(A sequel to the blovel, The Day the Dollar Died”)

November 18, 2010

By John Galt

The story which follows is completely fictional. It is neither this author’s prediction nor projection for future events. Any real people depicted in this fictional work are done so only to enhance the reality of a potential outcome of America’s future.

I. December, 1 Year After the Crash

Turkey Creek, Louisiana

The signs all over town proclaimed proudly, “VOTE FOR JOSEPH ALLEN WILLIAMS FOR SHERIFF” and Mike grinned from ear to ear as he removed each sign with his photo from the telephone poles and billboards all over town. Even though he had spent months trying to find a way to contact his wife in Minnesota, the move he made after the Cotton Rebellion, gave him a chance to start over until the opportunity arose that would give him the ability to head north and see his wife again.

The new Sheriff of Turkey Creek, Louisiana needed to spend his energies focusing on what was once a sleepy little town of almost four hundred souls to now protecting and defending what had become a giant refugee center of almost six thousand people. The state government had declared this portion of the state a forbidden zone and had neither the resources nor desire to dedicate the manpower to intervene in a sparsely populated and unimportant area like this. The Federal government was no threat either as it was in worse shape than ever with the dictates of the newly created United Nations Council of Finance enforcing the repayment plans for the national debt of the United States, Great Britain, and other nations mockingly labeled the “Deadbeat Club.”

Mike knew it was only a matter of time before they came to his community but in the interim he had to expand the deputy force, insure they were trained properly, and help protect the smuggling network designed to feed those localities called “infected” by the Federals, also called  terrorist  insurgencies by the state authorities. There would be another move at some point to eradicate the Freedom Zones, but Mike wanted to build a community of trustworthy foot soldiers who were modeled after the enemies he once fought overseas in Southeast Asia to give them a fighting chance. There would be no shortage of volunteers after the deaths of so many families who surrendered to the demands of the new state, only to find out that they were expendable if they did not agree to the new programs that were being implemented.

“Joe, Joe, can you come over to the hardware store please,” Bill Ewels begged. The new sheriff nodded his head and replied in a slow somewhat fake drawl, “What’s up Bill? Why you so excited?” Mike looked up at the exhausted looking elderly man and yelled at him, “Whaddya need Bill? Do I need to bring help?” Bill waived his arms in an excited manner motioning him towards the hardware store where about fifteen people were in line outside, all of them with an aggravated look on their faces. “Sheriff, there’s two men inside with guns inside the store and they are insisting on setting their own prices and payment and, and, and they said they’d shoot me if I don’t accept ‘em,” Bill said in an exasperated voice. Mike had seen a lot and playing the role of the town sheriff was going to be tiring but a piece of cake compared to the events of the last year. “Bill step aside,” he said calmly, “I’ll go inside and reason with them.” As Mike opened the door he double clicked his microphone button then locked it into the “talk” position, so as to send signal to base to listen to the conversation and possibly send help if needed.

“Gentlemen,” Mike began, “my name is Joseph Allen Williams and I am the new sheriff in town. What seems to be the problem?” The two men who looked severely worn from weeks in the swamps looked up from behind the counter at the sheriff, slowly moving their hands towards their rifles on the counter. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We’ve got fifteen militia outside, and six former SWAT officers as my deputies around the building. Y’all don’t want to ruin this nice shop by splattering our blood everywhere now, do ya?”, Mike said in a very calm voice. “Sir, my name is Tom and we’re just here for supplies,” the older of the two started, “and we’re going to get them. That stupid shopkeeper don’t accept our U.S. Dollar cards, credit cards, or nuthin! What the hell kind of town is this sheriff?”

Mike grinned and replied, “It’s a free town. We only use real money or barter. If you snuck in here, I wouldn’t be shocked because we don’t have the manpower to cover the whole county yet, but if you don’t want to live under the yoke, this is where you go in this state.” The two men looked at each and laughed at the sheriff. Tom said, “Sir, you ain’t heard, y’all are dead. They said a disease outbreak hit this area and killed everyone. Guess you ghosts can still live here.” The other man mumbled something in an indiscernible Cajun accent which made Mike a bit nervous. “Gentlemen we accept gold, silver, food, or other barter items. Heck, we’ll trade your for your rifles if you don’t want to join the militia. But we sure ain’t going to put up with lawlessness. If you’ll give me a list of the supplies you’d like, I’ll get the old guy in here and we can start bartering.”

Tom the older gentlemen replied promptly, “Fair enough, I’m game for that.” He looked at his partner who appeared to be in his early twenties and asked him, “What about you Billy?” Billy looked up at the sheriff and said, “I got a card that says I get free food so you need to give it to me. That’s the law.” Tom shook his head and Mike was getting a little angry now as he replied, “Son, there isn’t one damned thing in this world free now. You’ll either work for it, barter for it, or get the hell out of my county. You can do it on your feet or on your back with vultures waitin’ on you. It doesn’t matter to me.” Billy understood that language and turned around to Tom, “You’re on your own, I’m going back to what’s left of my home. At least I can get some food there.”

With that little exchange Mike called out on his radio for a Jeep to escort the man out. As the four men arrived to back Mike up Billy said in a smart-ass tone of voice, “Now what big man? You’ve got the power, what ya doing to me?” Mike smiled and stared him in the eye after glancing at the rifle still sitting on the counter, “Not one damned thing, enjoy your nap.” Before the punk could react a taser hit him from his side as one of the deputies had positioned himself just in case this happened. “Take his rifle and ammunition then drive him to the county line on the east side and leave him off at 106 and I-49. He can get captured there,” Mike said. The men acknowledged the order and handcuffed Billy and gagged him after taking all of his armaments. “Don’t forget to give him a bottled water,” Mike reminded them, “because someday when he grows a brain he might realize he blew a great opportunity and I don’t’ want him to accuse us of being inhumane.”

The older man, Tom, looked at Mike in shock and said, “I doubt he’d ever work with other folks sir. I think he was a criminal in the old system. He told me that he never had worked a day in his life. I sir, want a chance to start over, that’s all I’m asking for.” Mike explained to the old man how their system of barter worked and asked him to follow him over to the sheriff’s office. As they walked over to the office he said to the old man, “Tom, we’re going to have to run a check on you and get you to our town orientation at the church. During the next week we’ll hold your rifle but give you a half ounce of gold for your deposit. You can bring it back after the check is complete. We’ll have a room set up for you at the Baptist church down the street with food in exchange for you helping with some minor chores there.” Tom nodded and thanked the sheriff as they stepped into the office and asked, “Is this old America or just a port in the storm?”

Colorado Springs, CO State Office of Economic Management District 2

Wendy quickly discovered  that being in charge of the permit department was the greatest perk filled position in government at any level. The Federal integration officer down the hall was more than happy to help her with the decision making process and the relevance of so many of the proposed projects to the new Colorado MEP (Master Economic Plan) actually made her job easier. If the proposed building plan did not meet the environmental and energy conservation master plan, then it didn’t get past stage one. By the time Wendy saw it those two issues had to be checked and then the Committee on Economic Justification would meet if Wendy felt the proposal needed further debate. To keep a project from reaching the CEJ a builder or developer would bow down to her and give her a reason to approve it immediately which usually included a lot of benefits like the Lexus hybrid that her subordinates did not enjoy.

“Ms. Listels, you’re eleven o’clock meeting is here,” the voice uttered through her phone. “Thank you Adelina, please show them in,” Wendy replied. The three men represented the General Motors Consortium of Colorado Springs which meant that they held the exclusive rights for all sales of G.M. vehicles from Trinidad to Colorado Springs up to Limon and all areas in Southeast Colorado. This was one of the heavy hitter meetings that her former boss, Candy, had warned her about. The three men sat down in her office and after the pleasantries waited in apprehension of what Wendy might say.

“Gentlemen,” she began then sighed, “I have reviewed your proposal for a new dealership and maintenance facility within the Colorado Springs city limits and must admit that while it is ambitious, there appear to be numerous design flaws which shall force me to submit this for CEJ consultation.” Two of the men obviously knew what it meant as their heads dropped and their eyes focused on the floor in front of them, but the third executive, a late fifty something tall balding man with a pot belly turned beet red and spoke in an agitated voice, “Ms. Listels, we met every requirement from the Committee as outlined in the regulatory docuмentation your office provided. We have invested over a quarter of a million dollars in this project and sent over six thousand pages to your office because of your mandatory application process with supporting docuмentation to twelve different departments. We retained six additional lawyers, two more engineers, hired the AGC (Architectural Green Consultant) as you insisted and even designed the buildings around three trees that are approximately twenty years old as the Department of Environmental Preservation insisted. Now you are telling me that  you can not approve this because of  some unstated design flaws that other bureaucrats under you and in other departments failed to advise us about?”

Wendy felt the pull of her hair in the bun as she removed her glasses, placing them on the seven inch high stack of paper which was the summary of their application sitting on her desk. The anger was building but the discipline she learned in the weekly government management class was about to be put to good use. “Mr. Allen, your submission has the following design flaws,” she began, “first your decorative proposal fails to meet the state and Federal standards as outlined in GFSR one-oh-one dash nine, seven, six, two, two, four, the letter A, backslash, ninety-nine, forty-four, subsection B as in “boy” dot twelve. Next your hazardous materials handling and storage facility violates the regulations outlined by OSHA and State Department of Ecological Aesthetics. Lastly your proposal failed to address the original question I submitted to you in October about the proportion of hybrid and electric vehicles versus polluting traditional vehicles. Per this section in your original submission,” she paused and pulled a piece of paper from the massive stack then continued, “on this page  you state that you will display the new truck and S.U.V. lines by the sidewalk and street area pads and leave the hybrids and pure electric vehicles in the showroom. This is a violation of the E.P.A. Freedom Directive where all vehicles which are Eco-friendly must have a seventy-thirty inventory ratio and are the only items allowed to be placed on the showroom floor or in positions of prominence on a dealership’s property. In other words Mr. Allen you thought you could flaunt the law by keeping your inventory in balance with a fifty percent allocation and the government would not notice. If I had approved this it would have appeared that I was condoning a direct violation of Federal law and could have lost my job.”

Mr. Allen shrunk in his chair. The berating he had just received by someone younger than his thirty-one year daughter caused him to just look up and say softly, “Yes Ma’am, I understand.” Instead of accepting his meek response Wendy’s government management training kicked into high gear, “Sir, I am the Regional Permit and Planning Manager and you can address me as Ms. Listels or by that title. Your obvious distaste for the preservation of our environment and unwillingness to read the docuмents this office and the permit requirements almost caused me to forward this to the State Department of Appropriation where you would have lost your franchise and the property to a more responsible capitalist who works with the state could have completed the application properly. I am going to give you thirty days to resubmit the entire project with design alterations and modifications to the inventory assignments or the entire submission will be invalidated. If you resubmit it before the thirty days have expired, I shall personally take this before the CEJ and act as a proponent for its passage. If you are one minute late, I shall put a one year hold on any further submissions. I hope that I’ve made myself clear gentlemen,. Thank you for your time and I shall have my assistant Adelina Jimenz escort you to the exit.”

Lillianville, Georgia

Lillian walked out of the kitchen into the living room after cleaning up after a large dinner for her guests. The National Guard Captain was quite gracious and thanked her for feeding members of the local defense force as supplies this winter were scarce since the fourteen counties in Southeast Georgia had been declared off limits by the state and Federal governments. “Miss Lillian,” the Captain began, “God Bless you for everything you’ve done. If I have my way your farm will be declared the capital of this area some day.” She looked more tired than ever and started to clean her glasses on a greasy apron as she spoke softly, “Son, thank you for taking care of us who still believe. Each day here is a blessing for all of us and you are preserving it.” The Captain walked out the door and each of the twelve soldiers who were with him hugged Lillian on the way out. For her, that was reward enough.

As the last Humvee drove off the farm, her son-in-law locked the gate and gazed at his Mom in the fading light. The dogs were yapping away at the cows in the back forty and the skies were quiet as if nothing had changed since that eventful night Tom ran through the aisles grabbing everything he could to try to survive the coming storm. Tom walked back to the porch, looked at the tired old woman and gave her a huge hug. “Mama Lillian,” Tom said, “your heart and strength really gives us all hope. I’m glad you straightened me out before I made even large mistakes trying to protect that beautiful daughter of yours. Lillian looked up at Tom above her glasses grinning from ear to ear and said, “That sugar talk ain’t gonna get you out of doing dishes. And for a city idiot, you ain’t half bad yourself son.”

Bell, FL

“Honey, wake up, you’re having the nightmares again. Quit screaming, you’ll wake up our host’s kids again!”