Resistance: A Prepper's War Read Online Free PDF Page A

“General Locke thinks that it’s best to-“
     
    “Locke doesn’t know shit,” Jim said cutting him off.
     
    The therapist let out a sigh and leaned back into his chair and placed the notepad on the ground next to him. “Jim, what you went through was an incredibly traumatic experience. It’s something you should talk about.”
     
    Jim shook his head. “I did five combat tours for the Navy when I was enlisted,” he said. “Five,” he reiterated, “I never came back with any sort of PTSD, or mental issues. I was fine then. I’m fine now.”
     
    “What happened on your combat tours is completely different than what you went through in Phoenix,” said the therapist.
     
    “I’ve killed men before,” Jim replied.
     
    “Except those men weren’t your sister’s husband,” the therapist retorted.
     
    With that comment Jim got up and walked straight out the door, slamming it behind him. The therapist sat in his chair looking at the closed door as he rubbed his forehead in exasperation.
     
    Sweat formed on the shirts of the men in a regiment marching across the parking lot as the hot afternoon sun beat down on them. The steady rhythm of their boots on the pavement walked in step with Jim’s own feet as he made his way past them for a Jeep parked in the back of the lot.
     
    Coyle was leaned back in the driver’s seat with a white tank top and his shades on soaking up the rays. He cocked his head to the left when he saw Jim barreling down on him out of his peripherals. “Aren’t you supposed to be in there for another forty minutes?”
     
    Jim stopped at the driver side door. “He let me out early for exceptional cooperation,” Jim replied.
     
    Coyle lowered his glasses and looked up at Jim whose shadow was blocking the sun. “You know the whole rebel persona is supposed to be my thing,” Coyle said as he put his arms back behind his head to try and get comfortable.
     
    Jim flung the door open and shoved Coyle back into the passenger seat. There was a resentful force that Jim did everything with lately. Coyle rubbed his shoulder and settled in his new seat, keeping a tense face on Jim.
     
    As the two men rode in the jeep, Coyle kept looking over at Jim who stared straight ahead and shifted the gears of the jeep like he was going to snap the shifter in half.
     
    “Jim,” Coyle started softly, “I don’t know what you’re going through. I don’t. Avoiding what happened won’t make it go away. Not talking about it won’t make it go away.”
     
    “There’s nothing to make go away,” Jim said stiffly.
     
    “No,” replied Coyle, “but it’ll start to make it have less control over you.”
     
    Jim slammed on the breaks and Coyle flew forward.
     
    “Shit, man!” Coyle screamed.
     
    Jim turned on him and had his finger right in this face. “It doesn’t control me!” Jim said, his face red with rage. His breathing quickened. His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel.
     
    Coyle rubbed his shoulder as he leaned back into his seat. “Clearly,” he said.
     
    Jim shook his head. Coyle placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder and squeezed. “Jim, it takes two to tango. Matt put you in a bad spot with what he did. You did what anyone would have done. Anyone,” Coyle emphasized.
     
    Coyle let go of Jim’s shoulder and Jim nodded as he let out a sigh. “Yeah,” Jim said.
     
    “Now,” Coyle went on, “we have thirty-eight minutes to kill before we have to go back for Locke’s new mission debriefing, so I say we grab some lunch. I’m starving.”
     
    Jim threw the shifter back into first gear and the jeep jolted forward. “What do you feel like?” he asked.
     
    Coyle thought about it for a second. “Do you think we can get the interrogators to convince Kate to give up her lasagna recipe?”
     
    After lunch, which wasn’t lasagna much to Coyle’s disappointment, Jim and Coyle arrived at Locke’s office, which was busier than usual. Office personnel were running