Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

They returned to the van and drove toward the county station, following a route Savannah directed.

“Slow down,” Savannah said as they approached a four-way stop. “Don’t run the sign. Don’t look nervous.”

Gladice eased off the gas. A pickup with a KKK flag sticker on the rear window passed through the intersection ahead of them. Gladice waited for the pickup to clear the intersection, then pulled forward. They continued down the street, passing neat houses with small yards, and turned again.

The station stood beyond a broad parking lot. The patrol cars were not the first thing Louis noticed. Poster boards had been set on folding easels beneath the overhang beside the side entrance, each marked with a Blood Drop Cross. One announced tomorrow’s March of Witness and Purification. Another gave parking instructions.

People filled the parking lot and crowded the side entrance. Everyone Louis could see wore a white Klan robe with a Blood Drop Cross sewn over the chest. Some wore pointed hoods. Others went bareheaded. Duty belts, holsters, and black uniform boots showed beneath several of the robes. Women carried food, bottled water, and folding chairs inside. Boys and girls from the youth corps, also dressed in white robes, handed out candles and hymn sheets. Two deputies in robes stood near the rear lot with rifles. A church bus idled by the curb while people unloaded more supplies from a van.

Savannah sat forward in her seat and studied the loading area beside the side entrance. “We need a different plan.”

“No kidding.” Gladice looked through the windshield. “They’re planning a rally.”

“What now? We wait until dark and try again?” Angelique asked.

Louis shook his head. “That won’t work. They will have the building locked down by night. The guards will be on alert. This is the best chance to get in while they’re busy.”

“Get in how?” Willa asked. “We can’t just walk through the front door.”

“We don’t walk through. We blend in. We look like we belong here.”

Savannah turned to him. “You think you can pass for one of them?”

“With the right cover, yes. The Klan loves to cover their heads anyway.” Louis pointed toward the crowd. “White robes, hoods, capes. It’ll be hard to tell who’s who.”

Gladice raised one eyebrow. “You’re going to wear a white hood?”

“Yes. You, me and Willa. The rest can stay in the van and cover the retreat.”

“That’s insane,” Savannah said.

“Maybe.” Louis looked at her. “But it’s better than trying to storm the place with guns.”

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head once. “Fine. Where we getting those robes?”

Angelique pointed toward the loading bay beside the side entrance. A white box truck stood there with its rear door half open. Men and women carried folded white robes and cardboard boxes into the station.

“They’re bringing in the robes,” Angelique said. “If we wait for the right moment, we can get a few.”

Donya sat rigidly in the back of the van, watching the hooded crowd through the window. Louis turned in his seat. Her face had gone pale.

“You alright, Donya?”

She swallowed once. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I. Stay in the van with Angi and Savannah. You’ll be safe here.”

She nodded and looked back at the gathering crowd. “I will pray for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Now we need someone who can sneak into the truck and grab robes without being noticed.” Louis looked at the others.

“We don’t have to do that.” Angelique pointed toward another white box truck parked near the far end of the lot. It carried the same Blood Drop Cross emblem, and no one stood nearby. “There are probably more robes inside. We can go there.”

“Good idea.”

Savannah leaned forward. “Pull up closer. I’ll pop the lock.”

Gladice eased the van across the lot. No one paid them much attention. They parked two spaces from the truck. Savannah got out and went to the truck’s rear door. She looked around, then took a small lockpick set from her pocket. A minute later, she opened the door. She took three folded white robes, closed it again, and returned to the van.

“Done.” She placed the robes on her lap. “These should fit.”

Louis took one of them. The thin synthetic fabric smelled of plastic. The hood was worse. It had two eyeholes cut into it.

Donya drew a sharp breath.

Savannah turned toward Louis. “Remember, you ain’t a secret agent. You just a white guy who believes what these people believe. Act normal.”

“What’s normal here?”

Willa said, “Think like them. The world’s fallen. You’re restoring the proper order. You’re proud, righteous, and sure of yourself. And you hate everyone who isn’t white and Christian.” She switched to a Southern cadence. “If you ain’t white, you ain’t right.”

“Where did you learn that?” Gladice asked.

“TV shows.”

“Nice. You’re the actress now,” Gladice said.

“I am the analyst,” Willa said. “And the analyst says we need to get moving.”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just put on the robes and go.”

Louis nodded once. “You keep the van ready.”

“I will.”

Louis pulled the robe over his clothes and settled the hood over his head. The fabric brushed his mouth when he breathed. He could see straight ahead, but little on either side. Warm air collected inside the hood.

Gladice rolled her shoulders once under the robe and said, her voice muffled, “I look ridiculous.”

Willa said, “We all do. Let’s go.”

They got out of the van. Louis took his cane, and the three of them walked through the side entrance. Inside, the garage bay had been cleared for rally preparations. Folding tables stood along one wall beneath corkboards and wanted posters. Volunteers counted robes against lists and tied ribbons around boxes of devotionals. A woman in a Klan robe carrying a clipboard stepped into their path. She pointed at them. “You three. Go to the blue room. They need people to help with the candles. Now.”

“My leg is injured,” Louis said, his voice muffled by the hood.

She only nodded toward the hall. “Just go. They’ll find something for you to sit on.”

Louis went down the back hall with Gladice and Willa behind him. A deputy in shirtsleeves held a clipboard and waved Louis over without looking at his face.

“You. Sit there and fold those.” He pointed at a low chair and a stack of handbills. “And you two—” He pointed toward Gladice and Willa beneath their robes. “Take the candles to the assembly bay. After that, come back for the lantern oil.”

Louis sat and began folding the handbills down the center. The paper was thick. The handbills called for divine justice and moral order. His hood slipped down his forehead, and he pushed it back up.

Gladice passed him with a carton of candles against her hip. Willa followed with a second box held low in both arms. Then they went through the far door. Louis kept folding. From his chair, he could see only part of the hall beyond the doorway as people passed in both directions. He kept working without hurrying. A deputy looked his way once, then returned to his clipboard without checking him.

Willa and Gladice returned with empty hands. The deputy gestured toward two coils of rope and a crate of lanterns.

“Take those to the garage. Then all of you report to assembly. Sheriff Mallory is about to speak.”

Louis set the last folded handbill on the stack and rose. One coil was heavier than it looked. He did not want to think about why they needed so much new rope. He lifted it onto his shoulder, then picked up his cane. Gladice took the second coil, and Willa took the lantern crate. The deputy led them through double doors into the vehicle garage. The vehicles had been moved outside, leaving room for rows of folding chairs and a standing area at the back. The roll-up doors were half open to the parking lot, and portable floodlamps stood along one wall.

More people entered from outside. Deputies wore their duty belts beneath white robes. Women carried clipboards and boxes of candles, while members of the youth corps directed people toward the chairs. Several armed deputies stood along the cinderblock wall.

A man in a red Klan robe stood behind a table at the center of the garage. Everyone around him wore white. A KKK banner, a Holy States flag, and a wooden cross hung on the wall behind him. A local preacher in a black suit and clerical collar stood to one side. A microphone on the table was connected to a portable speaker.

Louis, Gladice, and Willa left the ropes and lanterns where the deputy directed, then joined the people standing along the left side of the garage. The man in red waited for people to stop moving between the chairs. A deputy stepped to the microphone and introduced Sheriff Mallory. Mallory leaned toward the microphone.

“Evening.”

“Evening, sir,” the crowd answered.

“We got a long day ahead tomorrow,” the sheriff said. “Tomorrow’s March of Witness and Purification will show the state, and anyone watching beyond it, that this county stands clean and stands together. Men, women, and youth in right order. Church and law in one line. That matters.” He paused and looked around. “But what brings us here tonight is not just preparation. It is also principle. And the principle is this: every soul in this county who belongs to the wrong kind of people will be dealt with. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.”

“Well said!” a woman near the front called out.

Louis glanced at Willa. She stared straight at the podium, her face hidden by the hood.

Mallory tapped the table with one finger.

“Now, I know y’all heard what happened in Atlanta this morning. A block turned against the state. Against the church. Against the order that keeps us safe. Those niggers shot men in uniform. That is an act of war. It cannot stand. And we are not going to let it stand in this county. Are you clear on that?!”

“Yes, sir!” the crowd answered.

“Good.” Mallory looked over the crowd. “We will not have that here. We will not have any part of it. Subversives, deviants, enemies of God’s people—wherever they are, we will find them. Wherever they hide, we will bring them out. And when we do, the law will be swift. The punishment will be sure. And the message will be clear. The Holy States belong to the faithful. Period.”

“Praise the Lord!” someone called out.

Louis shifted his weight to ease the pressure on his knee.

Mallory nodded toward the double doors. “That brings me to the matter of tonight. Tonight we show that our resolve does not wait for marching orders. Tonight we go out as a community and we correct the imbalance that has been allowed to take root. Tonight is for proven standing. For those who have held the line. For those who understand that purification is not a word for posters. It is a duty.”

The preacher bowed his head once in approval. The sheriff lifted a paper off the table.

“The smaller devotional gathering and execution will begin at twenty-one hundred hours at Horner Memorial Park. Inner ring only. Bring your families. Candles will be distributed on site. Mrs. Abernathy will brief you on seating arrangements and transport details later. For now, we have more urgent business.” He set the paper down.

“Earlier today, my deputies and I took a nigger into custody. His name is Darnell Barlow.” He paused, letting the name settle in the room. “Some of y’all might know him. A smuggler, a black marketer and a corrupter of Christian souls. For years, he has polluted our county with filth. Illegal contraband. Forbidden technology. And lies. He has been a blight on this county. And tonight, he will answer for it. We will show him what the law does to those who mock it. We will make his fate a lesson to anyone who thinks they can stand against the order God has given us.”

A murmur went through the crowd. A man near the back said, “Hang him!”

Others agreed in low voices. Louis glanced at Gladice beside him. She tilted her head slightly.

Sheriff Mallory held up one hand for silence.

“I know you folks are eager for justice. I am too. And yes, we will hang him tonight in the park after the gathering. His body will stay on the oak tree until sunrise as a warning. Anyone else in this county who thinks they can betray the church and the law will know what awaits them. That is decided.”

A woman cheered. Sheriff Mallory let the sound fade.

“Good.” He looked around the garage. “Now let’s get to work. May God bless you and your families.”

“Amen,” the preacher said.

“Amen,” the crowd answered.

People began moving toward the rear staging area. Volunteers took the lanterns and witness packets, while deputies collected the coils of rope. Louis watched the ropes disappear into the crowd. If Barlow was here, they did not have much time.

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