Freedom TM

backyard. At the other end of the rope was a noose.
    Another man held a digital video camera in the moonlight, taping the action.
    Fossen’s wife let out a muted scream from behind her duct tape gag, and Fossen continued to struggle against his restraints and the arms holding him fast. They put the noose around his neck, and again he heard the others trying to shout from behind their gags. Fossen could see his wife in anguish as men behind her held her face up, smacking her and pointing in Fossen’s direction—shouting,
“Uite! Uite!”
    Other men were trying to cut the pajamas off his daughter as she struggled. The rope was cinched firmly around Fossen’s jaw, and Big Man was in Fossen’s face again, laughing through his mask, his night vision goggles looking buglike in the darkness.
    Then a welcome sound came from somewhere out in the night—the angry shouts of hundreds of people approaching through the fields—the rattle of weapons and equipment as they approached underlined their angry shouts. Big Man made several hand motions and his men spread out, concealing themselves behind vehicles, trees, and walls. They all focused on the darkness with their night vision goggles, whispering….
    “A se vedea ceva?”
    “Nu, şefule.”
    “Nimic.”
    The massive crowd was approaching from somewhere out in the darkened fields. Fossen stood on his tiptoes, the noose cinched tightly around his neck. He didn’t dare turn to look.
    Big Man motioned abruptly, and his band of raiders fled into the night—disappearing in the opposite direction from the advancing mob. They didn’t fire a shot, apparently hoping they could slip away unseen. Leaving their victims behind.
    Fossen could hold his precarious balance no more. He fell to the side and was greatly relieved when the rope, no longer being held by anyone, simply unwound as he collapsed to the ground.
    He tried to get a glimpse of the approaching mob, which was almost upon them now. But suddenly there was complete silence. Fossen rolled over to look for his wife and daughter and could see a shadowy form dressed head-to-toe in black kneeling over them, swiftly cutting their bonds. Their rescuer handed a knife to one of the students, then moved over to Fossen, drawing yet another knife.
    Fossen could now see the man clearly. He wore some sort of formfitting black body armor with a hood and what appeared to be advanced night vision goggles over his face. Weapons and equipment were secured in pouches integrated into the suit.
    The man turned Fossen over and tore the duct tape off his mouth with a sting. “Are you hurt?”
    “No. Thank god you got here in time.” Fossen could see his wife and daughter hugging each other, crying. The students and farmhands were also embracing in relief.
    The man cut Fossen’s bonds then pulled off his own hood and night vision gear.
    “Jon!” Fossen smiled and grabbed his arm. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
    “We can’t stay here, Hank. Townspeople are on the way, but the death squad might return.”
    Fossen looked around for the large crowd he’d heard moments before but saw no one. “I thought they were here already.”
    “They will be soon.”
    “But I just
heard
them.”
    Jon pointed at a device affixed to his forearm. “Hypersonic sound projector. I created the impression of an approaching mob.” He looked up. “We should get to cover.”
    “Jesus Christ! It’s only you?”
    Suddenly they heard automatic weapon fire crackling in the distant fields. The students and farmhands ran for cover along with Fossen’s wife and daughter.
    Jon put his night vision goggles back on and nodded to himself. “Cover your eyes, folks …”
    “What … why?”
    In answer the fields erupted in mind-blasting bursts of light and skin-crawling eruptions of sound that seemed to be tearing apart reality.
    Fossen turned away and covered his ears. “My god, what is that?”
    “Sensory assault. You might feel some nausea. Battle armor is synchronized to cancel out the effects.” Jon helped Fossen get to his feet.
    The gunfire had stopped.
    “Then we’re safe?”
    Jon nodded toward the darkness. “We’ve got friends close at hand, now. I see call-outs approaching.”
    “Hank!”
    Fossen turned to see his old friend, Sheriff Dave Westfield, at the front of a dozen armed townspeople from Greeley, all of whom wore HUD glasses. They were running up from the darkness behind them. “God, am I glad to see you guys.”
    They