Shenandoah

by John Galt

January 27, 2010

February 25, 2010 5:50 P.M. Central Time, Fergus Falls, MN

After a long day of checking his truck and trailer out, insuring the fence around the property was secured and laying a little bit of Red Brand barbed wire behind a snow drift just beyond his back porch to slow down any troublemakers or snoopers, Mike was ready to sit down, enjoy some coffee with his wife and his best friend’s better half. The work was hard in sub zero temperatures and worse, the strange lights that started towards town that started to flash as the sun set made him think of the bad old days in the jungle.  The smell of dinner made Mike realize once again what it meant to be home and to be with the woman he loved.

The process of removing all of the layers of clothing took a minute or two, but after he finished in the foyer, he put the three two by fours across the door, turned on the outdoors motion activated lighting and headed into the living room to Mrs. Monckton sitting on the couch with a huge cup of coffee. “Mike, how are you doing? We could have helped you out there, ya know,” she said with that polite Minnesotan accent. Mike blushed and said, “Awww, Ma’am, that’s okay. I’ve been out in this winter for years now. It’s no big deal. Besides, I need to warn you and Sally that I’ve set up some barbed wire just beyond the porch behind the snow drift that’s about three feet high. I figure if we see any trouble, it’s going to come from the back part of the property.” Mike walked into the kitchen to see what was cooking and as he put his hands on Sally’s shoulders she said to him, “No you can not have any ham before it’s ready and I heard you about the wire. Don’t worry,  I won’t chase anyone into it unless they need to be sliced and diced like dinner tonight.” Mike snickered and spoke up after that whispering to her, “I’m the hottest ham in the house honey!” She giggled and went back to finishing up dinner as Mike grabbed a cup of coffee to settle down in the living room.

No sooner than the recliner kicked out and he was able to rest his weary feet on it, Mike’s company cell phone rang which startled everyone because there was supposedly little if any cell service yet.  “Let it go, it’s probably a crank,” Mike yelled out to his wife. The phone stopped ringing and the familiar tones of the voice mail rang out.  As Sally was finishing up dinner some twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. Mike yelled out the same thing insisting that whoever it was would have to wait until dinner was over and he turned the ringer to silent mode. Sally began to carve the ham and served up a fantastic meal with some of the bounty of their spring, serving up the home canned squash, tomatoes and okra, and his favorite, creamed corn. To top things off Mrs. Monckton made her famous biscuits for dipping in the ham gravy which everyone in the county agreed should be made a staple at every meal. The hour taken to enjoy the dinner and relax after the stress of the past four days seemed to fly by, but Mike and Sally knew deep in their heart that someone with the company just had to be trying to reach Mike desperately about that stupid load of meat.

Mike tried to dial the number back that he missed but all he heard was a recording with the annoying digital beeps stating:

“THIS IS THE FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS DIVISION OF THE DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY. YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO MAKE OUTBOUND NON-EMERGENCY CALLS AT THIS TIME. OPERATOR 10969 MIDWEST 3.”

It would repeat then hang up on him. “Guess they’ll call me back if it is that important,” he muttered allowed. While Sally and Mrs. Monckton cleaned the dishes, Mike decided to head out to his truck to see if his Qualcomm unit could get a signal. “Honey, I’m going to fire up the rig and see if I can get any kind of signal, there must be somebody in the office trying to reach me,” he yelled out to Sally.  After throwing some winter gear on, Mike put his shoulder holster on and placed his .357 in it before putting his winter parka on. As he crawled up into the cab and cranked up the truck, he noticed some bright lights, almost like spotlights, out to the west of his ranch about twenty miles away. He sighed, then as the heat finally started to take hold inside the cab, he cranked up the Qualcomm unit to see if the boot up sequence would even work considering he has not been in touch with anyone for days now, at least anyone he trusted.

<BOOT SEQUENCE UPDATE>

<VERSION UPGRADE 022410V6.92OECFCC1011.111291.3314>

<INSTALL COMPLETE>

<REBOOT SEQUENCE>

“What the heck was that all about? Why did it reboot itself after a simple firmware upgrade?,” Mike wondered out loud. After the boot process was complete the new message light at the top began to blink which meant that someone, somewhere, realized that he was still alive and that there must be some work out there somewhere. As Mike watched the scroll complete, he bent over and put his reading glasses on to make sure he was reading this information correctly:

<02.25.10 17:35 EST>

<ATTN UNIT 1024>

<MESSAGE FROM:>

<CENTRAL DISPATCH>

<MIKE-THIS IS OPER MGR FRANK LIEKIWICZ SENDING A BLANKET MESSAGE TO ALL FIELD UNITS IN THE UPPER MIDWEST>

<ALL UNITS HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED TO THE OEC FOR EMERGENCY FOOD DISTRIBUTION SERVICES>

<YOU ARE TO AWAIT ASSIGNMENT AT HOME>

<TWO AGENTS WITH IDENTIFICATION NUMBERS OF 19993 AND 39746 WILL MEET YOU AT 0500 ON 02.26.10 AT YOUR HOME>

<HOMELAND GUARD ESCORT WILL ACCOMPANY THEM AND THEY ARE ARMED FOR PROTECTION PURPOSES>

<PLEASE REPLY TO THIS MESSAGE WITH A CONFIRMATION OF UNDERSTANDING AND WE WILL TRY TO CONTACT YOU ON>

<YOUR COMPANY CELL PHONE AGAIN>

<-FRANK->

After all of this scrolling Mike was incredulous. He was assigned to work for the government even though he had no idea who the OEC was nor how they had authority to force him, as an owner operator, to work for anyone but himself. The blood pressure was building so he responded pounding out on the keyboard the following message:

<TO FRANK>

<WHO THE HELL THINKS THEY CAN FORCE ME TO WORK>

<YOU HAD BEST CALL BY 2100 TONIGHT>

<MIKE>

After pounding on the send key and getting the confirmation that the message was sent, Mike was at least reassured that the Atlanta office was not swallowed up by a black hole and there were people still working somewhere in this nation. With that brief exchange, he cranked the truck down, locked it up and walked around it to make sure the wheel locks were in place and that the equipment could not be moved without triggering enough noise to wake the dead. As he headed into the house the fourteen below temperature did not even phase him as his temper kept him warm all the way into the foyer where after stripping off his winter gear he yelled out to Sally, “You aren’t going to believe this bull these clowns in Atlanta have ordered me to do!” Sally was always pragmatic, always the typical calm, Midwest wife, and ready for this outburst catching him off guard by speaking first, “Honey, they just called you and will call back in five minutes. I told them you were securing your truck and would be back in shortly.”

Mike grunted, walked into the kitchen and made another cup of coffee and sat at the table with a legal pad, a pen and the cell phone sitting on the table.

Mike’s mind drifted off into the idea of starting to smoke again just to bide the time like he did in ‘Nam, but a promise to his wife is a promise and he decided that it would be better to just boil internally than start trouble at home. It seemed like an hour had gone by when the phone finally started to ring, but alas it was only ten minutes after his wife told him they would call back. “Hello,” a firm but hesitant truck driver said into the phone, “is this my central dispatch or the OEC, whatever that is?” The voice on the other end of the line was the Operations Manager for the company and Frank couldn’t help but laugh a little bit before responding, “Mike, I hope this is a good time to talk. Before you get all upset and demand answers, let me try to explain then you can fire away. As you could guess, this is Frank Liekiwicz from the Atlanta central dispatch office. We have had it a little rough down here with the huge riot and fires in the College Park area of town and the deployment of the Homeland and National Guards around most of the city so our situation is far different than yours and that is why the owner of the company volunteered to help the nation out in its time of need. The OEC or Office of Economic Continuity has been marshaling resources to start moving the tons of emergency food packages that have been stored throughout the country since 2003. The problem is that the entire just in time transport system is down and the railroads have been extremely unreliable due to sabotage and attacks by renegade gangs in parts of the nation. You will be paid your normal salary which will be loaded up on to your D-Card each week so Sally can go shopping and pay the bills. The owner is having me call every truck that is contracted to work for him and remind them that you need to do this for your country and to help feed the children in some of the large cities who are getting into desperate need now. We will try to get you home every two weeks and your expenses will be covered using a company D-Card for the purchase of all food and fuel as per the new government per Diem regulations. Does this make sense to you?”

Mike paused then asked, “Yes it makes perfect sense, but can I carry a sidearm. I was hijacked you know, by a fake Blackwater type group.” Frank answered back, “You’ll have to ask the OEC personnel in the morning. They will be there with a company D-Card, all roads pass and transponder, plus dispatch instruction sheets and OEC Qualcomm tracking device to plug into your communications unit and trailer.” That did not set well with Mike and his anger started to seep through in his voice, “Why the hell does the government need to track me? You know the wireless automated hours of service garbage already has me ready to quit this business.” Frank paused, then took a deep breath that Mike heard quite clearly before he started to speak slowly and carefully, “Mike, the world is upside down now. The company did not have a choice because we had a Federal license and permit to operate and they were going to place us under emergency regs anyways thus we were going to help one way or another. The only positive is that we get free fuel as a result of this fiasco to operate and can pay some of our drivers. We’re just going to truck for God and country now and pray that private industry is allowed to start operating again soon.”  Mike, still flustered after the terms presented to him snapped back, “I’ll listen to what they have to say. But if I get into some bad areas and there’s no answer on my Qualcomm or the telephone, this truck will return to my garage so fast your head will spin. I am very upset about leaving my wife alone while we have guard units all around us and the threats like your Park riots or whatever it was possibly spreading out here. If these government clowns can’t offer me guarantees of safety for my wife, we’re going to have issues.” Frank apparently had heard this all before and simply replied, “Trust me Mike, I’m at the mercy of the same people that you are. Please just hear them out. Good night sir.” With that he hung up and Mike stared at the phone showing full antenna readings but showing “NO SERVICE” in the display. He leaned back in the chair, finished up the cup of coffee and looked over at Mrs. Monckton and his wife to tell them, “Ladies, it would appear we will have guests around five in the morning. I’m heading off to bed. Please don’t shoot them without giving me a chance to hear them out first.”

February 25, 2010 6:19 P.M. Eastern Time

Tom was picking at his dinner as Sandy and her mother chattered away. He could not stand the lack of information and with the weather getting cold again, he knew that the supplies they had on hand would last a few weeks but after that, without work, without access to his safety deposit box where he stuffed it with his silver coins and his wife’s expensive jewelry, the money would not last long even with the government D-Card nonsense they endured all afternoon. “Mom, honey, don’t mind me please,” he said softly, “I’m going to take my dinner into the living room and try to stomach watching the American News Update from the government as I just have to know what we are supposed to do now. I hate being in the dark.” The two ladies paused their conversation, nodded, and immediately went back to the hen pecking as Tom called it, while he set up the television tray in the living room. The electricity was on for now and he hoped to get at least two hours of television time in tonight just to see what was happening in the rest of the world outside of the United States and how bad the fire was out by the airport.

“ANU News Summary, ” the robotic female voice bellowed from the television, “today President Obama signed two new Executive Orders making it illegal to prosecute any government aid workers operating as a part of the Getting America Back to Work Program which kicked off this morning. The other order was to raise the pay rations for all military and Homeland Guard personnel serving in the Restoring America security and protection programs plus increasing food rations for their families while they serve throughout the country helping local authorities maintain order and protecting the infrastructure. In Rogers Arkansas a group of terrorists attacked the Tyson Food distribution center killing twelve guards and stealing three truckloads of processed chicken. The equipment was recovered six hours later but only one terrorist was captured who was believed to be involved in the Little Rock incident several nights before. Lastly the large fire in Atlanta, Georgia has been extinguished which was the result of a seven forty-seven cargo plane missing the runway in bad weather, crashing into several buildings of of Main Street in the College Park section of town. Only the pilots were killed in the unfortunate incident according to Major General Alvern of the Homeland Guard North Georgia security detail.”

After that news summary Tom realized he had been chewing the same piece of meatloaf the entire time and had forgotten to swallow. He leaned over to yell out at his wife and mother-in-law but it was not necessary. Both of them were standing in the arch from the dining room, their eyes glued to the television as Tom’s were, stunned at what they were hearing. “I was going to let you know but I sort of figured you might want to hear that,” Tom continued, “this is really getting spooky. Since when and what is the Homeland Guard? Mom, have you caught anything on that radio of yours?”  Lillian looked over at him and said in a very firm voice, “Not yet, but I can guarantee you that tonight when I take the guard duty at two in the morning, my ears will be glued to it. You had best not fall asleep tonight son.” Tom shook his head and in the most serious look he could muster promised her, “Ma’am, there is no way I’ll fall asleep tonight, if ever again after hearing all that.”

February 25, 2010 6:30 P.M. Central Time, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

“Padre, come with me please,” the tall kid said with an Arkansas twang, “we’re going to process you and ship you to some quarters for the night where you will be more comfortable. The Guard does not feel it would safe to ship you back to DeWitt tonight.” Pastor Lewis was stunned. He stammered out to the young man, “Son, thank you. What happened to make that road so unsafe that we can not return to my home? Are we safe here?” The man in the black uniform looked him in the eyes and said it point blank, “Now that you’ve confessed, we can tell you the truth. The entire state south of interstate forty has been declared a F.M.D. or Federalized Military District. We have men shooting people violating curfew now due to the ambushes that have been happening here and in northeastern Louisiana. I do not want to risk you being hurt or hung as a sympathizer.”

“Thank you, I think,” the Pastor replied, “I guess I should just pray and say thanks that tonight should be peaceful as I have not slept in over twenty four hours.” The young soldier led him to a small room in a building near the edge of the camp. He pointed out the bed, the showers and bathroom areas then gave him a warning, “Do not attempt to open those windows or let any light out. You never know when a sniper is out there in the woods looking for easy prey.” This really shook up the God fearing man and he dropped immediately to his knees in prayer asking the Lord to give him strength. The young man started to walk out the door when he turned around after looking down the hallway and then shut and knelt beside the Pastor saying, “Padre, do you mind if I pray with you. I need some guidance to know if I’m doing things right by the Lord.” Lewis was stunned to hear this admission and of course told him to join him. “We both need the strength now my son, even if we do not know the path before us.”

February 26, 2010, 5:01 A.M. Mountain Time, Colorado Springs, CO

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The door rattled as if someone was hitting it with a sledge hammer and Wendy was terrified as she was used to sleeping in until eight because her job did not need her there until ten usually. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she yelled out. She was so tired, she got careless and instead of looking out the peephole she just opened the door, assuming it would be safe thanks to the curfew regulations put in place to protect the citizens. “Miss Wendy Listels I presume?” the man in the Homeland Guard uniform asked. “Uh, yes, that’s me, uh, sir. What time is it? Is there an emergency? Is my mother okay?” Wendy was getting frantic and asked again plus inquired, “and why are you here so early?” The man behind the Homeland Guard agent shined a flashlight in her face and replied, “Ma’am, my name is Sergeant Anthony Tennebaum with the Colorado Springs Police Department Adjunct Team working to prevent theft and fraud. You filed a report with the OEC last night and we are here to get your side and clear this matter now.”

“Oh, please, come in,” her face lit up as she invited them into the house, “I hope to help you fine people stop this fraud. I don’t know what the rules are but that lady on the phone last night said that liquor store owner was just plain wrong for what he did.” As the two men entered into the house, shining flashlights into all corners while keeping their hands on their sidearms, an African-American woman in her early fifties walked in behind them, holding the familiar scanner or tablet device she saw when she first got her D-Card. Wendy, being a bit of a klutz in social situations stuck her hand out to the woman and said “Hi Miss, my name is Wendy Listels, and you are?” The woman grabbed Wendy’s arm, held the laser scanner over her forearm then looked up at the Homeland Guard soldier and said to him, “Nope, she’s not one of them. This is just a civi.” She then whipped around to Wendy after putting her arm down and said to her, “I’m Angelika Franklin Jones of the OEC Enforcement division,” and as she spoke, she flipped out a badge from her purse, “and I’m here to resolve this matter with the liquor store fraud. May I have your D-Card please.”

Wendy got excited then while the two men continued to walk around the house with their flashlights but that did not matter to her. She ran to her bedroom, grabbed her purse and started to reach into when the Sergeant said in a strong voice, “Slowly Miss. We don’t know you and we don’t want to have an incident.” She noticed that he had unsnapped his holster and had his hand on the grip, ready to draw so she replied, “Yes sir, I will take my D-Card out slowly.”  She handed the card over to Ms. Jones and sat down on the couch beside her, drawing a puzzled and disgusted look from the bureaucrat. The OEC official scanned the card and in the screen a list of all transactions appeared for her to review. “Miss Listels, it says here you attempted to purchase six bottles of wine and liquor while at the store, is that correct?” Wendy looked totally confused but replied honestly, “Yes I did but….” and before she could finish a receipt of some sort printed out from the machine. “Miss Listels, with that verification, please put your thumb on the scanner’s reader,” Angelika said. Wendy did so obediently and then the ticket was torn off and handed to her. “FIVE DOLLAR FINE FOR ATTEMPTED HOARDING? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME?!?!”, Wendy screamed out. The Colorado Springs officer then switched his other hand to the Taser and said to her, “Young lady you had best calm down.”

Wendy took a deep breath, tears welling up in her eyes and asked the bureaucrat, “But what did I do wrong? I just went shopping, that’s all?” Angelika did not even hesitate in her response, “Miss Listels, if you had bothered to open up and read your instruction book, you would have seen on page 172, subsection 1801.191933, that it is illegal to create additional labor for vendors or retailers by attempting to purchase goods that are not authorized beyond the ration limits outlined by the manual and available online at the recovery website. This is your fault and we came here to just verify that you were the one that reported it and fine you for your crime which has been automatically deducted from your new Citizen’s D-Card Federal Reserve Bank Account. There’s no point in arguing because the new Administrative Judiciary will not start operations for hearings and appeals until March first.”

Wendy was very upset now and looked at this group and said, “But what about my justice. What about the illegal activities of the store owner?” Angelika looked over at the Colorado Springs Policeman and he answered her, “Miss, he was adjudicated and found guilty of not maintaining current inventory reports as required for all open vendors. He was fined as per the emergency act. There was no evidence of the owner accepting contraband coinage as you described and thus we could not proceed any further beyond the fines imposed by us against him.”

“I could just cry, wasn’t there a camera or anything?”, Wendy asked innocently. “Miss Listels, just drop the issue. He’s in enough trouble and you are also because the next time you attempt to avoid the ration requirements the fine accelerates to ten dollars per incident. The camera at his business was replaced with a new OEC Enforcement web cam so there will be no more repeats of mystery customers at his business, that is a certainty.” Wendy sighed, leaned back on her sofa and nodded like a whipped puppy dog. The agents finished their work, and left as she read the deduction from her account on the receipt for the violation. As the threesome piled into the squad car, she watched them back out and they went about two blocks down the street before turning their lights on and pulling into someone’s driveway.

Angelika and Sergeant Tennebaum grinned as they pulled into the driveway of their next subjects of investigation. The rattling of the three cases of rum in the trunk was noisy but the “arrangement” they made with the liquor store owners before the rationing began insured that they would never have to worry about their little government off the books side business with the black marketeers in Denver. At one silver dollar per bottle they knew they  would all be set to weather the economic storm as long as it was impacting the country. It was also very good for business as there were plenty of dupes like Wendy around, and they would always make their enforcement quota plus find new leads for suppliers to keep their side distribution enterprise flush with inventory for years to come.

by John Galt

January 25, 2010

February 25, 2010 1:05 P.M. Eastern Time

“This is obscene! Honey, come here and read this!”, I yelled out loud to her. I continued my rant, “This is the biggest pile I have ever seen, come here and read just the first two paragraphs of page 246! These people are trying to trap everyone but the super rich inside the borders!” My wife looked at me, exhausted and instead of just taking my word for it, grabbed the documents out of my hands. She glanced and the page and said, “Honey, quit getting upset over this crap. These people are trying to take control of our lives and just make sure when you are through reading this that we do not miss anything that can get us in trouble with the new brown shirts. It’s obvious what they are trying to do and right now, they will succeed barring a miracle.”

I thought about what she said. She was right. For the time being, the government had the guns, the goons and the bureaucrats backing them. What made matters worse for everyone concerned was the lack of supplies that most people had in their homes and the lack of cash which apparently was going to be taxed at an absurd daily rate. When I reflect back on the news before it became government television twenty-four hours a day, seven days per week, I realized that this plan was something dug out of a filing drawer and implemented when it fit someone’s schedule, be it for domestic or international political purposes. I looked back at my wife in the bedroom, booting the personal computer back up now that the power was on again and told her, “Well, tomorrow is shopping day, let’s get a long list together so we can insure we can stay in one place for a long period of time. It would appear that our ability to drive around and even do the simple things in life are about to get somewhat complicated.”

February 25, 2010 4:09 P.M. Mountain Time

Wendy was enjoying the  music blaring from her MP3 player through her car stereo as she headed home when she noticed that the liquor store several blocks from her home was open and apparently doing a brisk business. She pulled her car into the parking lot and after driving around it twice,  an elderly man pulled out which opened a parking space for her. She went inside and grabbed a basked when she noticed that the check out line had a private security guard with a shotgun near the entrance and another one near the rear. She paused for a moment and in that innocent voice of hers, she asked the guard, “Is it safe in here?” The guard, obviously tired after man hours at work looked down at her and started to snicker when he replied, “Oh sure, as far as liquor stores during Armageddon goes, it’s safer than the Academy up the road from here!”

She was not amused and uttered a brief, “harrumph” as she rolled her eyes and walked away from the guard.  Wendy made a bee line over to the wine department which was still relatively well stocked when an older man and his wife bumped into her from behind with their shopping cart full of various bottles of rum, tequila, bourbon and vodka. “Excuse us miss,” the two spoke softly and politely, “we didn’t hurt you did we?” Wendy shook her head no, then her curious nature got to her and asked the couple, “So where’s the party at? I mean, it’s nothing personal, I just can’t see what you would need with all of that liquor?” The old man grinned and crept creepily close to her head and whispered into her ear, “Miss, we’re going to survive this thing. And we know how to horse trade like the old days. We’re heading back out to the ranch as soon as we are done here.” Wendy just replied softly, “Okay, but I guess that’s a good reason to whisper.” She was more puzzled than ever but events at the cash register would leave her angry and frustrated.

After thinking about what the old man said, she grabbed six of her favorite bottles of wine and put them in her basket and then grabbed her favorite cherry flavored vodka and headed to the check out line where she sighed when she noticed that only one register was open and the elderly couple with at least fifty bottles of various sizes and flavors to be checked out. The old man started stacking all of the bottles on the counter and the cashier nodded in an odd manner and started to put the bottles in empty liquor bottle boxes filling box after box up until four full boxes were stacked up in the cart of the couple. The old man then reached into his coat pocket, handed what looked like a fist sized roll over to the man who broke it open and counted the large silver looking coins. “See ya next week, roads and weather permitting Tom,” the old man said as he walked away. Wendy quickly deduced that Tom was the owner and that there was some sort of arrangement for the purchase and with all the weird things going on, it was none of her business to ask questions.

She carefully placed all six wine bottles by the scanner and the bottle of vodka. The owner looked at Wendy and said quite firmly, “Driver’s license and D-Card please.” Wendy opened her purse and handed it over to the man and he proceeded to scan both of the cards. The owner then handed the cards back to her and spoke again, “Miss, your rations do not permit more than two bottles of alcohol to be purchased per week. You can buy any combination of two items, but that would be it per the OEC directive on rationing.” Wendy shoved her license and Dollar Card back into her purse and then glared at the owner and asked the question he knew was coming, “So how come the old guy in front of me was allowed to buy as much as he wanted? Where is his restriction? Why don’t I get treated equally and fair like he does? Who do you think you are making rules for some people and not other?”

Tom, the owner of this private liquor store had heard enough. His six foot five frame contained with fifty-five years of everything this town could throw at him leaned over, with the grizzled beard less than two inches from Wendy’s face with a reddened face and narrowed eyes he said to her, “Because he pays me with real money Miss. If you have some, you can buy whatever you want. But if you insist on using this dog-crap card to do your part for the country, then you will take what you are allowed to buy and be happy with it. If you have a problem with it, you could call the OEC but just remember now,  I have your home address and those ain’t government guards standing by the doors sweetheart. Now for your booze, choose which ones you want and do you want a paper or plastic bag?” Wendy was taken totally aback by his comments, not to mention the little bit of chewing tobacco dribble coming out of one side of his mouth. She was so embarrassed by this event and the guy behind her banged her slightly with his shopping cart and said to her, “Come on whiny, don’t start crying! Pick your booze and let’s go. Some of us want to get home before curfew lady!” Wendy pointed at the vodka and a bottle of wine, then pressed her thumb on the fingerprint scanner. Tom printed out a receipt, threw it in the bag and told Wendy “I would prefer you shop elsewhere in the future Miss.”

Wendy was trying to hold back the tears but her eyes had welled up and she nodded, put her sunglasses on and grabbed the bag with the two bottles. She hurried out to her car with one of the guards walking behind her, watching her every move and as she started the car she swore he was writing down her tag number. The roar of a jet plane overhead from the Air Force Academy startled her, but she recovered and slowly backed out of the parking space, put the car in drive and proceeded to pull out on to the highway to head home. “This is just not fair,” she thought to herself as tears streamed down her face, “and I have to tell someone to do something about this.”

When she calmed down after enjoying a glass of her wine, she grabbed the  packet from the OEC that she ignored which contained her D-Card that proudly proclaimed at the top of each page, “Office of Economic Security, Mid-Mountain Region, Denver, CO”  and she immediately looked for an index. After fumbling through dozens of pages she found the index but it was of little help as it was too confusing for her but after flipping through the front of the book,  she found the quick reference page within the table of contents.  She found the telephone number for the OEC Hot line at 1-800-OEC-HELP and started dialing on her home phone that had no dial tone. Frustrated she slammed the phone down and grabbed her cell phone which displayed a solid five bars. The automated answering system prompted her to press four for reports of retail or vendor fraud and thus began a deathly long hold time where the prompt advised her that her hold time would be “approximately  one hundred and seventeen minutes.”

After almost two hours on hold, a voice finally popped up on the line and started to speak, “Ms. Wendy Listels, D-Card Number nine, one, one, seven, three, six, six, six, four, eight, seven two, two, two, five, one?” Wendy paused for a moment, reached for her purse and grabbed the card out of her wallet to reply, “Yes, that is my number.” The voice, a gruff sounding female voice in what sounded like a boiler room full of operators in the background started again, “Are you still located at 9967 Mountain Valley Lane, Colorado Springs, CO, eight, zero, nine, zero, eight? Your physical description is listed as five foot four, one hundred thirty-six pounds, auburn hair, brown eyes and wears corrective lens for driving. Is this information correct?”

Wendy was somewhat stunned as she was reporting someone else and they wanted to know or validate information about her. Instead of arguing after this upsetting afternoon she answered, “Yes that information is still current and correct, may I ask you why you need that?” The operator then identified herself, “I am operator one two nine seven nine. You may retain this information for future use. I am setting up a report for our field office in Colorado Springs so an investigator can visit you and the place of business involved. The purchase report for today will be forwarded to the investigator from the Office of Economic Continuity Enforcement Division, the OECED, which will interview you and the vendor involved separately. Was this vendor involved a garage sale, flea market, road side stand, or one of the three charges placed on your D-Card this afternoon?” Wendy gasped at the list just read and erroneously said out loud inquisitively, “Garage sale? Uh, why is that on the list?” The operator replied, “So you tried to use your card at a garage sale that fails to collect taxes or were you using Federal Reserve Notes, uh, physical cash, for a purchase?” Wendy quickly gathered herself and answered back quickly, “Oh, no you misunderstood. I was just shocked that you said anything about a garage sale. I haven’t been to one of those in ages, it has been too cold. The incident happened at Tom Albert’s Liquors about three hours ago. I saw a man make an illegal purchase without using his card or cash.” The operator sighed, “Miss Listels, how can you be sure this was illegal? Are you sure it was not a bar owner or other buyer with legal papers allowing him to make such a purchase. And just how in the world did the buyer purchase anything without using his card or cash, that is strictly forbidden now.” The operator sounded like she had suspended belief in the call and was almost mocking Wendy’s statement. She gathered herself and spoke firmly to the operator, “Miss One Two Nine Seven Nine, I saw the person pay the owner of the store with some sort of silver coins. I could not see the coins but I watched him count them out on the counter.  He yelled at me and told me it was real money, whatever that is. I thought my dollar bills were real money?” At that point in the discussion the operator replied somewhat firmly and in a more business like manner, “One moment Miss Listels, I am going to have my supervisor join us on this call.”

The supervisor clicked into the call with the operator and she began to speak, “Miss Listels, my supervisor is on the line to validate the information and confirm that your report has some basis in fact. The OECED does not take matters like this lightly and will send an investigator out immediately to your home and the business in question as soon as curfew is terminated in the morning. If you would, please repeat what you said for the record one more time so we can begin processing the report for our investigator.” Wendy sighed, recounted everything that happened at the liquor store and was thanked by the OEC officers who then hung up. “There, I showed that jerk at the liquor store,” she thought to herself as she eagerly awaited to meet the agents in the morning so she could get her pound of flesh. The wine started to flow freely as she felt vindicated, watching the start or the nine o’clock news called America Tonight via the cable channel provided by Radio and Television America as she drifted into the night eating chips and dip and consuming her bottle of Merlot.

February 25, 2010 3:30 P.M. Central Time, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

“Prisoners, please stand up,” the voice bellowed like a military man, “and face forward, you may stop looking at the floor now. I know you are not in the military nor familiar with those procedures but if you listen to me, you will survive the processing and hopefully return to a normal life in your society. My name is Staff Sergeant Ellis Lee Franklin of the National Home Guard. Those of you who are not familiar with our units are to learn what I say this one time and one time only. We have full military regulatory authority in the streets and homes of the United States to protect the citizens and our economy from enemies foreign and domestic. We do not report to the United States military, the National Guard or Governor of this state. The Home Guard has full law enforcement authority which supersedes all local, county and state laws and regulations while a State of Emergency is in effect for your region. Due to the nature of the recent attack on the National Guard Armory in Little Rock, this state of Emergency has been extended to an unlimited period until all responsible parties are arrested and prosecuted to the fullest extent. You gentlemen are here because you are suspects in this attack from Tuesday night or suspected of providing logistical support to the terrorists we seek. You have not been charged with any crimes at this time. You will be interrogated and we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Each of you will be fed, given a medical exam and fresh clothes upon departure to either the detention facility in Helena or back to your local communities. No questions will be taken and you will speak only when spoken to. Sit down, shut up and wait until your name is called. That is all.”

The men all sat down and immediately stared at the floor, some even breaking down in tears. Pastor Lewis knew that he could not speak, preach nor attempt to comfort the men he was with at this time. With the frustration and horror of what has happened to him in just one day, he knew what to do and began to pray in silence hoping the Good Lord would comfort him in his time of stress. “Lewis, front and center!” the voice from the tent flap yelled out. He stood up, nodded, and moved towards the door. The guard put a set of leg and wrist shackles on him and said, “Sorry Padre, this is procedure. Let me know if they are too tight.” The guard then led him into another tent where a dog sniffed him down then the guard walked him into one of the airport type scanners where the other guard waved him through.

After passing through the tent where he was screened another guard wearing a solid black uniform with a weird patch that only said “HG” prodded Lewis into a building then into a room that was plain with only two wooden chairs and a desk all painted white and some very bright fluorescent lighting illuminating the room. The guard then said to the Pastor “Wait here, do not sit until instructed, your researcher will be in shortly.” At this point in time, he couldn’t hold it any longer and spoke, “Uh, sir, guard, I really have to go to the bathroom, please, I’ve been holding it for hours. I really need to go bad now sir.” The guard stopped in his tracks, paused and grabbed the Pastor by the neck of his shirt and pulled him down the hallway to a bathroom where he unlocked the leg shackles and looked him in the eyes with a sneer and said “Two minutes.” The Pastor knew what this meant and hurried with his business, returned to the door, and was promptly re-shackled and escorted back to his white room.

“Mr. Lewis, I presume,” the voice said as the door opened and a tall gentleman dressed in a solid black uniform with that weird patch on his shoulders, this time with Captain’s bars. “Yes sir, that would be me sir, or you can call me Father, Reverend, whatever you would like sir,” the somewhat terrified church leader said. “Sit down Mr. Lewis, and please listen to everything I have to say carefully. Your future freedom and perhaps survival could depend on this interview. On February twenty-third at thirty-four minutes after one in the morning, twenty men attacked and illegally entered into the National Guard Armory in North Little Rock, killing four guards and stealing two trailer loads of weapons and ammunition. This entire state will remain a Federalized Military district until the parties responsible are apprehended or killed. The reason you are here is that you have admitted to providing shelter to residents who were in violation of the declared curfews and then yourself committed the same act. Are you aware that you knowingly violated the provisions of the Emergency Safety and Security Act which was activated forty-eight hours ago?”

Pastor Lewis was stunned and started to respond, “Uh, sir, I don” know anyone….” The Captain was not impressed and cut him off stating, “Yes or no answers only.”

Stammering, scared, and somewhat intimidated, the good father simply replied, “yes” and waited for the next question.

Captain: “Did you openly declare you would take refugees without prior authorization from the Department of Homeland Security?”

Pastor: “Yes.”

Captain: “Did you check the identification of the persons in your church early this morning?”

Pastor: “No.”

Captain: “Do you own a firearm?”

Pastor: “No.”

Captain: “This concludes our interview. Your statements to the other officers have been noted. Apparently your ignorance of the law does not constitute a threat to the Republic. I have had your face scanned into our database and your statistics do not match those of any of the suspects in the Little Rock attack. Your illegal refugees have also been cleared and the migrants will be processed and shipped to a camp in Oklahoma for work assignments. Mr. Lewellyn’s daughter was found alive in the woods this morning and his family has been cleared. You however sir will be required to donate twelve hours per week to the Homeland Guard Camp Delta as punishment for disobedience of the curfew and refugee regulations that were posted on February 23, 2010 at eighteen hundred hours Central Time, per the President of the United States. To be honest, we need a spiritual adviser who can help counsel some of the souls we are arresting for violations of the numerous new regulations. When I leave this room another officer will escort you to a clean room, give you some fresh clothes and escort you to final processing. You have been hereby adjudicated and found guilty of misdemeanor violations of Regulations 0124.9973.102 and 0124.9973.296. You will be provided with a choice of cooperating with the Division of Corrections within the Homeland Guard or accept assignment to make restitution for your actions. Do you understand the scope and details of the sentence passed down upon you?”

Pastor: “No sir. I do not. This is America, don’t I get a trial? What happened to my Miranda rights? I don’t understand what I did wrong? My church is a refuge and the rights conveyed upon my church by God are not to be violated by the laws of man. What happened to our nation where these laws no longer hold true?”

Captain: “Off the record so please stop recording now.” After a pause he leaned over the table and spoke firmly but quietly, “Look Padre, I don’t like this either, but we have a new series of regulations we must follow. You now live in a state under martial law and the Constitution has been suspended.  We have terrorist acts breaking out all over this region including unlawful assembly for anti-government purposes, threatening of and attempted assassination of government officials,  and attacks on law enforcement and retail facilities all over this region. Just take the deal, don’t make trouble and in sixty days, you will be released from your duties. I convinced the Colonel to give you a pass and insure you would perform non-denominational spiritual duties to help calm and re-educate the prisoners we are holding now.” He leaned back in his chair, straightened up his back,  and said, “Recording on. Father, one more time. I am not in a position to enter into Constitutional nor other debates as the rule of law was established by the actions of the President in response to the terrorist acts.  Do you accept this sentence and agree to cooperate with the Homeland Guard as instructed?”

Pastor: “Yes sir. I’m sorry but I am tired and upset.”

Captain: “We understand. You will be guided through processing and your sentencing documentation will be available for you to sign at the exit processing interview. Please obtain a copy of the Emergency Declaration at the exit interview so you can remain within the law. Hopefully this will be lifted in the next one hundred days. Good day sir.”

by John Galt

January 20, 2010

At least this series has stirred the pot and although people might disagree with some of the finer technical points, I simply say to you “patience grasshopper” as the situation will start to make sense in the coming chapters. If there is a loud enough hew and cry I shall double the number of chapters per week as the end of the series is rapidly approaching and I hope to keep someone who has ignored the possibility of such a collapse into a course of action to protect their families and themselves at least financially if not with the appropriate mindset so they do not end up like poor old Wendy. The following section is of course FICTION and boy, do I have a lot to add to this week’s chapter and next week’s as the whirlwind approaches. I will be on the road Tuesday so odds are this will not be posted until 0500ish on Wednesday morning Eastern time.

February 25, 2010 09:05 A.M. Eastern Time

The crash of the small trinket my wife used to decorate the cocktail table caused her to come rushing into the room screaming, “What did you break in there and why?” Before my heart could take another beat, I showed her the cover letter  which I had just read and told her in a firm voice, “They knew. The damned fools knew all along this would happen. They duped all of us with their lies, their fictional financial television shows and lies on the evening news. The evil bastards have been planning this all along!” My wonderful wife of so many years started to cry. Her tears shined on her tired face in the light of the lamp in the living room as she took the broken pieces of her Chinese trinket into the kitchen to dispose of the shattered glass and finish cooking breakfast. I realized that instead of focusing on this pile of government garbage in front of me and the letter from the President that it was time to lower the stress levels and spend a moment with her, to reassure her now more than ever as things appeared to be spiraling out of control.

“James, can you give us a minute please,” I asked my old friend and neighbor who nodded and replied, “Sure, I’ll just go into the bathroom and clean up if you don’t mind.”  I walked into the kitchen and put my hands on her shoulders clenching her tightly and whispering to her, “I am sorry sorry sweetheart. I should never have left you alone last night. You are so strong, I just figured you would want to know what was going on in the world.” She leaned her head against my hand to wipe the tears away and said, “I was so scared. There were men in black uniforms with guns. They really peppered me with questions. I’m so sorry I told them we owned a gun. I figured they knew already. It’s my fault our door is all painted up like that. I’m so sorry honey.” This outburst of emotion took me by surprise for a minute and I just wanted to hold her like the old days and make all of this go away. “Baby, I promise to try to keep calm,” I whispered to her, “I figured they knew about the shotgun already. I am just worried about James. He should not have lied to them, they are not playing games.”

Before I could say another word, she started to set up the plates with bacon, eggs and to my surprise some grits she knew that I loved with the cheddar cheese melted into it with real butter. As she finished the last plate I gave her a big hug and kiss and told her, “I love you.” She just hugged me back then, with an devious grin, yelled out “Breakfast is ready toilet rat!” James was walking down the hallway by then in his usual goofy, sarcastic stride and just had to reply to her, “Next time, I won’t spray! Where’s supper? I’m famished after guarding two houses all night!”  We all just cracked up laughing as we sat down to enjoy what seemed like a normal meal as I regaled them with stories about ham operators, shortwave radio news and what the rest of the world was saying about this nightmare we were living.

As we finished our meal and poured the last of the coffee the power flickered again and went out, once again. As my wife started to stuff the meat back into the freezer to try to save what little fresh meat we had left, someone started knocking loudly on the door at precisely ten o’clock. “I’ve got it honey,” I yelled as I put my coffee cup down and walked to the peep hole in the front door. As I peered through the whole a man was holding a Sarasota County Sheriff’s office badge up where I could see it and I yelled out, “What can we do for your officer?” The voice on the other side replied “Captain Martin with the Sarasota Sheriff’s office with Captain Oden of the Homeland Guard and Kalyn Louisa Andersen of the Office of Emergency Services. We’ve been sent to interview and review your Emergency Packet left in your mailbox last night that hopefully you have had time to review.”

As each official took their turn flashing credentials into the peephole and stepping back I figured I had best speak up since my front door was splattered with what I guess was confidential personal information inviting thugs to break into my home, “Sirs and Ma’am, before I open this door, I just want you to know that my firearm is secured in the bedroom and not in the room with me when I open the door.” The two officers thanked me and as I opened the door, they snapped the holsters closed on their sidearms and proceeded to thank me for going slow. As they entered into the home, James looked at the three of them and started to open his mouth when Captain Oden spoke up and said, “Sir, please leave the premises. We have questions for you and we will be next door to your home within the hour.” James nodded sheepishly and waved goodbye as he hurried out the door to go home, with two more men in black uniforms holding shotguns watched his every move.

“Who are those two guys on the sidewalk?”, I asked Captain Martin, somewhat bewildered by this show of force. He paused for a second and replied, “Those two? They used to be my men but signed up for the HSA Emergency Officers program in November of last year. Heck, we lost have the force to snappier uniforms, better pay and benefits and fewer restrictions. Sir, if you don’t mind we would like to sit down as Captain Oden and I have a few questions for you before we head next door to your neighbor.” My wife was peering out of the kitchen and started to turn around to finish cleaning the dishes when Captain Oden spoke up and said, “You too Ma’am. We need to speak to the two of you together.” Horrified, she nodded and sat down beside me as I motioned them into the chairs in our living room. Captain Martin started the questions with a stunner:  “Sir, did you knowingly violate the curfew restrictions by not staying in your home after the eight o’clock deadline?” I started to reply, parsing my words carefully, “I was not out in public from eight at night until eight in the morning. I was at a friend’s house helping him board his home up and playing some poker as he was going to leave town today.” I knew that was an outright lie, but I was ready for the next question as James did in fact go down the street and board up a home that the owners left practically wide open as they were in Tennessee when all of this started.  The Captain continued, “Sir, that was not the question. The law is quite specific about being inside YOUR home by eight  p.m. every evening and not allowed to depart your home again until eight in the morning. Do you have the address of the home you stayed at last night please?” I acted cooperative as I gave him the address and then told the officer, “But he said they were leaving early this morning, I guess they just left town a few hours ago.” Captain Martin looked into my eyes and said “That’s no problem, they have to pass through five checkpoints on the interstate and local roads before they are allowed to leave the Western District. If they have already passed through the northern border posts will verify your story.”

Captain Oden sat there quietly and professionally waiting on Captain Martin to finish. Captain Martin was busy keying some information into a computer tablet device then handed me a printout that was spit out of the top of, like some sort of new ticket form. “Sir,” he began, “This is the one and only warning notice you will receive. Because you have returned home and have an understanding that the curfew law is quite specific now, you will understand that any further violations will be met with the full force of the law up to and including imprisonment for said violation. Please place your thumb on the print pad here and press hard.”  Nodding, I obeyed like a whipped puppy dog, pressed my thumb on the pad and suddenly a light appeared and my thumbprint was on a LCD screen right in front of me, with the printed copy of the warning. “The thumbprint serves as your signature from this point forward. You will use your index finger for financial transactions, thumbprint for legal proceedings. I’m sure you will get around to reading that in your packet before the day is over,” Captain Martin said, almost biting his lip it would appear. “Yes sir, I understand sir,” was all I could say. At that point in time I felt the need to speak up, “So what is with that horrific X on my door telling everyone in the world, good or bad, that I own a gun?”

Oden stood up, almost to preach and began to explain what it meant, “Sir, that is a marking placed on homes when were not sure if the occupants were there or not or if further investigation was needed. Because your wife was next door at the time we were able to ascertain some, but not all of the information we need. First, do you have the shotgun available for inspection, unloaded of course please.” I motioned to my wife and she went down the hallway to get it out of the bedroom. “Sir, the X is as follows,” he continued, “the top portion is the date, right side if known gun owner or not and if not a question mark would be there, the bottom portion indicates zero casualties but one known resident at this time, and the left side is the HSA unit that carried out the inspection. Any home that was empty last night received a visit like this as they placed the packages into the mailboxes in this region with the help of the postal service.” Captain Oden took the firearm, scanned the bar code on the butt of the weapon, then asked for my thumbprint on the pad of his device. I had to ask, “What is this for?” The Captain did not hesitate, “Registration as per Executive Order 99917.02.19 per the United States Department of Homeland Security. You will now be registered as the only lawful owner of this firearm and your thumbprint will be needed at any range you wish to practice at or to purchase ammunition at any retailer.”

I sat down as he handed the weapon to me.  I then passed it to my wife who was shaking by this time, “Please lock this up honey,” I told her in a low, subdued voice. “So what can I do for you, Captain Oden besides the weapon?” I asked now exhausted from the past twenty four hours and deeply concerned about this black uniformed gentleman who seemed to be pleased with himself and his work. The Captain sat back down in the chair, crossing his legs in a very casual manner and asked a very pointed question, “How much do you know about your neighbor James and his family sir?” I was taken aback by this question but recovered quickly trying to take the offensive, “I’ve known him for years, he’s a good family man. Is he in trouble?” Oden leaned back and said firmly, “He could be. I can not prove it but I think he lied to one of my officers last night. We show in our records that he owns two firearms purchased in 1997 and 2004. Yet he tells my officers that he has none. Are you aware if he still has those weapons in his possession?” At this point in time, I was getting agitated with this clown but bit my tongue and told him, “To be honest, I do not track what he does with his belongings, but I think he sold them last year since he has been out of work for eight months now.”  Captain Oden nodded as if to believe what I said then shocked me by making one of those offers you only hear about in the movies, “Well, if you find out otherwise or hear of any other neighbors with unregistered firearms the government is offering one thousand domestic dollars to be added to your card along with a lifting of ration restrictions on your purchase allowance for thirty days. If you report more than one, they are even giving away weekends at Disney World at one of their premium resorts, all expenses paid for three nights for your family. The government believes the most dangerous threat to the safety of its citizens at this point are fringe elements who wish to disrupt the transition to a new currency to satisfy the Geneva Treaty.” My shoulders slumped as we had crossed the Rubicon in my mind and I could almost hear my heart breaking. “If I hear anything, I’ll try to let you know Captain. But how do I make a phone call with the power going off and on and the cell network down?”, I asked in a frustrated voice.

“911 works fine, if you had paid attention to the Public Service Announcements you would have heard that,” the Captain replied in a snotty voice. I nodded, not pleased, but feeling a need to reply, “Well, if you had left the internet up and functioning for all of us along with the utilities on a regular basis, we might have caught that PSA. We’ve been lucky to have anything beyond spotty reception on our television and radios with stations going off and on the air and the cable plus internet being out on a regular basis.” He shrugged his shoulders and before we could start trading barbs with each other the thirty something professionally dressed woman dressed like a Saturday real estate huckster decided to speak up, “John, I believe that’s what your name is, my name is Kalyn Louisa Andersen with the Office of Emergency Services Regional Transition team and I would like a chance to spend some time with you and your wife reviewing the emergency packet I see you have opened up and placed on your table here. Isn’t that letter from President Obama just wonderful? The news about this winding down soon is so good and we can all be thankful that the prior administration had the foresight to prepare for this contingency over a year ago.” I had heard enough and decided to interrupt to offer my guests the door when Captain Martin defused the situation by saying, “Oden and I will be leaving now to go next door. Ms. Andersen if you need us we’ll be next door and the escorts are on the sidewalk.”

Kalyn replied, “I doubt that I will need them, these are just ordinary folks like me who need some guidance.” My wife glared with that look that only a wife could give and if she could have sliced the bureaucrat in half with lasers from her eye sockets, well, that discussion would be over before it started. My wife then fired off, “What makes you think we need help? Do we look like retards or something?” Kalyn looked somewhat uncomfortable at that point in time as the two law enforcement officers shut the door behind themselves and my honey was glaring at her with the pissed off wife look I know oh so well. “Ma’am, I was not inferring that, not in the least,” she started, “I am here to activate your D-Cards so you can use your bank accounts, access your retirement accounts and start shopping to get America moving again.”

“Honey,” I asked her, almost begging as she walked back into the kitchen, “where are you going?” The angry wife syndrome took over the conversation now as she yelled back, “I’m putting the rest of the dishes into the sink. Do not say, start or sign anything without me being in there!” I glanced over at Kalyn who looked like a frustrated office worker shoved into the field making sales calls for the first time in her life when I heard her sigh and start putting a lap top and another device similar to the HSA’s reader. “What’s that device Ms. Andersen?”, I asked.  Kalyn spoke up, “You can call me Kalyn please and that is our D-Card activator and reader where we will get the two of you logged into the system and ready to return to work.” I looked at her with this stunned look and broke the news to her, “I’m unemployed now. My boss burned his building to the ground and killed himself. My wife has not returned to work because we have no idea if it is safe or not for her to be on the streets, much less if there is any work to do when she gets back there.”  Kalyn nodded and said with great enthusiasm, “Oh goody! Here you go Ma’am!” She reached into her portfolio and handed her a sticker with a flag that said “I WENT BACK TO WORK FOR AMERICA” on it and then she started her sales pitch, “If anyone spots you wearing this sticker and dials 611, then you get ten extra dollars into your account as a bonus for encouraging people to start America working again. Monday is National Return to Work day and every business with five or more employees that show up for work gets a bonus for each employee. This crisis is subsiding with each person we get set up with their D-Card and each storefront that opens up. If you look inside your packet, you will see the current ration system for this district and which stores you are permitted to shop in. If you receive enough bonus points, the rations list can be expanded for other purchases, especially if you help notify the local police or Homeland Guard about the criminal element like cash hoarders, tax cheats and people who hide or possess unregistered firearms.”

I thought I was going to vomit. “Ms. Andersen”, I began, “I don’t have a job. There will be very little work with all of the banks closed. As a civil engineer without a company to return to and the legal ability to travel I presume, just how in the world do you expect us to make ends meet?” That bubbly stupid look that only a government employee can give you filled up her face and she started to rant again, “Oh John, you don’t mind me calling you that I hope? You see once you have your D-Card on file I can process your resume, your unemployment benefits request, and automatically process a loan from the Federal Emergency Benefits Department which will insure that you can survive and that your creditors will leave you alone while you get back on your feet. Knowing that your are a civil engineer helps a lot as the USRA needs engineers desperately everywhere in the country and the projects will be no more than two hundred miles from your home. “Uh, just what is the USRA?”, I asked like an idiot knowing I would get an absurd answer which would cause my head to explode. “Why that is the United States Reconstruction Agency,” Kalyn replied, “President Obama created this agency about a month ago just in case we needed to bypass the Congress and get the emergency infrastructure repairs our nation desperately needs.”

My mouth must have been catching flies and other flying insects by now as my jaw felt like it was hanging around my knees. I started to speak but before I could say one word, she interrupted me, “I know a lot of what is going on is a huge shock, but now that communications have been standardized nationwide, you can tune your television to via antenna or cable channels 2, 3, 15, 16, 17 or 30 for continuing updates and information from Radio and Television America and the internet should return to normal by Saturday with www.recovery.gov becoming the primary web portal for all residents of the United States. There will be plenty of locations there that can answer all of your questions and quite probably find you a job fairly quickly!” That perky look really needed to be smacked of her face but with two goons in black uniforms carrying twelve gauge shotguns my wife and I knew better.

Kalyn then started the sales pitch again, “So you don’t have to wait in line on Sunday at the fairgrounds, which I think will have over five thousand people in line if you ask me, please open the blue envelopes with your names on them in the packet on your table and each of you please get your D-Cards out so we can begin the process.” I opened the envelope and saw this snazzy card with no numbers on it, a signature box, two magnetic strips, and a large green eagle with a weird green shield marked “OEC” in red. I handed the card to Kalyn and she swiped the bottom strip then said, if you would please, lean back and I’m going to take a picture for the database and then get your fingerprint.” I did not smile as the picture was taken nor did my wife and like good little sheep we pressed our fingers on the fingerprint pad and as we finished she swiped the cards again afterward this time using the other magnetic strip.  “There, all done, no big deal,” she smiled and then said, “Sir, if you would please look at this and confirm that this is your bank account number and the last reported balance we can open your account access up again starting on Sunday, February twenty-eighth at six in the morning. The banks will be open for computerized transactions using the D-Card but it will be at least another sixty days before they open for normal business processes.” I nodded at the account information on the screen as did my wife and then pressed my index finger on the pad as a confirmation signature. “Your account has now been transferred from the bank formerly known as Regions over to the new unified Bank of America of Southwest Florida which covers every county from Manatee to Monroe and will allow you fee free service in those areas,” she said now with a very businesslike tone,”and you can read further instructions within the packet on page one seventy two. I hope everything works out for the two of you as we are now beyond the initial crisis phase and should soon be recovering and starting the nation back to work by Monday. Do either of you have any questions?”

I glanced over at my wife who concerned me that she was torn between using mace or a taser on this obnoxious woman, so I decided to speak up and asked, “Kalyn, when can we go to the grocery store in our area?” She glanced down at her laptop and keyed in our address and zip code then replied, “Your shopping days are Sunday, Tuesday and Friday. You are so lucky as fresh meat is delivered only on Tuesdays now so that means you’ll get first choice if you are there when the stores open at nine in the morning.” I thanked her, told her that pretty much was it and she packed her equipment back into her bag. “Oh, and if you go to page one ninety-six, the web page and instructions for getting a USB D-Card reader for your PC are included. That will allow you to conduct online banking and purchase goods online without a pesky third party,” she paused then looked down at her tablet like device to add, “and in your case transfer unemployment account funds to your bank account up to seventy two hours before the normal payment date for a very small fee plus your daily income tax charge.” That was the straw that broke my wife’s back and she piped up, “DAILY INCOME TAX? Are you people insane?” Kalyn zipped her bag shut and said, “Oh, it’s no big deal. We just take your annual return from last year, compute a projected daily earnings average,  and deduct it from your account with each transaction using a formula created by our experts in the Treasury Department  so this way your employer doesn’t have to worry about a payroll tax. The taxes are a little higher now but that’s because we had to increase them by seven percent across the board per the Geneva agreement. I hope you have a nice day and here’s my card if you need to call the office or have any further questions. Bye now!”

She headed for the door and my wife was oh so happy to glare at her as she walked out. Slamming the front door violently, my wife looked at me and started to yell, “These people are idiots! Just how in the hell are we going to make ends meet? We get these stupid plastic cards and something like three hundred pieces of paper to sort through to make sure we comply with laws we didn’t even get a vote or voice in creating! Who the hell do these people think they are?” I looked her in the eyes and was feeling my blood pressure start to pick up as I told her, “They think they are our masters. I fear that many people are going to have a different method of voting against this new program. And the goons they brought over today are just a sample of how I think they plan to do it. I’m going to start reading all of this honey, I’ll put the parts that I have read into a different stack so you can read it later. Why don’t you go grab some sleep?”

My exhausted wife, emotionally spent, madder than a wet hen and chomping at the bit replied, “Sleep like hell. I’m going to try to get  online or listen to them on the radio to find out what these creeps are up to. I don’t think I’m looking forward to returning to work and I wonder just how the heck we are going to deal with these idiots when they can’t run a nation and now they are running our banks and our lives. This is not going to end well, not well at all.”

Chapter XIII: Paper, Plastic, Paper, Plastic (The Day the Dollar Died Series) by John Galt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at johngaltfla.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.johngaltfla.com.

by John Galt

January 13, 2010

I love reading the comments, which I have to since I’m the one that has to approve them and I love the props and reasonable criticism equally. A major THANK YOU to everyone who has jumped on board for our every Wednesday reading session and to all of those that have taken the time and trouble to actually translate some of if not all of this series into twelve different languages! To say that has humbled me a wee bit is an understatement (ok, so I’m humbled a lot but heck, it makes me feel good to know the world enjoys this also). This edition might be a little bit longer as current events as I type this are now tying into this chapter and unfortunately becoming a reality before our very eyes.  All I can say at this point in time is read what this piece of FICTION engulfs, enjoy the new characters and pray to God that this never comes true. I might be an optimist with the local view on this subject, I am just not sure at this point in time……

February 25, 2010 8:13 A.M. Eastern Time

“JAMES! HONEY! What the hell is this spray painted on my house?” I yelled again. My wife came out of the front door looking totally perplexed and yelling back “Don’t you yell at me mister. You left us alone all night. Do you have any idea how little sleep we’ve had? You go out on an adventure and we had to deal with all kinds of issues!” I stood at my porch staring at the front door wondering what the the hell the “X” and all the other stuff meant. She came outside, slammed the door and as I pointed towards it she started stammering “Uh, uh, I, uh, I didn’t know what they were doing.” My Irish heritage based temper said “What THEY are you talking about?” She walked up to the door and touched the paint to see if it was still wet and started to speak slowly, “Well honey, about nine fifteen last night two Sarasota City cops showed up with some guy wearing one of those government windbreakers. I wasn’t sure if it said FEMA or what on the back as James swears it said OES and they proceeded to walk around the house trying to get inside. James and I opened the front door and yelled at them asking what they wanted. They came over here, asked if the owners of the home were around and I informed them that I was one of the owners and that my husband was several blocks away helping an elderly friend. The one officer stood by his side and this guy, I guess from the Federal government started asking questions.”

“Honey, sweetheart” I hesitated and started to sweat a bit as I talked to her, “what in the world could he be asking to have my house and Jame’s house spray painted with red x’s and a bunch of gobbledygook?” The woman I love started to tremble, nervous as if questioned by a witness on Perry Mason’s old television show and in a low, soft, almost sorrowful voice she replied, “Oh John, they demanded to know if we had guns in the house, if we were hiding anyone that was not a family member, if anyone in the house was on probation or had a criminal record and then asked how much cash we had. I told them a lie and said we only had about eighty dollars and one shotgun and then they spray painted the door, put an envelope in our mailbox and started to question James.” I looked over at James and asked him how he dealt with it as he looked as if he had just finished a triathlon as soaked as his t-shirt was. “John, I lied through my damned teeth to those clowns. They asked about the shotgun I was holding and told them it was yours and was holding it while they questioned your wife. The local yocals asked that I set it back in the house and of course, I asked your sweetie for permission.” I snickered as she grinned and of course James, a lover of tall tales, continued the story, “Then they asked if I owned any guns, of course I said no, my wife was a Jesuit and then I told them that they needed to check the house out a block over where them illegals live as I thought they had guns and drugs and that perked the Fed jerk right on up. By the way, his jacket said ‘OES’ whatever the hell that is. They really were nosy about you and your wife though.”

I told my wife I would be right back and walked over to the mailbox with James as he walked to his and checked out the rather thick package marked ‘OFFICIAL GOVERNMENT DOCUMENTS ENCLOSED’ and wondered just what in the heck this was about. “Let’s go inside  your home and make sure they didn’t break in” James suggested to which I eagerly nodded. “I wonder what those markings mean” I asked him. James replied “We’ll ask the deputy up the street later on if his shift ever ends this evening.” We walked around the house, shotgun in my hands, pistol in his, walking slowly room to room to make sure the house was secured. In the mean time the wife continued to crank the kitchen back up, as the power was on again at least for the moment, starting some coffee and fixing breakfast for both of us before the bacon and eggs spoiled in the refrigerator. “Honey, if you don’t mind, I’m going to cook up everything we have in the fridge and freezer. I fear that the power will be off and on for days to come” she yelled out. As James and I met back in the hallway he said “Good freaking idea! I’m going to run home and tell the wife to hop to it! Without Oprah she should do some work for once.” I looked at him and said firmly “Dude, seriously. She’s a little freaked out right about now. Be gentle and show her some love. We’re all on the razor’s edge over everything that has happened since Sunday.” James nodded, almost ashamed for what he had said, and headed out the door. I walked into the kitchen, hugged my wife and told her, “Let’s see what the mail brought today. I figure we may have won the lottery for once and maybe this envelope is stuffed full of cash.”

As I ripped it open and poured the contents on the table, the smell of fresh coffee brewing, eggs and bacon sizzling away and seeing the exhausted woman I love in the kitchen slaving away over the stove distracted me from the contents. It was almost like a regular Sunday morning except we both realized that the stores would have to open soon and food would be the first necessity to be fulfilled. “Oh my God” I uttered as she brought me a cup of coffee while I picked up the contents from the envelope. “Honey, you have to see this. You will never believe what we have to do now” I yelled out stunned at the stupidity in front of me.

February 25, 2010 11:17 A.M. Eastern Time

Tom and Sandy were sitting at the sofa pouring over the stack of mail they had just cleaned out from the mailman. It was a truly amazing sight. A letter from Citibank N.A. advising them that no payments were necessary for the next ninety days as the national emergency had suspended their card and payments. A note from the mortgage company advising them that all payments were suspended for ninety days. Their bank, Suntrust, advising them that the emergency had frozen their account and that all funds would be available no later than June 1, 2010 but that their ATM card could be used by February 28th. “Mama Lil, can you believe this?” Tom asked her. She looked at him for the first time in their lives together with a stunned look and said “Son, I’ve never seen this before in my life. I didn’t even know they could hold your money like this without giving it back to you when you wanted it. This is like the 1930’s but worse. Did those clowns suspend interest being charged on your bills during this suspension?” Tom started to read the letters again and sure enough “Yup, they basically froze us in time Mom. IF we still have jobs, this could be great if they could figure out a way to pay us.”

Just as Tom was reading the document entitled SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS FOR USE OF YOUR DOLLAR CARD AND TRANSITION ACCOUNT, the doorbell rang causing us all to jump out off of our tails. Lillian put her hand on her shoulder holster and moved slowly to the hallway motioning Tom to answer the door while Sandy went into the dining room. Suddenly she screamed out “There’s someone in our back yard!” and that caused Lillian to head towards the kitchen. Then from the front door a male voice yelled out “Georgia State Patrol! This is Lieutenant McCord, do not do anything rash. We have an officer in the back yard checking your property!” Lillian sighed, sounding somewhat relieved and muttered “Idiots. I could have shot the moron.” Tom patted her on the shoulder then moved into the living room yelling “I’m opening the front door and I am unarmed. Please don’t shoot me.” Sandy put her head into her hands, half relieved, half embarrassed, and totally unsure why he said that.

As Tom slowly opened the front door a young black woman in her twenties wearing a winter jacket with “OES” emblazoned with an eagle symbol holding wheat in one claw and what looked like a copy of the Constitution in the other then she started what sounded like the phoniest spiel that Tom had heard since the Shamwow infomercials broke. “HI! Sandy and Tom Lewis? I’m Karen 17905, your neighborhood representative from the Office of Emergency Services a new branch of the Federal Emergency Management Agency here to insure you have food, water, power and everything you will need until the nation returns to normal. I hope that the mailman has delivered your instruction package with your new dollar cards and all of the instructions on how to use them. President Obama and the unified Congress have empowered me to help  you in any way that I can.”  Before she could utter another word, Tom put his hand up slowly as to motion her to stop and said “Do you ever breath 17905 or what?” Sandy and Lillian were peering out of the door by that time  behind Tom wondering what the commotion was about.

“Oh Mr. Lewis, you’re such a nice man and your wife looks ready to work with us also. If you don’t mind we would love to come inside and spend a few minutes with you. The officer in the back is just making sure that any of the felons from the Great South Atlanta Fire aren’t hiding here and wants to make sure you are safe and secure.” By this time Lillian had heard enough. “What south Atlanta fire young lady? I listened to the radio all night long to WSB and other stations and nothing was uttered about it?” Lillian asked skeptically. Sandy, not watching her mother cut her off and started to talk “Would you please come in. I know  you just have to be freezing out there. Would you like some coffee or hot cocoa?” Lillian gave her daughter the dirtiest look imaginable as she huffed off to the kitchen while the door was opened for their guests this morning. “Ma’am, I’d love a cup of coffee, black please the State Patrol officer said, looking as if he had been working for several days straight. “Mom, do you want to get that or should I?” Sandy yelled out. “I got it honey and officer I am carrying but I’ve got a permit, so please don’t taser me” Lillian yelled back.

The lieutenant snickered “No problem Ma’am, I’m too tired to taser anyone this early.” With that Karen felt obligated to start talking with her script stating that “You know that old phrase that I am from the government and I’m here to help you? Well I am and I can because right now, nobody else can. The OES is here to insure that when you go shopping, go to the store or return to work next Monday everything is in place to insure America gets back on its feet right away.”

Lillian looked at Karen as she handed the coffee to the officer and just sighed in her south Georgia drawl, “Excuse me please, I”m going to go take a dump. I’ve heard enough.”

February 25, 2010 07:07 A.M. Central Time, Fergus Falls, MN

“Sir, I’m not trying to be rude, but just staring at each other isn’t getting my job done nor helping you in this matter. I have orders to inventory all firearms and register them on behalf of the Governor’s office as the President ordered for those districts deemed actively engaged at this time” the young Sergeant stated firmly and hinting that more would happen should compliance be an issue. The two privates behind him were freezing as they held their M-16’s obviously not wanting to spend a lot of time outside of their Humvee running at the end of the driveway. “Honey, get my shotgun out of the shoe closet. The military needs to register it” Mike yelled out to his wife. As Mike ushered them into the foyer, she nodded and walked down the hallway to grab the weapon.

Sally, knowing how to handle the gun better than the two privates, promptly walked down the hallway with the twin barrels popped open pointing to the floor with the two twelve gauge shells in one hand, the weapon carefully balanced in her grip in the other. “Here you go sir, do you need anything else?” Sally asked politely. “I think we have it under control now” the Sergeant snapped back. “Mr. Elmendorff, your question is not without merit. But we are the last line right now between anarchy and the Constitution. We will do whatever it takes to enforce the laws of the land. So please, don’t questiong my patriotism and I won’t question yours” the Sergeant snapped off. He handed the shotgun to one of the privates who keyed the serial number into a large device with a printer and a bar code was spit out and stuck on the rifle butt. “Sir, if this weapon is fired for any reason other than hunting or target practice, we will need for you to report it to us. The crime rate is very high just sixty miles west of you in North Dakota and they are under statewide martial law. You are responsible for this weapon and no sales, transfers or improper usage is permitted under any circumstances. The martial law declaration will probably be extended to the Western counties of Minnesota tomorrow due to the lack of stability west of I-94. I hope that I have made myself clear sir” Sergeant Blaine said. He then handed them their mail and spoke softly “You may want to read this. The mail service is running again and soon your landlines will be back up. I know this has been hard but its even tougher on the military sir. You have no idea.”

Mike knew that the Sergeant was not happy with his initial comments. “Son, I know you’re just following orders, hell I did that in the muck of ‘Nam. I hate to ask this of you but I need a favor. That lady on the couch is Mrs. Monckton and she received a phone call about her husband being in a military hospital in Fargo after an ambush west of here at a checkpoint. Can you tell me what is going on please to set her mind at ease?” As Mike said that Sally handed all three of them some small Styrofoam cups filled with black coffee, trying to relax them from what was a tense meeting at first.  “Mr. Elmendorff, thank you for your service and understanding,” the Sergeant started speaking slowly, “there has been no ambush. Heck we haven’t even set up the checkpoint yet. The men and equipment are moving out to the crossroads at 1700 local tonight at dusk. We have to clear out a mobile home park nearby where the criminals have been setting up shop first.”

Mrs. Monckton broke out in tears of joy as Sally grabbed her and hugged her. “Sarge, thank you. You’ve made one person happy today even though I am not thrilled with this registration thing” Mike said smiling as he watched his wife hold her tightly. “Sir, I am not too thrilled either, but orders are orders” the Sergeant said. As they said their goodbyes, Mike escorted the men out to their vehicle and decided that now might just be a good time to secure his property. “You guys stay warm, I’m hoping to keep things tight here” he yelled out through his jacket. The Guardsmen hopped into their Humvee and headed over towards the farm a few miles south of him.  Mike waved, then shut the gate finally, locking it tightly and then threw another chain and lock around it.

As he walked back into the house he noticed the two women chattering away almost relieved that this day would be better and wondering what the large OES envelope was. Mike did not care. He walked back into his other closet in the spare bedroom and started grabbing magazines and pistols. “Honey, you’ll get to keep the forty-five, I’m carrying the thirty-eight, the nine and my Mini-30. The other shotgun can stay in the bedroom with the other forty-five. I’ll be damned if they’ll ever track all of these down. I bought them from individuals and there’s no record of my purchasing all these” and with that rant over with, he looked at Mrs. Monckton and handed her an old twenty-five caliber pistol he purchased in the 1980’s.  “You might need this, I don’t trust anyone now and I don’t’ want you to feel insecure” he told her softly, “Please plan on staying here until we hear from your husband or he comes back.”

Just as the tension in the room started to settle, the phone rang, much to their surprise and as Sally picked it up the following was heard:

“HELLO. THIS IS BOB 13212 AND I AM YOUR OFFICE OF EMERGENCY SERVICES NEIGHBORHOOD ADMINISTRATOR. THIS IS A PRE-RECORDED MESSAGE TO ADVISE YOU THAT WE WILL BE IN YOUR AREA WITHIN THE NEXT SEVENTY-TWO HOURS TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR NEEDS. IF YOU NEED IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE, PRESS ZERO NOW AND HELP WILL BE SENT TO YOUR ADDRESS WE HAVE ON FILE MATCHING THIS PHONE NUMBER. 911 SERVICES HAVE BEEN RE-ACTIVATED FOR YOUR AREA AND NORMAL TELEPHONE SERVICES SHOULD BE RESTORED BY SATURDAY, FEBRUARY  27TH AT 8 A.M. CENTRAL TIME.”

February 25, 2010 11:05 A.M. Central Time, Just outside of DeWitt, AR

The temperature outside was twenty-seven degrees this morning and the barefoot men inside the tent were all whimpering, chattering their teeth and some in tears after over two hours of sitting exposed and handcuffed to the center pole and each other. “For God’s sake man, we’re all freezing to death” one of the prisoners yelled out. The guard opened the tent, yelled out “Who said that?” and then as the man who said it tried to hide behind another prisoner he grabbed the taser and stunned him, causing several other prisoners to fall to the ground into the frozen mud as he collapsed. Two other men walked inside, grabbed the comatose man and unlocked his handcuffs then dragged him outside into a waiting truck. “Lewis, you can go walking or I can drag you. It’s your call” the soldier barked out. “I’ll walk” the Pastor said, “and what the heck is going on, half these men half frostbite by now.” The soldier, an officer of some sort but not wearing insignia he would know grabbed his wrists and unshackled him from the rest of the group without saying a word. “Mr. Lewis, you’re going to Pine Bluff with big mouth out in the truck. We’re going to find out what happened in Little Rock either the nice way or the hard way but everyone in here had best know, we will find those responsible. You can have your lives back or lose them, we really don’t care if you had any part of this” the soldier said.

“Here’s your uniform. Wear it, don’t bitch and don’t speak unless spoken to” a young private said, throwing the Pastor a bright orange jumpsuit with the letter “P” on the back and a pair of flip-flops. “Follow me” he said next and then shoved him into the canvas covered back of an old military truck with five other prisoners, all shackled to the floor. The guard grabbed his hand, handcuffed them then chained him to the floor of the truck uttering these instructions “If you talk to each other we have clearance to stop at the side of the road and shoot the guilty parties. Someone is going to pay for Little Rock.”

The men were terrified when they looked back at the young guard who then shut the flaps and the vehicle pulled out heading out to the Pine Bluff regional command. The good Pastor had no clue as to what was going on and was praying in silence for the people he thought were still locked up inside his church. Before the next prayer could be recited, he was able to peek through the cracks of the canvas and see the remains of Highway 165 behind him. There were burned out cars and trucks just about six miles west of town he figured. There were two bodies being picked clean by what looked like wolves or coyotes. “What the heck happened this fast” he wondered to himself. As the truck veered sharply right he figured that they were turning in Lodges Corner before cutting over towards Pine Bluff. The sharp turn did not distract him as much as the mobile home park on fire he saw in the distance and what he could have sworn were gunshots or firecrackers in the distance. With the next sharp turn he noticed that the Humvee what was in front was now behind them and he had best stop trying to see what was going on or had happened. Pine Bluff was less than an hour away and finally he might just get some answers as to why the military, whatever kind of military it was, treated everyone so harshly like they had left America.

February 25, 2010 2:55 P.M. Mountain Time, Colorado Springs, CO

Wendy Listels was the most excited twenty-two year old in the entire line of people who stood outside of the Safeway Store on North Circle Drive this afternoon. Here it was just three whole days after the banks shut down and her President was able to get money into her hands and open the stores up. “Have you been listening to the Afternoon Drive with Katie Couric and Senator Daschle on America Radio? Now that he’s been reappointed and promised to help our nation, I’m so pumped! My dollar card got a three hundred dollar advance, how much did you get?” she babbled on and on and on to the poor stranger in front of her. “IF YOU HAVE NUMBERS 1-6-5 THROUGH 1-8-5 IT IS YOUR TURN TO ENTER THE STORE, PLEASE BE PREPARED TO PRESENT YOUR DOLLAR CARD AND DRIVERS LICENSE TO THE GUARD AT THE ENTRANCE” the voice bellowed out through the speakers on the side of the store. Wendy was pumped. Normalcy was coming. Life was going to get better she figured now that her empty fridge would see some fresh fish and salad fixings to keep her on her diet.

“Ms. Listels, is this address current?” the OES officer asked. “Yes sir, it is still the correct address, but I do have a new phone number or do you have all that” the talkative, almost teenager like young woman said. “That’s okay miss, you can proceed in. Your card is set to a one hundred dollar limit but you are free to spend whatever cash you have left in United States Federal Reserve Notes also up to one hundred additional dollars” the officer said. “What is a Federal Reserve Note?” she asked innocently. The officer sighed, leaned back in his chair and pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and said “anything that says this on the top” pointing to the words “Federal Reserve Note” emblazoned on the top. “Oh, I’m sorry, I always called them dollars” she said sheepishly.

As she grabbed the cart and started to walk down the first aisle, she noticed the stocking was somewhat different even though this was a better Safeway than others. The fresh vegetable section had signs everywhere “LIMIT TWO PER PERSON” for everything in the area and there was not much there. After grabbing some lettuce, onions, tomatoes which looked old, some cabbage, Arugula and two bundles of carrots, Wendy steered over to the meat department looking for any fish. Pressing the buzzer to get someone’s attention in the butcher shop created quite a stir though as five other shoppers stopped dead in their tracks, stared at her like she was an idiot waiting to see what would happen next. To Wendy’s relief as she blushed a butcher opened the door and stepped out saying “Can I help you miss?” Wendy took a deep gulp then asked softly “What happened to all the seafood? Do you have any fish?” The butcher looked down and said to her “Miss, all we have is in the frozen area and you’re limited to twelve ounces per person per week right now.”

Wendy was shocked but said thanks and moved on. She almost ran to the frozen section when she noticed all of the fish in that area were the same in plain white boxes marked “USDA SPECIAL ALLOCATION RATIONS, 12 OZ. HADDOCK” to which she grabbed one hoping that nobody would beat her to it. After loading that in her cart she went to the diet foods aisle only to see nothing she recognized, just cereals in plain white boxes marked “KELLOGG S 14 OZ. CORN FLAKES OES SPECIAL RATIONS” and others marked “POST CEREAL RICE CRUNCHIES OES SPECIAL RATIONS” which really perplexed her. As she went along the other aisles their appeared to be some normal items and lucky for her the shampoo she loved was still in stock.

After loading the cart up with what she figured was a two week supply of food and beauty products, she got in line to check out which to her surprise moved rather quickly. As the clerk checked her out, weird letters appeared in the display and that caused her to ask the cashier what was up with that. “Miss, we have some items that are ‘A’ level which are not taxed like your fresh and canned foods. Those food items deemed unnecessary for consumption are ‘B’ items and taxed at ten percent. All beauty and cleaning supplies you have are taxed as ‘C’ level items at fifteen percent and any other items like the flowers you have or the candy bars are considered non-necessity and declared ‘D’ taxation items. Today the ‘D’ tax is set at twenty-seven point four percent. The total for your order today is one hundred eighty-seven dollars and forty-four cents. Please swipe your D-Card now.” Wendy felt so smart as she pulled her fresh card out of her wallet and swiped it leaving the balance to be paid in cash. She smiled and handed over four twenties and a ten dollar bill which the cashier placed in the drawer and after shutting it handed her the receipt with a survey about the D-Card on the bottom. “Uh, where’s my change?” she asked the cashier. “Miss, apparently you did not read the instructions or hear the news. Unless you pay exactly, all change is considered a tax donation to the nation to help resolve the national deficit.  Our instructions and per the letter of the law are to keep your change and thank you for your help. This money is being re-applied next month as a benefit to your D-Card and towards your daily income taxes. Please refer to page forty-seven of your instruction manual you received with the card. Next customer please.”

“Keep my change?!?” Wendy yelled out and as she did so one of the apparently private guards started to approach her. “Everything okay Miss?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. At least I can go shopping again.”

by John Galt

January 6, 2010

Just a brief note about this chapter. For those that remember the old ABC miniseries Amerika, the striking resemblance of our compliance should a major no-win national emergency occur might just happen a lot faster than most of us might think. Thus the spelling in this week’s chapter and remember, everything below this portion is FICTION……

February 25, 2010 03:05 A.M.

WHACK! And with a sudden sharp pain in his back Tom fell out of the chair by the front window stunned by the object that just struck him. As he started to shake the cobwebs out of his head and wake up, reaching for the gun he forgot to put back in the holster, there was a very pissed off mother-in-law. “I told you not to fall asleep you idiot. Do you really think I want to die in my sleep because you got drunk and lazy? Get out of my chair and where the hell is my pistol?” Lillian said in about the rudest method she knew how to get a point across along with some strategically placed South Georgia cursings in case he wasn’t listening. Tom, stunned still from the cane slapping him in the back, looked around the room and then realized he left the pistol on the kitchen table. Like a scolded school kid he walked over to the table, gently picked the pistol up and handed it to his mother-in-law. “Mom, I…” Tom started before he was cut off. “I don’t want to hear it. Right now your wife and I could be held hostage by a gang and God knows what because you just HAD to get a nap in. Do you understand what the hell is happening out there? That fire you saw if probably that damned city of Atlanta being burned down by the gangs” and with that utterance by Lillian, Tom sulked to the bedroom to get some seriously overdue shut eye, mumbling under his breath down the hallway.

Lillian had seen it all in her lifetime so this was just one more step out the door in her mind. As she carefully placed the revolver in the holster, she then reached into her purse and grabbed the shoulder holster portion it clipped on to. “I guess I should have told him I had this part too” she thought to herself, smiling as she knew exactly how to deal with the situation at hand, at least in her mind. She sat down in the rocking chair after sliding it in front of the front picture window. Then she grabbed her cell phone out of her purse and set it on vibrate with an alarm that would go off every forty-five minutes and clipped it on her holster. “I’m not falling asleep like slacker boy” she thought to herself. She loved Tom but this was not the time to be tender or thoughtful. The children had been spoiled by a life of peace, quiet and pretty much having everything handed to them. Now they were going to learn what earning survival was all about.

The radio Tom was playing with was set to WSB on 750 AM but she fiddled with it to see if any of the other old clear channel stations came in or perhaps some South Georgia stations might be resisting the takeover of the airwaves. “Hmmm, let’s see if old Steve is still talking to the truckers” and with that idea in her head she tuned the radio to 700 on the dial looking for WLW’s famous “Talking to the Trucker’s” program and praying that someone was still doing their job to keep America informed. As she turned the volume down a wee bit so as not to disturb her kids, the music that blared out made her feel much better about the situation with the old Jerry Reed song ‘Wabash Cannonball’ which relieved her greatly that the entire nation hadn’t gone to hell in a hand basket. “3:37 a.m., sheesh, seven is a long, long way away” she whispered to herself.

There was no announcement after the song and for once it was back to back with some old Glen Campbell. She thought to herself about how unusual it was for Steve Sommers to play songs back to back without taking calls from truckers in between. “I wonder if it really is that bad out there” she muttered under her breath. As she grabbed her cane and walked into the kitchen to turn off the Mr. Coffee and clean up the mess from earlier. The pot had some hardened coffee on the bottom which would require a little scrubbing later on but to her it meant that the pot was flavored properly and ready for some Maxwell House extra dosage. After starting the pot off with six scoops for just eight cups, she wandered back to the chair and radio to hear the end of that old song that annoyed her when she was younger and still did to this day called ‘Wichita Lineman’ which in her mind was not Glen’s best.

The song ended and instead of some chatter, they went right into the worst of worst of Glen Campbell’s songs “Rhinestone Cowboy” at which point Lillian debated shooting the radio or changing stations. As the music churned on Lillian got up and grabbed her mug and said to herself “Screw this” and walked back to check the progress of good old reliable Mr. Coffee. “Thank God the power came on while Tom was asleep. I would have died without coffee” Lillian whispered as she poured a double cup of super strong coffee while the drip spilled over on to the counter top. With that, she settled back down into the chair by the window and the song ended with the voice that relieved her at first announcing “This is Truckin’ Steve Sommers with my new partner Frankie Wilkes, a Sergeant in the United States Army’s One Hundred and First Airborne Division here to chat the night away with all you truckers trying to keep the New America moving! God Love you guys that didn’t shut it down, we need your help and efforts from coast to coast to keep America moving, fed and get this economy moving again.” Lillian almost spilled all of the coffee on her lap with that announcement. But here it was three forty-six in the morning and the old ways were apparently changed on radio and for good within her comfortable little world. As Lillian slurped a deep gulp of the maximum strength coffee, Steve Sommers started an announcement:

“This morning’s checkpoints and security escorts will start at I-75 North of Cincinnati at the Highway 63, Hamilton-Lebanon Road exit; at I-74 westbound at exit 1 the New Haven Road exit; at exit 16 off I-275 in Indiana the Belleview  Avenue exit; the checkpoint at North Bend Road, exit 237 is now closed to all non-essential traffic but the check point on I-275 is still open; on the Southbound side off I-75 y’all need to get off at exit 184-B in Kentucky at Commonwealth Avenue for your escort assignments and checkpoint clearance; at the fork in the road of I-471 and I-275 southbound at the US 27 exit; and finally at Exit 59B the Milford Parkway exit for US Highway 50 going eastbound. All other exits on I-75, I-71, I-74, I-275, and I-471 are pretty much closed unless you have the Blue Permit for the next 48 hours. I apologize that I couldn’t do more but the cute Sarge here is telling me we’ll cover Indianapolis and Columbus Ohio on the next break. For local information tune to 1610 AM or Channel 8 on your CB to find out routings, closings, and more. This is Steve Sommers and now more music.”

February 25, 2010 06:58 A.M. Eastern Time

“Wake up son!” Mr. Lewis said as I was dead asleep in the other chair, losing track of time as he spun through the dials of his rigs looking for news. I was startled after only getting about two hours of sleep over the last twenty-four but his sources of information kept me fixated until finally I drifted off. I stood up and stretched, taking a swig of the now cold coffee and as I wiped the grunge out of my eyes and shook my head I noticed the time. “One minute until noon! I’ve got to get home” I yelled. “Calm down son, that’s GMT, not local, you can’t go home for another hour. Besides, don’t you want to know the news you’ve missed the last two hours?” Mr. Lewis said almost laughingly watching me panic for a brief moment.

He began, “Don’t worry, you can stay one more hour and when curfew is over, wow, will you have some tall tales for the wife. The news from Asia is that all container ships heading for the United States under Taiwanese, Japanese, or Chinese flags are to stop  at any non-American port before proceeding. Worse, the government of Singapore froze all of our assets in their banks and ordered all U.S. Dollars to be turned into the banks by noon tomorrow. I guess they want to get them all together to insure that there are no loose ends when they tell us to screw off.” Mr. Lewis was usually not this frank but now I was somewhat stunned. I asked him “Are we at war or something now?” Mr. Lewis laughed and dribbled some coffee down his chin while replying “Uh, no. Unless you count Goldman Sachs as the First Marine Division and President Obama as one of the Generals in the economic war. We’re getting shut down worldwide and the countries who have been holding our I.O.U.’s are demanding payment in full immediately. I guess this means we’re about to see what happens when the proverbial fan meets the big two hundred pound bag of fertilizer. These moron’s think they can intimidate the world and the rest of the world is mocking us on their domestic broadcasts. Hush now, let’s grab the nine o’clock evening news from Tokyo.

“This is Radio Japan and now the news. The American government has refused to release any gold reserves for foreign governments stored in their New York City reserve bank vaults. As a result of this, all American assets within the territories of the government of Japan are now frozen. All container ships have been ordered back to port. All transactions with the United States are officially frozen until the United States Treasury elects to inform us when obligations will be met in full using either payments in gold, commodities, or a non-dollar denominated currency acceptable to the Japanese Government.

In other news from the region, the Mexican government was arrested by the new military junta which has declared a state of martial law and frozen all U.S. assets  at all financial institutions and the Mexican military has been deployed along the U.S. border to prevent their migrant population from returning home and U.S. citizens from crossing. The Republic of South Africa has temporarily adopted a gold standard for the rand pegging the valuation of one hundred rand per ounce of gold, thus becoming the first nation to abandon a floating currency standard in the world. In Israel, the government has adopted the Euro and the Yuan as the only non-Shekel denominated currencies acceptable for trade in commerce outside of its borders. Lastly, the Indian government has terminated all business contracts with United States corporations and the U.S. government until guarantees of payment in a viable currency alternative to the dollar is presented by the American government.”

I looked over at Mr. Lewis and said “Uh, I’ve got to get home. This is spiraling out of control. I should never have left my wife.” Mr. Lewis nodded but grabbed my arm and said “Let’s try to call up some local contacts on two meters. Maybe they can tell us what is going on around here. We’re flying blind and you don’t need to be a hero and go out and get shot and leave your wife a widower.” He handed me an old citizen band radio walkie-talkie and told me how to use it and that if he ever needed my help to call out on Channel 39 as he has one radio tuned in there at all times. I sighed and thanked him as I had no communications at the moment with the phones being down and we resume dour band scanning to find out what else was happening to our nation. Despite taking a chance and calling out for his friends locally, there was no answer on any of the usual frequencies which seemed to disturb the old man greatly.

As his clock finally ticked over to eight o’clock local time, I left his house in broad daylight, expecting to see crazy people riding off road vehicles like the movie “Mad Max” but instead, things were disturbingly calm in Southwest Florida. I headed down the street and one of his neighbors was mowing their lawn as if nothing has happened. Another house had people painting the front of it as nothing was going on while the house beside that one had an elderly couple out front raking the leaves up and trimming their hedges. I thought to myself, “Was I drunk the last three days?” but kept on walking to the cul-de-sac where I lived, still stunned by what I had just seen and the news that I had heard. The old street sign was still there but as I rounded the corner I was somewhat freaked out to see my house and the condition it was in. “JAMES! WHAT HAPPENED TO MY HOUSE!” I started to scream at my neighbor’s home as I ran down the street. At this point in time I was beyond rational thinking because of what I had just seen.

February 25, 2010 07:00 A.M. Central Time-Fergus Falls, MN

“Sally, I want you to call 911 and find out if what she heard was the truth” Mike said. Mike continued, “I don’t buy the story.  The military would have contacted her, not some strange phone call from an unknown entity. If her husband was hit they would have come to get her or tell her, no matter how bad the situation is. I think they just wanted her out of her house.” Sally looked stunned and then realized that her husband who was just duped by a bunch of thieves might just be right. He has always been the suspicious type so this story hit home.

Sally called 911 and to her shock an operator answered and she went into the long story about last night’s events. The operator politely listened and then said “Ma’am the checkpoint just started this morning. Whoever called your friend is a fraud. We’re going to send a unit over to Deputy Monckton’s house to check things out.” Mike was right and now Sally felt relieved. Then again, that relief was over with when there was a loud knocking on the door. Mike grabbed the shotgun by the sofa and walked over to the door, peering into the peephole to see two men from the military at his door. Mike rested the gun behind the door and cracked it open slowly. “Mike Elmendorff? My name is Sergeant Blaine with the Minnesota National Guard. We’re here to register and inventory all firearms in this household. Can we come in please sir.?” The professionalism of the military did not shock Mike but the question he asked caused him to retort somewhat curtly “What the hell do you need that information for and why should I register any thing with you? I need to know before I open this door. When did the Constitution die in our country?”

February 25, 2010 07:05 A.M. Central Time – DeWitt, AR

“Pastor Lewis, my name is Lieutenant Wilson Akers of the third Arkansas Federalized Military District command. You have been brought in here with a wild story about a farmer being attacked, and undocumented citizens and migrants occupying your church at this time. Is this information correct?” Pastor Lewis was still in a state of shock after being stripped down and subjected to full body cavity search in a tent then handcuffed to twenty-five other prisoners in the holding tent wearing only his undershorts. The entire experience had him hesitant to speak and when he did, all he could utter was a shaky “Uh, yes sir, but…” and before he could finish the Lieutenant cut him off. “With the revelation that you have admitted to the accusations, I will need for you to sign here sir” and he pointed at a freshly computer printed form which stated that he acknowledged he violated curfew in a willing manner and that he sheltered other violators of the new General Act 1 of 2010 of the United States Federalized Law Enforcement Code.  “Uh, sir, I want to call my lawyer before I sign anything. Bless  you my son for doing your job, but I do not wish to surrender my rights by signing anything until I can call my lawyer” the gentle Pastor said.

The Lieutenant nodded his head, motioned for the MP to take the Pastor back to holding and then yelled out “Captain, we’ve got another Perry Mason. Should I follow order seven or just wait for the JAG?” The Captain in the back tent adjoining the interview area said “Is this the case of that liberal lying Lutheran or somebody else? I need to know!” The Lieutenant looked over at Pastor Lewis as the plastic zip cuffs were tightened around his hands behind his back then yelled out “No sir. This is a good old fashioned Baptist nutcase who doesn’t read the news or obey instructions.” The Captain pondered what was just said and yelled back “Take him to tent five and turn the heat off in there. Perhaps we’ll get all the turkeys to talk at once to get the information we need about the Little Rock incident.”

February 25, 2010 10:05 A.M. Central Time – Florida Panhandle

The massive mobilization and loaning of a National Guard Huey helicopter accelerated the ability of the Florida State Patrol to locate their fallen man. As the search combed far and wide around Sparks a trooper yelled out “Hey, I’ve found a body, over here everyone!” and that started the mad rush and sad consequence of finding Trooper Margate’s body, face down riddled with bullet holes in a ditch that was half frozen over from the late season winter cold snap. The ice would have melted without the sunshine this morning as fourteen state troopers wanted to exact revenge for the killing of their partner. Before they could even start to mutter obscenities or cry further about their discovery, the radio crackled with “Vehicle located, Unit 129 on the roof. It would appear that Margate’s cruiser is about 3 miles West Northwest of your location. Captain, should we land and investigate or wait for back up?” the chopper commander asked.

Captain Franklin was exhausted from five straight days on duty. This incident marked the fifth trooper killed in two days and he had has his limit. He grabbed the mike off of his chest and spoke into the mike “You take them sum bitches out. I’m tired of playing nice and these animals escaping. If they are camped there, take them all out, we can’t lose any more troopers!” and with that he slammed the mike back on to its clip on his shoulder. The chopper commander acknowledged and began to fire on a camp with the squad car and what appeared to be a lot of criminal looking and questionable elements. The machine guns on the Huey were old but quite effective. Even thought it was not a G.E. mini-gun he was able to chop the squad car up pretty good and also take out the gangster elements below. After a few minutes over the target he yelled into the radio “Most of the targets eliminated, some might show up on foot heading your way. Air Guard seventeen heading back to base. Out.”

Little did they know that two weeks later a group of transients would discover their group of now dead transients. The ones all shot to hell and back with bodies scattered everywhere. The location was now where six men, six women and thirteen children were killed. The government thought they had eliminated the criminal element, despite the fact that all the criminals did was abandon the vehicle near the homeless encampment hours after killing Trooper Margate. Everyone was a criminal now, in the eyes of the officers being shot at every day and caution before action might get you killed. The problem is that for every officer who cared, how many  did not care, and were more than willing to abandon the rule of law to protect their lives or the new government orders being sent down almost hourly. Time would tell as freedom was dying daily now, just like some had foreseen and prayed would not happen.

Chapter XI: Dawn over Amerika (The Day the Dollar Died Series) by John Galt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at johngaltfla.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.johngaltfla.com.

by John Galt

December 30, 2009

The following story is another chapter in the ongoing FICTIONAL saga…..

February 24, 2010 11:05 P.M. Eastern Time

Tom was somewhat sobered up by now, exhausted from nailing boards across the rear and side windows as per his mother-in-law’s instructions.  Tom had the oldest scrap wood collection it seemed with various sized boards hammered together over the windows looking like an old cartoon home. When he went into the house, soaked in sweat under his winter coat he bent over, huffing and puffing with his teeth chattering away “Wha,wha,wwwwha,why not the front windows too?” he asked Lillian puzzled and freezing. “Son, we’ll take care of that in the morning, but we’ll have to find some decent wood first. You done good and I knew a good sweat in that cold weather would sober you up. Come on over here to the space heater now that the electricity is back on. It’s weird though son, the natural gas is still off” Lillian paused after grabbing a blanket to wrap over him, “You know there’s a lot more to do to get ready.” Tom looked puzzled but before he could say a word Sandy spoke up “Get ready for what Momma?”

Lillian was exhausted and really did not want to deal with this tonight. She took her petite octagon glasses off and set them on the cocktail table and looked her daughter and son-in-law deeply into their eyes, putting her hand on Sandy’s knees as she started to speak. “Sweetheart, the nation we knew and you grew up in vanished a few days ago. I don’t know if it is ever coming back. What Tom saw at WalMart the other night might just have been the last normal shopping day we will ever now. It is now every man, woman, child, dog, cat, or other critter for themselves. Unless you know and trust your neighbors, we have got to get ready for anything. Tom, I’ll take a nap until 3 a.m. and then you can wake me up” Lillian said softly in her deep South Georgia drawl. “What am I doing Mom? That does not make one bit of sense?” Tom asked bewildered a bit from the alcohol buzz wearing off and now innocently curious as to what Lillian was talking about. “You’ve got first watch. Don’t shoot unless you’re threatened and don’t you dare fall asleep. Sandy you make him two large pots of coffee and stay up with him if need be” Lillian spoke a little bit louder and firmer this time staring at her daughter with deep piercing brown eyes. “Momma, what are we on watch for?” Sandy asked just as curious. With that question, Lillian sighed, grabbed her purse and pulled a .38 caliber revolver in its holster and handed it to Tom.  Sandy spoke up “I don’t think that’s a good idea considering he still might be a little drunk Momma.” Tom glanced over at Sandy with a dirty look.

“I’ll have you know that three and a half hours in 29 degree temps smashing my thumb with a hammer sobered me up quite nicely HONEY!” he said emphatically. Lillian interrupted the little spat to play peacemaker and spoke firmly once again, “Both of you hush and save your energy. Tom, you go clean up and take a cold shower to wake up. Sandy you get that coffee going. I am going to bed. Just keep an eye on the streets and out the back door window for anything unusual. Yell if you see something. Here’s a box of ammo for the pistol and don’t load it until you get out of the shower.” The two of them blushed as if spanked like four year old children, looked sheepishly at Lillian and replied “Yes Ma’am” and got busy with their chores. Lillian sat the box of ammunition down on the table, grabbed her glasses, hugged them both and wished them a good night. “3 a.m. Tom, don’t you dare forget. And leave me some coffee please” were the last things she said this evening as she sauntered back into the spare bedroom. Tom gave her another hug, and headed for the shower while Sandy shook her head then headed into the kitchen. “I wonder why she’s worried” Sandy thought to herself, “half the homes in our neighborhood are abandoned or foreclosed.”

Tom jumped out of the cold water and dried off quickly. The icy cold water due to a lack of natural gas to keep his hot water hot really ticked him off. “What the hell does natural gas have to do with the danged dollar barfing?” he wondered aloud. As he threw some jeans and a t-shirt on, Sandy walked into the bedroom motioning him to be quiet. “Momma’s asleep already honey” she whispered to him. Tom grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and walked out to the kitchen with Sandy, glancing at his watch and noting that it was already twenty until midnight.  As they walked into the kitchen, he sat down, slipped on the tennis shoes and looked up at his wife as she poured him a mug of steaming hot coffee. “Honey, you don’t think we’re going to have problems here tonight from our neighbors do you?” he asked Sandy with a concerned look. She grabbed the sugar and handed it to him and said “I don’t baby. I’m scared. I’m really scared. Remember those strange people we saw up the street two weeks ago? This is all too much for me, but I need you to stay awake no matter what” Sandy said, her eyes welling up as if she were about to cry. Tom stirred the sugar into his cup and then stood up and hugged her to reassure her. “It’s time to pay attention” he said as he slid the rounds into the cylinder of the revolver, “I’m going to try to find something on that radio she brought over to listen to and start checking the windows. Let’s kill all the lights except the two night lights in the kitchen.”

The radio took a second for Tom to get used to but after turning the siren feature on and off by accident he found the band switch to turn it to the A.M. band. He tuned the radio to 750 where WSB came booming in and instead of a repeat of his favorite show, it was the new national program “America Overnight” which was about as dry as it got. “Ugh” he muttered to Sandy, “Our choices are slim to none as this is on almost every station I tune into. I guess we’re going to get stuck with this garbage until the emergency subsides.”

With some bland almost elevator like soft pop music from the 1980’s on low volume in the background, Tom walked up to the front window and glanced through the slats in the blinds to all corners of his front yard and the street. As if it were almost habit now, he looked down at his watch to see 12:21 on the face as he paused to take a sip of coffee then head back to the back door and his wife. BOOM! CRASH! BOOM! Tom heard it, sat the coffee down hurriedly, sloshing coffee all over the cocktail table and ran back to the kitchen to look out the window to see what was going on. “Honey did you see anything?” he asked. Sandy nodded to the negative and he peeked out the back window. There, in the motion activated lights was the one thing he didn’t think he would have to worry about during this crisis then realized with a sigh of relief that he should have brought the garbage cans into the garage. There was a raccoon, hungry, paralyzed momentarily by the lights trying to grab something and run away with it from the garbage can. Sandy smiled but her Mom who was tying her robe yelled out “What the hell was that?” Tom said “Go back to bed Mom, it was just a raccoon. I’m going to go pull the cans into the garage. I’ll wake you up at four o’clock instead as I’m wide awake now.” She nodded and headed back into the bedroom to go back to sleep.

As Tom finished unlocking the makeshift locks and removing the barricade he took the clip on holster and made sure it was securely on his belt. He took a deep breath, put on his parka and opened the back door, curious to see the mess that the animal made but also to see if he could see or hear anything over the rise of the hill at back of his property. The flashlight he held showed a mess of garbage strewn around the house, for which he began the task of cleaning up, realizing he should of thought of that while he was boarding the windows up. As he finished up and dragged the cans into the garage through the front, he noticed that there were a lot more fireplaces burning now than usual as the smell of oak and pine burning filled the air. “Dangit, I wish my home had a fireplace” he thought to himself. As he shut the garage door, he looked off to the Northwest towards Atlanta, only to notice a very weird red glow over the horizon, like a forest fire had begun somewhere. After trudging back into the house, he cleaned himself up, looked over at Sandy who had that look of an impatient wife and before she could speak said to her “Raccoons, it’s all cleaned up now. But there’s a weird fire or something to the Northwest of us. I’m going to play with that radio to see what I can find out if anyone is broadcasting any local news.”

February 25, 2010 0658 UTC

The fourth pot of coffee smelled better than the first three. The radio room was warmed up a bit more now as the old man had fired up an old Hallicrafters SR-160 transceiver with all of those tubes glowing reassuringly in the room, as if almost to invite you to sit down and listen or talk to people around the world. I looked over at Mr. Lewis and before I could say a word he said “Hush, Radio Australia is about to come on with the news. Maybe we can get some serious information about what is going on over here.” I nodded and hearing a brief melody of Waltzing Matilda just before the top of the hour, sat down handing him another cup of straight black coffee to see what was being broadcast. Mr. Lewis thanked me, then turned the volume control up on the radio with the Drake nameplate where the speaker blared out the news that would leave me shaking for a week:

This is Radio Australia and it is now 0700 UTC. This is Mike Flanagan and now the world and Australian news headlines. The United States embassy in Sydney remains closed after the attempted suicide bombing attack earlier this morning. Casualties from a train derailment in Eastern Siberia are now at 128 as Russia blames Islamic extremists for the sabotage and attack. The United Kingdom has sealed all of its borders for a second day and closed the Eurotunnel to prevent hooligans from entering the country to foment more riots. British authorities report that approximately 137 buildings were destroyed or damaged by fire due to the bank riots in Liverpool. China sets an exchange value for the British Pound Sterling of fifteen Sterling to one Chinese Yuan. The U.K. also reports that the national rail system will remain shut down as martial law was imposed in parts of London, Manchester, Ipswich, and Oxford who experienced riots killing over three hundred citizens and twenty-seven soldiers. Reports are filtering out of the United States that California intends to default on all of its debt obligations and cede control of government operations to the United States Federal authorities until the emergency declaration is terminated. And now the news in detail with Collin Fendwich.

“Uh, Mr. Lewis, this might be a good time to find out what is going on in California. Can you reach anyone out there?” I just had to ask ignorantly. He turned around after sipping from the coffee almost pale from the news and spoke in a soft, almost tearful voice, “Son, I do not think for one minute I had best go back on the air tonight. Let’s just listen and see what we can find out. I did not even know there was or what is this emergency declaration thing is and unless the ARRL or FCC clarifies it, I might be in violation.”  That caused me to pause for a second, then sit down beside him as he turned the volume down on the Drake then switch the speaker over to his Icom transceiver, spinning into some frequencies that had me wondering what he was looking for. Before I could say a word, he said “I’m going to tune into the marine channels to see what is going on with the ship to shore transmissions and what news they have. They usually talk on satellite but in times like these I think they’ll want to get out as loud and proud as they can.”

The garbled noise coming from the speaker as the digital display glowed with “8047″ which meant nothing to me. He then bumbled with it first clicking it on to “LSB” then “USB” and fine tuning the signal so it was clear and audible. “That’s strange, it’s not encoded” Mr. Lewis uttered, and then the fun began. “Michigan EOC Lansing calling Grand Rapids Guard Command.  Location Foxtrot Zebra niner niner now operational. Please move subjects to that location. Over.” He looked at me and I looked at him wondering just what the heck was going on.  “Subjects?” I wondered aloud. Mr. Lewis looked somewhat more excited than I did and he hushed me to see if they came back on with more. “BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, Rapids Command here, standby for Social Security Number’s of subjects. Will transmit on secure channel 27. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.” That sort of spooked us even a bit more and I said “Old man, we’re not getting anything to follow up on Britain’s collapse, can you find the BBC?”

He turned the volume down, slid his glasses off and looked at me like a scared child at a horror movie to say “Son, I’ve been checking every BBC frequency for over three hours now. It’s almost as if the entire nation has disappeared. The crown is on fire and their money is worthless if even the commies don’t want it. Something bad is happening in the British Isles and we can’t find out what the heck it is.  I’m even more afraid because we can’t get any information here. If they’ve got problems like that I don’t even want to know what the hell it is like in Southern California or Detroit.”

I stared into that glowing Hallicrafters now worrying about my wife, and what the heck was going on in the dark.  Daybreak was coming soon and I could go home in a few hours and thank goodness for that.

February 25, 2010 6:40 A.M. Central Time

Mike crept up the exit ramp by his home slowly fully expecting a roadblock there to stop him. This time though, no one was there. The sheriff’s office had been pulled out to cover other roads in the county while trying to protect the county center at the same time. Knowing that there just might be a worried wife waiting for a call, he started to grab his cell phone only to see the “NO SERVICE” in the display. “Ah well, thank God I’m old fashioned” he muttered out loud and grabbed the hand mike for his Cobra CB.  He tuned it up to channel 35 on the USB side and keyed the mike down speaking clearly and slowly “Break 37, break, break 37, break, is my honey on tonight?” He shifted the truck back into gear, slowly swinging the empty trailer out so as not to slide on the icy roads relieved to hear the radio erupt with “Baby, I’m home, I’m fine and the coffee is on. What time will you be home?” Mike smiled knowing his wife was a good trooper and followed their plan to the letter. “I’ll be home in twenty minutes if I don’t go ice skating with my rig off the road on the way home. I love you sweetie!” Mike said and put the mike down. “I love you too and see you shortly” was the reassuring voice on the other end. The adventure of the Blackwater gang was now over and Mike could use the respite.

As he backed the truck into his yard to secure his truck and trailer, Mike noticed a series of little flags, almost like utility line markers in the snow. These little flags were green and purple and spaced about fifteen feet apart. “Now what, I paid my power bill” he muttered. As the truck came to a stop, he dumped his airbags to lower the trailer and locked the air brakes up. Then as if to make him feel even more secure, he grabbed the boot out of his side box and locked the driver’s side tire down with it to insure that this sucker was not moving easily. “Good luck cutting that off without getting shot you dirt bags” Mike thought to himself. He walked to the end of the driveway, slammed the gate shut, wrapped the chain around it twice and put the heavy padlock on to make it tough to get into his property without a blow torch or ramming the fence. With all of the security measures in place, locking the truck and trailer up, the gate and fuel tanks, he figured its time to go inside and see the wife to make her feel better. As he walked towards the house it started to snow again, as if someone above wanted to help keep his little piece of farmland covered in a secure blanket to deter intruders. The smile on his face got bigger when the door opened as he approached and his wife greeted him with a huge hug.

“I was so worried” she said, holding him tightly. “Let me get inside woman and get all these clothes off then you can hug me all day” Mike said lovingly. Mike took all of the winter gear off and hung it neatly just the way she liked it as she secured the front door then put the makeshift barricade of the firewood rack in front of it and locked all the locks.  As she hugged him again she whispered into his ear “Jack’s in the hospital. He’s pretty bad off.” Mike was hit like a ton of bricks and started firing off questions “What happened? How did you find out? Which hospital?” Sally looked at him deep into his tired eyes and replied “He’s at the Fargo Military District Hospital honey. His wife wants to know if you’ll take her there tomorrow when he can have visitors as the Liaison Officer told her it would be okay . The entire roadblock was ambushed  and that entire area is on a lock down. It just happened a few hours ago. She’s asleep in the guest room now. I think she’s a bit freaked out.”

February 25, 2010 05:40 A.M. Central Time

Pastor Lewis was stunned. There were three families huddled inside of his church now, some had plastic grocery bags full of clothes, others had little canvas sacks with bottled water in them. Two were local migrant farm families who had applied for legal status years ago with his help and had come back to help on the rice farms. The other family was the one that shocked him, it was the owners of that farm. “Chuck, are you okay? What happened to your family and your farm?” the Pastor asked. Charles Lewellyn was a resident of these parts as was his family for over one hundred years. His hard nosed Southern attitude and work ethic was never shaken but this early morning, his life had changed forever.

“Father” as he always called him, “Kelly was on watch when we heard two shots around 3 a.m. I grabbed my shotgun and ran to the front door and these thugs greeted me there and offered me a choice. They said they knew we had over two hundred one hundred pound bags of rice ready to ship and they were there to take it. They had a semi and Oh God, dear God, they shot my son.” Mr. Lewellyn dropped to one knee grabbing the Pastor’s hand sobbing, “I told them to go to hell and one of them threw a bottle with something on fire into my living room and another into the dining room and the house just went up in in flames. I grabbed my wife and the grand kids and we ran out to Jorge’s trailer to wake them up. Before we could get off the property they torched another trailer and we don’t know if that family got out or not. We all just woke as many folks up as we could, grabbed what we could and drove off in Jorge’s pickup as fast as hell. They were stealing everything. My God, my family, my daughter, we couldn’t find her, please help us Father, if you can.”

The Pastor was stunned. He brought everyone into the church then grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket only to see the display showing “NO SERVICE” so he ran to his office and grabbed the phone there only to hear no dial tone, just silence. The Pastor yelled out across the church “Chuck, you know where the pantry is, please, hold it together for about twenty minutes while I run over to town to get the Sheriff. Lock the doors until I return and please, get some warm food and drinks for everyone here. I’ll hurry, I promise!”

The door slammed loudly to the main entrance of the church and Pastor Lewis grabbed his keys out of his pocket and locked the front door, running to his car. As he started up the beat up old Ford Taurus he started to pray to himself and seek guidance as the panic of the moment had overtaken him. The short drive seemed to take hours but as he approached the town square in De Witt,  he noticed the Arkansas National Guard soldier yelling at him to stop. The young black soldier was very professional and as the good Pastor rolled the window down he said in a firm commanding voice “I need to see your identification sir, and please turn your car off.” Pastor Lewis nervously fumbled with the keys in the ignition and turned the car off, and reached for his wallet while saying “Something horrible has happened my son, I’m Pastor Lewis and all of these people just outside of town have been killed.”  The good Pastor then paused and said “Oh my, my wallet is not there and as he hurriedly reached for his glove box he noticed the MP had drawn his pistol and taken a bead on him while yelling “SLOWLY SIR, NO SUDDEN MOVES.” The Pastor put his other hand up and slowly opened the glove box, grabbing his registration and shaking while saying “Sir, please don’t shoot me, I left my wallet back at the church, this is my car and registration, I swear it, please don’t shoot me. We have to hurry, there are people dead or dying just outside of town.”

The MP took two steps back with the registration being handed over to another soldier to his left then said “Sir, please step out of the car slowly. No sudden moves and keep your hands where I can see them.”  The Pastor stepped out of the vehicle sobbing, “But sir, there are dead people not far from here. His family is in horrid shape. They are hiding at my church waiting on my return. I’ve come here to find the Sheriff, sir, sir…” The MP cut him off and said, “Sir, please stop talking. We’re calling this in. Right now you are under arrest for a curfew violation. It is not 8 o’clock  yet. Put your hands on the trunk of the car and spread your legs sir. We have to verify who you are before proceeding with any course of action or taking a report from you.”

Chapter X: The Dented Crown and Worthless Pound (The Day the Dollar Died Series) by John Galt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at johngaltfla.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://johngaltfla.com/.

by John Galt

December 23, 2009 (Originally available only at Frugal Squirrel’s and The Tree of Liberty)

Before I begin the next FICTIONAL part of this series (Sorry gang but that disclaimer is for those too slow to understand the fine line), I must thank everyone who has supported me in this ‘blovel’ about a potential scenario for the death or Mr. Dollar. While many might just label this “survivalist” fiction or “extremism” to support an agenda, believe me, I did not start it with the intent of either nor did I think that it would develop a fan base as it has. The story is based on places, people, events past-present-future, and interpretations as I think they might actually occur. Sadly, our society is under the false assumption that “it can not happen here” and other such nonsense. There is nothing further from the truth. The problem is that we could erupt into either extreme of massive compliance or a “Jericho” style ending. In my opinion, it is a middle ground sort of event where in some regions all hell breaks loose, in others you get the “Yes Mr. Obamabushbernankecramer, your word is God’s will” type of sheeple response.  Thus while some might view this as an attack on the current administration those who think such should take a step back and review the years of my writings on the subject at hand and understand that I think W was a buffoon as well. America has taken the easy path and that path leads, sadly, to an end much like that of Rome, Venice, Holland and the Weimar republic. My first blog entry is in fact titled “Weimerica” and suddenly it seems much more pertinent now than it did over two years ago. The economists and propagandists will have you believe that all is well and panic is not the order of the day as invisible souls buy homes, cars and televisions when reality and your eyes tell you something else.  When one sees the tidal wave coming though, it is too late and that person is usually toast. Head for the high ground now and pray that others will follow.

That is the goal of this work and I pray a few people will prepare and follow. To all a Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas and may your holiday season be blessed beyond all belief. It is the season to remember, to give and to enjoy. I hope this work continues to be something all can reflect upon and enjoy……John

February 24, 2010 5:30 A.M. Central Time

The incessant knocking on the door was enough to wake the dead. The pistol in his pocket was cold, almost like a block of ice and knowing that he only had six shots to defend himself did not comfort him as the neighborhood was rough and the beliefs he held have been shaken by the events of the past three days. Pastor Lewis crept to the door of the old church and yelled in English then Spanish “Who’s there, what do you want?” The Second Baptist Unity Church in De Witt, Arkansas was a relatively new endeavor, open only for six months now to serve the poor and foreign in this land of migrant and poor black workers but the good Pastor found out first hand the evil that lurked just twenty-four hours before when thieves broke into the food bank stripping it clean of every can and bag of food while he was out at the hospital ministering to the downtrodden. He thought not only about his survival but of those he was attempting to help as the door banged again louder than before and again he yelled back the same question to the potential intruders.

“Father, Father, Pastor, Oh Dear God, please help us. We beg you, please let us in” the voices cried in both English and Spanish.  Pastor Lewis took a deep sigh, deep breath and then slowly opened the door, his hand on the pistol ready to spring to action if God willed it.  As he was about to speak, about three kids, aged around four to six years old came running in, shivering as if they had been exposed to the extreme cold of the evening. A mother walked in crying in Spanish with a very young infant, crying into her bosom, followed by a family of four from De Witt that the good Pastor recognized immediately. “Doc Wilson, what brings you in here this time of night?” the Pastor asked.  “Sir, I beg you for asylum.  This family came to my door begging for medical attention. Before I could say a word the ICE gang showed up threatening to throw my entire family into jail for doing my job. The infant has a mild case of exposure and the other children will be sick soon if they do not get some food and a warm place to sleep. It is as if the Federal authorities are targeting us. I’ve done nothing but now they have seized so much of our personal belongings,” the Doctor paused, exhausted after running and almost in tears, “uh, they came for us.” He continued, “I know that I was a vocal opponent to the government but this family showed up then all hell broke loose. We tried to help them being good Christians but it was as if we were set up. The started taking our food, our belongings, almost as if we were being robbed. We saw a chance and grabbed this poor family and started to run. Please help us Father.”

February 24, 2010 6:10 P.M. Eastern Time

The roads were going from bad to worse. Sandy started to talk softly, almost terrified, “Mama,” her favorite way to talk and write to her, “I’m getting scared. The roads are icing up fast and it is so dark. Do you think Tom is up waiting on us?” Lillian understood the fear as the sleet started to bounce off the road and hood of the car harder and harder as was so typical of those darkened February nights in North Georgia, “Sandy my dear, if you keep your focus on the road, I’ll worry for both of us. If you don’t mind I’m lighting up a Camel.” With that brief comment that Lillian knew would upset her daughter, she grabbed one of those short unfiltered smokes from her purse, cracked the window which allowed a brief burst of cold air into the car and her trusty old Ronson her late beloved had left her to fire up the coal. The sweet smell of tobacco permeated into the Sierra which caused Sandy to cough and speak loudly to her mother “Mom! Why now? I need to stay focused!” Lillian hacked and laughed while trying to speak “See” coughing away, “You paid attention to more than just the road. Now get our butts home while I enjoy some of the stash I’ve put away for years. This cig is about three years old and I’ll be damned if I put it out to please your poltically correct tail. Now listen to your mother, focus and get us to your home!”

Sandy could do nothing but crack her window and smile. “Mom, I love you” she uttered and turned up the CD playing a live version of Willie Nelson’s “Funny How Time Slips Away” while her mother nursed what might well be a moment of luxury many others might envy soon. The old street looked spooky as she turned into the neighborhood with the power out, something she was not shocked to see. “Mama, I’m sorry we took so long to come get you. I figured you needed our help and now it looks like we needed yours” Sandy said with a deep sigh, slowing down to less than ten miles per hour, praying in her mind that the truck wouldn’t slip off the road. “Sandy my dear, it is more like I’m here to teach you, now don’t punch the gas as we drive through this crap. I want to get there in one piece” her mother replied. Sandy smiled slightly until the mailbox she knew came into view but as she pulled into the driveway, her moment of happiness turned into trepidation. “Mama, something’s wrong” Sandy whispered. The picture window had a huge crack in it, like something was shot into the house and all of the lights were out as if her husband Tom had left for good. Lillian reached into her purse as Sandy said “Let me check the door, Mama” and before Lillian could tell her to wait, she was out of the car onto the icy sidewalk, creeping towards the front door.

Lillian kept her hand in her purse as her daughter opened the front door, praying at the same time she would not have to act on one hand and hoping that everything was normal at Sandy’s homestead.  As Sandy opened the front door she hesitated and yelled out “Tom, Tom, are you home?” As Sandy almost screamed on cue, a flashlight beam hit her in the face and a distorted voice yelled out “Hawney, bawbwee, is that you?” Sandy’s relief and fear quickly turned into anger as she slammed the door and started to scream, forgetting her mother was in the SUV running in the driveway, “You stupid idiot! You are not drunk! No way! I warned you about this! I warned you to never drink again! I warned you to never fall! Why! Why! Why! We need you now more than ever and as the man of the house all you could think about,” she paused, crying, screaming, weeping into her jacket sleeve, “How dare you! The world is falling apart and we need you now and you’ve lost your mind. Tom, my God, we need you more than ever and you go out and trade toilet paper and leave me and Mama alone by getting drunk! Damn you!”

Tom stumbled, almost crying now, “Honey, I’m so sorry, I mean it” he bumbled and blurted out. “I thought you were dead because you never called. Please forgive me baby, I’m an idiot, I know, I know, I know….” as he spoke he stumbled and fell to her knees, as if almost to beg for forgiveness and Sandy was staring straight up at the dark ceiling as if to punish him. Sandy had to hold back her laughter as her mother entered into the house and put the Camel out on Tom’s sobbing head then tapped him on the forehead with a cold piece of metal. “Mom! Please don’t shoot me!” the drunkard screamed out loud. “Get on your feet boy!” Lillian said as she chuckled pointing to her key chain flashlight and throwing the butt of her smoke outside. “If that didn’t’ wake your pathetic tail up, I don’t’ know what will. You need to grow up mister and tonight will be that night, that much I can assure you of SIR!” Lillian said in that authoritative voice that only a grandmother can speak in. “Yes Ma’am” was all Tom could say as he scooped some sleet up off the front stoop to ice down his welt the smoke left on top of his head. Sandy felt relieved now. Someone would finally be in charge during this confusing period and they might just get through this.

Or so they thought.

February 25, 2010 4:00 A.M. Central Time

Mike was stooped over in the truck, trying to act discreet as he flipped the cylinder of the pistol back into the body after confirming, as if to set his mind at ease, that the gun was still quite loaded. “Beep, beep, beep, Truck 1024, back your unit up to door 18″ and with that Mike had a tough choice to make. Should he break for the gates and gamble they did not know how to shoot straight or risk his life for a load of frozen pigs? Mike thought deeply about this for a minute as an owner operator he was responsible for the load but on the flip side he figured “What will they do, sue me in a kangaroo court?” He looked a the picture on his dash with a young, dashing soldier and his girlfriend now wife of the time when the picture was taken in 1972. Glancing down at his arm and remembering the tattoo he received in Saigon in 1971 which said “Home Alive in 75″ he snickered thinking about the time on the beach during the Mayaguez, a now distant memory in American history.

“Backing in now” he replied. “No sense in dying for danged dead pigs when I didn’t die for danged  sailors” he whispered under his breath. Mike slipped his pistol into the map pocket of his driver’s side door, acting cool as he slipped the gears into reverse, backing the truck into the door that he was assigned. Mike’s gloves seemed a wee bit sweatier as he slid them on and hopped out of the truck, taking the time to deliberately button the face cover on his parka to cover everything but his eyes in the minus fifteen or so temperatures. “Unit 1024!” the voice yelled, “what the hell are you doing?” Mike paused, put his hands in his door pocket  to fumble for the pistol and he looked up and yelled back “I’m opening my damned doors, what do you think?” Mike stopped in his tracks as he noticed the two men on the dock  with their AR-15’s and the supervisor yelled back “Get back in your cab, we’ll get them. Back it to the dock when we yell it’s clear.” Mike bent over as to nod and meandered back to his truck trudging slowly through the fresh layer of snow.

“BOOM!” as he hit the docks and now it was only a matter of time before he was empty he thought. Then he realized something important; he never gave anyone his bills. As the guard walked up to his door, Mike wondered what to do now. He slowly opened the door as the guard pulled the rifle down in the ready position as if Mike were an imminent threat. “Hey, guard!” Mike yelled, “I still have the bills here!” The guard nodded, took his finger off of the trigger guard and motioned Mike to come forward. “Sorry about that sir” he said to Mike, “It is so cold, I’m losing my mind. They’ll check it in later. FEMA has us rushing this stuff.”  Mike decided that this guy was the one to chat with and decided to strike up a conversation as the guard initialed the bills,  “How long have you been with Blackwater?” Mike asked.

“Sir, I’ve been with Xe about three months now, since my return from theater in Iraq. We haven’t been called by that name in ages. Where did you get the idea we were still affiliated with that old name?” the twenty something with the itchy fingers asked nervously. “I was wondering, one guard flashed an old Blackwater ID at me on the way here, I was wondering what was up. I haven’t met any ex-service types in the past five years since I started driving for this company” Mike replied trying to act smoothly in the teeth chattering cold. “I totally understand. Where did you serve sir, if I may ask?” the young guard asked respectfully. “Nam, Nam, Nam, Cambodia, Korea and Iran” Mike replied with an authoritative voice. “I was in the air over the turds when Carter recalled us. Be thankful you’ve never had to go through something like that”  and with that response Mike looked down at the snow, almost ashamed. “Sir, we respect those who serve, not always those who lead” the young security guard said. After that statement he motioned Mike back into the cab and yelled as he walked towards the dock “You’re empty sir, and thanks for helping us out!” Mike nodded, pulled out and heard the doors slam on his trailer when the CB crackled “Proceed to Gate Four at the Southeast corner to exit.” Mike confirmed on the radio and followed another truck to the guard shack. There a guard held up a stop sign and wanted to speak to him so Mike rolled his window down.

“Here ya go!” the guard yelled and passed a manila envelope through to Mike. Mike opened it quickly to see the five twenty dollar bills and thanked the guard then pulled out to head up the road to the truck stop nearby off I-94. He had plenty of fuel to get home but to be prudent for the future, this was the time to use the FDOT money he just received and top the tanks off. Mike noticed what appeared to be Blackwater style guards at the entrance to the truck stop and as he pulled up them one just waived him on through as he was expected. He hopped out of the cab, walked up to the cashier’s window and pressed the button “One-hundred bucks on pump seventeen please” as he pulled the money out of the envelope and showed the money to the clerk so as to confirm he was not lying before putting it into the drawer. “Confirmed, one hundred on seventeen sir” she replied.

Mike trudged back to the truck and yelled as the flatbed truck in front of him, “Strange days, eh what man?” The other driver waved his hands in an almost salute type of motion and yelled back with a Long Island obscenity and the words “More than that! The government is topping my tank off! Can you believe these Blackwater guys!” Mike nodded and as the diesel smell filled the air, Mike watched as digit after digit flipped, the gallons slowly adding to his tank when it hit him like a baseball bat upside the head:

“Oh my God, there’s two T’s in Ottumwa! I just gave my load away!”

February 25, 00:10 UTC

It was too late to go home now. Here was the clock flipping over at ten minutes after midnight “GMT” as old man Lewis had it labeled and here I was glued to the radio like a child watching cartoons. The martial music we had heard an hour earlier was indeed that, but from Venezuela as they reactivated their shortwave network I had discovered courtesy of Fidel and the boys. Though my fears were somewhat calmed down about hearing that from the United States he warned me that if he could find an active AFRTS station, we might well indeed hear military music and more.

Suddenly he said “John, stop whatever you are saying and listen to this!”

“This is Radio Deutsche Welle with a world wide business news update at twelve after midnight UTC. The German Chancellor has announced that following the lead of the Australian Prime Minister, Singapore, Hong Kong, Shanghai Markets and Thailand that the German equity, commodity  and bond markets will indeed open for two hours of trading at eleven o’clock in the morning CET. This unprecedented action is to provide an opportunity for equity, bond and commodity traders an attempt to assign price valuations to their holdings in response to the apparent long term freeze in markets in the United Kingdom and United States. The maximum variation in trading prices will be twenty percent to the upside or downside and all holdings from overseas companies not open to trading in their domestic markets will remain frozen until further notice. Commodities and currency trading will be limited to cooperating markets that are not denominated in British Pound Sterling or the United States Dollar.”

I immediately piped up and said “Mr. Lewis, is there any other nations with business news in English we can follow?” He harrumphed and said “just a second” as he fumbled through some old radio magazines and clicked on his laptop for a program guide that apparently the crazy old man saved on his hard drive. Just as I was saying “Why do you have the computer on when the internet is down…” he cut me off and said, “Here we go and don’t question me again or I’ll send you home to the wolves. I download every schedule I can just for events like this because face it, our government wouldn’t want us to know what is going on.” I nodded contritely in agreement and watched as the he punched a new frequency into the radio.

It was almost like magic as the voice appeared but this time, it was not a voice I wanted to hear. The overseas service of Radio Japa was on,  or the old NHK as my late dad used to call it,  and it was a very unhappy sounding soul speaking on to the radio this evening.

“The Japanese Government views the actions of the United States and participating members of the Commonwealth of the United Kingdom as in fact a de facto default on obligations and as such is demanding payment in full with the valuation of the dollar being placed at the closing price ten days previous to Thursday Morning, February 25th, 2010. The Japanese government warns that if some arrangements are not made to insure payment in full upon these terms within seventy-two hours, all United States properties and possessions on Japanese Imperial territory will be seized without exception.”

Mr. Lewis fell back into his chair and before I could speak shushed me again. He turned up the radio to listen to a Japanese financial expert describe that a failure by the U.S. to make good on these obligations would lead to a crash of their nation and for them, forcing them into a new alliance with the Chinese government to force or create a settlement program for the money we owed them. After he stated that the Japanese Yen would trade on par with the U.S. Dollar if it were allowed to float, I sunk into the chair Mr. Lewis provided, sipping on that ice cold beer he had provided at the top of the hour. “My God, ” he started, “Do you realize what this means? We’re bankrupt. We’re toast. We can never be free as we knew it again! We are now the slaves of Asia!” and then Mr. Lewis started to mumble about Southeast Asia, betrayal and other such things while I stared blankly at a radio speaker with beer slowly leaking on my Reeboks.

I looked over at Mr. Lewis almost panic stricken and said “I’ve got to get home. I can’t leave my wife alone through all this.” Mr. Lewis, being the calm, cool collected sort as he was grabbed my wrist and said “That’s a good way to get shot son. Besides if something happens we are less than half a mile away and I’m armed better than the police, sheriffs and National Guard around here. Stay put tonight and we’ll get you home when curfew is up.”  The lack of sleep was getting to me. I nodded in acceptance of his thoughts, knowing full well that my wife had to be freaking out by now and that he was right and once again the wisdom of the ages would show me the way.

After seeing the panic in my eyes he looked over at me, almost sympathetically and said “Let’s spend the night listening to the world.  Africa should be coming in soon then the Pacific and Asia. Conditions are good and if these local stations are still on the air, we should be able to listen to what the heck is going on. The news is fast, hot and heavy and knowing is ninety percent of surviving son.” It almost sounded as my father was speaking to me again, but the words did not soothe me, they intrigued me. I wanted to know but I did not want to know.

February 25, 2010 2:15 A.M. Eastern Time

Trooper Mike Margate had just left the scene of a major robbery and assault in the small town of Bonifay when the Florida State dispatch rang out again on his radio “Unit 907, this is dispatch, 10-33, oh hell, shooting in progress at Exit 233, County Road 257 off Sparks. Proceed with caution. Mike, I’ll send back up if it becomes available. Unknown number of assailants, it’s only a 911 call that’s all I have.” Mike nodded and exhausted as if he was about to pass out after fifteen hours on duty  grabbed the mike “10-4, unit 907 responding and Cindy, tell my wife I’ll be home even later than before.”

The Trooper put the lights on and got on the interstate hammering down to the exit where the crime was reported. The trooper learned from his cohorts about an ambush earlier in the evening so instead of heading in with the lights and sirens on as soon as he approached the exit he killed his flashers, headlights and took his seat belt off while putting the pistol on the seat right beside him. “Damned if I’m going to leave my kids without a father” he thought to himself. He pulled off the exit and turned south in the dark driving slowly looking for any signs of trouble. As he came over the rise there was an old Dodge minivan on fire in the middle of the road and what looked like a body on fire on the highway.

As Mike reached for his pistol a loud shattering crack hit his windshield in the reflection of the fire, and as he slumped over the steering wheel, driving the car into the ditch to the left side of the road, he died. The gang quickly went to work, pulling the body out of the car and stripping him of his money, gold jewelry, firearms and credit cards. His body was left in the ditch for the boars or other critters as his vehicle was shut down and pushed back on to the street for the gangsters to use in other ambushes. The firearms in the trunk, ammunition and now, most importantly, the radio communications becoming a tool they could use to their advantage to lure other victims into their backwater snare.

The decline and fall was accelerating. How much longer before the hammer would come down was the only question now.

There’s Two “T’s” in Ottumwa (The Day the Dollar Died IX) by John Galt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at johngaltfla.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://johngaltfla.com/.

by John Galt

December 16, 2009

The following is an ongoing FICTIONAL ACCOUNT…..

February 25, 2010 00:10 A.M. CT

Mike’s annoying alarm went off on schedule and as was habit when he was under dispatch, he threw his winter snow gear on over his long johns, threw his boots and gloves on and went outside to check his tractor and trailer. He walked out into the globally warmed temperatures of twenty-seven below zero and as the snow crunched beneath his boots he started to ponder the phone call he received. His attempts to call his office and reach his dispatcher were for naught as all he got was the voice mail tree at his company but considering the circumstances, he figured this was the way the new world would operate, under total government control. He crawled up into the icy cab after checking the oil heaters and covers and turned the engine on the massive Kenworth over, satisfied to hear his old girl start right up in the cold Minnesota air as she had done for the past seven years.

While the truck idled and the reefer unit cycled as it was supposed to, he realized he only had fuel in the trailer for another twenty hours thus the muttering “thank God I can dump these pigs and come back home” while checking the grease on his fifth wheel and seeing what else may need to be thawed before he rolled out in an hour or so.  “12:40 in the damned morning” he whispered through his parka’s face wrap as it evaporated into the icy air. Mike trudged back inside to clean up and get ready for his “escort” which meant looking professional and making sure his .38 caliber was tucked away where she couldn’t say a darned thing much less see it through all of the winter covering.

Precisely at 1:45 a.m. just as F.D.O.T. Tillens advised, there was a knock at the door. By this time his wife was up and had the shotgun leaning against the sofa as she had learned from him not to trust anyone at anytime when the world was in a world of deep stuff that smelled like a pigpen. “Mike Elmendorff with unit 1024?” the voice said on the other side of the door. Mike replied “yes, please identify yourself and show some identification about a foot away from the peephole please as we don’t trust no one” and then he took one step back from the door, his hand on the holster of his pistol. The voice on the other side said “Certainly sir” and put an identification card up that said “BLACKWATER SPECIAL SECURITY SERVICES, OTUMWA, IA BADGE#123779 MICHAEL THOMAS”, to which after holding it for a second he said “Can I come in out of the cold now sir? I am your escort to the cold storage for this morning’s delivery.”

Mike opened the door slowly, with his wife’s hand firmly gripping the shotgun now laid across her lap as a large man entered into the foyer. “Thank you Mr. Elmendorff, I appreciate you letting me in. I am with Blackwater and your special escort for the evening over to St. Cloud and the cold storage.” The icy air was soon shut out of the home as Mike said “Please step in and warm up. Would you like a cup of coffee?” Mike motioned to his wife to take her hand off the trigger guard and waved her away to which she gladly nodded, moving her hand to the butt of the twelve gauge. “Thank you sir, I would love a cup, it is brutal out there tonight” the guard said.  After a quick cup of coffee and kiss on his wife’s cheek, Mike told her goodbye and promised to call her after he was empty. The Blackwater guard thanked her and bundled back up as did Mike to depart for St. Cloud. It was now 2:12 a.m. and Mike’s wife started to pray as she never has before. The tension was killing her inside and she just did not feel something was right about making him deliver this order without hearing from the company.

The  Kenworth lumbered slowly on to I-94 south as the sheriff’s guard pulled his squad car out of the way, satisfied after he saw Mike’s familiar truck and trailer behind the black Ford LTD with the green and blue light panels flashing in the windshield and rear window  like a Federal vehicle pulling out in front of him on to the interstate. Mike was happy to feel the warmth of the heater finally kicking in and since he was finally moving forward with his escort, he felt relaxed a bit, and turned the radio on to see what was coming in on the Citizens Band and on the old A.M. radio clear channel stations.

The C.B. was eerily silent except on Channel 9 where someone sounding either drunk or crazy was screaming about his house being invaded by agents and begging for help with what sounded like gunfire in the background. “Damned kids” Mike thought to himself as he cranked the squelch up and turned the volume down to see if he could pick up WCCO or WOI to find some news or music.  As he departed Fergus Falls he noticed some sights he never thought he would see on the interstate as he got up to speed, cars in the emergency lanes, burned out, as if someone was trying to collect the insurance or something. “That’s pretty strange for around here” he thought to himself. He tuned his C.B. up to Channel 36 as per the Blackwater instruction sheet and called for a radio check to his escort, who replied in kind. Everything was normal it seemed and thus he could take breath as soon this last burden for the time being would soon be gone.

As they hit the exit for Highway 75 into St. Cloud he notice the Sheriff’s officer was giving the Blackwater guard a hard time at the checkpoint at the end of the ramp. The deputy walked up to Mike’s cab, tapped the door with his gun and Mike slowly rolled the window down to reply. “Can I help you officer?” he asked calmly. “Son, I need to see your bills and dispatch instructions. This security guard in front of you tells me you have D.O.T. orders to proceed to the cold storage but I have no paperwork telling me such nor any radio orders to allow you through here.” Mike slowly handed the paper work to him and explained the orders he got by phone from the Federal D.O.T. and why he was up this time of the morning. “Son?” Mike said, “Boy, I took kids like you into the paddies forty years ago. I could be your father!” Mike said to lighten things up a tad. “That’s okay sir, I understand what is going on, we are getting conflicting instructions from the Feds, the governor’s office and hell, even the county every ten damned minutes it seems!” the deputy replied. “You can proceed through and have a good day!” were the last words from the twenty-something deputy from Stearns County who was just doing his job.

Mike was glad to keep moving and the radio crackled “Follow me please and keep your doors locked. We have lots of hijacking reports Mr. Elmendorff” the Blackwater agent said. Mike confirmed the instructions, grabbed the pistol out of its holster and put it on the doghouse, close enough for action if need be. As if something weird was happening when the clock flipped on his radio to 3:35 a.m. the Qualcomm unit in his truck came back to life. As Mike was winding down the highway trying to avoid hitting abandoned cars and icy spots, he notice a series of new messages as the unit booted back up. Suddenly it started to seem like life was normal as the Qualcomm emblem emblazoned the screen and a message started to be received. Mike took his eyes off of the unit as the Blackwater guard slowed down to the gates of the cold storage and started to chatter with the guard at the gate. Everything looked normal and Mike slowly crept through the gate noticing the guard with either an AR-15 or M-16 plus lots of friends.

The radio crackled “Mike, please get in line with the trucks to warehouse two and re-tune your C.B. to Channel 19 for further instructions.” Mike acknowledged and turned left to join the other four trucks in the line this early morning. As he waited patiently listening to a little Johnny Cash from WOI on the radio, he noticed his Qualcomm unit flashing, something it had never done before. “WARNING! WARNING! DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE ANY DISPATCH ORDERS FROM F.D.O.T. VIA TELEPHONE! THESE MESSAGES COULD BE AN ATTEMPT TO SEIZE YOUR TRUCK, TRAILER AND/OR LOAD. CONTACT YOUR DISPATCH OFFICE BY 0800 OR REPLY TO THIS MESSAGE FOR INSTRUCTIONS.” Mike grabbed his .38  and laid it on his lap. He slowly started to type where he was and what the orders were without attempting to get the attention of the guards on the dock. A reply came back from the unit in very short, terse terminology:

“STANDBY FOR INSTRUCTIONS. WE WILL ATTEMPT TO SEND HELP.”

February 24, 2010 4:50 P.M. ET

“Mama, I don’t understand. You just had me grab every bit of food in your house. Just what are you planning for?” Sandy asked with a puzzled look on her face. “Honey, you and I and that husband of yours are going to spend a lot of time together and my ideal meals are not Spam, Spam and more Spam or whatever crap he bought at Chinamart, much less watching him learn how to cook, hunt, or figure out what surviving is all about. I’ve been through ice storms, the depression and your father’s unemployment in the 1970’s so I think I know a thing or two about gettin’ by” Lillian told her daughter,”Now grab all of my white linens while I grab my bottled water and gas cans out of the garage so we have a shot at making it to your place.”

Sandy was amazed at everything her mother had assembled on such short notice and took a moment to just gaze in amazement that this elderly woman who raised her so well was so prepared for what she thought was the end of the world. “Mama, I just love you, and wish I had your strength” she said.

“Honey, you do have it and this time I will force it to the surface, that I can promise” as she hugged her daughter in a deep embrace. “Now let’s get it loaded in your SUV so we can get out of here and get home before dark. Who knows what the idiots are up to and I want to get there before they figure out that we do have gas and food.”

February 24, 2010 3:40 P.M. ET

The wife looked at me as I was nuts. I explained that I had to know the news and the wind up cheapo shortwave survival radio was useless. I grabbed my pistol and promised her I would be back by the six o’clock curfew as I told her to lock up and headed next door to Fort James if I was not back by six. “James, get your butt out here” I yelled to him from his front door. “Darned if he didn’t need to add sandbags and armor plate” I muttered to myself admiring the aluminum  window shutters and plywood covering the openings in the front of his home. “I’m here, but I’m carrying, are we heading over to Old Man Lewis or what?” James asked. I nodded and we started the half mile walk up the street in an attempt to find out what the hell was happening in the world since now we were in the ultimate bubble, created by our own making and ignorance.

I took the lead and knocked on the door yelling loudly “Old Man” as he liked to be called and sure as all get out, a few minutes after banging away Old Man Lewis opened the door slowly only to stick the barrel of a .30-06 rifle through the crack in the door as he yelled “who the hell is this?” I told him it was me and James his neighbors from down the street and he unlocked what sounded like four chains before opening the door. “Dangit son, you could have called first” the old guy yelled at me. “Sir, how the heck was I supposed to do that?” I replied. “I guess it would have been too much to ask for you clowns to get an ARO rig before the fan got pooped up and call me on seventy-five meters. You yuppies are too young to understand, so I’ll forgive ya!” he replied back.

As Mr. Lewis motioned us downstairs, we noticed his windows were boarded up from the inside, so the curtains and blinds looked normal to the outside. I shrugged my shoulders to James as we headed downstairs to where he kept his amateur gear, a place where we had been visiting since we were kids, fascinated with the idea of talking to the world. “Boys, you ain’t about to believe what is going on. They’ve roadblocked the major interstates to stop the looters. The radio and TV stations are all under government orders now. This isn’t like a hurricane, it’s like the end of the world. People are calling me from around the world to ask me what is up and I’m begging them for information. Sit down and here, pass this bottle around, you’re going to need it” and after saying that he handed James a fifth of Canadian Mist and tuned his radio to the forty-one meter band.

“I know you’re not going to believe what I’m telling you, so sit tight while I tune into to one of my friends VE9 RA7 up in Canada. I have to actually contact them for information in other states to see what the hell is going on. I won’t remain on long as they are shutting down hams everywhere” he advised us. Mr. Lewis then asked “Is there any family you’re trying to reach while the hops on the East Coast are decent?” James spoke up “Yes sir, I have folks just outside of Birmingham, Alabama sir.” I had to pipe up also “I have folks just north of Buford, if there are any operators up there.” The old man looked at me like I was a three year old and replied “I don’t know son, the space aliens might have eaten everyone from Buford by now. What kind of stupid danged question was that?”

He mumbled a bit, turned the power button to his speaker on, took a swig of the Mist then tuned int around 7.221 Mhz and started the call:

“CQ, CQ, CQ, this is K9L5AV calling for anyone in the Atlanta, Georgia or Birmingham, Alabama areas, CQ, CQ, CQ” and he let off the mike and reclined back. Again a few minutes later the call went out but nothing came back. “CQ, CQ, CQ, is anybody out there, Georgia, Alabama, is anyone there, CQ, CQ?” he tried again and again. Suddenly a voice came back “This is VE9L5K in Ontario, Tom, is that you? Acknowledge please.” Old man Lewis perked up, grabbed the bottle from in front of James, took a swig as to lubricate his voice and yelled back “Sam you old dog, this is K9L5AV you’re coming in 3 over 3! How are ya doin’?” Mr. Lewis tuned the rig a bit more as the voice replied “FORTY- FOUR HERE OLD FRIEND! I’m glad to hear you’re in one piece. I was worried after the Buffalo stories we heard, over” the voice replied. The old man looked deeply concerned. He keyed the microphone and stared intently into the speaker as looking into someone’s face “What Buffalo stories? We’re blind, deaf and dumb down here, over?”

As he leaned back he turned the volume up “VE9L5K over, I’m not sure if we are authorized to tell you this but there was a bank riot in Buffalo. We heard over two hundred were arrested and five shot trying to break into a bank to get their money. The Peace Bridge is shut down, Niagara is closed and your Coast Guard has shut down the waterways in the area, OVER.”

Mr. Lewis was not pleased as he had friends and family everywhere. He keyed it up again “Any word from W6L 77J in Tonawanda? He’s an old friend, over, this is K9L5AV, over.” The voice was polite but short “No sir, nothing at all, over.” He signed the conversation off and tuned it up a few kilohertz after saying thanks to his buddy and logging the contact into his laptop for the call into Canada. “CQ, CQ, CQ, this is K9L5AV does anyone in Georgia or Alabama acknowledge this transmission, CQ, CQ, CQ” he repeated again. James was now freaking out a bit as I was getting even more nervous also. The whiskey was gone and the temperament of Mr. Lewis had changed, “Boys, get some coffee on. This is going to be a long night.” I told him we could not leave our wives alone and he replied “One of you should stay and get the news so we can spread it as fast as we can. Things ain’t what they seem and I can’t get an answer on any of the networks. Something big is up and I’m scared to guess what it might be.” James nodded to leave but before he did the old man grabbed his arm and said “Come with me.” He lead James to his workbench and handed him an old Zenith Transoceanic radio with a box of batteries. “You need to tune into the news from overseas and get the word out. I’m afraid something really bad has happened” he told him as he handed the rig to him and patted him on the back.

“Now let’s see if we can find the world” he replied to me, motioning back to the radio room. “But my wife…” I started to say and James cut me off saying “Don’t worry, I’ll escort her over here before curfew and watch your house. I want to know that is up and as soon as you know, tell me in the morning.” It was already five fifteen and darkness would arrive soon. “Thank you James, be careful out there, this is getting weird” and he nodded as he walked out the door as to acknowledge that our friendship had grown instantly. “Son! Get in here! You ain’t going to believe this!” the old man’s voice crackled out as I locked the seven locks on his front door. “Now what?” I thought to myself. Darned if I had not learned to quit asking that question, as the more information might scare me a tad bit more than the lack of information. “Sigh, another sleepless night” I said as I walked down the stairs.

When I walked into the radio room Mr. Lewis has the speakers blaring with military march music. “Why are you tuned into Cuba?” I yelled at him over the din.

“It ain’t Cuba!” he yelled back.

Security for Liberty for All (The Day The Dollar Died Part VII) by John Galt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at johngaltfla.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.johngaltfla.com.

by John Galt

December 7, 2009

First a brief commentary. I want to personally thank everyone who has forwarded, copied, reposted, and promoted this web site and the series as it exists today. I was not attempting to present a “professionally written” speculative series novel online (also called a ‘blovel’ I have learned) but rather a series of stories that tied the reality of what could happen to the average person.  While many people view this as a potentially good novel to proceed with, I’ll take a pause on this matter and simply remind people of why I wrote this:

To make you and I  think about the future.

What mistakes will the powers in charge make? How does this reality set in on the average household? Will America survive? What will the world do to us in retaliation? What do I need to do to get my house in order and survive the insanity?

Those questions and I am sure thousands of others come to mind. I know that it seems somewhat insane to consider this story as a potential reality but in my book, all stories have some merit, except maybe those with the Mad Max twist and shout angles that I do not believe will occur in the short to intermediate term and are only possible should there be an all out war in the world we live in. Instead,  I fear we will live in the world of a bifurcated dollar where the rest of the world decouples from the United States in an effort to survive the collapse of the empire we have created. Pax Americana could indeed lead to a resurgence in or ascendancy within the nations of Asia, led by China and crossing the Steppes, much like the Mongolian hordes did a millennium ago. Thus I continue this series and shall start one new chapter every Wednesday so I can continue focusing on every event and finishing another work at the same time.

I hope you enjoy this blovel and continue to provide feedback as you see fit. There is no right or wrong, only opinion as everything from this point forward is FICTION…..

February 24, 2010 10:55 A.M. Eastern Time

Lillian was sipping coffee by the cash register when Sandy ran back inside and yelled “Mama, I need your help with the State Patrol.” Lillian carefully placed the cup down and complemented the cashier on her courtesy and understanding, realizing that this could well be the last cup of coffee she got from her favorite restaurant for a long time to come. As she approached her somewhat bedraggled daughter the trooper was getting his report book out and starting to interview his daughter. The trooper started to speak in that South Georgia drawl to Sandy, “Ma’am, I hate to say this, but you really shouldn’t be this far from home ’cause their aren’t any gas stations open with fifty miles of here and I’m not sure if I can help you.” Sandy looked somewhat distraught at her mother who asked the most basic question that anyone could have and should have asked of the officer; “Sir, do you happen to have any spare gas that I can purchase from you?” Sandy looked relieved until the officer snapped at both them in a very firm voice “We can’t spare a drop at this point in time. There is too much going on and I have spent enough time on a case that will never be processed. We are only working major felonies, monetary crimes and area enforcement cases at this time.” Lillian had heard this before as her mother had to deal with the rations manager in the small town of Adel during the big war. Lillian  batted her eyes in that adoring grandmother pose and looked into the trooper’s eyes as she said “Sonny, I’ll give you all my money, forty bucks, if you can just spare five gallons so she can get home. I promise that she’ll drop me off west of town and then head on to her house.”

The trooper, exhausted after twenty hours of solid duty, nodded, popped open his trunk and handed Sandy a full five gallon can from one of the six he had in his trunk and then looked over at the smiling little old lady and said “Ma’am, you can keep your money. It’s not worth a thing anyways. Y’all need to get home, lock the doors and hunker down for a few days until this thing sorts out. Hopefully they’ll get the grocery stores and banks open in a few days.”  Sandy snapped right back in a submissive voice, “Sir I promise you, we’ll go to her house, pick up some supplies and lock up at my house. I promise!” The trooper nodded and Lillian smiled and handed him a small gold ring on her pinky and whispered into his ear “Sonny, God Bless you. I have had a full life and now I have my daughter for whatever is next because of you. Take this as a token of thanks, it isn’t much but we’re all going to need real money for what is next.” The officer smiled, kissed her on the cheek and ducked into his car to hear the radio call “10-34 in progress, all units near Pitts Shell off Highway 54 in Peachtree City respond immediately. Officer is down on scene and requesting assistance.” He confirmed the call, slammed the door and peeled out of the parking lot lights and siren blazing away. Sandy was finishing up pouring the gas into her car and looked up at her Mama and tearfully said “I wish I was as strong as you Mama!” Lillian could tell her daughter was upset by today’s events and looked back at her with a reassuring smile with the words only a mother could say, “You’ll be stronger than ever after this honey, that’s a promise.”

February 24, 2010 12:00 P.M. Central Time

Mike’s phone rang as if almost on schedule, except instead of his dispatcher being on the company phone, it was the Federal Department of Transportation. The voice on the other end was quite blunt “Unit 1204, Mike Elmendorff, is this you on the  line?” Mike hesitated and replied, “Yes, it is me, can you please identify yourself?” The female voice blurted out “This is Sandra Tillens with FDOT calling all truckers currently with foodstuffs on their trailers under dispatch in the Minnesota district. According to the information submitted by your company on Pro number 47762IBP1011 you have approximately 15,000 lbs. of boxed frozen pork destined for Duluth Meat Supply in Duluth, MN.” The hesitation in Mike’s voice turned into concern when he told her “Your information is correct. How can I help you?” Ms. Tillens replied sternly “You are hereby instructed to deliver this order to Superior Cold Storage at 1123 Mullins Avenue in St. Cloud, Minnesota at 0400 in the morning. We will send an escort from the State Police to insure you arrive safely.” Mike’s blood pressure hit a boiling point by now as he was not in any mood to be dictated to after all that has happened in the last seventy-two hours. “And Missy, when do I get paid for hauling this load and will I get my fuel reimbursement my jack ass dispatcher said I would get when I spent my own money to keep this unit running for the last two days?” She was not going to take any huff from the old driver “Sir, you are under orders as this load has been transferred to FEMA for redistribution. You can fulfill this delivery and contact your company on Monday about settlements which will be processed by the state of Minnesota or we can send a unit with the proper escort to take the trailer from you and deliver it back to you when we are finished unloading it or a time of our choosing.”

Mike knew he was licked, “Ma’am, I will be there at 0400. For your sake, I hope my wife is safe while I am gone.” The lady hung up at that point and Mike called grabbed his personal cell phone to try to get in touch with Deputy Monckton. “Jack, I need a huge favor” Mike asked when he picked up the phone. “Mike, I’m in no position to do anything. We’ve been issued full body armor and I have roadblock duty with a National Guard unit out at 210 and 75 north of Breckenridge. I can’t do a thing to help you old friend” Jack replied. “Damnit man, my wife is going to be all alone tomorrow and I fear that those nuts we heard on the interstate are still around!” Mike said somewhat exasperated. Jack paused and said “Mike, I wouldn’t sweat it. You’re going to have an escort and anyone caught out after dark without proper authorization is shot on sight. This is the old days new again old buddy, just like the crap sandwiches we ate in ‘70 in the jungle. I’ve got to go, we’re mounting up now to get into position before dark. I’ll call you on Friday or Saturday when we’re relieved.” Mike said his goodbyes and walked into the other room where his wife was sitting looking at him with that glare that only a woman you’ve known for years could give. She started speaking before Mike said a word as he started to open his mouth and told him “Just leave me a pistol and a shotgun. And you had best identify yourself mister when you knock at the door or I’ll blow your butt away.” Mike smiled, walked over and hugged his wife and whispered in her ear “I love you baby. I’ll leave you the 357 and I’ll take the peashooter. You’re the greatest.”

February 24, 2010 3:00 P.M. ET

“This is the Voice Of America Domestic News Service, welcome to the afternoon update from Washington, D.C.” the voice boomed over the television. I turned the volume up because some information was better than none at all and I needed to find out anything about what was happening in the world beyond the canned garbage coming out of the radio. At the conclusion of the five minute update, of all things, CNBC returned to “normal” programming except that instead of the afternoon market update, it was a bizarre studio setting with a very exhausted looking Federal Reserve Chairman about to be interviewed by Maria Bartiromo. For this, I had to stay tuned in and called my wife into the room to watch the show as this could set the course for years for this nation.

Maria Bartiromo: “Good afternoon Chairman Bernanke and welcome to the Voice of America’s Business Report. ”

Stunned, I immediately did what about half the nation did and hit the “INFO” button on my remote control to insure that yes, I was on Channel 39 and the Comcast ID did say “CNBC” so I guess the insanity I was witnessing was not about to end.

Chairman Bernanke: “Thank you Maria, I hope to enlighten everyone about the great success we have accomplished in Geneva.”

Bartiromo: “With the financial markets shut down worldwide and the banking system paralyzed in this country, what actions were agreed to in Geneva to restore the system?”

Bernanke: “The meetings we held were basically an acceleration of the prior agreements signed off on at the last G20 and G8 meetings. The first priority will be to open the Asian and European financial markets since the nations in those blocs have established an accelerated schedule to use the new Universal Currency Unit for international trade and to discontinue the current single nation reserve currency system.  In the interim, the United States will operate under the emergency declaration issued by the Federal Reserve banks and the President of the United States for the next ninety days.”

Bartiromo: “With the emergency declaration set to expire in a few months, does this mean our equity and bond markets will not reopen any time soon or will they have to wait for other actions to be completed before we restart the system?”

Bernanke: “The actual process is not that complicated. The devaluation agreements have been completed and now we are in the process of assigning new valuations to all equity and bond holdings traded openly on the markets plus issuing new domestic debt bonds to substitute for Treasury issues held by domestic institutions and individuals.  After the new issues and exchange process is completed for Federal, State and municipal securities, the markets will reopen after the pricing configuration for non-Government issues and forced defaults are assigned within the new system. The pricing process has been assigned to committee within the Federal Reserve system at the New York branch and should be completed by March 8th. The financial markets are projected to open under the new six hour trading rules on that date at 9 a.m. Eastern time barring something unforeseen.”

Bartiromo: “Why six hours and not the traditional hours as set by the exchanges?”

Bernanke: “Per the new international regulatory authority, IFROB or the International Financial Regulatory Oversight Board, which reports to the International Monetary Fund and the United Nations, we must comply with all transaction authority until the Federal Reserve system is one hundred percent compliant and merged with the new World Reserve Bank established in Geneva as per the G20 Washington Accords of 2008. The stability from using international regulations  over domestic oversight, which has failed and created the situation we find ourselves in today,  shall enhance the power of the reserve bank branches via internationalization yet prevent the gaming of the system and creation of untested financial instruments that destabilize world markets.”

Bartiromo: “Mr. Chairman you hinted in previous statements from Geneva that despite the domestic issues which are vexing the systemic restart, there would be a major impact felt by individual investors and the average citizen, changes which would revolutionize our economy and create a true free market with controls to insure stability. Could you please expand on those statements?”

Bernanke: “Certainly Maria. The accords which have been working on are designed to prevent a default by the United States and to stabilize the currency exchange process via a non-singularity which was the weakness originally designed in the post war Bretton Woods agreement. The approach of a unified currency system and allowing individual nations to opt out and continue financial transactions or economic activities in their own domestic monetary units will allow for a slower compliance period for debtor nations needing to fulfill obligations and balance their national books before accepting the new international system. The United States is the largest debtor thus the compliance period for our country will be ten years, of which the President has signed off on the austerity accords which the Reserve banks concurred with and allows the United States to return to a stable economic participant in the world by 2021.”

Bartiromo: “What does this mean for Main Street?”

Bernanke: “Ultimately it will return us to an era of prosperity we have not enjoyed for almost fifty years ago. It provides a budgetary discipline which allows the country to provide economic security for the citizens and to preserve the important liberties for all.  Soon enough,  as the price stability quotas are implemented, things will start to calm down and the business of America will return to being focused on the economic growth engine of the world.”

Bartiromo: “Are there new regulations for equity and financial markets that will be issued? There are many viewers concerned about their 401K’s and IRA’s who are watching this afternoon.”

Bernanke: “Yes Maria, and fortunately for all participants in retirement programs or investment vehicles like that, the United States Government with the approval of the IMF has agreed to insure and guarantee the market values of all of these instruments as of the close of business on Friday, February 22. The price and valuations are locked in place and can be converted to the new DTI’s or Domestic Treasury Issues on March 8th or submitted to the Social Security Administration for the new Civilian Retirement Fund Management Program which opens for subscriptions on March 2, 2010. Either solution should re-assure the average investor that their life savings will not be lost during this turbulent transition period.”

Bartiromo: “Thank you Mr. Chairman for your time this afternoon and back to the new VOA studios for a panel discussion on today’s revelations.”

I was stunned silent again when my wife nudged me and said “I guess this means we will never really see our retirement funds, will we?” I nodded my head with a very saddened negative connotation and asked her one important question which was bothering me since this began, “Will you still love me if I dig ditches or become a bureaucrat?” She hugged me tight and kissed me with a whispering “yes” in my ear. The untenable situation had hit home and hopefully tomorrow the mailman will bring us information about what happened to the tens of thousands of dollars we had been saving for our future or at least give us a hint as to what the future may bring.  I knew one thing though, I had to find some sort of communications outlet beyond the new government controlled media or I would go insane. With that in mind, I told my wife “Honey, I’m going for a walk at five. Why don’t you stay home and guard the house with our neighbors. I have to go a few blocks over and see if old man Lewis still has his amateur radio gear all hooked up and see what the news is not telling us.”

Little did I know what you don’t know might hurt you far worse than the truth.

Security for Liberty for All (The Day The Dollar Died Part VII) by John Galt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at johngaltfla.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at www.johngaltfla.com.

by John Galt

December 2, 2009

The entire story below is FICTION. Before I post Part VII I shall have a summary of the events  with some commentary since the first installment then a brief discussion about the Appendix I am putting together for the first seven parts.

February 24, 2010 9:45 A.M.

Sandy’s mother was no spring chicken but being a true Southern girl from Adel gave her the toughness and experience to ride out many a weird situation. Here she was seventy-nine years old and with a south Georgia name like Lillian, she knew that everyone would always come to “Mama Lil” for wisdom when times got tough or the pie didn’t turn out just right. As she looked up at her forty-five year old daughter, she just shook her head as she sipped the coffee in the IHOP her daughter insisted on taking her to this morning. Lillian glanced up and started on Sandy with “Honey, you didn’t have to come all the way over here. It’s not like it hasn’t snowed in Georgia before and I have plenty of fresh canned meat, fruits and vegetables. I’ll bet you haven’t even got a can of Spam in your house.” Sandy just sighed and replied “Mama, Tom went out after work Monday night and loaded up on all kinds of canned stuff that’s unhealthy and bought some toilet paper then made five bucks per package on it in the parking lot. We’re set for a few weeks and don’t worry about a thing with us. We’re worried about you.”

Lil leaned back as the waitress refilled the coffee then another server placed the first plate in front of Sandy loaded with eggs, bacon, pancakes and that selection of syrups that made the IHOP famous for creating business for dentists for decades before. While Lillian was stirring some sugar into her coffee, her plate full of three eggs over easy, the bacon still sizzling, two links and two pancakes with a bowl of steaming hot grits with butter was set in front of her. The waitress, obviously exhausted said politely “Is there anything else y’all need? This might be our last morning open if the supply truck doesn’t arrive, we’re going to run out of food in about an hour and that will be that.” Lil smiled and said in that drawl, “That’s OK honey, we’ll enjoy it as I’m sure y’all took care of us, I have more than I can ask for, don’t you Sandy?” Sandy looked puzzled and just nodded her head no as she dug into the best meal she had had in past day plus.

“Mama, what did you mean by that?” Sandy asked puzzled as she took a bite of butter and syrup loaded pancakes. “Pass me the butter and blueberry syrup please dear,” her mom replied, “and I’ll explain why you’re going to have to get used to what I grew up with as a baby.” Lillian went into a story Sandy had heard a million times before when she was growing up, but this time she paid attention. “Mama, why did you have to eat turnips every night? Didn’t that get old?” Sandy asked as she interrupted the story. “Honey, we were thrilled to take some fat back and turnips with black pepper on some nights frying them up to add some spice to the meals.  If we were lucky the potatoes would come in and we could have turnip and potato soup or maybe even a chicken once a month. You have to remember all that nonsense that Roosevelt spread in 39 about a recovery did not mean we recovered. Heck it took the draft to get rid of enough labor to open up the job market down there. We would have starved if it weren’t for the war” she replied seeing the concern in her daughter’s eyes.

As they finished breakfast an hour and a bit later, Lillian insisted that she gets the tip and left the waitress a nice new ten dollar bill. “Mama!” Sandy gasped out, “that’s too much!” Her mom glared back and sternly said “Don’t make a scene, she earned it and will probably be without work this afternoon. You need to worry about you and that husband of yours!” As they walked to the front with the receipt, Sandy reached in her wallet and handed the cashier her debit card and the receipt. The assistant manager, a somewhat exhausted fifty something lady from Villa Rica who looked like she’d been working three days solid said politely “Ma’am, we aren’t taking any cards at this time. The sign on the door says cash only.” Sandy looked over at her mom and with a wee bit of panic said “Mama, I don’t…” and before she could finish Lillian cut her off and handed twenty-five dollars in cash to the bedraggled employee and told her to keep the change. “Honey, I told you I was ready for this years ago” as she held her daughter’s hand and they walked out the door.

Sandy walked around to the passenger side of her GMC Sierra and opened the door and helped her mom into the SUV. As her mom was settling in fumbling with the seat controls and seat belts, Sandy walked around to the driver’s side and screamed out “OH MY GOD! HELP SOMEBODY HELP ME!” There was a small section of rubber hose sticking out of her gas tank nozzle, with what appeared to be drops of gasoline evaporating into the bitter winter wind. The adventure of Sandy in Peachtree City was about to begin even though she was less than two hours away from her home.

February 24, 2010 10:00 A.M. Central Time

Deputy Monckton finished the coffee and as he expected after the speeches from the President and Geithner a call came in on his radio. “All units return to base” was all the voice uttered and as everyone replied with a confirmation he waited for a pause to reply after a deep breath. He looked over at his old friend of many years and told him “This is the call we have all been dreading. We were trained for this in 2002 and 2007 but never thought it would really happen.” Mike said in a somewhat softened, uncharacteristic tone of voice “What call is that Jack? Hell, you have me spooked now.” The deputy handed Mike a copy of a memo they received on Monday morning from Washington from the Federal Emergency Management Agency and Department of Homeland Security. Mike scanned it and blurted out as he read it “NATIONALIZED? OUR LOCAL SHERIFF HAS BEEN NATIONALIZED?!? Jack are you freaking kidding me?”

“No Mike, I’m not. They have been waiting for the official call from the governor’s office relieving us of our state duties. Bush set this up as an option after the September 11th attacks but nobody ever thought we would see the orders signed by any President” Monckton said, putting his coat on and looking down at the floor. “Jack, just what will you do? You’re going to have some tough choices if they order you against the citizens of this town” Mike said now somewhat agitated. The deputy put his hat and gloves on and looked into Mike’s eyes, “I’ll do my job old buddy, just like I always have.”

February 24, 2010 11:00 A.M. Eastern Time

AUTOMATIC REDIRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER.

THANK YOU THE U.S.I.A.

- 404 UNAVAILABLE -

I was getting somewhat frustrated. The messages were similar, the annoyance complete. First my bank goes offline, then the Wall Street Journal, then the New York Times, then Drudge, then my message boards and now Yahoo and Google so I can’t even check my own email or chat with friends to find out what is going on in the rest of the country.  The only websites that I could access were state and Federal government websites which had not been  updated in twenty-four hours.  Just as I was ready to rip the computer out of the desk and smash it against the wall, the phone rang. And rang. And rang. And it kept ringing. “Damned voice mail must be down too” I thought to myself. Finally after about twenty rings I picked it up and the call that just made my day dandy began:

“Hello to the citizens of this household.”

I had to ignore it for a second and yell out “Honey pick up the phone, the President is calling us.”

“….to contact everyone we can and reassure them during this time of crisis in our nation. Our staff is working day and night to return all systems to normal. No doubt you have heard the speech this morning and perhaps the follow up information from Treasury Secretary Geithner about the functioning of our financial markets in the days ahead. I want to assure that this incident is under investigation as it is possible this attack on our nation’s financial security was an act of terror but in the interim, the collapse of our dollar is a needless rumor spread by the enemies of our great nation to diminish our ability to function in the world community. I shall repair, rebuild and insure that the United States dollar will forever be a currency that we the people can be proud of and have faith as an instrument of commerce. If you wish to receive more information about the new policies and obtain the application for G-GAP or Generalized Government Assistance Program, designed for all citizens you can go to ggap.gov or press 2 at the end of this phone call to leave a recorded message and request a consultation with your regional or neighborhood financial management specialist. Thank you and God Bless you and God Bless America and the citizens of this great planet.”

“BEEP..press 1 to end this call, press 2 to set up a consultation, press 3 for an emergency conference location near you, press 4 to replay the message or hang up to terminate this call.”

I slammed the phone down only to hear an angry swear word and down the hall a somewhat perturbed wife yelling at me “Damnit, I was on that line still when you slammed it!” After an apology and a promise not to do it again, I decided to see if I could get on any foreign news sites on the internet for any information and that was blocked also.  Just as I feared, the overseas websites were blocked including the BBC, Canadian newspapers and the wire services and that meant that the only source of information was our local television and radio plus the government websites. The information clamp down to prevent rampant rumors and speculation had begun and that was why my friend told me to go home and get ready for the announcements.

I went to the website mentioned and what appeared was a poorly constructed website with links to all sorts of government assistance programs and after searching it long and hard the information I wanted “Links to Important U.S. Government Agencies” which I clicked and after some scrolling found the U.S. Treasury website. I figured that they had to post some news about the banks and since I was unemployed now, how to access our accounts.  As the web page slowly loaded up, there was a new display from the one I had remembered in the past. The links were for everything from news to “Updated International Currency Exchange Information as of 02.24.10″ and a brand new section on “Investing in the New America.” Just to see what was going on in the world of international currencies, I clicked on the link about currency exchange and to this day I wish that I had not.

My eyes felt like they had bugged out of my skull when I saw the exchange rates:

1 IMF UCU = $8.00 U.S.

1 IMF UCU = $T 1.00*

1 Euro = $5.00 U.S.

1 Pound Sterling = $1.50 U.S.

10 Yen = $1.00

2 Yuan = $1.00 ** Exchange rate expires 03.25.10 future rates yet to be determined**

0.25 Swiss Franc = $1.00

*=$T not available for United States or United Kingdom citizens, for corporate or international trading purposes only with participating nations.

and on and on and on. I was stunned. Our currency had indeed been either reset or collapsed for some reason despite the cheery “we can do it” speeches of the past thirty days and this morning. Then it hit me like my wife clubbing me with a frying pan upside the head; what the heck is an IMF UCU? I clicked on the currency links provided and there it was a “brief” explanation:

“The IMF Universal Currency Unit is a new electronic exchange currency designed to expedite and accommodate all participating nations for intnational trade and settlements. The IMF UCU rates are set by the Joint Council consisting of the World Bank, IMF, and United Nations Bank Central Committee.”

As I sat stunned in my office chair, I clicked back to the main page and the other link was equally important that I reviewed next:

Elimination of United States Coinage and Expiration Dates

$0.01 United States Penny – Phase out date 04.01.2010

$0.05 United States Nickel – Phase out date 04.01.2010

$0.10 United States Dime-Phase out date 04.01.2010

$0.25 United States Quarter-Phase out date 05.01.2010

$0.50 United States Half-Dollar-Phase out date IMMEDIATELY

$1.00 United States Dollar Coinage-Phase out date IMMEDIATELY

Retail outlets were being instructed to accept all coinage but offer no change and instead provide SUSDR (Special United States Depository Receipts) for which customers will be able to deposit in their bank accounts or trade for electronic credits via the new GGAP cards. Holy smokes, I thought to myself, they just increased the price of everything and eliminated everything but paper currency! What was more alarming was that those of us who dealt with some international suppliers now had to figure out the impact of the new Trade Dollar and how we would do business again. Then it hit me hard as I realized my business was burned to the ground this morning and my wife’s job working for the state in the transportation department was still frozen as they said to “standby” for instructions for employees. Everything now had changed and the void of information except for that filtered by the government was creating more panic than reassurance.

February 24, 2010 1:42 P.M. Eastern Time

Suddenly the BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM of what sounded like gunshots rang out in what sounded like my back yard. Without hesitation I grabbed my shotgun and yelled at my wife to take cover in the bathtub with my pistol and the kittens. She yelled at me “Hell no, who’s going to cover the other windows!” Good point I thought as I crept window to window trying to figure out who or what was shooting at us. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! rang out again echoing through the neighborhood and soon sirens started to blare in the distance. I would hear the noise about every few minutes and figured it was a gang gun fight or a homeowner defending themselves from the scumbags of the world.

As I peered out of the blinds in my side window, I placed my finger over the trigger guard only to see our neighbor’s ten year old kid carrying a piece of plywood and James standing on a ladder with his nail gun firing away blasting nails into the wood to secure the wood over the windows. I walked over to my wife and handed her the shotgun telling her what was going on and talk to him. “James just what the hell are you doing? We are not in hurricane season son!” I yelled at him. He wiped his sleeve on his forehead to get the sweat out of his eyes, sat the nail gun down on the top of the ladder and stepped down. “We’ve already been hit by the hurricane and I’m not going to take any chances. You should do the same thing John so you can sleep at night as I’m hearing stories from the neighborhood of a lot of break ins and armed burglaries in other parts of towns including home invasions and worse” he replied with a very worried look on his face. “James, just how the heck are you going to see who is coming to your house if you have all the windows boarded up and what if you need to get out due to a fire?” I asked innocently enough. “Same way you would deal with it John” he replied motioning over to his shotgun leaning up against the wall.

“Maybe we should start a neighborhood watch and block off the cul-de-sac so we can guard each other’s homes” he suggested. I told him it was not a bad idea and when he was through asked him if I could borrow his nail gun. He was right I realized. The hurricane had hit and this time we had to board the windows up to be safe afterwards, not before the storm. Little did I realize how insane his suggestion was though about a neighborhood watch. The BMW and champagne crowd we lived among were totally clueless as to what was going on in the real world and as long as the sheeple networks continued to broadcast non-news related drivel, they would not take the seriousness of our situation at heart. I now realized what happened when you’re trapped in suburbia and limited with a route to escape or deal with the new reality.

Security for Liberty for All (The Day The Dollar Died Part VII) by John Galt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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