“Rise and shine, Jenkins,” he said. “Your hearing begins in an hour.”
Fully dressed in a gray suit and tie, Arthur turned his head slightly to the side, barely taking notice of the officer. “I’m well aware of that, thank you.”
Rutzler placed his hand over his gun. “You know the drill. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Arthur did as he was told, and faced the small window that overlooked the prison courtyard. Beyond the courtyard was a tall fence with rolls of concertina wire running along the top. Far beyond the fence was the slightly visible outskirts of Nyack. Arthur would often stare out the window of his cell as the world passed by year after year, imagining all the people going about their daily lives, free to do as they wished. He envied them to the point of sickness.
An associate’s voice rang through his head. “You do the crime, you do the time.”
But Arthur had done his time as far as he was concerned.
“Let’s move,” Rutzler said, jerking him out of the cell. He led Arthur down a darkened hallway past several cells on both sides. As he glanced through the long vertical window slits on each door, Arthur could see his fellow prison mates, up and moving about.
“We’re going to swing by the cafeteria, but make it fast,” Rutzler said, guiding Arthur along with hand against his back.
“Not a problem,” Arthur said. He walked with a confident, easy stride. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping the parole committee waiting.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Rutzler said.
“You know,” Arthur began, “I think I’m going to miss you most of all, Sergeant Rutzler.”
Rutzler’s laughter echoed down the hall. “You seem mighty sure of yourself.”
He was. Arthur had pulled a little strings with the parole board. His wife had been working diligently behind the scenes to secure his release. He was already running through his plans on the outside: the new life ahead of him and all the plans to make up for lost time.
“This way,” Rutzler said and yanked him down another hall to the right.
They approached two double doors leading into the cafeteria. Arthur could smell grits and gravy before they entered. Once inside, Rutzler stopped and looked around. The cafeteria was largely empty. He then told Arthur to have a seat near the front.
“You’re going to make me eat handcuffed?” Arthur asked.
“Do what I ask,” Rutzler said.
Arthur found a table and sat as Rutzler went to grab him a plate. Rockland County was a minimum security prison with its fair share of dangerous prisoners. Arthur, however, had no intention of staying much longer. His crime wasn’t murder, assault, or robbery. He was doing time for something else altogether.
Arthur had been sentenced to fifteen years on racketeering and conspiracy charges involving a pharmaceutical drug trafficking scheme meant to fund his latest campaign for mayor. Once the news go out of his arrest, Arthur went down in flames, and he was soon dismissed as an embarrassment in local politics.
He recalled every bit of his shameful past as Ruztler set a tray in front of him with a plate of steaming morning slop.
“Now eat fast,” Rutzler said and walked behind him to unlock the handcuffs.
After six years of relatively good behavior, Arthur couldn’t recall a time where Sergeant Rutzler treated him like a decent human being. He said nothing and quickly shoveled the overcooked grits into his mouth. A fork on his tray glistened in the hanging lights from above. He glanced out the corner of his eye. Rutzler stood nearby, looking away. Arthur placed an arm over the tray and slide the fork into his sleeve.
The parole hearing started on time in a small, sterile room with yellow walls. Two men and one woman sat at a long table in front of a barred window. Arthur was led in and seated on a chair in front of them. His lawyer, Frank Kershner, an eloquent, older man with a thin white beard and bald head, sat near Arthur. Rutzler shut the door and stood to the side, behind Arthur.
The bushy-haired professor-looking man seated in the middle, opened a file and then looked up to address the room. He had an ID badge hanging on a lanyard around his neck similar to his other counterparts. His finger pressed the record button of a portable digital recorder.
“Good morning. My name is Dr. Hughes, and we’re here to conduct the parole hearing for Mr. Arthur William Jenkins, inmate at the Rockland County Correction Institute since August twenty-third, two thousand and ten.”
Dr. Hughes signaled to the woman on his right. “With me is Parole commissioner, Susan Davis …”
The black-haired woman acknowledged him with a nod.
He then turned to his left. “And Mr. Edmund Lee, chairman of the board of parole hearings.”
As Mr. Lee nodded, Dr. Hughes looked around the room, focusing in on Arthur. “So, Mr. Jenkins. Are you ready to get started?”
“Ready as rain,” Arthur responded with enthusiasm.
Dr. Hughes cleared his throat as Ms. Davis and Mr. Lee flipped through their own files. “This won’t take long …” he said with near certainty.
Sitting perfectly straight with both cuffed hands flat over his legs, Arthur flashed a quite smile. “I sure hope not.” He glanced at his lawyer with reassurance. Kershner offered a subtle thumbs-up in return.
Dr. Hughes continued. “Yes, we’re here to determine if time served is satisfactory in the eyes of the state to offer you the benefit of parole.”
As the committee continued, Arthur’s mind began to wander. He imagined that they had already granted him parole and that he was free. Teresa was waiting for him in the parking lot as her red hair shinned vibrantly under the sky of a beautiful fall day.
“We take into account not only time served, but the liquidation of the prisoner’s assets, real estate investments, and personal finances on account of his numerous violations of both state and local election laws,” Dr. Hughes said. He then stopped and scribbled something onto his notebook.
Arthur got a strange feeling when he saw him look at the other two. With a frown, Dr. Hughes then turned to face Arthur and his lawyer. Rutzler remained standing with a hand on his hip and the incessant sound of gum chewing.
“Given light of recent events, it is within the best interest of this committee to hereby deny Mr. Jenkins’s parole for an indefinite period of time until further investigation.”
The bluntness of his words stunned Arthur. Shock hit him like a cold bucket of water followed by an intense flush of anger.
His lawyer jumped up. “What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?”
Dr. Hughes shook his head while gripping some documents. “It’s come to our attention that Mr. Jenkins has apparently learned nothing from his incarceration, and it would be irresponsible for us to release him at this juncture.”
Kershner was beside himself. He opened his briefcase, pulled out a thick file, and waved it in the air as Arthur looked on. Sergeant Rutzler took a few steps forward, intrigued and amused.
“This is an outrage!” Kershner protested. “A mockery of justice. I was told that my client would be afforded a fair parole hearing. We have over fifty signed character witness statements from staff and officers alike.”
Ms. Davis leaned forward, interjecting. “That bares little use as of now. Your client has attempted to compromise the integrity of these proceedings, and I’m afraid we have no other choice but to deny parole at this time.”
“Absolute madness,” Kershner said. His face reddened with anger.
Arthur knew what they were talking about. His attempts to play the committee had apparently back fired, to which Hughes then confirmed.
“It recently came to my attention that Mrs. Teresa Jenkins approached someone on this very committee and offered a sizable compensation to assure that we granted her husband’s release.”
“A bribe,” Davis added.
Kershner set his briefcase down at the table and approached the table, irate.
“That’s far enough,” Rutzler said
.
Kershner stopped and glared at the committee. “My client can’t be held responsible for the actions of his long-suffering wife. I’m sure she would have done anything to ensure his release. But that has nothing to do with the man sitting in front of you.”
Ms. Davis crossed her arms. “Once charged, she implicated your client as instructing her to solicit the bribe. The district attorney is pursuing obstruction of justice charges as we speak.”
The room went silent. Defeated, Kershner hung his head down and then looked at Arthur with contempt. “After all I did for you …” he said in disbelief. “You go and do something stupid like that. Years of work to secure parole down the drain.”
As Kershner continued his admonishment, Arthur looked beyond him and outside the barred windows. It was a beautiful day out, and what he saw next quickly propelled him to action. An explosive blast filled the sky like lightening—only more encompassing. It sent shock waves that popped Arthur’s eardrums, while startling everyone in the room.
Several long fluorescent bulbs exploded from above. Ms. Davis screamed. A distant crackling sounded from outside similar to the low rumbling of thunder followed by a low ringing. Startled, Kershner ended his rant. The thin gray hairs around his bald head were sticking out. Muffled sounds of confused clamor reverberated from outside the room.
Dr. Hughes went to press the stop button on his recording device, but then discovered that it was no longer working. “I don’t want anyone to be alarmed,” he said, noticing the troubled looks in the room. “Maybe we should pick this up later.”
Sounds of unrest grew louder from outside the room. Curious, Rutzler turned to walk toward the door and check things out. With the slight distraction, Arthur saw his opportunity.
He jumped out of his chair, knocking it to the ground, and charged the officer with his hands gripping the fork under his sleeve. As they collided, Rutzler didn’t know what hit him. Arthur jammed the fork into his neck with his entire body weight. Ms. Davis shrieked. The other committee members recoiled in horror. Kershner stood back, frozen and shocked.
Rutzler flew against the wall gargling blood as Arthur jammed the fork into his neck again and again. He smacked it in one more time and backed away, as Rutzler slid down onto the floor. With his hands still cuffed, Arthur then grabbed Rutzler’s pistol from its holster and pulled it out. He whipped around to face the committee. They threw their hands up, terrified and clutching cell phones.
“Drop them,” he said, rising from the floor. The phones clunked on the table in unison. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see his lawyer backing against the wall with his arms up.
“The phones,” Ms. Davis sad. “They aren’t working.”
“That’s too bad,” Arthur said. He spun around to face Kershner. “Get over here and un-cuff me. Now!”
Rutzler rolled over, gasping for air and clutching his neck as blood flowed into a thick, red puddle on the cement floor.
“Jenkins, whatever you’re thinking about doing—” Kershner began.
“Shut up!” Arthur shouted. “You’re fired. Now get over here!”
Kershner tepidly approached and searched for the keys on the dying officer’s belt.
“What do you plan to do?” Dr. Hughes asked from the table. “Shoot us all?”
Arthur held the pistol steady on them. “I’m getting out. Whether you get shot or not depends entirely on you.”
Kershner found the keys and handed them to Arthur, providing another warning. “Please, Arthur. This isn’t the way…”
Without comment, Arthur took the keys, held the pistol against his lawyer’s forehead, and fired. The back of his head blasted out with more blood and brains than Arthur had expected. Mortified, the committee took cover under the table. Kershner’s body collapsed as Arthur unlocked his cuffs.
Arthur looked over to the trembling group and tossed his cuffs to the ground. More commotion sounded from outside. No one outside seemed to have taken notice of the gunfire just yet.
Arthur pointed to Dr. Hughes. “Get over here and strip Officer Rutzler.”
Hesitant, Dr. Hughes looked to his colleagues. Just as he made eye contact with Mr. Lee, Arthur fired, striking Mr. Lee in the face. Ms. Davis threw herself to the ground with her arms around her head. Dr. Hughes remained frozen with his colleague’s blood on his face.
“Move!” Arthur shouted. He went to the table, grabbed Dr. Hughes by the collar, and pulled him out.
Dr. Hughes tumbled across the ground. Arthur kicked him in the back and paced around in a circle as he writhed in agony.
“You think you can keep me locked up in this place forever?” Arthur paused and leaned down with the pistol in full view. He listened closely for the growing sounds of chaos outside. “Not anymore.”
Hughes gasped for air as he began unfastening Sergeant Rutzler’s boots and pants. Arthur continued, seeming to revel in the moment. “I want to hear you say the words.” He held the pistol to the side of the doctor’s head. “Say, parole granted.”
Dr. Hughes closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and spoke. “Parole …granted.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said.
He was on a roll, and he had never felt so powerful in all his life. It was time to get even with everyone. He could see it already. He would be mayor after all.
The Mountain People
The destitute village of Nyack, New York, had changed drastically. Many of its residents had relocated to the emergency shelters, which provided limited food and a roof over their heads. Those who stayed in town contended with a startling lack of basic necessities. There was no power, no food on the shelves, no fuel in the gas pumps, and—within minutes—no running water.
On Monday, September 12, 2016, a mysterious blast of white light destroyed every electrical transformer in the area, effectively disabling the entire power grid. But electricity wasn’t the only thing lost in those brief moments. Vehicles stalled and sputtered to a halt with their internal circuitry fried, while cell phones and other communications were disabled in an instant.
There was no television. No Internet. No working ATMs, running water, heat or air conditioning. Every modern convenience was gone without rhyme or reason. A logical explanation was out there, but few had the answers. And when it became evident that this wasn’t a temporary crisis, a breakdown of law and order had swiftly followed
As a once-quaint village town, Nyack had been rendered unrecognizable in a few short months. But not all of its formerly contented residents were now living there in peril. Some had wisely moved away before the town descended into anarchy.
Miles away, tucked in the mountainous ranges along the Hudson River, lived a peaceful community of men, women, and children. As preppers, they lived off the land, away from their homes and out of sight of the general population. They were self-sufficient and independent people, making their way through the crisis that began one fateful Monday morning.
On the day of the mysterious blast, Rob Parker moved his family into their cabin to escape the danger he was certain would follow. He and his wife, Mila, had seen enough in the few short hours following the blast to know that the situation was deadly serious.
They made the treacherous trip from their home in Nyack to New York City to retrieve their two children from a field trip at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They barely escaped the chaos of the city, which was like nothing Rob had ever seen before. Thousands of people were on the streets, shouting and pushing their way from block to block. Without any explanation behind the loss of power, mobility, and electronic devices, things quickly spiraled out of control in the nation’s most populated city.
A stunning military operation soon took place. Vehicles were bulldozed and swept aside like street litter by cargo trucks, which seemed to have come from nowhere. Soldiers, deployed from helicopters hovering over the city, were determined to bring order to the streets with brute force. The confused and frightened populace were herded off the streets and dispersed to govern
ment-mandated areas. No one, it seemed, knew what was going on.
Rob and his family had managed to escape and make it back to his bug-out car: a red 1979 Datsun. It still ran because it had no computer-run parts to destroy.
Many people had their own theories about the September 12th strike. Rob was certain that they had been hit with an EMP—a high-altitude electromagnetic pulse, ignited forty thousand feet in the air. It was the only thing, to his knowledge, capable of dismantling power grids, portable electronics, and the internal circuitry of most modern vehicles.
The sudden loss of the most basic and relied-upon conveniences had frightened people, some believing that the end of days was upon them. But how far had it spread? Beyond New York? No one knew. And without basic communications, all that people could do was speculate.
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Rob leaned against the kitchen counter of his three-bedroom cabin in deep thought. How much longer could they stay there, especially with winter on the horizon? When could they venture back into town? When would it be safe? Such answers remained unknown.
Each day presented new challenges, from rationing their food to getting more, and maintaining a healthy reserve of all necessities. They also had to ensure the security of their camp—consisting of five cabins spread across three acres. They had a twenty-four-hour lookout, and guard shifts were rotated out each day.
Bear Mountain offered the refuge they needed, and at their altitude, they hadn’t encountered anything beyond wildlife. After two months, however, the urge to return home was intensifying among the camp residents. The other families, including Rob’s, feared for loved ones who lived elsewhere. No one knew exactly how far the EMP had reached, and not knowing was the worst part.
As a committed prepper, Rob was prepared to hunker down as long as necessary, though in those early hours of the morning, he contemplated alternatives. He wanted to get a team together and see how Nyack was holding up. Eventually they would need more supplies, too.
Rob knew that organizing such an effort would fall on his shoulders, but he didn’t mind. He was happy to help as long as everyone pulled their own weight. At camp, everyone looked out for each other. They had to.
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