CW2, D.R. SMITH [little readers .TXT] 📗

Then you’ll surrender things such as your ability to say or talk about whatever you want. Then you’ll experience a transformation of what you see on TV and in theaters followed by a confiscation of all older movies and books that might spur you to remember how life once was. Then you’ll surrender your home and property because under socialistic rule… you don’t own those. Then…”

“Ok, Ok, Ok. I get the picture.” Rob interrupted. “But I don’t know…” he finished in a pondering tone.

“Think back dude. Five years ago, did you ever imagine you’d see this happening?” Shane asked. “Did you ever think you’d see a U.S. president signing an order to confiscate guns from the American public? That right there IS a Hitler-like move my friend. You wait too long to get away and you won’t be able to. And the whole open border thing is just as anti-American”

“Whatever man” Rob said in a sigh. “Look… one thing you can count on from me. I won’t tell anyone anything about what you’re doing. My lips are sealed”

“Although that’s a nice gesture, it won’t amount to anything” Shane replied. “You yourself will never know what happened to me anyway. Good luck Roberto”

“Hold on. Are you truly going through with that. Like quitting your job and bolting” and Rob’s questioned, sounding confused and yet concerned.

“Rob. I said good luck. I am damn serious about it, my friend” Shane insisted “I’ve gotta go”

“Good luck to you as well bud” Rob said.

Before his entire farewell was spoken, Rob’s voice bleeped into oblivion. Shane sat for a moment on the edge of his bed, glancing around at his room, contemplating what he could do with his house. Equity. Money. It could come in handy while roaming. A close church friend popped into his thoughts. Terry Landon, a realtor who, on several occasions, had tried to get Shane to sell his place in order to ‘downscale’ to something better suited for a ‘totally by himself’ widower. If he could get Terry to handle the sale of the house and trust him with access to one of his bank accounts, the whole thing could potentially take place without Shane having to be present. Just then, a ‘pling’ from his phone disrupted the silence of the room. Shane casually glanced at the now lit screen. A text from Lucy. This was expected.

‘Saw the news. I thought of you immediately. What are you going to do? If I know you… and I do… you won’t turn your guns and magazines over to the government’

A half smile lifted one corner of Shane’s lips.

‘You are correct. I won’t. In fact I’m sitting here right this moment trying to figure out my next move’, Shane texted back. The friendship between he and Lucy had developed into a comfortable Platonic arrangement over the past couple years. With Lucy being a few years older than Shane, he had been reluctant to allow himself to develop romantic feelings for her for fear he would end up burying another wife sometime in the ‘not-so-distant’ future. In return, she had claimed she felt similarly and that she was prepared to simply coast through what remained of her Earthly existence living on her own surrounded by family and friends. Dinners together, long nights talking, and even a weekend get-away or two had helped to occasionally shake off the dust of loneliness for the two of them. Each of their own personal issues with their individual families were discussed only with great discretion, determining just how much each wanted the other to know. Hence, this senior friendship between opposite sexes seemed maintainable. With some discernable exceptions.

At times, Shane could detect in Lucy a yearning for their relationship to move to the next level. It was not uncommon for her to openly express sadness when Shane would share plans to move away. Lucy would argue on the side of remaining where he was and would do it fervently. At times, Shane felt she had become unaware of how obvious her affection for him was being inadvertently displayed.

And then there were the good-bye’s. There had not been a single good-bye that didn’t feel as though it needed something more. A ‘take care’. No, even that was not enough. A ‘love you’ was the unspoken yet insinuated and clearly absent remark. Shane spent more than a few nights lying awake trying to picture himself attached permanently to Lucy. These speculation sessions always forcibly ended with a shake of his head and an outspoken… ‘No way. Not gonna happen’.

But even now, as she revealed in this text, he was apparently on her mind in some way, shape, or form. Simply disappearing and leaving her to defend herself was out of the question. Lucy was a Right Wing, God fearing conservative through and through and abandoning her would destroy her faith in Right Wing, God fearing men.

Pling. Incoming message.

Please do us both a favor and run by here right now. I have an idea, she messaged. For a moment after reading her last text, Shane leaned back on the comforter topped bed and glanced around the room trying to pull his thoughts together. This screwball executive order the ‘wanna-be’ president had just announced will take some time to implement, he thought. I guess taking 24 hours to listen to Lucy’s plan and better organize this escape, might prove productive.

Ok. Be over in a little bit, he typed back. Then he composed the message to his employer and hesitantly hit send.

 

CHAPTER 2A

Chapter 2A

 

 

 

 

 

Present Day

 

 

Denver, like many other major cities, had fallen early in the war. It happened so suddenly that even people who thought they were prepared for that moment, found themselves trapped within its conflict. Most were still thinking in terms of a ‘Constitutional United States’ environment. A “I can come and go as I please” mentality. But that ship had sailed… at least in the crowded urban areas… and Denver was no exception to the other major metros around the country. Those who had been allowed to ‘control’ the central locations and successfully draw the Leftist media outlets to their side, had ‘tied the hands’ or incapacitated police forces, both state and local, leaving riots and looting to run rampant. Resistance to the new way of thinking brought the Leftist fist down upon you. Anyone who attempted to leave an urban area and seek the security of the rural territories was viewed as a dissenter, a traitor. Nothing got out and virtually nothing came in… which bred a new problem.

Supplies.

Although the Leftists felt as though they had succeeded in locking down the population centers, a critical issue had arisen in recent weeks that was beginning to cripple their several strongholds. Literally no company in the world that produced a product would ship to a financially unproven customer, especially without knowing where payment for said product would originate from. Communication in and out of the Riot Zones, or RZ’s as they had been labeled by the Conservative Militia groups, was unreliable at best with sources that were unverifiable.

In addition to all of that confusion, truckers had one by one started to refuse loads to inner city regions for fear of being attacked. Even if a downtown retail business found available food, clothing, electronics, or other essential products at a distant distributor or manufacturer, few if any truck drivers would drive into what they now deemed ‘enemy territory’. Roughly two-thirds of the truckers around the nation were Right Wingers, leaving approximately 800,000 CDL A truckers nationwide to haul essential food, clothing, and other day-to-day crucial commodities from one end of the country to the other. Many of those drivers were local haulers as opposed to over-the-road, which added to the dilemma. And it was no secret that just as Right Wing Cons were afraid to enter cities, Leftist truckers were equally afraid of crossing wide open spaces where RWC Militias monitored the highways.

Hence, these all-essential and much needed products had now been depleted to an intolerable level, forcing a dangerous exodus from Leftist secured sectors. Those caught fleeing were interrogated and either returned to their homes, if found impartial… imprisoned, or in the case of completely uncooperative individuals…killed. The fortunate few who evaded capture and its correlated punishments, would ultimately find themselves wandering in wilderness areas as far from population centers as they could get.

First and most importantly, a large percentage of the people who grew up in a city had no idea how to survive in the wilderness. Harvesting food in the form of farming or hunting was to an urbanite what understanding Portuguese would be to a southern Missourian. A huge Huh? Secondly, these were Militia controlled areas and a person discovered wandering aimlessly would find their loyalty at the discernment of the Militia leaders. Are they friend or are they foe?

Despite the conflict carrying on around them, throngs of frightened citizens made valiant efforts to continue with ‘life as usual’. Showing up at work as they had done months earlier, wearing obligatory smiles and sharing mandatory greetings with customers and co-workers. Outward expressions of fear became a red flag to Antifa Guerillas who functioned as a dissenter watchdog. If you were truly a Leftist, you wouldn’t fear Leftists. Many who were unable to master their fears simply remained behind locked doors.

On this particular Monday, an early morning sun was glazing the tallest peaks of the Rocky Mountains with its yellowish glow. McKenna Rogers had just sat up on the edge of her bed having awakened to a gunshot and scream outside her apartment building. This was previously an unfamiliar sound in her neighborhood but had become commonplace in recent months. Her degree in chemical engineering along with her connections to the USGS had landed her a top-level position with an energy exploration corporation. She could easily have afforded a home in one of the finer sections of Denver proper. But Mick or Micky, as her friends called her, saw that kind of investment dripping with lost time spent on home repairs and maintenance. Growing up in an apartment had always seemed more career oriented and she had no interest in transitioning to a suburbanite regardless of her financial status. Although in recent weeks Mick had confessed to several close friends that the ‘goings on’ in the city was starting to drive her away.

Perched on the edge of her bed, she rubbed the back of her neck with one hand while the other lay flat on the precipice of the memory foam mattress. Her eyes rolled and her head began a slow back and forth shake while thoughts of the sounds outside conjured a ‘Now what?” inside her brain. The temptation to gawk out the window in order to ‘catch the action’ had long ago faded. Without being selfish about the whole thing, Mick Rogers was unable to extinguish those recurring thoughts of… Why did all of this have to happen RIGHT when I finally got my life and career on track?? She had made her mind up at the tender age of 10, that she was going to work her fingers to the bone in order to end up in a nice home, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car, and a nice family.