2041 The Peoples' United States

by T W Powell

  “That is strange, Doc.”

  “What’s even stranger is the first shipments of vaccine will be coming to the PUS along with antibody test kits. A protocol has already been established. Chinese nationals will be tested then vaccinated. Members of The Collective will then be tested and vaccinated based upon Social Quotient. After the program is underway and successful, those with low Social Quotients; Whites, labor camp and prison inmates, the handicapped, and the elderly will be vaccinated with a higher strength vaccine designed to compensate for their compromised immune systems. They will not be tested,”

  “That is very strange Doc. Since when does The Collective care about those with low Social Quotients and why not test everyone?”

  “You’re right Beth. None of this makes any sense” Doc Pham was

  just shaking his head. The one thing Ho couldn’t tell Beth, despite their close working relationship, was that he must report all this to the Resistance.

  Nap Time

  Physical Fitness Period wrapped up at Noon. Lunch Period immediately followed Fitness. Today’s lunch consisted of beans, rice, a slice of whole wheat bread, a fresh pear, and a glass of milk. As the children sat down at their assigned seats, Tasha noticed little Yasmin Pham slightly bowing her head and she appeared to be muttering to herself. After the 30-minute Lunch Period, the Young Members returned to their classroom for their daily 30-minute Nap Time.

  About 15 minutes into Nap Time, Natasha walked over to Yasmin’s desk. Yasmin had her head down and eyes closed but she wasn’t asleep. When Yasmin felt Natasha’s presence, she raised her head and opened her eyes. Having Member Brown standing directly above her was quite intimidating.

  Natasha whispered, “Member Pham, would you please follow me…”

  Yasmin silently shook her head “YES” and slowly rose and followed Natasha outside the classroom.

  Natasha stopped just outside the door, turned, and looked directly down into Yasmin’s anxious brown eyes, “Member Pham, I noticed at lunch that you dropped your head before eating. Are you not feeling well?”

  “Member Brown, I feel fine, I always pause before I eat.”

  “I also saw your lips moving as if you were muttering something under your breath.”

  Yasmin was not a very good liar, “Oh yes, I was just repeating the Peoples’ Pledge in honor of the wonderful lunch provided by The Collective.”

  “Oh, I see. Thank you for clarifying that. As your teacher, I advise you to be careful with your mealtime rituals as they could be mistaken for something counter-revolutionary. Do you understand, Member Yasmin?”

  “I think I do Member Brown.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do Member Pham. You may return to your desk.”

  That evening, after their Peoples’ Phones were stowed away, Tasha brought up the Yasmin incident with Beth, “There’s a little girl in my class named Yasmin, Yasmin Pham. I think she’s your boss’ daughter.”

  “Yes, she is. How is she doing?”

  “She’s a good student, but I thought I saw her bowing her head and saying a prayer before lunch today.”

  “Did you ask her about it?”

  “Yes, I did. She made up a bullshit story about saying the Peoples’ Pledge before meals. Have you seen any similar behavior from her father?”

  For the first time since they were Juniors in High School, Beth was not truthful with Tasha, “No. Doc Pham is a totally committed Member of The Collective.”

  “OK but watch him. He is an influential Member of The Collective. It sure wouldn’t hurt to have something on him and his family.”

  Beth’s eyes were now opened. She was beginning to see how The Collective had warped her friend.

  “Tasha, you are always thinking ahead. Should I discuss this Yasmin matter with Doc Pham?”

  “Oh no, just watch him closely and let me know if you turn up anything.”

  Beth was uncomfortable withholding potentially important information from Tasha. Even so, she spoke not a word about the new virus. Something told her to keep her mouth shut.

  I-64

  A couple of miles west of Spud’s place, Junior and Bobby Ray noticed plumes of black smoke dotting the horizon. As they continued their trek west, they could hear gunshots from the houses and farms along old US 60.

  “I don’t like this one bit. Bobby Ray, let’s jump the fence and stay over there among the trees.”

  Just as they disappeared into the trees, an old Transit Authority Bus passed by loaded with Peoples’ Militia headed east.

  “Spud was right, they’re moving east. It could get hairy from here. Bobby Ray, follow my lead, be quiet, and stay alert.”

  “Alert for what?”

  Just then, a Militiaman bicycling eastward behind the bus stopped, got off his bicycle, and walked across the westbound lanes over to the wooded fence row to take a leak. He was short and thin, and appeared to be Asian. Junior and Bobby Ray froze, but Junior quietly unsheathed his survival knife, pretty sure he could take the unsuspecting Militiaman, if necessary. The Militiaman unzipped his fly and began pissing straight at Bobby Ray from a range of about 15 feet. After finishing his business, he zipped up his fly and turned back toward the highway. Bobby Ray silently caught a deep breath and began moving further back into the trees.

  A twig snapped and a cottontail bolted. The Militiaman turned and pulled a .38 Police Special that was tucked into his waistband. He then slowly approached the trees, squinting to see as deeply as possible into the shaded underbrush.

  Bobby Ray froze again. Moments passed, then Bobby Ray turned his head to catch a view of what was causing all the commotion over in the fence row. As he turned, he saw Darius standing behind the Militiaman with his left hand over the Militiaman’s mouth, pulling the Militiaman’s head backwards and, with his right hand, burying his Randall 18, hilt deep, into the Militiaman’s back. The Militiaman thrashed about wildly for a few seconds before slumping to the ground, dead as a doornail.

  Bobby Ray bound out of the trees and over the fence, “Jesus Christ as my witness, I ain’t never seen nothing like that! Is he dead?”

  “Yes, Bobby Ray, he’s dead. Now grab that bicycle and throw it over the fence line into the trees. Then I’ll need some help with the body.”

  Junior and Bobby Ray threw the body and bicycle over the fence into the trees.

  “Bobby Ray, I caught a glimpse of a pond in the field just past these trees. Let’s get everything off him except his underwear, then we’ll take the bike and clothes down to the pond.”

  “What are we goin’ to do with the body?”

  Junior grabbed the dead man’s right hand and cut out a chunk of flesh from between his right thumb and index finger.

  Bobby Ray was half perplexed, and half horrified, “What in the hell are you doing?”

  “Give me his cell phone.”

  Bobby Ray handed Junior the dead Militiaman’s Peoples’ Phone, then Junior discarded the dead chunk of flesh after retrieving a small silicon RFID chip.

  “Take him over there, a little deeper into the trees, dig a shallow hole and cover him up real good.”

  When Bobby Ray and Junior finished with the body, they went over to the pond and parked the bicycle by the pond. The Militiaman’s clothes, the ones not ripped and bloody, were neatly placed next to his boots and helmet, right beside the bicycle. Bobby Ray put on the dead man’s boots and make a trail of footprints in the mud from the bike to the pond. They left the Police Special there with the other stuff. Junior and Bobby Ray then cleaned up the area as best they could to remove any sign of struggle and continued on their way.

  Junior picked up a paper sack off the side of the road. He dropped the RFID chip and Peoples’ Phone into the sack. Moments later, Junior crossed over to the eastbound lanes and tossed the paper bag into a dump truck heading east. Then he crossed back over the road and continued the westward trek.

  After cautiously and silently hiking westward for about an hour, Bobby Ray apologized, “I guess I moved to
o soon back there.”

  “Damned right, you fucked up. Now a man is dead Bobby Ray and I killed him.”

  “Man, you sure did. That was real RAMBRO stuff!”

  Junior grabbed Bobby Ray by the collar, lifted him off his feet, and burst his balloon, “Listen you little shit, killing a man isn’t fun and games. One more screw up and you’re outta here!”

  “OK, OK, I’m sorry”

  “Tell that to that poor son-of-a-bitch buried back there in that hole.”

  By late afternoon, the gunshots and burning farms had been left far behind. They were now entering the Bluegrass, a region of gently rolling fields that were once thoroughbred horse farms. The hiking here was much easier, so they could talk as they walked.

  “Junior, I was just a baby when the Great Pacific War started in 2025. All the stuff you read or see on TV is just Collective bullshit. What really happened?”

  “Well Bobby Ray, I ain’t no expert, but I can tell you what I know and what I lived through.”

  Junior paused, thought for a moment, then continued. “Many people say that the War really started in early 2020 when a coronavirus, COVID-19, originated in China and spread across the world.”

  “Oh yeah, I know about that. Didn’t China supply a lot of information and medical gear to help fight that epidemic?”

  “Now that is complete bullshit! The virus originated in China in a town called Wuhan sometime in late 2019.

  “The experts say the virus originated in bats and those bats were sold in an exotic meat market in Wuhan, they call those ‘wet markets’. There were also a couple of labs in Wuhan that worked with viruses and some say that lax procedures at those labs allowed the virus to escape. The most troubling theory was that those labs in Wuhan were actually developing bioweapons.”

  “How in hell did the virus get over here?”

  “The Chinese very quickly learned that COVID-19 was bad news. It was highly contagious. Someone could be infected with the virus and not exhibit any symptoms but still spread the virus. Elderly people and people with chronic disease, like diabetes or emphysema, had a very high mortality rate. Once the Chinese learned about the virus, they locked down Wuhan and stopped all domestic travel.”

  “Didn’t that stop the spread?”

  “Those fuckers continued to allow international travel. Italy was a major Chinese tourist destination and was hard hit. New York City was a huge Port of Entry for Chinese visiting the US. New York City was brought to its’ knees. The biggest fear was that everybody would get sick all at once and the healthcare system would collapse.”

  Bobby Ray interrupted, “It seems to me if the Chinese knew the virus was deadly and highly contagious and locked down travel in their own country while allowing international travel to continue, then they were actually attacking the rest of the World, regardless of how the virus originated.”

  “You make a good point, Bobby Ray. You can count me among those who believe the coronavirus pandemic was an act of war. That whole Spring and Summer of 2020, the US economy was decimated. There were drastic lockdowns and stay at home orders. I’m no doctor. I don’t know if all that stuff helped stop the spread of the virus, but it sure destroyed a lot of businesses and lives.

  “As spring became summer, the Rabble that Spud referred to this morning started acting up. Now some peaceful protests were warranted. Just up the road, in Louisville, the police force had problems that went back decades. Some of those cops were bad cops. There was excessive use of force and Black folks were treated differently and, in my opinion, sometimes unfairly. Black Lives Matter, Antifa, and other left-wing and anarchist groups began protesting in big cities across the country. Those protests turned violent. The big city mayors were too wimpy to restore order. Look, burning buildings and running businesses out of town doesn’t help anybody. Communist and anarchist groups hijacked those protests. America was economically ravaged by the virus and socially torn apart by the Rabble and their Fake News allies.”

  Junior, stopped dead in his tracks, “Look at that. Bobby Ray, we are dealing with a mob. You can’t have a discussion with a mob.”

  Junior was pointing at a naked body hanging from a signpost over the interstate. Junior peered through his binoculars as they couldn’t risk coming out into the open this close to Lexington. The view sickened him.

  Bobby Ray hesitantly asked. “Junior, what is it?”

  The body hanging by a noose over the highway was a young Black man. He was naked and badly beaten. His body had been haphazardly splashed with white paint and a sign around his neck read “Whiteness”.

  Junior didn’t reply to Bobby Ray, “It’s only a little further to the I-75/I-64 Interchange. Let’s stop there for the night.”

  They hiked in silence for the next couple of hours.

  Austin

  The Jackson boys were on the trail to Austin at sunup. It would be a long day’s ride with the two steers and Miss Daisy in tow. They rode along the alluvial fan at the base of the Toiyabe Range running roughly parallel to NV 376. For their horses, the two steers and Daisy, there would be plenty of water from the many creeks coming down out of the mountains and there would be good grass for grazing along those creeks. Although The Collective rarely visited these parts, the Jacksons stayed off the roads whenever possible.

  The day was cloudy and windy with temperatures in the 40’s. It looked like rain, but all the precipitation was virga, nothing hit the ground. At noon they stopped for a bite to eat at Gillman Springs. They were making good time and should be in Austin by dark. The weather began to clear up and by mid-afternoon the Jacksons reached the US 50 junction.

  From here the road was uphill all the way to the Austin Summit at 7485 ft elevation. Austin Summit was buried ass-deep in snow even in April. But it wasn’t the weather that was bothering Tom. The Jacksons would have to either ride on the road, or close to the road, the rest of the way to Austin.

  In July 1986, LIFE magazine had dubbed the Nevada portion of US Route 50, “The Loneliest Road in America”. US 50 was living up to that title today and that was OK with Tom Jackson.

  After they reached Austin Summit, there was a steep downhill grade for a mile before entering town. The Pony Express Motel was just a couple of blocks further in town on Main St. Tom had known the proprietor, Hank Clemmons, for most of his life.

  “Boys mind my horse and those steers while I go see about a

  room and grab a carrot out of my saddle bag for Miss Daisy.”

  With that, Tom dismounted and went into the Motel Office and rang the bell, “Hank, you got a paying customer out here.”

  Hank answered as he entered the Office from his apartment. “By God, is that Tom Jackson making all that racket?”

  “That it is compadre. I need a room that will sleep three.”

  “My, my Thomas, just what kind of night do you have planned?”

  “You old, perverted bastard, it’s for me and my boys. I also need to stable three horses, Miss Daisy, and two steers for the night.”

  “OK, I’ve got two bunkhouse rooms, each with two bunk beds.”

  “We’ll only need one. How’s the shower, is there plenty of hot water?”

  “Endless, all my rooms have on-demand hot water heaters. We all must do our part to save the fucking planet, don’t ya know?”

  Hank couldn’t keep a straight face and laughed at his own sarcasm, “You can board the animals in the corral out back. There’s hay and water and some cover if it rains, or snows. Will you need a call in the morning?”

  “No thanks, I’ve got an appointment at 6 and we’ll be outta here by 7. Silver or Turquoise?”

  Hank thought for a moment, “Let me see your stones.”

  Tom had the long leather strap of his turquoise pouch slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t going to let loose of that pouch. He reached into the pouch and pulled out a Ziplock bag containing some small stones.

  “My, my, Mr. Jackson, these are some nice stones.” Hank reached under the counter an
d pulled out a magnifying glass.

  “This looks like some of that Royston turquoise, real Tiffany quality.” Hank’s eyes were glancing back and forth alternately focusing on the view through the glass and the expression on Tom’s face, looking for information from both.

  “Hank, you know I ain’t going to tell you a damned thing about these stones other than my price. They are top quality. Even these small ones are worth a week’s stay in your best room, plus meals. Have you got any silver?”

  “I got some silver dollars, about 27 grams silver each.” replied Hank.

  Tom rebutted, “Let’s call it 25 g each, about $25 each in pre-Revolution US Dollars. You do like that stone, don’t ya’ Hank?”

  “OK, Jackson, how much?”

  “16 silver dollars and tonight’s lodging.”

  “You’re a fucking bandit, Thomas Jackson, but you have really nice turquoise.” The two shook hands and silver and turquoise changed hands.

  The only place to get a bite to eat in Austin was the National Café, an easy walk up Main Street from the Pony Express. From the outside, the National Café looked like it was ready to collapse. At first glance, it didn’t look any better on the inside. But, upon closer inspection, the charm of the place became apparent. The bar was very ornate and ancient, there were all kinds of vintage posters on the walls, and local Nevada newspapers from the last century papered the bathroom walls. A stuffed bear and stuffed cougar welcomed the guests. The floors creaked and the place was drafty and would be extremely cold, except for the red-hot wood stove over in the corner of the Saloon.

  The power was still on in Austin. It was one of very few stopovers on The Loneliest Road in America. The Collective allowed the Pony Express and National Café to remain open if they netted only a “just” profit. Once every Quarter, a Collective apparatchik would visit and audit the books. A few drinks, some good food, and a little silver would expedite the process and insure a favorable audit.