*****
The Executioner spent his free time walking around Rapid City, which he found to be generally pleasant. The signs and posters warning of the various offenses which were punishable by exile from the city were everywhere, and it seemed that the threats were effective. The city seemed quite safe and serene under the gentle guidance of the Pennington County Sherriff’s Department. Less reassuring were the warnings that stated the Sherriff’s deputies could only respond to emergency calls from outside the extended city limits during daytime hours. Parts of rural America could be a nightmare-level type of scary place. There was an incentive for the federal and state governments to keep the main interstate highways and a few key cities out here safe, but they couldn’t care less about the rural areas. Those were left to fend for themselves.
The rural areas in this part of South Dakota were not on their own entirely. The long distances could be covered by rapid response State Police jet engine drones. Unfortunately for the trigger-happy crowd, the drones were unarmed and could only record video evidence and follow suspects after a crime was committed. However, Rapid City was not covered by the State Police drones. As a person drove into the city, they were greeted with a city government sign that declared the city a ‘No Drone Zone.’ A second smaller sign read: ‘We trust our citizens. No drones, whether private, city, state or federal are permitted.’ The need to patrol such a small and well-policed city with drones was not exactly dire. So nobody really thought too much about the issue.
However, in the rural areas there was broad approval for the State Police drones. And there were even regular requests to arm them in the fight against farm and ranch raiders. The people of rural South Dakota felt that they could only sleep peacefully in their beds at night if drones stood ready to do violence on their behalf.
Keeping the Sherriff’s disclaimer in mind, The Executioner confined his scenic drive through the nearby Black Hills to daylight hours. With plenty of sunlight still left, he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of the Mount Rushmore National Memorial. A decade ago the memorial would have been packed with tourists, especially in late August. But roving bandits, terrible roads and quick, cheap flights to safer overseas locations had really put a dent in tourist numbers to America’s national parks and memorials.
As The Executioner got closer to the viewpoint on the trail, the presidents, carved in granite, came into view. George Washington, his face decorated in full Indian war paint, was first. A red band crossed his face, right above and below his eyes. Spreading from his chin to his right cheek was the outline of a black hand – a symbol reserved for Sioux warriors who had killed an enemy in hand-to-hand combat. The rest of his face was saturated in yellow – the color of death. To his left was Thomas Jefferson in drag. His cheeks were subtly shaded with rouge, his eyes popped out with the help of eye-liner and his lips…his lips were of a color that had been described as worthy of a 19th century French brothel. Farther to his left was a darker shade of red. Blood flowed from Theodore Roosevelt’s mouth and left splatter marks on the rock below. The rest of Roosevelt’s face was left untouched except for the black circles around his eyes that gave him the look of either a Halloween zombie or a raccoon. Finally, Abraham Lincoln stood stoically in frog-colored green-face. Apparently, the intention was to have him look like Frankenstein, but it wasn’t that obvious. The pranksters had run out of time with Lincoln and fled the scene, leaving two dead park rangers in their wake. Graffiti artists did not usually kill, but for an operation this size and importance they arrived fully armed. Even in the quiet winter months it was not possible to spend a full day painting over American monuments without drawing an angry crowd.
A sign near the viewpoint spelled out the difficulties in restoring the monument. It would require the rock to be shaved back half an inch over the entire face, as the expensive chemical dye that the graffiti artists used was not coming off – it had permeated the rock. The French graffiti collective that had pulled off the prank – and the alleged but very likely killings of the park rangers – were met with acclaim in Europe upon their stealthy return. The indirect support of the American military and the direct support of American volunteers to the French government in their ethnic cleansing operations had not been appreciated by the European left. The French collective’s hastily scheduled auction of their full range of art was, however, appreciated. It was a great success, with many Russian and Arab buyers calling in their bids without knowing what exactly it was that they were buying, just that they should buy it. Back in America, death penalties were passed in absentia by the State of South Dakota, even though they did not have jurisdiction over crimes committed at National Monuments. This led the European press and activist community to roundly criticize the savage Americans for their frontier cowboy justice and their complete lack of an ironic sense of humor.
The Executioner didn’t know exactly what he felt. But it wasn’t a good feeling. Somehow the whole episode was another reminder of how pathetic America had become. America was portrayed as a dysfunctional third world country, hysterical with anger over the desecration of their gods by the sophisticated Europeans. As for the dead rangers, most Europeans believed that they had killed each other in the cross-fire while trying to murder the European artists in cold-blood. This all seemed small in comparison to Europe’s regular cycle of horrific mass murder, in which they had recently engaged in with the help of American volunteers. Perhaps they needed America to compare themselves favorably. Whatever the case, most Americans had either quit caring or quit noticing.
The Executioner started to feel increasingly uneasy. His thoughts started to cycle and repeat in a negative feedback loop. It was not necessarily about the decline of America; he actually welcomed that as a necessary first step in weeding out the bad and the lazy from the country through hardship. He was not sure what it was that was really bothering him. He felt the need to walk and clear his head. The Executioner alternated between attempts to distract himself by thinking about his next trip to Asia and by not thinking about anything at all. Taking the long route back to the car did nothing to make him feel any better, nor did the return drive through the forest affect any change in his mood. Then he noticed his right hand. It had started to shake. This had never happened before.
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