OUT IN THE OPEN FIELD, Mrs Scott was dropping dirt with a shovel. She looked ahead at the approaching siren of the two local sheriff cruisers. She peered up also at two helicopters coming from the East and Northwest.

She pushed a wheelbarrow of dirt — and dropped it over to cover up her trail of evidence quickly — a shallow grave dug, with the piled up of the dead Cynthia and Lee, with theirs AK forty-sevens.

*

Inside the Blackhawk helicopter was Roberta smoking a cigarette alone. Roberta was the only one among the team, in her civilian clothes — wearing her motorcycle leather jacket. Suspended from duty — and now she was there in observer status while following in the FBI's’ investigation mission.

Roberta missed Lilya even more, as the whirlybird got closer to the farmhouse in Mississippi — looking out at an oak tree at afar that reminded of the graves of her male siblings, from a similar farm in Wellsville, Ohio.

The tortures she had inflicted on her wife — who was protecting the ones she cared were in that house...

‘Will Laura be there too?’

FBI Agent Carrefour was engaged in strategizing the mission with an Elite force trainee Commander, Terri Smith from the Pennsylvanian PD division — she was roped in to lead Roberta’s own ten Elite-soldiers there, for the farmhouse raid.

They held a short briefing while they checked their weapons.

***

Mrs Scott pushed the empty wheelbarrow to the front yard when the two Sheriff cruisers parked ahead. Some uniformed women deputies headed by the Sheriff alighted from their vehicles...

“Are you Mrs Edna Scott? I am Sheriff Newman— and we have a warrant to search your premise.”

“Yes, I am Edna and I live here alone — and just what are you expecting to find, Sheriff Newman?”

The Sheriff looked at the executive warrant in her hand and replied. “There have been reports that this premise is part of terrorist activities of the militia Aryan Sisterhood, Ma’am….”

They were all distracted by the loud clattering of the two hovering helicopters — the Blackhawk and an FBI’s Bell was landing — it was creating mass curling dust winds on the fields, snaking towards the farmhouse...

“Did those city cops got you, girls, into believing that I am housing terrorist on my farm? Then go ahead. Sheriff — search all you want, and you will find nothing of that sort under my roof — and also, don’t make a mess, like a TV show police-search — this is not Hollywood.”

She replied graciously with sureness — after covering her tracks — by disposing of the bodies of the sister-boys earlier.

“Thank you, ma’am,” replied Newman amiably and the rest of the armed local authorities stepped into the house, while Mrs Scott sat on her quaint rocking chair on her porch, after a long time. She noticed the empty beer bottles, tobacco spit stains and cigarette butts, littered on the floorboard, nearby her feet.

It was good riddance that those agents in black suits had arrived earlier, and took out the trash by acing the inimical sister-boys — and now she could have back her farmhouse, from those unwelcoming Aryans.

FBI Agent Carrefour alighted off the Blackhawk, — and saw the Sheriff and the deputies entering the house.

She was disgruntled and turned to the elite-Force Commander Smith...

“Look at those hick-hillbillies daughters there — and now where did their so-called charming Southern hospitality go to these days? Those inbreed deputies were supposed to be our backup — but now look at them, rushing into the crime scene like it is a catfish catching contest. If they get jumped by any Aryan rebel bitches in there — it will be their own flabby asses, with bullet holes...

“Commander Smith, you move in now!”

Roberta Jensen instinctively followed behind Smith and the elite-force soldiers — but she was stopped by Carrefour.

“Hey Jensen, you are unarmed. You better stick with me!”

They both entered through the backdoor of the house — while Smith faced the Sheriff's team back at the front porch, where the calm Mrs Scott was on her rocking chair. Sheriff Newman spoke out to the Elite team...

“We have checked — the place is empty — there is no one in there!”

“We will double-check now,” replied Smith. Her advancing soldiers used their X-ray tech-devices to scan the interior floorboards — while Roberta Jensen and Carrefour, stood and watched from the side.

Outside, some e-soldiers and the FBI's headed by Agent Maxine Harvest entered the large barn.

The Elite-soldiers were also utilizing their scanner around the milieu, among the few cows in the stalls. Both the FBI agents climbed up the rickety ladder — to Joana's secret place — and searched through the junks in the attic.

They heard an e-SWAT calling from below...

“Agent Harvest, we found a cache here!”

Both the FBI agents at the attic looked down to see the soldiers had located a few rifles, ammo and pistols behind the bales of hay — which Edna Scott had no knowledge of, while she covered her tracks earlier.

***

Inside the farmhouse, Roberta and Carrefour stepped into the room — that was once occupied by Marlin — after a soldier had finished scanning the floor and found nothing.

Roberta mulled over and controlled her angered frustrations...

‘Laura was not brought to the farm — she was not at the lakes-searches in California nor here in Mississippi — where the hell is she?’

Roberta's keen police eyes spotted something anomalous in the trash basket. She used two ballpoints like chopsticks — and picked out a used condom. “Good police work, Jensen.” Carrefour laughed, it was more of a mockery than a compliment, seeing Roberta dropped it into a forensic evidence bag.

Roberta next stepped to the untidy bed and pulled the sheet cover. She used her fingertip to hookup and lift up Joana's G-string thong — the butch Carrefour chortled again...

“I heard that these Mississippi pussies smell like catfish too!”

Roberta sensed that Joana Gailman and the shemale named Marlin from the CIA evidence photo were here — but they both too were also missing from the farmhouse...

‘Where has everybody gone?’

Roberta left the room and stopped in the living room — picked up a photo of someone she had known from her past — the twelve-year-old Roxy Gailman...

She recalled the gang fight against other butch rival groups — where she fought alongside with Roxy's ‘boys’ when she was ten. She had once saved Roxy's life from being stabbed — by smashing a rock onto an older teenager, giving the rival dyke a concussion. She was then initiated as an official member of Roxy’s puerile childhood-fantasy gang since. When Roberta was thirteen, they both then had fallen out — and they both went their own separate ways — and never crossed path again, face to face ever since.

The FBI Commander Carrefour stepped out of the front door — to find e-SWAT Commander Terri Smith and Sheriff Newman in front of the porch questioning Mrs Scott. Roberta tagged along, looked at eight firearms laid on the wooden plank floor.

Roberta remembered Lilya mentioning the old woman seated, as Joana's grandmother — she studied with perspicacious after discerning Edna Scott for the first time in person — there was something about her leery eyes, were shrewd as her Aunt Flo’s...

“Mrs Scott, give us the truth — where are they — the Aryan group members?” Agent Carrefour questioned her.

“Gone I guess, they left back to their base,” the old woman replied.

“So where is their base?”

“How do I know, I am not part of them — and also, I don’t wanna know too. They come and go in here, as they please, and how can I stop them. They are all armed — what can I do about it?”

Roberta cut into the conversation with cynicism...

“O yeah, what can you do, grandma? You are just a defenceless and sweet, Southern old lady. Okay now, where is this Joana Gailman? I believe this belongs to her.”

Roberta tossed the G-string to the woman’s lap and continued speaking...

“I have a young wife too, with a similar fashion taste — and you probably know her too — little Joana's good friend, who grew up around here and both probably playing on that swing over there, under that tall oak tree when they were little...

“Of course — you must have known Lilya Devon?”

“So you are that filthy cop Jensen, who kills mercilessly at-sight — I don't know what that albino girl saw in you — and why the hell, she married you for?” Edna scorned back.

“Looks like your reputation precede you, Jensen — even grandma is here, is in your loyal fan club.” Carrefour laughed. Roberta was enjoying it and was also humoured — and she replied to her...

“I just like to keep my bedroom affairs with the wife private, so for now, grandma — tell me where that Aryan base camp is — because I want to say hello to my-very-old-friend-Roxy-Gailman?”

Roberta had a score to settle with her — it was personal — Lilya who was sold by Roxy, and ended up as a street hooker named Snow White, once upon a time ago in Ohio — but yet the ungrateful bitch was still loyal to those inbreeds here, like a Southern yellow-dog — and because of that — it had schism their own marriage.

“I don't know, I have cut my family ties with them all — and I now live here alone — yes, my other granddaughter Joana and her boyfriend visited me recently, and they are gone now,” Edna made it clear to all of them, to shake off more suspicion...

FBI Agent Carrefour noticed that Jensen’s beset was now dominating the questioning, Carrefour stepped up and accosted...

“Looks like you are not going to talk, Mrs Scott, neither have you made any prior police-report about any terrorist activities here — now that makes you a prime suspect and abettor — for harbouring those Aryans kin of yours in your premise. We are now charging you, and will be taking you back to Washington — for furthering our federal investigations.”

“I am not going anywhere. This is my farm! — Sheriff Newman, do something!”

Edna was expecting the local hometown authorities to come in defence, from the intimidating conurbation bullies — but Sheriff Newman was parried away saying...

“Sorry Ma’am, we wash our hands because this is now a federal case — these weapons belong to the terrorist Aryans — and they were found on your property.”

“Commander Smith, take her to the chopper!” Carrefour ordered the chain of command. Elite soldiers muzzled the screaming Mrs Scott, out of her rocking chair.

Roberta stood alone in the porch, frustrated that the search for Laura had come to another dead-end — it was until Agent Harvest came running over to her commanding FBI superior — Roberta overheard their conversation ...

“Sir, I got some updates on two incidents that happened in a span of a couple of hours. Some Washington Secret Service cars were attacked by the Aryans — and some of those agents were killed just 30 miles from here — and the other is in the state of Nevada — where army troops had a gun battle, with some she-freaks, most likely they were AOG rebels — who were trespassing on the Exodus Trail.”

A male voice in Roberta’s head said, “She went that way.”

Roberta recalled those were the words that a skeleton in her dream omened. She called to mind seeing the gaunt remains seated in a rusted car, pointing its bony finger out to a direction. Roberta’s instincts now summoned from her gut...

It was definitely a sign — the long and forgotten Exodus Trail of her childhood past...

“Okay Harvest, I will look into the Secret Service deaths — and you take the Bell, and check on the other incident at the Exodus Trail — and keep me informed at all times.”

Carrefour cherry-picked her high profiled assignment...

She wanted the publicity of crashing into the investigating party of the local Mississippian authorities, with her feds’ jurisdiction credence — that had now the involvement of White House agents found dead, outside Jackson...

Roberta had no intention to tag along with Carrefour — because her priority was to find Laura who had been abducted for close to a week. Would her coma-stricken sister survive that long? That was her main concern — along with killing the ‘faceless’ one — who had abducted her...

That bastard who abducted Laura from the hospital was going to pay back in blood, once she cornered him.

Harvest left — and Roberta approached with caution...

“Agent Carrefour, I wanna check on the Exodus Trail with them. I have a strong feeling those freaks, who took my sister — are heading on that path.”

Carrefour had no need for Jensen...

She owed Captain Bernie Palmer some favours in the past and had repaid by letting Jensen follow in the investigation so far — even was aloof, and she did not give a damn if Jensen found her sister or not.

Furthermore, Jensen was a celebrity-cop and a national hero — the ambitious Carrefour did not want to share the merit — when she solved the Secret Agents killing case by the Aryans, that she was about to sink her teeth into.

“Okay, Jensen — you are supposed to be with me, but I am closing an eye here — but, the same drill applies, you don’t intervene in our investigation and strictly, no guns for you — that’s an order!” Carrefour aggrandized.

“Thanks, Sir.”

Carrefour saw Jensen expressed her gratitude — before running after Maxine Harvest towards the Bell. Commander Smith from behind instructed her Elite soldiers...

“Burn the place down. We don't want any more rebel activities in here!” An e-SWAT flamethrower started torching the farmhouse...

***

Both the choppers lifted off. Roberta’s curled a razor-thin smile, looking down from the FBI chopper — and spotting the cows running out of the flaming barn.

Mrs Scott was in handcuff and was in tears in the hovering Blackhawk — having an aerial view of her burning farm...

Below in the barn attic, Andrea’s wooden chests of clothing, shoes and photo albums were now blazing. The Gucci dress that Joana last tried on was ‘literally smoking’ — just like Marlin’s ‘compliment’ to Joana two days ago.

In the main house, the inferno licked the living room.

Mrs Scotts’ family photographs of Roxy, Joana, Sarah and Andrea burned up, with crackling sounds of the glass frames splintering...

Despite the alleged FBI charges, Edna Scott was prepared for her loss of everything that was going up in smoke below — knowing that her precious Joana had escaped...

Marlin was trustworthy enough, and he would keep her safe.