He sold everything he owned, bought a used RV and moved to the desert. He bought a little spot on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. He lived off-the-grid for years. Every month he went into the small town fifty miles away and bought his food and supplies. He built a fence around his place.
There were rumors he held meetings in his RV and some said he was involved in a paramilitary organization. It made sense since he was a former Green Beret in Vietnam. He lived a simple life but some guys in a black car came out to his place one day and told him he was under investigation. They left, and he heard no more from them.
One night, he heard a noise outside and then everything went blank. The explosion was heard for ten miles and the great fireball colored the dark sky of the night time desert. The sheriff came out the next morning with a few deputies. They cut open the fence and walked up to where the RV had been. There were only charred pieces of the trailer, smoldering on top of the hill.
The flag next to the RV was scorched but you could still see it was an American flag.
It was the only thing still standing on that little hill others would later call Patriot’s Hill.
A scorched American flag.