But what could happen?
Taylor
Magellan raised his rifle, aimed it, and squinted down the barrel. Taylor
He
jerked back toward the contractor. Maybe seventy diesel-powered machines
coming, closing as one massive steel blade and bumper, toward scores of
hard-to-maneuver farm rigs, wooden hayracks, hitched horses, people!
Pickups
and trucks were getting out of the way but nothing else. Almost nothing else
had moved, except to get tangled up in the next rig. Josephine’s white team was
too close to the far trees. Senator Bolander’s team was crashing against her
hayrack, floundering. The other Bolander teams were jerking, trying to run,
people running, screaming, dogs barking, Kester Hodges riding up and down the
line waving his arms like a madman, but nothing getting out of the way!
“We
can’t do this, Aaron.”
Aaron
jerked to Kelly, who lowered his rifle and uncocked it, “We’re supposed to be
civilized men here.”
Aaron
pointed to the approaching machines, “They’re the ones who are uncivilized,
Kelly. What the hell else can we do?”
“We
can back down!”
“They’re
not going to stop! We should go out fighting!” He couldn’t believe what he had
just said.
“Not
this time, Aaron.” Kelly then took matters into his own hands again, slapped
his horse and rode down the line, “Lower your guns, boys! Back off! We’ll be
within the law only if we don’t fire! Move back!”
The
men lowered their guns, all but Taylor Magellan. Swaying back and forth on his
stepping horse, remaining solid, he was keeping a bead on something,
probably a vision of the baronish agribusinessman who had taken his
father’s farm, probably helping to cause
his father’s demise.
Accelerating
engines! The bulldozers weren’t stopping!
He
jerked toward them. Smoke was pouring from exhausts. Operators were grinning
insanely. Fifty feet. Forty feet. Riders trying to turn their horses, crashing
into each other. Taylor Magellan still steady, still aiming, trigger finger
tightening, forearm muscles bulging.
“Taylor
Horses
were falling. Riders were jumping. Bulldozers crashing the line, at least
trying to miss the fallen men but not missing everything. Aaron jumped off and
pulled his mount between two bulldozers. In seconds the heavy equipment roared
through the advance line, onward, toward the chaotic second line of helpless
farm machinery, wooden hayracks, more frantically pawing and struggling horses,
and people!
The
meadow appeared as a battlefield. Men and horses down. Several horses kicking
at wounds, flailing the ground. Taylor Magellan, still mounted, emptying his
rifle in the air.
In
unbelieving shock Aaron watched the people running. Most who had ridden would
be all right, at least they could get off and run. The tractor and
horse-drivers were not so lucky. One old man in a wheelchair high up on a
hayrack, was oscillating one arm, hanging on with the other, watching the
scene, flourishing it as if an exciting movie-sequence, and didn’t even appear
frightened! What the hell went wrong?
Supposed
to have been a bluff. Luther Helm was supposed to have waited patiently for the
injunction, then should have happily filed a huge loss on his taxes. Not this.
Only one person can stop this mayhem. Helm. Time for Aaron to cause some
violence himself.
****
Aaron scrambled onto his big
beautiful bay mount, slapped its rump, kicked, and galloped toward the
silver-blue-white pickup parked in the rear. The two hunched men were watching
the madness, gloating. Helm began pounding wildly on the cab’s roof. Spicer
produced a pump shotgun and handed it up to Helm, who jerked it to his shoulder
and aimed.
He
glanced back, saw the bulldozers and trucks crashing the line, hayracks and
tractors going over, more horses going down, cranes swinging their huge clawed
arms, smashing. He couldn’t see the old man in the wheelchair. He turned back
toward Helm and the shotgun, and urged his horse on—fifty feet—he saw the hole
in the gun’s barrel. Twelve gauge at least—forty feet—he leaned down and patted
the straining neck, and whispered, “Go, boy, but I’m afraid you’re going to
die.“ Twenty-five feet, ten….
Helm
fired.
The
white-faced bay shrieked and crashed into the silver-blue-white pickup. Aaron
let go and sailed through the air. Helm was frantically trying to pump a second
round. Aaron crashed into him and both fell into the younger Helm-looking man.
All three went over the side. Aaron leaped to his feet, wrested the shotgun
away and flung it. The younger man caused blurry movement to his right. Aaron suddenly had the strength of ten
men and struck out.
The
blow caught Anson Helm in the forehead. The young duplicate of Luther Helm
reeled back and fell against the silver-blue-white pickup, then settled to the
ground unconscious, a blue-black bump already rising on his forehead. He turned
back to the elder Helm, grabbed him by the shirt and throat. Tobacco juice and
spittle ran from the cruel mouth onto Aaron’s hands. The ruthless expression
had finally changed to fear, bug-eyed fear.
“All
right, you son-of-a-bitch!” he yelled, surprised at the violent sound of his
own voice, “Call your dogs off!”
Helm’s
lips were moving, eyes bulging, more brown juice gurgling. Aaron realized he
was strangling the man, so released him and yelled again, “Call’em off!”
Helm
choked and gasped, “Look!” His chin was one mass of brown, “It’s over!”
He
dropped the man, turned and stared.
Over
all right. The valley’s defenders were overrun. Every tractor that hadn’t
escaped, even his Uncle Kester’s eight-wheeled one, every hayrack,
miraculously, all but the one with the old man in the wheelchair, but he looked
strange, head laying over. But at least it was over.
But
Helm’s machines were turning around, coming back, accelerating, a dozen or more
bulldozers, blades down pushing mountains of dirt toward the tents, and Elizabeth
Bolander with the smallest children!
“You
should have thought of this, hippie.”
Aaron
whirled, again faced the shotgun only five feet away.
“I
ain’t callin’ off nobody!” Helm snarled, “I’m gonna blow your goddamn hippie
head off and nobody’ll even care!”
Aaron
heard himself bawl an undecipherable cursing sound as he slashed out with both
hands and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun just as Helm fired. The heavy load
blew away his cavalry hat. An unreal instant later he again gripped Helm’s
throat and still had a grip on the shotgun. He jerked the shotgun away and
threw the hunched man into the silver-blue-white pickup, “Crawl in the back!”
he yelled, “You are going to stop this insanity!”
Helm
started crawling in.
Aaron
lifted his foot and kicked the man over the side, then climbed in himself. On
the other side he saw but barely comprehended the white-faced horse lying
still, its muzzle gone, a huge splotch of blood on the ground. He slammed the
shotgun’s stock down on the cab’s roof, “Get over to those tents, Spicer!”
Spicer
just sat there. Aaron fired through the back window, pumped another round and
aimed at Helm’s face.
“Do
it, Spicer!” Helm shrieked,
The
short distance seemed like eternity. Many more bulldozers had joined in the
game of terror, pushing huge piles of dirt toward the tents. But Elizabeth
Bolander stood solid, hanging onto a cluster of small children. Clumps of dirt
were rolling ahead of the piles, getting closer to her feet. “Pull In where
they can see you good, Spicer!” Aaron yelled.
The
silver-blue-white pickup lurched and bounced between two bulldozers and jammed
to a stop a short distance from Mrs. Bolander. “Now call those dogs off, Helm!”
Aaron snarled, shoving the weapon against Helm’s groin, “Or I’ll drill your
scrawny body, starting with your testicles!”
The
hunched man raised his arms. The bulldozers stopped. The cranes stopped. The
trucks stopped. All engines stopped.
Almost
painful silence ensued.
Then
came a horse’s hideous whinny. A child crying became apparent.
Sirens
in the distance, many of them.
He
looked toward the road. His gaze swept the battlefield. Many horses were down,
the one whinnying was lying on its side, kicking and snapping at its torn
belly.
He turned back to Helm, who
stared coldly, “We’ll meet again, hippie.”
Aaron
tightened his jaws, raised the shotgun, glared down the barrel at the hunched
man and watched the eyes turn fearful again, “Count on it, Helm.”
A
few seconds later, about a dozen state patrol cars turned onto the bloody
meadow, followed by a bright orange pickup.
**** end of scene
Kingstonbears
Kingstonbears LIKES this book From Free E-books.net
Wow, what a read. By far the best I've downloaded on this site. Excellent plot and superb development of characters. A "can't put it down" book.
Kingstonbears LIKES this book From Free E-books.net
Wow, what a read. By far the best I've downloaded on this site. Excellent plot and superb development of characters. A "can't put it down" book.
TWO
5.0
out of 5 stars Really enjoyable story!,
By Karen West - See all my reviews Amazon Verified Purchase(What's
this?)
This review is from: The Bellwether (Kindle
Edition)
This was a long book but not a slow
read. Mr. Nelson has written a very enjoy story that he described in great
detail in his synopsis. So many interesting people and events taking place that
the story moves so quickly.
If you are a fan of romance,
adventure and apocalypse you will not be disappointed in this book. After I
finished the last page, I was left wanting more so I hope the author will
continue the story with a sequel.
This was a true bargain and I think
will remain as one of my favorite books.
THREE
5.0 out of 5 stars Great Work Of
Fiction Worth Reading November 14, 2011
This review is from: The Bellwether: The
Mother of all Disasters (Paperback)
Great Work Of Fiction Worth Reading
The Bellwether: The Mother of all Disasters is an exciting tale written by author James W. Nelson. Nelson's storyline and characterization are superb. The story is intriguing, yet full of reality. The Bellwether is a highly recommended read for fiction lovers.
The Bellwether: The Mother of all Disasters is an exciting tale written by author James W. Nelson. Nelson's storyline and characterization are superb. The story is intriguing, yet full of reality. The Bellwether is a highly recommended read for fiction lovers.
465 pages and 57 chapters
Thanks for reading
Contact
nelsonjamesw@hotmail.com email
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004GW465S Author page at Amazonhttp://morningshinestories.com Website
http://morninginapril.blogspot.com Blog
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A
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