RE-DISCOVERY

(This is a short story that I submitted to a competition; limited to 715 words. Hope you like this)

As I sat down this morning to surf thru the shortwave, I remembered of a time when ‘surfing’ had a similar meaning. Back then, we took our freedoms for granted as we eagerly surfed the Internet or the TV. My grandchildren (eight and ten in age when they died) would look at me with awe as I would tell them stories of listening to XM radio while driving from South Carolina to South Georgia every weekend. I could keep the boys spellbound about classic rock and roll songs from the 1960’s, changing stations to listen to news from various networks, then sliding a CD to help me stay awake on those long trips. We took our God-given rights for granted, but that was another story that I was saving for another time.
They always asked about the music. But I knew they wanted the stories about the musicians that I grew up listening to and the crazy things I did during my younger days. Then I would pick up my Fender six-string acoustic and strum out a few songs, reflecting on my mood at that moment. Not being much of a singer, I discovered that the boys were quick at learning the words to songs like Stairway to Heaven, Clapton’s Change the World, and Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb. Man, their mother would be so upset at me. She was afraid that the boys would be overheard singing, as she put it, “those radical songs that you’ve taught them”. I knew she was remembering those times in her youth with fondness; yet there was caution to be taken. But all that was before the SuperFlu epidemic just five months ago.
The flu hit the youngest like a hungry eagle chasing down a small rabbit. We lost both boys in just 48 hours. A couple of months later, my Sweetheart left early one morning while I was still asleep. Her note said that she knew I was the strongest and could continue on without her. She was going to see Mama and I knew what that meant. I ran thru the house, and sure enough, her mother’s .38 caliber S&W revolver along with one of my hidden AK 47s were gone. I knew the automatic was for any trouble on her way down to her Mama’s grave near Eridu, Fl. The .38 would serve a final purpose at the end of her trip. With tears running down my cheeks, I read the words:
I’ve always loved you, Daddy. You were the rock for everyone to lean on when Mama died, then later when both Louis and Rick died during the Nashville rebellion. Please don’t try to follow me, as I’ve got the only car left and you wouldn’t be able to find another working car within 50 miles. You know what I’m going to do and I hope that God forgives me. Remember the truths that you warned me about not so long ago and I wouldn’t listen to?! Know that I came to understand what you were saying when martial law was declared, but I was a little too late. You were my hero when you drove up from home to rescue me and the boys. Louis would have been proud of you and James would have been grateful. You have always been my hero; now our country needs heroes. I love you forever, your Sweetheart.
Now, as I surf thru the shortwave, I reflect on the loss of my loved ones in such a short time. My beautiful wife, with that gleam of wisdom and beauty in her eyes, as she fussed about her hair; stroke. My son as he grew up and went to fight for the republic that I taught him about; died for freedom. My daughter whose final words about heroes still ring in my ears. Near tears, I find what I’ve been waiting for: “Blackwell Liberty nine”; A call to arms in Blackwell, S.C. in five days at nine o’clock pm.
With the horse saddled, the weapons and gear packed, and my dog Scruffy following along, we made our way out of town. A new revolution was beginning and our forsaken republic needed heroes.