2041 The Peoples' United States

by T W Powell

  “Is there any diesel around here for that CAT dozer?”

  Old Ray, the town’s jack of all trades, spoke up, “I got about 50 gallons of biodiesel and can make more if you can get me some vegetable oil.”

  “Ray, we need to move your shop to a defendable, camouflaged, secluded location up the canyon. Then check with all the ranchers and see if they have any tools, equipment, or supplies that you can use. You’re now in charge of repairs and construction. Who’s the best man on the CAT?”

  Juan Hernandez raised his hand. “I can drive that CAT as good as anyone.”

  Tom pointed his finger at Juan, “You only have 50 gallons of fuel and you need to put it to good use. There are several roads into town coming off NV 376. Cut those roads and do it so those cuts can be used as defensive positions, berm in front of trench. Got it?”

  “Mr. Tom, close to town?”

  “You got it Juan, close, but not too close. We want to be able to move from one strong point to another quickly and we want to stop those bastards far from the main road which is their only route of escape and line of supply.”

  “I like your plan, Mr. Tom, we fight them on our turf.”

  “Get it done today. If you see any of our Collective friends, your only responsibility is to warn the town.”

  “Pastor Williams, time to put on your Doc Williams hat. Set up an Aid Station in one of those canyons up the creek.”

  “Tom, I’m a veterinarian, not a doctor.”

  “Next best thing. Now, put that Aid Station somewhere defensible, not easily visible from the air, but readily accessible from town. Look through the wreckage of your double-wide and see what vet supplies you can salvage.”

  “Will do, but most of my stockpile is hidden in that stone pumphouse out back of the double-wide where we stashed our prisoner.”

  “Man, that’s great news. Pick out a few of the older kids and have them give you a hand. Also, find yourself a good nurse.”

  “What in the world are we going to do with all this power line?” That was the question being bantered back and forth among the ranchers and ranch hands demolishing the power lines that ran along the west side of NV 376.

  Tom Jackson rode up on his horse, Little Sorrel. “Men, we need to move long lengths of that powerline back to town. Bring those utility poles, too.”

  There was now a constant procession of horses, burros, and mules dragging high tension wire and utility poles from NV 376 into Kingston.

  When Tom returned to town his first stop was Ray’s shop, “Ray, you got any black paint?”

  Ray was already covered with dust, grease, sweat, and was bleeding from a sheet metal cut on his wrist, “Sitting behind the shop, I got four barrels of some black stuff that I picked up for a song when they shut down that base at Groom Lake. Twern’t no aliens down there, but there was a whole bunch of interesting scrap.”

  Four rusting 55-gallon drums were indeed sitting on a wood pallet behind Ray’s pole barn. Tom and Ray started wiping the dust from the drums and saw “Have Glass V” stenciled on the drums.

  “Ray, do you know what this shit is?”

  “I was told it’s black airplane paint.”

  “That’s right, it is airplane paint. It’s radar absorbing paint they used on stealth aircraft like the F-35, but it also helps reduce the radar signature of conventional aircraft. Before the war, they painted F-15s & 16s with this stuff and there are a lot of dead Chinese pilots to show for it.”

  Ray unscrewed the bung on one of the barrels. There was a woosh as the drum released the internal pressure generated by sitting out in the midday sun.

  “This stuff smells like airplane glue.”

  “Ray, make sure all the bungs are sealed and get some of the older boys to start rolling these drums round and round your shop. Then figure out how you’re going to coat all that high-tension wire with this stuff.”

  The Initiation

  Beth stashed her Peoples’ Phone in the dresser drawer, then headed out the apartment door.

  “Tasha, I think I’ll go out to the Amphitheater at Central Park this evening. They always have a concert, or play, or something going on.”

  “Beth don’t fuck with me; I know what you’re up to.”

  Beth turned whiter than Tasha, “What do you mean Tasha?”

  “I think you’re going to go get some, aren’t you?”

  Beth had to think fast. She turned and smiled at Tasha, “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  Tasha wagged her finger at Beth, “I knew it! Listen, I want a blow-by-blow account tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Tasha, you’ll get a story you won’t believe.”

  Beth got on her bicycle and headed south down Fourth Street to the park. There was indeed a play going on, some of the same old Collective crap about Jews and Capitalists and the Revolution. But Beth was not here to see a show.

  She strolled over and sat down on a bench under a large maple tree, in a relatively dark spot. It was 8 p.m. sharp, she was right on time. A couple of minutes later, a familiar figure sat down next to her. Both Beth and Doc Pham were wearing the customary face masks, so in the semi-darkness, they were virtually unrecognizable.

  “Glad to see you made it Beth.”

  “Yeah, Tasha thinks I’m out getting laid.”

  “Man, how did you get her to think that? What a cover.”

  “She just put 2 and 2 together and got 3, so I let her run with it.”

  “You’re a natural Beth. That’s exactly what you have to do. Don’t get shook, take each event as it comes, and most importantly, adapt.”

  A dark-haired Caucasian woman passed by the bench, walked another few yards, then turned and sat down next to Doc.

  “Ho, it’s pretty dark under this tree and with that mask, I didn’t recognize you. Had to do a double-take.”

  Doc turned to Beth and introduced the new arrival, “Beth, this is Jo. Jo, this is Beth Andrews.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jo. So, where’s everyone else?” Beth was confused and disappointed.

  Jo half laughingly replied, “Oh, there’s more but you won’t see them unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  Ho chimed in, “That’s right Beth. Jo is the only person I know in the Resistance, and if you join, that makes two.”

  Jo sternly rebutted Ho, “There is no IF. You’re past the point of no return. Either she’s with us or she’s dead. I’ll do her myself.”

  Jo then flashed a nickel-plated Colt .45 automatic with silencer tucked under her poncho.

  “Sweet Jesus, that’s a gun.” Beth couldn’t remember seeing a real gun.

  Jo looked at Ho. “Ho, are you sure this Sweet Pea can cut it?”

  “Jo, give her a chance. She’s new to all this, but she’s solid.”

  “OK Ho, whatever you say.”

  “Hey Sweet Pea, you ever popped a cap in a Member’s ass?” Jo was looking straight at Beth for answers, from her mouth and her face.

  “Are you asking me if I ever killed anyone?”

  “That’s right, Sweetie.”

  “No, I haven’t. I don’t know if I could.”

  “Ho has told me all about you and that mercenary bitch friend of yours.”

  “You mean Natasha?”

  “Yes, Sweet Pea, Natasha. Could you shoot that fucking bitch right between the eyes?”

  “Are you nuts? Why would I kill my friend? Why would I kill anybody?”

  “Oh, Sweet Pea. You’ve got a lot to learn. You best get your head on straight real quick ‘cause you’re in this now.”

  Jo then turned to Ho, “OK, Doc you’re responsible for Sweet Pea. If she fucks up, I’ll kill her. If she does fuck up, you’ll probably already be dead, but if not, I’ll kill you too.”

  Jo then got down to particulars, “Doc, you don’t know this yet, but you’re headed to California. Remember to be surprised when they tell you, probably tomorrow. Tell them that you’ll need trusted assistants for this project. Suggest taking Nurse Sweet Pea
and your wife along with you. We only want our team handling this football”

  “If they approve, can I take Yasmin, my daughter?”

  “Oh shit, Doc, I forgot the kid, you definitely got to take her.”

  “Now Sweet Pea, where did you tell your bitch friend you were going this evening?”

  “She assumed I was going to get laid.”

  “Stand up.”

  “What?”

  “Stand up and bare one of those nice tits.”

  “Hey, I’m not lesbian!”

  “That’s too bad, now bare it!” Jo was reaching for her pistol.

  “OK, OK!” Beth stood up and discretely uncovered her right breast.

  Jo walked up to Beth and gave her a big hickey.

  Beth was in shock. “Why did you do that? I told you, I’m not really a lesbian!”

  “Shut up and listen. When you go home, make sure that Natasha sees the hickey and make up a bullshit story to match. Now get on your bike and ride around until the wee hours of the morning, Oh, by the way, welcome to the Resistance.”

  Shelbyville

  Before the shit hit the fan, Shelbyville was a historic, middle class bedroom community of Louisville Metro. In recent years, the Collective cancer had completely eradicated its’ southern charm. Bobby Ray and Junior were up with the sun. They ate some more corned beef, then packed up and hit the road.

  “Bobby Ray, I think we better divert off the interstate a bit today and go into town.”

  “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  “Are you kidding me? For us, anywhere is dangerous. But, yeah, The Collective is firmly in control of Shelbyville. I think we’ll be better off if we ‘borrow’ a couple of bicycles. As we get closer to the city, we’ll just blend into a herd of bicycles. We can make it to the outskirts of Louisville this afternoon, if we get some bikes.”

  After taking the KY 53 North Exit, Junior and Bobby Ray walked a couple of miles further to US 60, then hung a left turn and walked westward along US 60, the main drag through Shelbyville. As they walked through town, they passed many Collective shops, restaurants, and government buildings.

  Shelbyville was formerly the county seat of Shelby county. There were several bike racks in front of the old Courthouse. Junior had a pair of small wire cutters up his sleeve. They zeroed in on a couple of bikes locked with those cable bike locks. Bobby Ray stood in front of Junior to obscure him from nosey passers byes as he cut those cable locks like they were rubber bands.

  Having “borrowed” some rides, Junior and Bobby Ray leisurely pedaled their way westward along US 60, occasionally stopping to shoplift a little food from a shop, or café. A few miles to the west of Shelbyville, US 60 crossed Floyd’s Fork. That’s where they stopped for lunch.

  “Junior, this is sure beautiful country.”

  “Yes, it is Bobby Ray. The Collective hasn’t managed to screw it up, yet. Let’s find us a spot off the road back under those shade trees.”

  Bobby Ray and Junior found a good spot and relaxed in the cool grass under a big oak tree that was just beginning to leaf out.

  “From here on in, it’s mostly suburbs, so we have to be on guard. Let’s ride close to groups of bikes, but not actually in any group.”

  “Man, this candy bar is good. I was getting a little tired of corned beef.”

  “Bobby Ray, did you notice that the labels on that corned beef were printed in Chinese?”

  “So, all those crazy symbols were Chinese?”

  “Yep. That beef was raised, slaughtered, and packaged right here in Kentucky. All that beef is still produced here, but it’s sent to the PRC.”

  Junior and Bobby Ray relaxed under that big oak tree for a couple of hours.

  “Junior, you still haven’t finished telling me about the war and the Revolution.”

  “I’ll do that a little bit at a time, so it soaks in. I’m just thinking, you know all about my family. I don’t know one shitting thing about yours. Why don’t you tell me a story? I’ll just lay here and rest while you talk for a while.”

  “OK, there’s really not much to tell. My Daddy, Bobby Lee Skipper, and my older half-brother, Sidney Joe Skipper, both worked in the kaolin clay mines outside of Macon. Our family has worked in those mines for generations.”

  “So, they carried picks and shovels and wore the hats with lights on ‘em and all that? Man, I would never go down underground, I’ll be there soon enough.”

  “No, no, you got it all wrong. That clay is mined from open pits. The clay is not very deep and occurs in large, thick beds. All the mining is done with large earth moving equipment. They just strip away the dirt on top of the clay; they call that overburden. Then they scoop out the clay with huge shovels. Some of those shovels can easily hold a pickup truck. I mean their masts are a couple of hundred feet tall and they’re electric, connected directly to the grid. The scale is huge.

  “What do they do with all that clay?”

  “It goes into all kinds of stuff as a filler. It goes into ceramics, plastics, rubber, paper, paint – millions of tons every year. It’s also used as a carrier for herbicides and pesticides.”

  “What did your Daddy do at the mine?”

  “My Dad started when he was eighteen. My Granddaddy got him on as a laborer. After a couple of years, Daddy got a shot at becoming a heavy equipment operator.”

  “Your Daddy worked steady, worked hard, and took his shot.”

  “Yep. Most White boys down home were what we called ‘shade tree mechanics’. They all had a hot-rod car somewhere up on blocks under a shade tree.”

  Junior let out a big belly laugh, “From some of Pop-Pop’s stories, a few brothers were shade tree mechanics, too.”

  “Daddy was a damned good mechanic and word spread all around town that Bobby Lee Skipper was Mr. Goodwrench. People started bringing their cars over for Daddy to repair. So, he drove heavy equipment during the day and worked on cars at night.”

  “My, my, Bobby Ray, that was America. We gotta get that back.”

  “One evening, the Mine Manager brought over his pickup. He had spent several hundred dollars at the car dealership and the problem was not fixed. Daddy had the truck three days. He fixed the problem, changed the oil, and tuned it up for $100. A week later, there was an opening in the mine maintenance shop and Daddy was offered another shot.”

  “He took it, didn’t he, Bobby Ray?”

  “Yes, he did. He was a natural. The Company sent him to all kinds of schools. After a few years he knew diesel engines like the back of his hand. He then graduated up to the big electric drag line shovels. He opened up his own garage as a sideline. A couple of years before the Revolution, he got Big Sid on at the Mine as a mechanic’s helper.”

  “Hold on a minute. Bobby Lee and Bobby Ray are typical redneck father/son names and please don’t take offense with the redneck comment.”

  “None taken.”

  “Well, where did that Sidney Joe name come from?”

  “All I know is Big Sid was named after my great, great uncle who died on the Bataan Death March, whatever the hell that was.”

  “Bobby Ray, you don’t know about the Bataan Death March?”

  “What was it Darius? Do you know?”

  “Sure as hell do, thanks to my Pop-Pop. Remember I told you about how General Douglas MacArthur awarded Pop-Pop and Bobby Ray, Model 1950, the Distinguished Service Cross?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, a few years earlier, before World War II, MacArthur retired from the US Army and became an advisor to the Philippine Army. In 1898 Spain lost the Spanish American War and was forced to hand over control of the Philippines to the United States. In the 1930s the US started the process of giving the Philippines their independence. MacArthur was in the Philippines when the Japanese attacked Peral Harbor on December 7, 1941. Nine hours after the air raid on Pearl, the Japanese practically wiped out the US Army Air Force on the ground at Clark Field in the Philippines.

  “I personally think M
acArthur was asleep at the switch on that one and probably should have been disciplined. He had only recently been placed in charge of US and Filipino forces and was already a Big Shot, so he got a pass. By Big Shot, I mean he had been twice nominated for the Congressional Medal of Honor, served as Army Chief of Staff, and had been Commandant of the US Military Academy at West Point. In April 1942, he was finally awarded the Medal of Honor. Not a bad resume, huh?”

  “Man, Junior, I didn’t know any of this stuff.”

  “My Pop-Pop knew ALL this stuff. He read books. He made me read books. Then I started to like reading. Bobby Ray, do you like to read?”

  “I don’t read too good.”

  “Can you read?”

  “Not much.”

  “We’ll have to change that. We can’t have an illiterate redneck as a member of the Resistance, can we?”

  Bobby Ray smiled and replied, “No Sir!”

  Junior then continued, “Let’s see, OK, MacArthur. The Japanese kicked America’s ass at Pearl Harbor and in the Philippines, After the US Army Air Force in the Philippines was wiped out, the Japanese landed troops and forced the US and Filipino troops into a small perimeter on the Bataan Peninsula. The US also held the small island of Corregidor that guarded the entrance to Manilla Bay. The American and Filipino soldiers held out for three months, but eventually surrendered. The Japanese then force marched 80,000 of those POWs about 80 miles with no food, or water.

  The Japanese were sadistic. They beat, shot, and bayonetted many of those POWs. They were especially sadistic towards the Filipinos.”

  “What happened to MacArthur?”

  “President Roosevelt ordered MacArthur and his family to be evacuated from the Philippines. The US could not risk having a high-profile general, like MacArthur, getting captured by the Japanese. It would be a public relations nightmare. So, MacArthur and his family made a somewhat daring escape to Australia on some PT Boats.”

  “What’s a PT Boat?”