Labor Pains. Book 2; The New America Series
Jul 14, 2012 14:56:58 GMT -6
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Post by Lobo solitario on Jul 14, 2012 14:56:58 GMT -6
CHAPTER 1
In the roughly decade and a half between the UN disaster at Dove Spring Pass and the short but powerful explanation that Mrs. Linda, Joann, (Reader) Stiff made to her 7th graders, profound changes began to evolve.
The French had fielded two rifle platoons and a mortar squad that day, 96 men in all. Of those they suffered 43 killed and 20 wounded. It made waves. After all, they had signed on to keep the peace, not fight a war. UN commanders became very averse to risking their men in hording enforcement. Countries with problems of their own at home recognized that this was not going to be the gravy train they had hoped for. They started recalling their troops.
The US government, though not calling its self such; in fact almost comically avoiding the term, was nearly as socialist as they come. The man on Pennsylvania Avenue had suspended elections due to the national emergency even before the battle. Now he found himself administering an enterprise which kept its self in power by handing out cookies, but without a functioning bakery. The UN forces had been the only real source of loot to redistribute. His Volunteers In Service To America (VISTA), and a couple of his other volunteer brown shirt organizations, were trying but were woefully incompetent, and were hated even more than the blue hats. Though more basically competent than the volunteer organizations, the FBI, BATF, DEA, DHS and the US Marshal service were not much more successful. When they did make a successful raid, they usually found enough to supply a family, when they needed enough to supply a city.
You can only suck so much blood before the host either finds a cure or dies. If every time a person produces a surplus beyond what is needed to keep body and soul together, you take some of it; if you only take a little, he will usually accept it rather than fight you. If you take too much he will start resisting you and hiding it if he can. If you take it all he will fight you, and burn his own wheat field, if he has to, to keep you from getting it. The administration reached that point. Still, those in power cling tenaciously to it, even after the point where it would better serve their continued longevity to let go.
His inability to produce the largess that was not only promised but sorely needed buy millions, who had for generations been conditioned to believe that all that was required to receive was to need, was greatly damaging his popularity. Only the hard core true believers were still with him. When a system is demonstrably failing, and has been for some time, the remaining true believers are generally not the sharpest tools in the shed. The administration was in a death spiral that the best and brightest would have trouble saving, but its best and brightest had abandoned ship long ago.
Other socialist governments, which were the overwhelming majority, weather they called themselves that or not, were suffering much the same fate to greater and lesser degrees. The whole world was in the grip of a depression that made the 1930’s look prosperous. The world’s wealthier nations who had been propping up teetering states around the globe were just plain broke themselves.
Even if there was money, few would accept it. Barter and hard currency were how things usually got done. The dollar was down to about seven cents of its 2008 value. Prices were out the roof, but most wages were stagnant and pensions and entitlements had not risen to any meaningful extent. People in the cities were dying of hunger, in droves. Those in rural areas were faring better but only a little. If you had something to trade, even if it was only a useful skill or simple labor, food could be had.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Amos Jacob Ellis, was born in 1955, the son of a black sharecropper. He lived through the period of the big news making civil rights demonstrations, but participated little. For one thing his daddy had always told him if he went looking for trouble he would probably find it. For another, he had no great hatred for his country or its white citizens. He knew there were things that needed changing; he just seemed to be more patient than most of the zealots the cause attracted. Maybe it was because he believed in judging everyone on his own merits, and most all the white folks he knew were decent people and treated him reasonably fairly. Many he didn’t know but just sort of ran into were pretty uppity, but he just avoided them and did not judge his friends by their standard. Amos never was a very political guy. But it was a mistake to mess with him or his.
Amos was a good student. After high school he decided to get himself a job and a better education. He enrolled in a community college and took jobs flipping burgers, delivering, pizzas, stocking shelves, or sweeping floors. Anything he could do at night, so he could go to school in the daytime.
His Mom wanted him to be a doctor; don’t all moms? So he took a beginning anatomy class. He learned that humans were not all that different from pigs. The other big lesson taken from his first semester was that if you wanted to eat well, on a limited income, you had to cook it yourself. He discovered that he was good at it and really enjoyed cooking. He also discovered he had a real hard time staying disciplined at his studies. He hadn’t really messed up his grades, yet. But he could see it coming. There was just so much to distract a young man out in the big wide world, like girls.
He talked things over with his dad and his father suggested a hitch in the service. He would be a little older when he got out, a little more settled, and the GI bill money couldn’t hurt. Amos joined the US Air Force. The Viet Nam war was just over and they no longer had the flood of qualified recruits knocking down their doors to avoid the draft. The recruiter told him he scored high enough to go into just about any field the AF had available. Amos wanted to be a cook. The recruiter could not believe it!
Amos soon learned that an air force cook had as much in common with a chef as a surgeon has with a butcher. He hated some of the things he had to do, but the off hours were fun and he did learn a lot about cooking in volume. And he did grow up and settle down a bit.
When Amos got out he took his GI bill education money and enrolled in one of the better chef schools in the world. He loved it, and as usually happens when one does what they love, he excelled at it. Of course it didn’t hurt that Amos was smart also, in a down home sort of way. He graduated at the top of his class.
The school Amos attended was world class and had no problem placing their students. He soon found himself working at one of the pricier San Francisco dinner spots. He began to accrue a reputation as well as promotions and better compensation. He was definitely no longer a mess cook.
He was contacted by a famous Bourbon Street establishment and offered a position. The compensation package was an improvement over what he was then getting, but the real attraction for Amos was that he would be much closer to his parents and his native Mississippi. Amos was all about family and not only did he have no family on the west coast, he really didn’t fit into the Bay Area lifestyle at all. Amos wanted to go home.
The restaurant on Bourbon Street was where he met Lilly. Lilly was a server at the establishment. She was working her way through nursing school. Lilly was warm and personable and after their first date Amos knew he was interested. After six months and a couple visits to her daddy’s farm he knew she could split wood, knock a quail out of the air, bait and set a crawdad trap, clean a fish, and milk a cow. After all that she would clean up like a princess for a night on the town. Lilly would defiantly do to run the river with.
Six months after he asked her they were married.
Six months after that he got a call from his dad. Seemed some guys with mustaches and sun glasses had shown up in town asking about him. They had talked to a couple of his old teachers and his high school football coach. Didn’t seem to willing to reveal much about themselves or why they were asking though. Then he got a call from the head master of the chef’s collage, much along the same lines. He told everyone he had no idea what it was about and that he was not in any sort of trouble that he knew of.
Then a few of the other employees said they had gotten similar calls. Soon after that the owner announced to the entire staff that they were going to be graced by a visit from the President of The United States. He would be having dinner with them three days hence.
The Secret Service showed up early on the day of the dinner and went over the place with a fine toothed comb. They searched for who knows what with electronic gizmos. They spoke to the whole staff about what was and mostly what was not acceptable when the president was in the building.
The president had lobster which Amos thought a bit unimaginative for a man who was supposed to be a southerner dining in New Orleans. The president asked to speak with the chef and Amos complied just as he would for any customer. The president graciously praised the dinner and Amos thanked him sincerely. Lilly, who had been chosen, due to her previously demonstrated ability to keep a clear head, and grace under pressure, to be their server, thought the whole thing was just the cat’s pajamas and talked about it for a couple of days. Then the whole thing passed away, or they thought it had.
About a month later a nice young woman presented herself at the Ellis’s front door at a little past nine in the morning, about two hours before either of them were scheduled to come in to the restaurant. She identified herself as Alisha Crain, personal assistant to the first lady. She was, of course, asked in. She declined the proffered coffee, juice, and soda. She explained that she was there on behalf of her employer, the first lady, who would very much like to speak with them both. She was inviting them to lunch at the White House in ten days. Alisha had for them two round trip tickets to Washington DC., reservations for two nights at one of the best hotels, and a check for six thousand dollars expense money. This was all; they were assured from the first lady’s personal funds and not being paid by the taxpayers. If for any reason the date was not acceptable to them it could be changed.
When you are an American and you are asked to come to the White House, you pretty much need to go, even if you don’t like the people living there. While Amos and Lilly were not of the president’s party and they thought his personal conduct rather scandalous, and a national embarrassment. And although they thought his wife a bit of a shrew, their country, in some form or other seemed to be calling. Despite their inquiries Alisha let it be known that no farther details would be forthcoming until they came to lunch. So, they agreed and Alisha left her personal contact information and said she would be in touch to handle farther arrangements. What the hay, if nothing else they could see the sights of DC. On Hillarie’s tab!
The limo arrived at the hotel at twelve noon. Alisha road in the back with the Ellis’s. The conversation was pleasant small talk. They rolled through the gate at the White House like they were expected, which they were. Alisha introduced them to the first lady and after the obligatory inquiries into the suitability of their flight and accommodations they were shown to a small patio area, where lunch was served. A simple lunch of French onion soup and turkey sandwiches.
The first lady got right to the point. She and the president had been very impressed by Amos’ culinary skills. The senior White House chef was retiring and they would like Amos to be his replacement. The White House had done their home work. They knew that Lilly was perusing a nursing degree and could guarantee her acceptance into a very good nursing school in the DC area, with a full ride. They were prepared to improve upon Amos’ compensation package by over 10%. It was pointed out that White House domestic staff does not usually change with the residents. This was a career position and quite a plumb for someone as early in his career as Amos.
Still, the offer would have been a non-starter had Amos not had a sister and two brothers in the DC and Northern Virginia area. Amos was all about family.
Amos and Lilly had accepted the offer and now he was on his third president. He considered this one the biggest mistake that had ever held the office; Amos knew his history, so that was saying a lot. Especially painful was the fact that Amos felt the man was embarrassing all black Americans. As near as Amos could tell he was a straight up Marxist, masquerading as a moderate socialist. He had forced a single payer medical care system through the congress, destroying the best health care system in the world. He had destroyed the US economy, and just when relief seemed in sight, he suspended elections and was showing no signs of stepping down. This guy was so oily you could wring him out, add some lye and make soap!
Carl and Iris Reed, Amos’ sister and brother in law lived in Reston Virginia with their three children. Both were civilian employees at the Pentagon. Amos and Lilly had not been blessed with children. Carl and Iris’ daughter Shawna was the apple of Amos’ eye.
It does not take a village to raise a child; what it takes is a family, and extended family is very helpful. When a young person finds themselves in such an embarrassing or shameful predicament that they can’t bear to tell their parents, they need an aunt, an uncle, or a grandparent they can go to. Shawna went to her aunt Lilly.
The Ellis’ and Reeds were solid, conservative, god fearing, black families. They raised their children to do the right thing because it was right, not out of fear of punishment or reprisal. Shawna loved her family, she wanted to make them proud, not cause them pain. She had been able to do that most of her life, with hard work and diligence. But everyone makes mistakes. The calm mater-of-fact way first her aunt Lilly and then her uncle Amos handled the news about the baby gave Shawna courage to talk to her folks about it.
Shawna, Darnel, and their respective families agreed that the teenagers were not ready to strike out on their own with a new baby. Something that might have been matter of fact two generations earlier. Shawna would stay with her parents, continue her studies, and have the baby. Darnel and his family would help with financial support, and everyone would see where the whole situation would go when the couple got older and a bit more mature.
Shawna’s parents both being employed at the Pentagon, her uncle being a chef at the white house, and her aunt being a nurse at Bethesda, the family was somewhat insulated from the hardships and shortages plaguing the bulk of the people. One thing they were not insulated from was Americare.
When Shawna presented at the clinic that was the official portal through which she was to access America’s new health care system she was told that although there was a waiting list she should not worry as she would be able to have the abortion before the end of the first trimester. Shawna told the clinician that he did not understand, she fully intended to have her baby. The clinician told her that they should schedule the abortion anyway in case she changed her mind so she could be moving up the list. It could always be canceled later. He also told her that, sense hers was not the expected default choice of an unwed teen mother, her case would have to be reviewed by a Medical Treatment Review Board; just a formality. She was given a stack of forms to fill out, through which she was supposed to be able to have her wishes heard by the board. She was uncomfortable with the whole process to say the least.
She pestered the clinic to start the appropriate prenatal care her aunt Lilly was telling her she should have. The clinic just said they could not start any course of treatment until it had been prescribed by the board. The next time she went to the clinic she was told that the board’s recommendation was that the best outcome for all concerned would be accomplished by aborting the fetus. When she demanded an appeal she was told that the present time period for an appeal to be heard was just over one year. Her scheduled abortion date was less than a week away.
Shawna was hysterical, but she was very clear on one thing, she would birth this baby. The family got her calmed down. They would look after their own. Her aunt Lilly was an RN, and while not a prenatal specialist, could read up and ask questions of her collogues. Her grandmother was a midwife and would have as much input as the dilapidated state of the US mail would allow. Her uncle Amos was quite calm through the whole family meeting, deadly calm, one might say.
Things went along smoothly and predictably for Shawna. Her weight gain was about normal, her blood pressure stayed in bounds. After all, women had been having babies for hundreds of thousands of years.
After a couple of false alarms her water broke. Like many first deliveries it did not seem as if it would be a quick thing. After several hours of labor Shawna’s pelvis was nicely dilated the baby’s head seemed to be in the right position and everyone was ready for a new generation to make its entrance into the world. Shawna was still holding strong, if tired, the next serious of spasms should do it. Then Lilly noticed Shawna’s left leg was swelling and looking a bit discolored.
Shawna took a breath gave a great push and Jacquelyn Mandy Reed was born!
CHAPTER 2
Many changes beguine to occur in a woman’s body when she becomes with child. One of these changes that manifests its self as the time for delivery draws near is an increase in the clotting factor of the blood. Presumably a defense against blood loss due to tearing of tissues during delivery, it is a natural and usually desirable thing. However, once in less than one percent of pregnancies it leads to a condition called deep vein thrombosis, the forming of a blood clot, usually in a leg. If not very carefully and expertly managed the clot can relocate to the lungs where it is called pulmonary embolism. In either case the condition is treated with Heparin and very close monitoring of the patient clotting factor and other parameters, by experienced specialists. Under such care the condition is rarely fatal.
Aunt Lilly had neither specialists, experience, a lab, nor Heparin at her disposal. The best she could offer was mega doses of aspirin and prayer. Apparently the lord knew that little Jacquelyn had a good family to fall back on, and needed Shawna badly elsewhere.
Amos was mad, real mad, Not the kind of mad that will go away if you sleep on it, not the kind that will start to ebb if you think on it for a week; the kind of mad that puts a brand on the soul, one that never goes away and will not even quit burning until you do something about it.
When they got home from the funeral Lilly was an emotional mess, so was Amos but his exterior was granite. Lilly was full of what if’s and; if I had onlys. When she got around to; “I should have asked Dr. Sing.” Amos stopped her;
“Dr. Sing is a good man, but no Dr. could have helped. Any Dr. would have to ask himself should I take a chance of losing my license, or maybe even my freedom to risk helping one pregnant girl who is probably going to be just fine anyway. You know the new laws. Following anything but the board prescribed plan of treatment is now considered criminal malpractice. It’s a big fine and loss of license if you’re lucky, if the patient dies it can be manslaughter or even murder! No Sir, they don’t want Drs. And patients getting together without their boards and panels in between. You know that Lilly, you know no one could help, our niece was very lucky that she had you. Now, stop beating yourself up!”
Lilly knew he was right. No medical professional would risk the draconian penalties just to monitor a normal pregnancy, accept maybe family, and family could probably do it without being discovered. And by the time they knew Shawna was in real trouble it was too late.
Amos stared at a pencil on the night stand for half a minute; “Look, Lilly, I want you to go into the hospital tomorrow, take my pickup, and tell your boss that you’re sister is not handling things very well and you are going to take a two week leave of absence to help her get it together, don’t take no for an answer, even if they fire you. Then stop and get a good quality canvas tarp, big enough to cover the pickup, loaded. When you get home gather up all the food supplies and camping gear you can find, leave what needs refrigeration, pull the truck into the garage and load it all up.”
A deep frown line spread across Lilly’s forehead and another appeared between her right eyebrow and the bridge of her nose; “What are you going to do Amos?”
Amos; “It’s better if you don’t know Lil. That way you’re not responsible, not part of it.”
Lilly; “But Amos, we’re in it all together. At least that’s what I signed on for.”
Amos; “I’m goin’ to do what I shoulda done a long time ago, something maybe I’m one o’ the few can do. It took a right smart slap upside the head ta make me see it. I’m gonna pick up a dog turd and pitch it in the dumpster, but I ain’t lettin’ you touch it.
The next day Amos went in to work before daylight as usual. Everything went smoothly.
When he got home he checked the load in the truck and tied down the tarp. Lilly, with this mystery husband she now had to deal with right after the grief of losing her niece had a stomach full of serpents tied in knots, but she knew she had picked a man who could be driven to a singleness of purpose even before she married him, this was part of the deal and she would hang tough.
In the morning Amos shut off the alarm rolled over and gave his wife a hug that she would not forget, that was the point. Then he let himself entertain for the tiniest of instants forgetting the whole thing and telling her to unload the truck. But it could not be, he knew it could not be, he had taken an oath and Amos Ellis kept his word.
He took his model 29 out of the nightstand drawer and handed it to Lilly. He then gathered up two boxes of hollow point ammo. He told Lilly to keep it and the ammo close to hand during her journey. Lilly pointed out rather irritatedly that he had not yet told her where they were going.
Amos replied; “We aren’t going anywhere. You are going to look up your uncle Cecil in Hyden.”
Lilly; “Hyden! That’s in Kentucky! It’s not even in a pacified area!”
Amos; “exactly”
Lilly; “And what Am I supposed to do in Hyden?”
Amos; “Well, I hope you’ll wait for me. It is my hope that unless you find out for sure that I’ve been killed or captured you would wait at least five years before you move on so to speak.”
The way he looked at her she knew what that meant. “If you have to relocate before that for some reason, and you still want me, leave word with family or friends in the area. I’ll find you if you can be found.”
Lilly, really frightened now; “You don’t expect to survive this……., this…….., task, you’ve set for yourself do you!”
Amos, quietly; “No”
Lilly; “Well, I’ll not have it; I’ll not have any of it!" You have responsibilities Amos Ellis!”
Amos; “Lilly? Would you want to live with a man who turned his back on his sacred oath?”
Lilly; “What about your oath to me Amos?”
Amos; “That is till death do us part; and I intend to keep it. Look, it’s tearing me apart for us to be bickering right now. I’ve never wanted anything in my life more than I want your love and support in this thing.”
Lilly; “This thing? I don’t even know what ‘this thing’ is!”
He knew Lilly was right. How could she be asked to support a thing that could, probably would, cost her her husband, her life as she knew it, make her a fugitive?
Amos; “Lilly, who killed Shawna?”
Lilly looked shocked and confused. Where was this going?
Lilly, in exasperation; “Amos, the system killed Shawna.”
Amos; “that’s too easy, too convenient. Who created the system?”
He could see the light come on; “You can’t, you’ll never get away with it!”
Amos; “I don’t intend to get away with it, that’s why you are going to Hyden. You should be relatively safe there and if I make it, I’ll come for you. Will you promise me to wait five years unless you know, for sure?”
She embraced him and thrust her face into his chest sobbing; “I’ll wait, I’ll wait fifty!”
They cried in each other’s arms for a while, then he helped Lilly put her 20 Ga. pump quail gun and a couple of boxes of buckshot and some birdshot and slugs behind the seat in the truck. He told her if she ran into any trouble while she was still in the pacified area to call. If he did not hear from her before noon he would consider her to have made it away free. Phone service to the unspecified areas was cut off. They pulled out at the same time after a long last kiss. She in the truck and he on his motorcycle. It was almost four in the morning. They left her old VW in the garage.
The carving set was from just the right period to strike Amos’ fancy. The pummel and guard sere sterling silver as was the entire fork accept the stag horn grip. The knife also had a stag horn grip and it had a carbon steel blade. Carbon steel, it was so easy to sharpen and would take such a fine edge. The set was one of Amos’ favorites, so no one really took note that he had spent every spare minute that day sharpening it. Nor did they notice how he put a fine edge on the first three inches of the back side of the blade; strange treatment for a carving knife. The blade was about 14” plenty for its designed use, and more than plenty for its intended. Funny, as Amos stropped the final ‘sharper than razor’ edge onto the carving knife, he couldn’t see the sterling silver and stag, what he saw was the oak handle and copper rivets of the old pig sticker he had grown up using on the farm.
Amos knew that with a very sharp knife, and someone who knew how to use it, the process was almost painless. He had seen stuck hogs continue munching their mash until their eyes glazed over and they just lay down as if going to sleep. Amos was not a cruel man, but the nation had a disease and he unfortunately was in a position to be the antibiotic.
CHAPTER 3
Lilly got onto Interstate 66 Going west, in a little over an hour she was merging onto 81 south. By 8 in the morning she was approaching Roanoke and its morning traffic, much lighter now than when most folks were working and could actually afford gasoline. She noticed several motorized bicycles, some purpose built some jerry rigged with what the owner could get, riding on the shoulders. Highly illegal of course, but no one seemed to be enforcing that particular rule.
She minded her P’s and Q’s, the last thing she needed was a traffic stop. By 11 AM she was approaching the eastern side of Atkins. She got off the interstate onto the Lee highway that goes through the center of town. This would be the last good road she would see for some time. Rumor had it that the government had a checkpoint set up just west of Marion about ten miles up the interstate. She wanted nothing to do with that.
The government checkpoints were not that big a deal if you had nothing. They were at this stage mostly to prevent supplies, mainly food, from leaking into loyalist America and people, mouths to feed, leaking into federally controlled America. At least that was the theory. In reality no one but the true believers really thought that anyone from loyalist America wanted to get to the federal areas or that there was more food to be had in the federal areas. What the checkpoints really did was prevent anything desirable from moving over the interstate into loyalist America. Lilly had food and desirable assets.
The feds did not have the manpower to patrol every dirt road and jeep trail that crossed the quasi boundaries with loyalist America, they didn’t even try, and that was general knowledge. Consequently, anything that could move by pickup Jeep or quad moved freely, if somewhat awkwardly between the areas. That was a good thing, because there were some things, maybe not necessary, but desirable things that were not produced on the North American cotenant. Loyalist America had not one sea port.
Lilly pulled into a gas station and topped off both tanks of the truck. It cost twelve hundred dollars cash, plus two silver dimes for the privilege of going over the ten gallon government limit. She then offered a real nickel for the use of the phone. The attendant told her the going rate was three pre 82 real copper pennies.
She dialed the White House employee’s number. She gave her name to the operator and asked to speak with Amos.
Amos; “Hello”
Lilly; “Hello, dear. Just thought I’d let you know I’m at the Atkins’ place. When I leave here I intend to head straight to Uncle’s house because I don’t want to deal with Marion, she can be such a pain. I’m having dinner with my uncle so you shouldn’t wait for me. I love you.”
Amos; “Love you too babe. Thanks for letting me know. BY.”
The click rang through Lilly’s skull like a cannon.
Lilly followed the Lee Highway to County Rd. 622 she turned right and followed it around until it became Bear Creek Rd. She followed it over a ridge and switchbacked down the other side into an area of lower rolling hills with crops contoured into the valleys and up the slops. After passing a wide spot in the road called Nebo she passed through a short patch of woods and found County Rd. 620, she turned left. A few miles of woods fields and creek bottoms brought her to the Blue Grass Trail. She followed that for miles bearing roughly west by southwest. After that it was a maze of back roads she had charted out on her maps. At the intersection of a dirt road and a gravel road just a little across the Kentucky border she was flagged down by a man wearing bib overalls and a Santa Clause beard and carrying a Mini-14.
“How’s it goin’ Uncle Jessie?” She chuckled.
And then; “sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.”
Uncle Jessie says; “Aw, it’s OK, happens all the time. As long as it’s in the spirit of good Christian humor, I don’t mind. Welcome to constitutional Kentucky young lady.”
Lilly; “Thank you, Mr……..”
Uncle Jessie; “Parker, Thaddeus Parker, you can call me Thad.”
Lilly; “I’m Lillian Ellis. I generally go by Lilly. What can I do for ya?”
Thad; “Well, not much, us folks here on the edges like to keep track just in case them Feds decide they can sneak up on us. But, if you’v a mind, you kin tell me whatcha got and where yer goin an’ I might be able ta give ya some pointers that’ll hep ya get there with it.”
Lilly could see no reason not to tell the man what he wanted to know. If things went sideways it would be settled with her model 29 and whatever firepower the other side had hidden in the bushes. Uncle Jessie would be the first to go.
Lilly; “Camping gear, household goods, and food mostly. I’m on my way to visit my uncle in Hyden.”
Thad; “well, with a truck loaded like this I’d stay away from the good roads. Them feds has taken ta puttin’ ta gether convoys o’ them big black SUV’s an barrelin’ in on the interstate. Anybody they kin spot and overwhelm, they do it an then run back out again. The boys what lives close ta the big highways is tryin’ ta figer out how ta put a stop to it, but fer now, best run the back roads if ya got aneythin’ worth stealin’.”
Lilly; “Thanks for the tip.”
Thad; If ya got a map I kin show ya the best way ta get ta Hyden right now.”
Lilly produced her map and marked out the rout as directed. She wondered as she pulled away if she was being coaxed into a trap. She decided to let her gut tell her which route to take.
It was nearing four the next morning before Lilly finally turned into Uncle Cecil’s quarter mile long driveway. She drove in until she was out of sight of the road, she turned off the lights and ignition, made sure the doors were locked, leaned over on the seat and pulled a long coat up over her shoulders. It had been over 24 hours sense she had slept.
Lunch was just starting when Amos got the call from Lilly, but Amos was a chef, not a server, his lunch duties, other than general supervision were done. The White House kitchen ran very smoothly, supervision was not usually required. The emotions stirred by Lillie’s voice, a voice he would probably never hear again, were bitter sweet. But he treasured having had that one last talk, brief as it was it somehow reassured him that she understood what he had to do, and why. Her understanding and support was worth more than life its self.
The president made a habit of popping into the kitchen unannounced at least a couple of times a week, when his schedule would allow. He thought it made him seem more the common man, more approachable, more real. What he was actually doing was making a straight up pain of himself and irritating the help. He had not been around for a couple of days and everyone knew it was due. Amos could wait as long as necessary, but he would just as soon get it over with.
Sure enough at a quarter to three in the afternoon the sociopath from Hawaii, or Kenya, or wherever, made his appearance with the usual two secret service agents in tow. He was wearing his usual used car salesman smoothness. He addressed the whole room.
“Well, what’s for dinner?”
It was all some could do to keep from rolling their eyes. What was for dinner at the White House was a matter of public record. Besides, the day’s menu had been circulated to every office and desk in the building.
As head chef Amos was in charge of the kitchen and it was his job to entertain the boss on these tedious occasions.
“Bourbon Street prime rib Sir. One of our specialties, and we are quite proud of it! Would you like a peak?” As Amos spoke he stepped over to the front of a large stainless steel oven door and grasped the handle. A movement calculated to make it awkward to refuse the invitation. The President stepped forward and Amos opened the oven with his left hand. In his right hand virtually unnoticed by anyone was a silver mounted, stag handled, carbon steel carving knife. The president bent to look over the roast almost as if bowing from the waist, a move that had gotten him in trouble before. The lapels of his suit coat billowed out. Amos saw and carefully avoided the expensive, gold plated, pin and pencil set in the left breast pocket of his impeccably starched and pressed white shirt. Amos had spent a few hours with his old anatomy text book making sure there was nothing he had missed or forgotten, there wasn’t, people actually were very like pigs.
Amos knew which ribs he wanted to slip the blade between, he knew where the aorta was. A stab directly into the heart can be survived, a sliced aorta, very unlikely. From the instant it is severed blood stops flowing to the brain. The average human will be flatline in about seven minutes. Not much time to do anything. Amos inserted the blade less than half its length, made a quick flip of the wrist, felt the rubber hose resistance the big tough artery produced before giving way, and it was over. Amos withdrew the knife and did nothing. There was nothing left to do.
This world can seem a very bad place at times. But if we really look at it, it’s actually a fairly good place. The reason for that is that people are basically good. Basically good people can be ignorant, or misled, or mistaken enough to do bad things. People can sometimes be thoughtless, rude, and unthinkingly do dangerous or bad things. Some people are bad, careless, and selfish. But very few people are truly evil. Some are, but very few. The good outnumber the truly evil a million fold.
What Amos did not know was that there were others working to replace the sociopath.
No one in the kitchen had noticed his quick deft movements. No one but Jack Crain, one of the president’s secret service bodyguards. The president was standing with a ‘what just happened’ look on his face. A huge patch of red was saturating his shirt under his suit coat, but he was not facing anyone but Amos. Crain stepped forward and took the president by one arm put his other hand on his back and sat him down in a kitchen chair; “Mr. President you really must take care in how quickly you stand up.”
In a swift smooth motion he took the knife from Amos’ hand and slipped it unobtrusively into a sink full of water. He looked at his partner, softly and calmly saying; “Get Henderson over here; now.”
He then took Amos by the arm and escorted him into a small pantry just off the kitchen. He told Amos; “jeez, that was a dumb assed stunt. Look, I know we can buy you enough time to get out the gate; after that?” He just shrugged. “So, get on that rice rocket of yours and get the hell out of here.”
Amos was confused and bewildered: “Ah……thanks.”
CHAPTER 4
Crain; “Don’t mention it, and good luck Amos, you’ll need it!”
Amos checked out with the uniformed Secret Service agents at the gate. The first thing he did was head for a section of town where he knew there were low end car lots. He found a suitable older pickup truck that ran well. Customers with cash in the abysmal economy were at a premium, and ones with hard money were almost nonexistent. Although it was technically illegal to even own gold or silver it was in fact the preferred currency even in federal areas. He handed over the silver, the paperwork was done, he loaded his bike into the back and he was on the road. He stopped at a home improvement store for a tarp to cover the bike with and was on his way. He would either be dead or in loyalist America by the time the paperwork on the truck was processed.
It took Amos about as long as it had Lilly to make it to Uncle Cecil’s farm, by much the same route. He didn’t know how well the Secret Service had obfuscated and confused the reports of what happened in the kitchen. The official line was that the president was a closet hemophiliac and had died as a result of an accidental nose bleed caused by bumping into an oven door. Most of the kitchen staff even believed it. There had never even been a bulletin issued for Amos or his motorcycle.
The last thing Amos did before departing the federal zone for good was stuff his front door key in an envelope with a note to his neighbors, who were out of work. It said to help themselves to the food in he and Lillie’s fridge and freezer. Said that they were called away due to a family crisis and it would spoil before they got back. He dropped it in a mailbox and headed for Bear Creek Road.
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Almost a two years had passed sense the Battle of Dove Spring Pass as the president sat stupefied in a chair in the White House kitchen, his life blood filling his body cavity and saturating his finery. He wondered, as would many in days to come, what had happened to him. Three years had passed sense he had suspended elections and started enforcing executive orders, both old and new, many of which were blatantly unconstitutional, and gave him dictatorial powers. Those who had maneuvered him into power, international elitists and pseudo intellectuals, most not known to even himself, were not enjoying the desired effect. They had thought the time was right; and maybe it was; as right as it ever can be.
They had a vision; a vision of a world, controlled by themselves, the enlightened. A world with a much smaller human population. A world where there were just enough people to keep the elite in the comfort and splendor they deserved. Where they could control all events with the stroke of a pin or an utterance of the lip. A world where the gifted could pursue their interests in art, science, philosophy and not be encumbered by the less worthy. A world where they controlled the economies, and resources.
The major thing that stood in the way of the creation of that world, they thought, was one nation. One nation whose population thought it was free and would still, in all its decadence, stand up and fight for that freedom. One nation with multiple Carrier Battle Groups, and a population who, while despising war has time and again shown themselves to be excellent prosecutors of it. There was no way to destroy this nation from without. The only way was to sow the seeds of rot from within and let it collapse into its self. That sowing had been diligently proceeding for decades.
With that one nation out of the way they would shape the economy of the world and make it all the instrument of their desire. But they failed to consider some things; among them was the fact that command economies don’t work. They never work. They can’t work any more than a command ecology can work. An economy, like an ecosystem is a living, breathing, self stabilizing thing. To live safely and satisfactorily within either we must recognize that we are part of it. We can’t look at it as if from outside and devise ways to manipulate it to conform to our desires. We must realize that our proper place is within its living flow, doing what comes naturally to us and that which is in our own best interests. Otherwise either will disgorge us like an irritating parasite.
Some parts of the plan were working. World population had declined by over fifty percent over the past six years. Most of the dying, at least in the developed world, had been in urban centers. But a remarkable thing was happening there. Many of those who were once totally dependent on the system were figuring out clever ways to make it on their own. They were working at whatever they could get. They were producing useful things, providing services, growing gardens, and generally eating anything that didn’t eat them first. One of the popular new services was pet daycare, no frills just assurance that your pets would not become someone’s dinner. Many urban dwellers made their way to loyalist America to work as day labor in farm jobs that could to be done by machine, but fuel costs were so high that manual labor became competitive for some jobs again and a lot of folks would rather give a man a job if it penciled out even close.
In the federal areas there were two economies. You worked for the government or you worked on the black market. Many government workers were not paid enough to survive so had to moonlight on the black market anyway. The government was not popular. The president was not popular.
The underdeveloped world took really hard hits. In places where people were toiling sun up to sun down, and barely surviving already, whole towns, cities, and villages starved to death.
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Jack Crain ‘rendered assistance’ to the president while his partner cleared the kitchen of everyone else. Crain made sure there was plenty of blood around the president’s nose and mouth, as well as the upper part of his torso above the actual wound. Jim Henderson, their shift supervisor was on his way and a call was made to the White House medical unit.
Captain, James Klugman, MD, USN, the official White House Dr. arrived post haste, along with An RN, and two Navy medical corpsmen. Klugman was buttonholed by Henderson in the hallway just outside the kitchen, he told the rest of the medical staff to wait there unless summoned. Klugman and Henderson stepped into the kitchen.
Henderson; “Look Jim, I can’t tell you exactly what happened, but I can tell you it is not part of the plan. You are the expert but I know we can sell an accidental nosebleed to all the staff that were present. Couple that with hemophilia?”
Klugman; “What kind of trauma will we find?”
Henderson; “Stab wound upper torso, probably heart or aorta. Are your people at Bethesda solid?”
Klugman; “Should be. I will of course ride over with him and keep an eye on things.”
A helicopter was on the way to take the late president to his autopsy, the results of which had already been determined. It is a dangerous thing to insult and take for granted men who are willing to die for duty, honor, and country. Not to mention that constitution thing.
Henderson was already thinking about how he was going to handle the Vice President. He got hold of his own office and asked where the Vice President was. Oddly enough, he was actually at his official residence. Henderson set out for the Naval Observatory.
CHAPTER 5
Jonah Bighten knew who he was. Joe, like most politicians, had no problem with lying in general, but he was not stupid enough to lie to himself. He knew the game he was playing. The game had brought him wealth and comfort. You had to win a beauty pageant every two, four, or six years by looking and sounding the way your constituents wanted you to look and sound. But once you got established as a player, an incumbent, you could hire people to tell you what your constituents wanted. Experts that could scientifically identify just the right noble sounding vacuous fraises that would dupe the voters into thinking you were expressing their own views. Half a dozen people with divergent positions could hear you say the same thing and each would think you were saying exactly what they wanted to hear. You spread favors around between elections, subsidies, contracts, regulations that enhanced competitive advantages. Those favors came back in the form of campaign contributions, which in turn bought you the best political strategists, and the whole cycle began anew.
Was Joe an evil man, no? Disingenuous, yes, conniving, manipulative, dishonest, selfish, vain, yes. But Joe did not feed puppies to pythons. He would help a lost child or assist an elderly lady across a street. He really didn’t see what he was doing as all that wrong. It was the way things were done; it was how the game was played.
Of course to perpetuate this farce one had to give more than one received. Then, when the skimming you were doing for yourself was factored in? Joe was intelligent enough to know that theoretically someday the pyramid would have to collapse. But this system had been elevated to an art form by two hundred years of honing, and someone had always figured out another clever way to keep kicking the can down the road. As far as Joe was concerned the sun might burn out before the whole thing caught up to them so why not enjoy the ride?
Then he found himself in an election hitched to what he thought was just another slimy Chicago politician. But before long Joe had sensed a difference, and even before the megalomaniac had suspended elections Joe knew the man was a danger to himself and others. This guy was not kicking the can down the road; he was launching it into the abyss! Joe realized he was flying copilot for a suicide bomber! This man was out for revenge. Revenge against the country, even the world, with no thought of consequences for anyone, including himself.
Shortly after the suspension of elections Joe had been contacted by a colleague. They were not particularly close, not even of the same party. But the other man had a reputation as being a straight shooter, for whatever that’s worth in Washington. It became clear that Joe was not the only one who was gravely concerned about the course the man on Pennsylvania Avenue was charting. Many patriots in many places were feeling the need to act. To their credit the people in places that could bring real force to bear against the illegal administration understood that a coup, a revolution, or any other kind of political hostile takeover is very like a hand grenade; you had better know where you want to go with it before you set its mechanisms in motion, or it will do much more harm than good.
Joe did not fancy himself a Jefferson, a Madison, a Franklin, or even a Churchill. But he agreed to try to do the right thing when the time came. His contact was Henderson.
The new president received the senior Secret Service agent in his office at his residence; “Good evening Harry” he said extending a hand.
“Evening Joe.” Replied Henderson. Bighten had asked Henderson to call him that except when appearances had to be maintained. They were after all coconspirators.
Henderson; “I assure you that the president’s unfortunate accident was not of our making.”
Bighten; “how bad a Charley Foxtrot do we have going?”
Henderson, shrugging; “We’ll just have to play it by ear”
Bighten; “I got a call from that snake Danuels a little while ago wanting to make suggestions on how I should address the public.” Danuels had been the president’s chief of staff but had acted like the president worked for Danuels. Bighten didn’t really know exactly who Danuels really worked for.
Henderson; “What were his suggestions?”
Bighten; “Don’t really know, I just told him he was fired and to take his pack of simpering demons with him. I have a few notes down. I’m just going to let people know there is new management and stay tuned for improvements. I hope your bunch is better than today’s events would indicate at keeping folks alive.”
Henderson; “We are. And we have security doubled on your family.”
Bighten; “Thanks Harry. I’m going to remain living here for the foreseeable future so as not to pressure Barrie’s family. It’s not his kid’s fault he was a twisted Asshole.”
A senior anchor for FOX news looked into the camera; “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Momentarily we will bring you an important message from the president of the United States. We, in cooperation with our collogues from other networks and news outlets are making every attempt to make this information available to as many Americans as we possibly can. Most of you know that the state of communications in much of our country has been less than ideal in recent times. Therefore we are broadcasting via television, AM and FM radio frequencies including some armature bands, business bands, FSR and Citizens bands, as well as some military bands.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, The President of the United States!”
Jonah Bighten appeared behind an unassuming podium and in front of a gold fringed US flag. He wore a dark blue suit and a red and white striped tie:
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my duty to inform you that at approximately seventeen minutes after four Eastern Standard Time this afternoon, while being transported via helicopter to Bethesda Nava Hospital the 44th president of the United States was pronounced dead. Preliminarily the cause of death is believed to have been blood loss due to an accidental nose bleed, complicated by hemophilia.”
“I must tell you that, though I campaigned with and served with our late president, there has been, in recent months and years, an ever widening gap in our positions. I deem it imperative, that even under these most somber and unfortunate of circumstances, I must make the nation aware of my intentions. I intend to reinstate proper constitutional elections at the earliest practicable date. I personally do not intend to run for any public office in these or any subsequent elections. I intend to establish, for the purpose of achieving these and other goals, peaceful and amicable relations with the populations of the un-pacified areas, and with whatever governing systems they have seen fit to institute among themselves. Finally I declare the immediate suspension of all executive orders instituted by my predecessor! May god once again bless the United States of America!”
“Thank you, and good night”
Bighten turned to the small group of supporters and said; “I hope they give us time to make good on this.”
CHAPTER 6
Someone once said something to the effect that; “all that is required for evil to prevail is fore good men to do nothing.”
As stated previously, the mass of men are good. Good, but flawed, to one degree or another. If a good but flawed man stands up at the hour of need and firmly, and resolutely, stands between innocence and evil, it is cleansing to the soul. But a man has to come to the point of change on his own. Some would step forward, some would be left behind. But the point would turn on those who would materialize from seemingly nowhere; the good and the evil. The good who never sought the stage, who shunned the arena, who never sought recognition but only wanted to be left alone, and thought others should be left alone. Good people, who just wanted to live their lives, love their families and friends, be productive, help others, and enjoy the fruits of their labors. And the evil who were loath to have their abominable doings exposed to the light, who did not wish their power lust displayed for all to see. They preferred, in their arrogance, to not be connected to the true nature of their deeds.
But the puppet masters no longer had the useful idiot on Pennsylvania Avenue, and soon would not have many of his minions. At least one or two layers were going to have to come off of the onion, or they were going to have to come up with more useful idiots to take the places of the ones they were losing. The problem was that people were no longer willing to accept paper, not paper money or paper patriots. Many of the old games were up.
Bighten considered calling a staff meeting of all the various secretaries who administered the executive branch of the federal government. In the end he decided against it. He wanted to retain none of the slime balls. He would just send them requests for their resignations; it is customary, with any change in administrations for all the top secretaries and staffers to tender their resignations, and he would give them 48 hours to do so. Then, if not offered, he would request them. Then he would just summarily fire them.
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All across the country the broadcast had been heard on short wave. It had also been heard and recorded by many local radio stations on the fringes of Loyal America. Most local stations, somewhat suspicious of the Federals, only broadcast the message to their listeners after their staffs played back, digested and considered its content. The local station that covered their area was only on the air from 5AM to 9PM Pacific Time, to conserve fuel, and was close to shutting down when the message came through. They announced that there was a possible significant news event that needed confirming and that they would extend their broadcast time by one half hour.
After airing a disclaimer that the information on the recording could not be independently confirmed, the recording was aired. Almost immediately afterward the alert net of Co. “C” of the California militia, who had assumed responsibility for securing the Trap River Valley and the approaches thereto, was buzzing. Patrols and checkpoints were instructed to go on heightened alert, in case this was a ploy by the Feds, but at the same time try to avoid, if possible, any engagement with any Federal entity, in case it was real. Much the same was happening throughout Loyalist America.
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The morning after the president’s unfortunate accident Joe Bighten had called the man who had originally contacted him after the suspension of elections. The man agreed to meet for lunch. He was George Church, ten term congressman from Missouri and Speaker of the US House of Representatives. The two old scoundrels and adversaries talked straighter than they ever had to each other for over three hours. In the end they found common ground on an astonishing number of things.
The first was that it was not yet time to give up on the American experiment in freedom, enterprise, and free enterprise. Another was that if things were not set right, and soon, America would no longer be able to defend herself as a nation. Another, that there was no way the major American political parties would survive to be major forces in anything, no matter what they did. And that personally, it was time for them to go, but they had a duty to set the nation on at least a possible course to salvation in the process. There were many, many more, but those were major.
Church as Speaker of the house was next in line of succession to the president sense there was not a sitting vice president, Bighten told Church that he had every confidence that he would do the right thing but that he was not so sure of the president pro tempore of the Senate, the next in line. He therefore sought Church’s council in the matter of picking a new vice president. The next few months were going to be crucial in the future of America and the world.
In the roughly decade and a half between the UN disaster at Dove Spring Pass and the short but powerful explanation that Mrs. Linda, Joann, (Reader) Stiff made to her 7th graders, profound changes began to evolve.
The French had fielded two rifle platoons and a mortar squad that day, 96 men in all. Of those they suffered 43 killed and 20 wounded. It made waves. After all, they had signed on to keep the peace, not fight a war. UN commanders became very averse to risking their men in hording enforcement. Countries with problems of their own at home recognized that this was not going to be the gravy train they had hoped for. They started recalling their troops.
The US government, though not calling its self such; in fact almost comically avoiding the term, was nearly as socialist as they come. The man on Pennsylvania Avenue had suspended elections due to the national emergency even before the battle. Now he found himself administering an enterprise which kept its self in power by handing out cookies, but without a functioning bakery. The UN forces had been the only real source of loot to redistribute. His Volunteers In Service To America (VISTA), and a couple of his other volunteer brown shirt organizations, were trying but were woefully incompetent, and were hated even more than the blue hats. Though more basically competent than the volunteer organizations, the FBI, BATF, DEA, DHS and the US Marshal service were not much more successful. When they did make a successful raid, they usually found enough to supply a family, when they needed enough to supply a city.
You can only suck so much blood before the host either finds a cure or dies. If every time a person produces a surplus beyond what is needed to keep body and soul together, you take some of it; if you only take a little, he will usually accept it rather than fight you. If you take too much he will start resisting you and hiding it if he can. If you take it all he will fight you, and burn his own wheat field, if he has to, to keep you from getting it. The administration reached that point. Still, those in power cling tenaciously to it, even after the point where it would better serve their continued longevity to let go.
His inability to produce the largess that was not only promised but sorely needed buy millions, who had for generations been conditioned to believe that all that was required to receive was to need, was greatly damaging his popularity. Only the hard core true believers were still with him. When a system is demonstrably failing, and has been for some time, the remaining true believers are generally not the sharpest tools in the shed. The administration was in a death spiral that the best and brightest would have trouble saving, but its best and brightest had abandoned ship long ago.
Other socialist governments, which were the overwhelming majority, weather they called themselves that or not, were suffering much the same fate to greater and lesser degrees. The whole world was in the grip of a depression that made the 1930’s look prosperous. The world’s wealthier nations who had been propping up teetering states around the globe were just plain broke themselves.
Even if there was money, few would accept it. Barter and hard currency were how things usually got done. The dollar was down to about seven cents of its 2008 value. Prices were out the roof, but most wages were stagnant and pensions and entitlements had not risen to any meaningful extent. People in the cities were dying of hunger, in droves. Those in rural areas were faring better but only a little. If you had something to trade, even if it was only a useful skill or simple labor, food could be had.
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Amos Jacob Ellis, was born in 1955, the son of a black sharecropper. He lived through the period of the big news making civil rights demonstrations, but participated little. For one thing his daddy had always told him if he went looking for trouble he would probably find it. For another, he had no great hatred for his country or its white citizens. He knew there were things that needed changing; he just seemed to be more patient than most of the zealots the cause attracted. Maybe it was because he believed in judging everyone on his own merits, and most all the white folks he knew were decent people and treated him reasonably fairly. Many he didn’t know but just sort of ran into were pretty uppity, but he just avoided them and did not judge his friends by their standard. Amos never was a very political guy. But it was a mistake to mess with him or his.
Amos was a good student. After high school he decided to get himself a job and a better education. He enrolled in a community college and took jobs flipping burgers, delivering, pizzas, stocking shelves, or sweeping floors. Anything he could do at night, so he could go to school in the daytime.
His Mom wanted him to be a doctor; don’t all moms? So he took a beginning anatomy class. He learned that humans were not all that different from pigs. The other big lesson taken from his first semester was that if you wanted to eat well, on a limited income, you had to cook it yourself. He discovered that he was good at it and really enjoyed cooking. He also discovered he had a real hard time staying disciplined at his studies. He hadn’t really messed up his grades, yet. But he could see it coming. There was just so much to distract a young man out in the big wide world, like girls.
He talked things over with his dad and his father suggested a hitch in the service. He would be a little older when he got out, a little more settled, and the GI bill money couldn’t hurt. Amos joined the US Air Force. The Viet Nam war was just over and they no longer had the flood of qualified recruits knocking down their doors to avoid the draft. The recruiter told him he scored high enough to go into just about any field the AF had available. Amos wanted to be a cook. The recruiter could not believe it!
Amos soon learned that an air force cook had as much in common with a chef as a surgeon has with a butcher. He hated some of the things he had to do, but the off hours were fun and he did learn a lot about cooking in volume. And he did grow up and settle down a bit.
When Amos got out he took his GI bill education money and enrolled in one of the better chef schools in the world. He loved it, and as usually happens when one does what they love, he excelled at it. Of course it didn’t hurt that Amos was smart also, in a down home sort of way. He graduated at the top of his class.
The school Amos attended was world class and had no problem placing their students. He soon found himself working at one of the pricier San Francisco dinner spots. He began to accrue a reputation as well as promotions and better compensation. He was definitely no longer a mess cook.
He was contacted by a famous Bourbon Street establishment and offered a position. The compensation package was an improvement over what he was then getting, but the real attraction for Amos was that he would be much closer to his parents and his native Mississippi. Amos was all about family and not only did he have no family on the west coast, he really didn’t fit into the Bay Area lifestyle at all. Amos wanted to go home.
The restaurant on Bourbon Street was where he met Lilly. Lilly was a server at the establishment. She was working her way through nursing school. Lilly was warm and personable and after their first date Amos knew he was interested. After six months and a couple visits to her daddy’s farm he knew she could split wood, knock a quail out of the air, bait and set a crawdad trap, clean a fish, and milk a cow. After all that she would clean up like a princess for a night on the town. Lilly would defiantly do to run the river with.
Six months after he asked her they were married.
Six months after that he got a call from his dad. Seemed some guys with mustaches and sun glasses had shown up in town asking about him. They had talked to a couple of his old teachers and his high school football coach. Didn’t seem to willing to reveal much about themselves or why they were asking though. Then he got a call from the head master of the chef’s collage, much along the same lines. He told everyone he had no idea what it was about and that he was not in any sort of trouble that he knew of.
Then a few of the other employees said they had gotten similar calls. Soon after that the owner announced to the entire staff that they were going to be graced by a visit from the President of The United States. He would be having dinner with them three days hence.
The Secret Service showed up early on the day of the dinner and went over the place with a fine toothed comb. They searched for who knows what with electronic gizmos. They spoke to the whole staff about what was and mostly what was not acceptable when the president was in the building.
The president had lobster which Amos thought a bit unimaginative for a man who was supposed to be a southerner dining in New Orleans. The president asked to speak with the chef and Amos complied just as he would for any customer. The president graciously praised the dinner and Amos thanked him sincerely. Lilly, who had been chosen, due to her previously demonstrated ability to keep a clear head, and grace under pressure, to be their server, thought the whole thing was just the cat’s pajamas and talked about it for a couple of days. Then the whole thing passed away, or they thought it had.
About a month later a nice young woman presented herself at the Ellis’s front door at a little past nine in the morning, about two hours before either of them were scheduled to come in to the restaurant. She identified herself as Alisha Crain, personal assistant to the first lady. She was, of course, asked in. She declined the proffered coffee, juice, and soda. She explained that she was there on behalf of her employer, the first lady, who would very much like to speak with them both. She was inviting them to lunch at the White House in ten days. Alisha had for them two round trip tickets to Washington DC., reservations for two nights at one of the best hotels, and a check for six thousand dollars expense money. This was all; they were assured from the first lady’s personal funds and not being paid by the taxpayers. If for any reason the date was not acceptable to them it could be changed.
When you are an American and you are asked to come to the White House, you pretty much need to go, even if you don’t like the people living there. While Amos and Lilly were not of the president’s party and they thought his personal conduct rather scandalous, and a national embarrassment. And although they thought his wife a bit of a shrew, their country, in some form or other seemed to be calling. Despite their inquiries Alisha let it be known that no farther details would be forthcoming until they came to lunch. So, they agreed and Alisha left her personal contact information and said she would be in touch to handle farther arrangements. What the hay, if nothing else they could see the sights of DC. On Hillarie’s tab!
The limo arrived at the hotel at twelve noon. Alisha road in the back with the Ellis’s. The conversation was pleasant small talk. They rolled through the gate at the White House like they were expected, which they were. Alisha introduced them to the first lady and after the obligatory inquiries into the suitability of their flight and accommodations they were shown to a small patio area, where lunch was served. A simple lunch of French onion soup and turkey sandwiches.
The first lady got right to the point. She and the president had been very impressed by Amos’ culinary skills. The senior White House chef was retiring and they would like Amos to be his replacement. The White House had done their home work. They knew that Lilly was perusing a nursing degree and could guarantee her acceptance into a very good nursing school in the DC area, with a full ride. They were prepared to improve upon Amos’ compensation package by over 10%. It was pointed out that White House domestic staff does not usually change with the residents. This was a career position and quite a plumb for someone as early in his career as Amos.
Still, the offer would have been a non-starter had Amos not had a sister and two brothers in the DC and Northern Virginia area. Amos was all about family.
Amos and Lilly had accepted the offer and now he was on his third president. He considered this one the biggest mistake that had ever held the office; Amos knew his history, so that was saying a lot. Especially painful was the fact that Amos felt the man was embarrassing all black Americans. As near as Amos could tell he was a straight up Marxist, masquerading as a moderate socialist. He had forced a single payer medical care system through the congress, destroying the best health care system in the world. He had destroyed the US economy, and just when relief seemed in sight, he suspended elections and was showing no signs of stepping down. This guy was so oily you could wring him out, add some lye and make soap!
Carl and Iris Reed, Amos’ sister and brother in law lived in Reston Virginia with their three children. Both were civilian employees at the Pentagon. Amos and Lilly had not been blessed with children. Carl and Iris’ daughter Shawna was the apple of Amos’ eye.
It does not take a village to raise a child; what it takes is a family, and extended family is very helpful. When a young person finds themselves in such an embarrassing or shameful predicament that they can’t bear to tell their parents, they need an aunt, an uncle, or a grandparent they can go to. Shawna went to her aunt Lilly.
The Ellis’ and Reeds were solid, conservative, god fearing, black families. They raised their children to do the right thing because it was right, not out of fear of punishment or reprisal. Shawna loved her family, she wanted to make them proud, not cause them pain. She had been able to do that most of her life, with hard work and diligence. But everyone makes mistakes. The calm mater-of-fact way first her aunt Lilly and then her uncle Amos handled the news about the baby gave Shawna courage to talk to her folks about it.
Shawna, Darnel, and their respective families agreed that the teenagers were not ready to strike out on their own with a new baby. Something that might have been matter of fact two generations earlier. Shawna would stay with her parents, continue her studies, and have the baby. Darnel and his family would help with financial support, and everyone would see where the whole situation would go when the couple got older and a bit more mature.
Shawna’s parents both being employed at the Pentagon, her uncle being a chef at the white house, and her aunt being a nurse at Bethesda, the family was somewhat insulated from the hardships and shortages plaguing the bulk of the people. One thing they were not insulated from was Americare.
When Shawna presented at the clinic that was the official portal through which she was to access America’s new health care system she was told that although there was a waiting list she should not worry as she would be able to have the abortion before the end of the first trimester. Shawna told the clinician that he did not understand, she fully intended to have her baby. The clinician told her that they should schedule the abortion anyway in case she changed her mind so she could be moving up the list. It could always be canceled later. He also told her that, sense hers was not the expected default choice of an unwed teen mother, her case would have to be reviewed by a Medical Treatment Review Board; just a formality. She was given a stack of forms to fill out, through which she was supposed to be able to have her wishes heard by the board. She was uncomfortable with the whole process to say the least.
She pestered the clinic to start the appropriate prenatal care her aunt Lilly was telling her she should have. The clinic just said they could not start any course of treatment until it had been prescribed by the board. The next time she went to the clinic she was told that the board’s recommendation was that the best outcome for all concerned would be accomplished by aborting the fetus. When she demanded an appeal she was told that the present time period for an appeal to be heard was just over one year. Her scheduled abortion date was less than a week away.
Shawna was hysterical, but she was very clear on one thing, she would birth this baby. The family got her calmed down. They would look after their own. Her aunt Lilly was an RN, and while not a prenatal specialist, could read up and ask questions of her collogues. Her grandmother was a midwife and would have as much input as the dilapidated state of the US mail would allow. Her uncle Amos was quite calm through the whole family meeting, deadly calm, one might say.
Things went along smoothly and predictably for Shawna. Her weight gain was about normal, her blood pressure stayed in bounds. After all, women had been having babies for hundreds of thousands of years.
After a couple of false alarms her water broke. Like many first deliveries it did not seem as if it would be a quick thing. After several hours of labor Shawna’s pelvis was nicely dilated the baby’s head seemed to be in the right position and everyone was ready for a new generation to make its entrance into the world. Shawna was still holding strong, if tired, the next serious of spasms should do it. Then Lilly noticed Shawna’s left leg was swelling and looking a bit discolored.
Shawna took a breath gave a great push and Jacquelyn Mandy Reed was born!
CHAPTER 2
Many changes beguine to occur in a woman’s body when she becomes with child. One of these changes that manifests its self as the time for delivery draws near is an increase in the clotting factor of the blood. Presumably a defense against blood loss due to tearing of tissues during delivery, it is a natural and usually desirable thing. However, once in less than one percent of pregnancies it leads to a condition called deep vein thrombosis, the forming of a blood clot, usually in a leg. If not very carefully and expertly managed the clot can relocate to the lungs where it is called pulmonary embolism. In either case the condition is treated with Heparin and very close monitoring of the patient clotting factor and other parameters, by experienced specialists. Under such care the condition is rarely fatal.
Aunt Lilly had neither specialists, experience, a lab, nor Heparin at her disposal. The best she could offer was mega doses of aspirin and prayer. Apparently the lord knew that little Jacquelyn had a good family to fall back on, and needed Shawna badly elsewhere.
Amos was mad, real mad, Not the kind of mad that will go away if you sleep on it, not the kind that will start to ebb if you think on it for a week; the kind of mad that puts a brand on the soul, one that never goes away and will not even quit burning until you do something about it.
When they got home from the funeral Lilly was an emotional mess, so was Amos but his exterior was granite. Lilly was full of what if’s and; if I had onlys. When she got around to; “I should have asked Dr. Sing.” Amos stopped her;
“Dr. Sing is a good man, but no Dr. could have helped. Any Dr. would have to ask himself should I take a chance of losing my license, or maybe even my freedom to risk helping one pregnant girl who is probably going to be just fine anyway. You know the new laws. Following anything but the board prescribed plan of treatment is now considered criminal malpractice. It’s a big fine and loss of license if you’re lucky, if the patient dies it can be manslaughter or even murder! No Sir, they don’t want Drs. And patients getting together without their boards and panels in between. You know that Lilly, you know no one could help, our niece was very lucky that she had you. Now, stop beating yourself up!”
Lilly knew he was right. No medical professional would risk the draconian penalties just to monitor a normal pregnancy, accept maybe family, and family could probably do it without being discovered. And by the time they knew Shawna was in real trouble it was too late.
Amos stared at a pencil on the night stand for half a minute; “Look, Lilly, I want you to go into the hospital tomorrow, take my pickup, and tell your boss that you’re sister is not handling things very well and you are going to take a two week leave of absence to help her get it together, don’t take no for an answer, even if they fire you. Then stop and get a good quality canvas tarp, big enough to cover the pickup, loaded. When you get home gather up all the food supplies and camping gear you can find, leave what needs refrigeration, pull the truck into the garage and load it all up.”
A deep frown line spread across Lilly’s forehead and another appeared between her right eyebrow and the bridge of her nose; “What are you going to do Amos?”
Amos; “It’s better if you don’t know Lil. That way you’re not responsible, not part of it.”
Lilly; “But Amos, we’re in it all together. At least that’s what I signed on for.”
Amos; “I’m goin’ to do what I shoulda done a long time ago, something maybe I’m one o’ the few can do. It took a right smart slap upside the head ta make me see it. I’m gonna pick up a dog turd and pitch it in the dumpster, but I ain’t lettin’ you touch it.
The next day Amos went in to work before daylight as usual. Everything went smoothly.
When he got home he checked the load in the truck and tied down the tarp. Lilly, with this mystery husband she now had to deal with right after the grief of losing her niece had a stomach full of serpents tied in knots, but she knew she had picked a man who could be driven to a singleness of purpose even before she married him, this was part of the deal and she would hang tough.
In the morning Amos shut off the alarm rolled over and gave his wife a hug that she would not forget, that was the point. Then he let himself entertain for the tiniest of instants forgetting the whole thing and telling her to unload the truck. But it could not be, he knew it could not be, he had taken an oath and Amos Ellis kept his word.
He took his model 29 out of the nightstand drawer and handed it to Lilly. He then gathered up two boxes of hollow point ammo. He told Lilly to keep it and the ammo close to hand during her journey. Lilly pointed out rather irritatedly that he had not yet told her where they were going.
Amos replied; “We aren’t going anywhere. You are going to look up your uncle Cecil in Hyden.”
Lilly; “Hyden! That’s in Kentucky! It’s not even in a pacified area!”
Amos; “exactly”
Lilly; “And what Am I supposed to do in Hyden?”
Amos; “Well, I hope you’ll wait for me. It is my hope that unless you find out for sure that I’ve been killed or captured you would wait at least five years before you move on so to speak.”
The way he looked at her she knew what that meant. “If you have to relocate before that for some reason, and you still want me, leave word with family or friends in the area. I’ll find you if you can be found.”
Lilly, really frightened now; “You don’t expect to survive this……., this…….., task, you’ve set for yourself do you!”
Amos, quietly; “No”
Lilly; “Well, I’ll not have it; I’ll not have any of it!" You have responsibilities Amos Ellis!”
Amos; “Lilly? Would you want to live with a man who turned his back on his sacred oath?”
Lilly; “What about your oath to me Amos?”
Amos; “That is till death do us part; and I intend to keep it. Look, it’s tearing me apart for us to be bickering right now. I’ve never wanted anything in my life more than I want your love and support in this thing.”
Lilly; “This thing? I don’t even know what ‘this thing’ is!”
He knew Lilly was right. How could she be asked to support a thing that could, probably would, cost her her husband, her life as she knew it, make her a fugitive?
Amos; “Lilly, who killed Shawna?”
Lilly looked shocked and confused. Where was this going?
Lilly, in exasperation; “Amos, the system killed Shawna.”
Amos; “that’s too easy, too convenient. Who created the system?”
He could see the light come on; “You can’t, you’ll never get away with it!”
Amos; “I don’t intend to get away with it, that’s why you are going to Hyden. You should be relatively safe there and if I make it, I’ll come for you. Will you promise me to wait five years unless you know, for sure?”
She embraced him and thrust her face into his chest sobbing; “I’ll wait, I’ll wait fifty!”
They cried in each other’s arms for a while, then he helped Lilly put her 20 Ga. pump quail gun and a couple of boxes of buckshot and some birdshot and slugs behind the seat in the truck. He told her if she ran into any trouble while she was still in the pacified area to call. If he did not hear from her before noon he would consider her to have made it away free. Phone service to the unspecified areas was cut off. They pulled out at the same time after a long last kiss. She in the truck and he on his motorcycle. It was almost four in the morning. They left her old VW in the garage.
The carving set was from just the right period to strike Amos’ fancy. The pummel and guard sere sterling silver as was the entire fork accept the stag horn grip. The knife also had a stag horn grip and it had a carbon steel blade. Carbon steel, it was so easy to sharpen and would take such a fine edge. The set was one of Amos’ favorites, so no one really took note that he had spent every spare minute that day sharpening it. Nor did they notice how he put a fine edge on the first three inches of the back side of the blade; strange treatment for a carving knife. The blade was about 14” plenty for its designed use, and more than plenty for its intended. Funny, as Amos stropped the final ‘sharper than razor’ edge onto the carving knife, he couldn’t see the sterling silver and stag, what he saw was the oak handle and copper rivets of the old pig sticker he had grown up using on the farm.
Amos knew that with a very sharp knife, and someone who knew how to use it, the process was almost painless. He had seen stuck hogs continue munching their mash until their eyes glazed over and they just lay down as if going to sleep. Amos was not a cruel man, but the nation had a disease and he unfortunately was in a position to be the antibiotic.
CHAPTER 3
Lilly got onto Interstate 66 Going west, in a little over an hour she was merging onto 81 south. By 8 in the morning she was approaching Roanoke and its morning traffic, much lighter now than when most folks were working and could actually afford gasoline. She noticed several motorized bicycles, some purpose built some jerry rigged with what the owner could get, riding on the shoulders. Highly illegal of course, but no one seemed to be enforcing that particular rule.
She minded her P’s and Q’s, the last thing she needed was a traffic stop. By 11 AM she was approaching the eastern side of Atkins. She got off the interstate onto the Lee highway that goes through the center of town. This would be the last good road she would see for some time. Rumor had it that the government had a checkpoint set up just west of Marion about ten miles up the interstate. She wanted nothing to do with that.
The government checkpoints were not that big a deal if you had nothing. They were at this stage mostly to prevent supplies, mainly food, from leaking into loyalist America and people, mouths to feed, leaking into federally controlled America. At least that was the theory. In reality no one but the true believers really thought that anyone from loyalist America wanted to get to the federal areas or that there was more food to be had in the federal areas. What the checkpoints really did was prevent anything desirable from moving over the interstate into loyalist America. Lilly had food and desirable assets.
The feds did not have the manpower to patrol every dirt road and jeep trail that crossed the quasi boundaries with loyalist America, they didn’t even try, and that was general knowledge. Consequently, anything that could move by pickup Jeep or quad moved freely, if somewhat awkwardly between the areas. That was a good thing, because there were some things, maybe not necessary, but desirable things that were not produced on the North American cotenant. Loyalist America had not one sea port.
Lilly pulled into a gas station and topped off both tanks of the truck. It cost twelve hundred dollars cash, plus two silver dimes for the privilege of going over the ten gallon government limit. She then offered a real nickel for the use of the phone. The attendant told her the going rate was three pre 82 real copper pennies.
She dialed the White House employee’s number. She gave her name to the operator and asked to speak with Amos.
Amos; “Hello”
Lilly; “Hello, dear. Just thought I’d let you know I’m at the Atkins’ place. When I leave here I intend to head straight to Uncle’s house because I don’t want to deal with Marion, she can be such a pain. I’m having dinner with my uncle so you shouldn’t wait for me. I love you.”
Amos; “Love you too babe. Thanks for letting me know. BY.”
The click rang through Lilly’s skull like a cannon.
Lilly followed the Lee Highway to County Rd. 622 she turned right and followed it around until it became Bear Creek Rd. She followed it over a ridge and switchbacked down the other side into an area of lower rolling hills with crops contoured into the valleys and up the slops. After passing a wide spot in the road called Nebo she passed through a short patch of woods and found County Rd. 620, she turned left. A few miles of woods fields and creek bottoms brought her to the Blue Grass Trail. She followed that for miles bearing roughly west by southwest. After that it was a maze of back roads she had charted out on her maps. At the intersection of a dirt road and a gravel road just a little across the Kentucky border she was flagged down by a man wearing bib overalls and a Santa Clause beard and carrying a Mini-14.
“How’s it goin’ Uncle Jessie?” She chuckled.
And then; “sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.”
Uncle Jessie says; “Aw, it’s OK, happens all the time. As long as it’s in the spirit of good Christian humor, I don’t mind. Welcome to constitutional Kentucky young lady.”
Lilly; “Thank you, Mr……..”
Uncle Jessie; “Parker, Thaddeus Parker, you can call me Thad.”
Lilly; “I’m Lillian Ellis. I generally go by Lilly. What can I do for ya?”
Thad; “Well, not much, us folks here on the edges like to keep track just in case them Feds decide they can sneak up on us. But, if you’v a mind, you kin tell me whatcha got and where yer goin an’ I might be able ta give ya some pointers that’ll hep ya get there with it.”
Lilly could see no reason not to tell the man what he wanted to know. If things went sideways it would be settled with her model 29 and whatever firepower the other side had hidden in the bushes. Uncle Jessie would be the first to go.
Lilly; “Camping gear, household goods, and food mostly. I’m on my way to visit my uncle in Hyden.”
Thad; “well, with a truck loaded like this I’d stay away from the good roads. Them feds has taken ta puttin’ ta gether convoys o’ them big black SUV’s an barrelin’ in on the interstate. Anybody they kin spot and overwhelm, they do it an then run back out again. The boys what lives close ta the big highways is tryin’ ta figer out how ta put a stop to it, but fer now, best run the back roads if ya got aneythin’ worth stealin’.”
Lilly; “Thanks for the tip.”
Thad; If ya got a map I kin show ya the best way ta get ta Hyden right now.”
Lilly produced her map and marked out the rout as directed. She wondered as she pulled away if she was being coaxed into a trap. She decided to let her gut tell her which route to take.
It was nearing four the next morning before Lilly finally turned into Uncle Cecil’s quarter mile long driveway. She drove in until she was out of sight of the road, she turned off the lights and ignition, made sure the doors were locked, leaned over on the seat and pulled a long coat up over her shoulders. It had been over 24 hours sense she had slept.
Lunch was just starting when Amos got the call from Lilly, but Amos was a chef, not a server, his lunch duties, other than general supervision were done. The White House kitchen ran very smoothly, supervision was not usually required. The emotions stirred by Lillie’s voice, a voice he would probably never hear again, were bitter sweet. But he treasured having had that one last talk, brief as it was it somehow reassured him that she understood what he had to do, and why. Her understanding and support was worth more than life its self.
The president made a habit of popping into the kitchen unannounced at least a couple of times a week, when his schedule would allow. He thought it made him seem more the common man, more approachable, more real. What he was actually doing was making a straight up pain of himself and irritating the help. He had not been around for a couple of days and everyone knew it was due. Amos could wait as long as necessary, but he would just as soon get it over with.
Sure enough at a quarter to three in the afternoon the sociopath from Hawaii, or Kenya, or wherever, made his appearance with the usual two secret service agents in tow. He was wearing his usual used car salesman smoothness. He addressed the whole room.
“Well, what’s for dinner?”
It was all some could do to keep from rolling their eyes. What was for dinner at the White House was a matter of public record. Besides, the day’s menu had been circulated to every office and desk in the building.
As head chef Amos was in charge of the kitchen and it was his job to entertain the boss on these tedious occasions.
“Bourbon Street prime rib Sir. One of our specialties, and we are quite proud of it! Would you like a peak?” As Amos spoke he stepped over to the front of a large stainless steel oven door and grasped the handle. A movement calculated to make it awkward to refuse the invitation. The President stepped forward and Amos opened the oven with his left hand. In his right hand virtually unnoticed by anyone was a silver mounted, stag handled, carbon steel carving knife. The president bent to look over the roast almost as if bowing from the waist, a move that had gotten him in trouble before. The lapels of his suit coat billowed out. Amos saw and carefully avoided the expensive, gold plated, pin and pencil set in the left breast pocket of his impeccably starched and pressed white shirt. Amos had spent a few hours with his old anatomy text book making sure there was nothing he had missed or forgotten, there wasn’t, people actually were very like pigs.
Amos knew which ribs he wanted to slip the blade between, he knew where the aorta was. A stab directly into the heart can be survived, a sliced aorta, very unlikely. From the instant it is severed blood stops flowing to the brain. The average human will be flatline in about seven minutes. Not much time to do anything. Amos inserted the blade less than half its length, made a quick flip of the wrist, felt the rubber hose resistance the big tough artery produced before giving way, and it was over. Amos withdrew the knife and did nothing. There was nothing left to do.
This world can seem a very bad place at times. But if we really look at it, it’s actually a fairly good place. The reason for that is that people are basically good. Basically good people can be ignorant, or misled, or mistaken enough to do bad things. People can sometimes be thoughtless, rude, and unthinkingly do dangerous or bad things. Some people are bad, careless, and selfish. But very few people are truly evil. Some are, but very few. The good outnumber the truly evil a million fold.
What Amos did not know was that there were others working to replace the sociopath.
No one in the kitchen had noticed his quick deft movements. No one but Jack Crain, one of the president’s secret service bodyguards. The president was standing with a ‘what just happened’ look on his face. A huge patch of red was saturating his shirt under his suit coat, but he was not facing anyone but Amos. Crain stepped forward and took the president by one arm put his other hand on his back and sat him down in a kitchen chair; “Mr. President you really must take care in how quickly you stand up.”
In a swift smooth motion he took the knife from Amos’ hand and slipped it unobtrusively into a sink full of water. He looked at his partner, softly and calmly saying; “Get Henderson over here; now.”
He then took Amos by the arm and escorted him into a small pantry just off the kitchen. He told Amos; “jeez, that was a dumb assed stunt. Look, I know we can buy you enough time to get out the gate; after that?” He just shrugged. “So, get on that rice rocket of yours and get the hell out of here.”
Amos was confused and bewildered: “Ah……thanks.”
CHAPTER 4
Crain; “Don’t mention it, and good luck Amos, you’ll need it!”
Amos checked out with the uniformed Secret Service agents at the gate. The first thing he did was head for a section of town where he knew there were low end car lots. He found a suitable older pickup truck that ran well. Customers with cash in the abysmal economy were at a premium, and ones with hard money were almost nonexistent. Although it was technically illegal to even own gold or silver it was in fact the preferred currency even in federal areas. He handed over the silver, the paperwork was done, he loaded his bike into the back and he was on the road. He stopped at a home improvement store for a tarp to cover the bike with and was on his way. He would either be dead or in loyalist America by the time the paperwork on the truck was processed.
It took Amos about as long as it had Lilly to make it to Uncle Cecil’s farm, by much the same route. He didn’t know how well the Secret Service had obfuscated and confused the reports of what happened in the kitchen. The official line was that the president was a closet hemophiliac and had died as a result of an accidental nose bleed caused by bumping into an oven door. Most of the kitchen staff even believed it. There had never even been a bulletin issued for Amos or his motorcycle.
The last thing Amos did before departing the federal zone for good was stuff his front door key in an envelope with a note to his neighbors, who were out of work. It said to help themselves to the food in he and Lillie’s fridge and freezer. Said that they were called away due to a family crisis and it would spoil before they got back. He dropped it in a mailbox and headed for Bear Creek Road.
……………………………………………………………………..
Almost a two years had passed sense the Battle of Dove Spring Pass as the president sat stupefied in a chair in the White House kitchen, his life blood filling his body cavity and saturating his finery. He wondered, as would many in days to come, what had happened to him. Three years had passed sense he had suspended elections and started enforcing executive orders, both old and new, many of which were blatantly unconstitutional, and gave him dictatorial powers. Those who had maneuvered him into power, international elitists and pseudo intellectuals, most not known to even himself, were not enjoying the desired effect. They had thought the time was right; and maybe it was; as right as it ever can be.
They had a vision; a vision of a world, controlled by themselves, the enlightened. A world with a much smaller human population. A world where there were just enough people to keep the elite in the comfort and splendor they deserved. Where they could control all events with the stroke of a pin or an utterance of the lip. A world where the gifted could pursue their interests in art, science, philosophy and not be encumbered by the less worthy. A world where they controlled the economies, and resources.
The major thing that stood in the way of the creation of that world, they thought, was one nation. One nation whose population thought it was free and would still, in all its decadence, stand up and fight for that freedom. One nation with multiple Carrier Battle Groups, and a population who, while despising war has time and again shown themselves to be excellent prosecutors of it. There was no way to destroy this nation from without. The only way was to sow the seeds of rot from within and let it collapse into its self. That sowing had been diligently proceeding for decades.
With that one nation out of the way they would shape the economy of the world and make it all the instrument of their desire. But they failed to consider some things; among them was the fact that command economies don’t work. They never work. They can’t work any more than a command ecology can work. An economy, like an ecosystem is a living, breathing, self stabilizing thing. To live safely and satisfactorily within either we must recognize that we are part of it. We can’t look at it as if from outside and devise ways to manipulate it to conform to our desires. We must realize that our proper place is within its living flow, doing what comes naturally to us and that which is in our own best interests. Otherwise either will disgorge us like an irritating parasite.
Some parts of the plan were working. World population had declined by over fifty percent over the past six years. Most of the dying, at least in the developed world, had been in urban centers. But a remarkable thing was happening there. Many of those who were once totally dependent on the system were figuring out clever ways to make it on their own. They were working at whatever they could get. They were producing useful things, providing services, growing gardens, and generally eating anything that didn’t eat them first. One of the popular new services was pet daycare, no frills just assurance that your pets would not become someone’s dinner. Many urban dwellers made their way to loyalist America to work as day labor in farm jobs that could to be done by machine, but fuel costs were so high that manual labor became competitive for some jobs again and a lot of folks would rather give a man a job if it penciled out even close.
In the federal areas there were two economies. You worked for the government or you worked on the black market. Many government workers were not paid enough to survive so had to moonlight on the black market anyway. The government was not popular. The president was not popular.
The underdeveloped world took really hard hits. In places where people were toiling sun up to sun down, and barely surviving already, whole towns, cities, and villages starved to death.
………………………………………………………………………………………..
Jack Crain ‘rendered assistance’ to the president while his partner cleared the kitchen of everyone else. Crain made sure there was plenty of blood around the president’s nose and mouth, as well as the upper part of his torso above the actual wound. Jim Henderson, their shift supervisor was on his way and a call was made to the White House medical unit.
Captain, James Klugman, MD, USN, the official White House Dr. arrived post haste, along with An RN, and two Navy medical corpsmen. Klugman was buttonholed by Henderson in the hallway just outside the kitchen, he told the rest of the medical staff to wait there unless summoned. Klugman and Henderson stepped into the kitchen.
Henderson; “Look Jim, I can’t tell you exactly what happened, but I can tell you it is not part of the plan. You are the expert but I know we can sell an accidental nosebleed to all the staff that were present. Couple that with hemophilia?”
Klugman; “What kind of trauma will we find?”
Henderson; “Stab wound upper torso, probably heart or aorta. Are your people at Bethesda solid?”
Klugman; “Should be. I will of course ride over with him and keep an eye on things.”
A helicopter was on the way to take the late president to his autopsy, the results of which had already been determined. It is a dangerous thing to insult and take for granted men who are willing to die for duty, honor, and country. Not to mention that constitution thing.
Henderson was already thinking about how he was going to handle the Vice President. He got hold of his own office and asked where the Vice President was. Oddly enough, he was actually at his official residence. Henderson set out for the Naval Observatory.
CHAPTER 5
Jonah Bighten knew who he was. Joe, like most politicians, had no problem with lying in general, but he was not stupid enough to lie to himself. He knew the game he was playing. The game had brought him wealth and comfort. You had to win a beauty pageant every two, four, or six years by looking and sounding the way your constituents wanted you to look and sound. But once you got established as a player, an incumbent, you could hire people to tell you what your constituents wanted. Experts that could scientifically identify just the right noble sounding vacuous fraises that would dupe the voters into thinking you were expressing their own views. Half a dozen people with divergent positions could hear you say the same thing and each would think you were saying exactly what they wanted to hear. You spread favors around between elections, subsidies, contracts, regulations that enhanced competitive advantages. Those favors came back in the form of campaign contributions, which in turn bought you the best political strategists, and the whole cycle began anew.
Was Joe an evil man, no? Disingenuous, yes, conniving, manipulative, dishonest, selfish, vain, yes. But Joe did not feed puppies to pythons. He would help a lost child or assist an elderly lady across a street. He really didn’t see what he was doing as all that wrong. It was the way things were done; it was how the game was played.
Of course to perpetuate this farce one had to give more than one received. Then, when the skimming you were doing for yourself was factored in? Joe was intelligent enough to know that theoretically someday the pyramid would have to collapse. But this system had been elevated to an art form by two hundred years of honing, and someone had always figured out another clever way to keep kicking the can down the road. As far as Joe was concerned the sun might burn out before the whole thing caught up to them so why not enjoy the ride?
Then he found himself in an election hitched to what he thought was just another slimy Chicago politician. But before long Joe had sensed a difference, and even before the megalomaniac had suspended elections Joe knew the man was a danger to himself and others. This guy was not kicking the can down the road; he was launching it into the abyss! Joe realized he was flying copilot for a suicide bomber! This man was out for revenge. Revenge against the country, even the world, with no thought of consequences for anyone, including himself.
Shortly after the suspension of elections Joe had been contacted by a colleague. They were not particularly close, not even of the same party. But the other man had a reputation as being a straight shooter, for whatever that’s worth in Washington. It became clear that Joe was not the only one who was gravely concerned about the course the man on Pennsylvania Avenue was charting. Many patriots in many places were feeling the need to act. To their credit the people in places that could bring real force to bear against the illegal administration understood that a coup, a revolution, or any other kind of political hostile takeover is very like a hand grenade; you had better know where you want to go with it before you set its mechanisms in motion, or it will do much more harm than good.
Joe did not fancy himself a Jefferson, a Madison, a Franklin, or even a Churchill. But he agreed to try to do the right thing when the time came. His contact was Henderson.
The new president received the senior Secret Service agent in his office at his residence; “Good evening Harry” he said extending a hand.
“Evening Joe.” Replied Henderson. Bighten had asked Henderson to call him that except when appearances had to be maintained. They were after all coconspirators.
Henderson; “I assure you that the president’s unfortunate accident was not of our making.”
Bighten; “how bad a Charley Foxtrot do we have going?”
Henderson, shrugging; “We’ll just have to play it by ear”
Bighten; “I got a call from that snake Danuels a little while ago wanting to make suggestions on how I should address the public.” Danuels had been the president’s chief of staff but had acted like the president worked for Danuels. Bighten didn’t really know exactly who Danuels really worked for.
Henderson; “What were his suggestions?”
Bighten; “Don’t really know, I just told him he was fired and to take his pack of simpering demons with him. I have a few notes down. I’m just going to let people know there is new management and stay tuned for improvements. I hope your bunch is better than today’s events would indicate at keeping folks alive.”
Henderson; “We are. And we have security doubled on your family.”
Bighten; “Thanks Harry. I’m going to remain living here for the foreseeable future so as not to pressure Barrie’s family. It’s not his kid’s fault he was a twisted Asshole.”
A senior anchor for FOX news looked into the camera; “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Momentarily we will bring you an important message from the president of the United States. We, in cooperation with our collogues from other networks and news outlets are making every attempt to make this information available to as many Americans as we possibly can. Most of you know that the state of communications in much of our country has been less than ideal in recent times. Therefore we are broadcasting via television, AM and FM radio frequencies including some armature bands, business bands, FSR and Citizens bands, as well as some military bands.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, The President of the United States!”
Jonah Bighten appeared behind an unassuming podium and in front of a gold fringed US flag. He wore a dark blue suit and a red and white striped tie:
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my duty to inform you that at approximately seventeen minutes after four Eastern Standard Time this afternoon, while being transported via helicopter to Bethesda Nava Hospital the 44th president of the United States was pronounced dead. Preliminarily the cause of death is believed to have been blood loss due to an accidental nose bleed, complicated by hemophilia.”
“I must tell you that, though I campaigned with and served with our late president, there has been, in recent months and years, an ever widening gap in our positions. I deem it imperative, that even under these most somber and unfortunate of circumstances, I must make the nation aware of my intentions. I intend to reinstate proper constitutional elections at the earliest practicable date. I personally do not intend to run for any public office in these or any subsequent elections. I intend to establish, for the purpose of achieving these and other goals, peaceful and amicable relations with the populations of the un-pacified areas, and with whatever governing systems they have seen fit to institute among themselves. Finally I declare the immediate suspension of all executive orders instituted by my predecessor! May god once again bless the United States of America!”
“Thank you, and good night”
Bighten turned to the small group of supporters and said; “I hope they give us time to make good on this.”
CHAPTER 6
Someone once said something to the effect that; “all that is required for evil to prevail is fore good men to do nothing.”
As stated previously, the mass of men are good. Good, but flawed, to one degree or another. If a good but flawed man stands up at the hour of need and firmly, and resolutely, stands between innocence and evil, it is cleansing to the soul. But a man has to come to the point of change on his own. Some would step forward, some would be left behind. But the point would turn on those who would materialize from seemingly nowhere; the good and the evil. The good who never sought the stage, who shunned the arena, who never sought recognition but only wanted to be left alone, and thought others should be left alone. Good people, who just wanted to live their lives, love their families and friends, be productive, help others, and enjoy the fruits of their labors. And the evil who were loath to have their abominable doings exposed to the light, who did not wish their power lust displayed for all to see. They preferred, in their arrogance, to not be connected to the true nature of their deeds.
But the puppet masters no longer had the useful idiot on Pennsylvania Avenue, and soon would not have many of his minions. At least one or two layers were going to have to come off of the onion, or they were going to have to come up with more useful idiots to take the places of the ones they were losing. The problem was that people were no longer willing to accept paper, not paper money or paper patriots. Many of the old games were up.
Bighten considered calling a staff meeting of all the various secretaries who administered the executive branch of the federal government. In the end he decided against it. He wanted to retain none of the slime balls. He would just send them requests for their resignations; it is customary, with any change in administrations for all the top secretaries and staffers to tender their resignations, and he would give them 48 hours to do so. Then, if not offered, he would request them. Then he would just summarily fire them.
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All across the country the broadcast had been heard on short wave. It had also been heard and recorded by many local radio stations on the fringes of Loyal America. Most local stations, somewhat suspicious of the Federals, only broadcast the message to their listeners after their staffs played back, digested and considered its content. The local station that covered their area was only on the air from 5AM to 9PM Pacific Time, to conserve fuel, and was close to shutting down when the message came through. They announced that there was a possible significant news event that needed confirming and that they would extend their broadcast time by one half hour.
After airing a disclaimer that the information on the recording could not be independently confirmed, the recording was aired. Almost immediately afterward the alert net of Co. “C” of the California militia, who had assumed responsibility for securing the Trap River Valley and the approaches thereto, was buzzing. Patrols and checkpoints were instructed to go on heightened alert, in case this was a ploy by the Feds, but at the same time try to avoid, if possible, any engagement with any Federal entity, in case it was real. Much the same was happening throughout Loyalist America.
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The morning after the president’s unfortunate accident Joe Bighten had called the man who had originally contacted him after the suspension of elections. The man agreed to meet for lunch. He was George Church, ten term congressman from Missouri and Speaker of the US House of Representatives. The two old scoundrels and adversaries talked straighter than they ever had to each other for over three hours. In the end they found common ground on an astonishing number of things.
The first was that it was not yet time to give up on the American experiment in freedom, enterprise, and free enterprise. Another was that if things were not set right, and soon, America would no longer be able to defend herself as a nation. Another, that there was no way the major American political parties would survive to be major forces in anything, no matter what they did. And that personally, it was time for them to go, but they had a duty to set the nation on at least a possible course to salvation in the process. There were many, many more, but those were major.
Church as Speaker of the house was next in line of succession to the president sense there was not a sitting vice president, Bighten told Church that he had every confidence that he would do the right thing but that he was not so sure of the president pro tempore of the Senate, the next in line. He therefore sought Church’s council in the matter of picking a new vice president. The next few months were going to be crucial in the future of America and the world.
