by Glenn Beck
I saw this realization flicker in David’s eyes—the understanding that he had lost his own argument. He put his hands on both sides of my face, forcing me to look at him.
“I won’t let you do this.”
“You can’t stop me.”
I pulled away from his touch. His hands fell to his sides.
“David, I have to do this. I have to save Elsa. If they take her, my life is over anyway. Don’t you see that I have nothing to lose? Don’t you understand?”
He stood immobile, pale as I had ever seen him. “What about my parents? You’d leave them behind? You’d ask me to leave them behind?”
“They’ll figure it out. They can follow later if they want—your father will obviously know how we got out. We can’t save everybody. But I will save Elsa. We’re wasting time. Finish with the mat. Come on!”
He stood, rigid, tense.
“David, don’t make me choose. Please, don’t make me choose.”
“Choose?”
“I’m leaving with Elsa. If you don’t come . . . I’ll still . . .”
“You would leave me?” His voice was trembling.
“Yes, David, I would. I don’t want to, but I would. Don’t make me.”
Elsa whimpered softly but didn’t awaken.
I went to the mat and, still holding Elsa, started to reach into it with my free hand. David watched as I struggled with it. Then he stepped forward, and put his foot on it. I pushed on his leg and he took a step backward, away from me. Away from Elsa.
“David, please.” I didn’t want to waste another minute, another second. I didn’t know how much time we had. What if Lizzie or the other one woke up? What if a replacement Gatekeeper was sent to the Village? “Please, David, please let me get the things out of the mat.”
“No.”
“Let. Me. Empty. The. Mat.”
He shook his head and stared at me, unblinking. I took a step toward him and touched his lips, stroked his cheek with one finger, traced his face like it was a memory, a thing of value. He blinked. A simple, slow blink, like a deep breath, like a sigh. He took my hand to his lips and kissed it slowly before letting it fall to my side. Then he began to empty the mat: the coin, the knife, the map, the picture, The Little Prince, the New Testament, the recipe cards, the feather, and finally the matches. I handed him the extra diaper. He put everything on it and tied it into a lumpy ball, then asked me one more time if I was sure.
I nodded and walked outside, rolling the empty mat and tucking it under my free arm.
He followed.
Dear sweet Jesus, he followed.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
In darkness, with only the light of the moon and the stars, we went across the common ground of our Compound, through the gate and across the energy bicycle path. Our footsteps sounded so loud in the silence of the night. Who might hear us?
We scurried across the forbidden Social Update Meeting area, toward the stage. That dreadful, hateful stage. I knew it needed to be destroyed. I flipped the empty mat against a wooden support post.
David instinctively knew what to do next. He untied the diaper and took out the matches. “A diversion.” When he said that, I felt closer to him than ever. We were in this together. He struck the match and the small flame revealed firmness in his face. He put the match to my mat and the fire grew, merging with the mat and dancing in the night air.
We moved on, faster and faster, closer to the Village. Elsa began to cry and I put my finger in her mouth so she could suck on it. That seemed to calm her and the warmth of her mouth on my finger tightened our bond and firmed my resolve. Nothing was going to stop me.
We paused at the entrance to the Village. Behind us, the fire at the stage was crackling and growing larger by the second. The corridor ahead of us was empty except for the ghostly light of the other torch still visible from the supply cupboard. I led the way with David close behind me. We paused at the door to the cupboard. They were still asleep and it didn’t look like they had moved at all since I’d left. I handed David the torch off my head and stepped into the cupboard. I wanted to get the other torch.
I moved toward the other Caretaker. Lizzie moaned and leaned her head over the side of her chair. I froze, half bent over, my heart racing, watching her, waiting. But she didn’t wake up. Slowly, ever so slowly and carefully, I slipped the other torch off the head of the Caretaker sprawled on the floor and put it on my head.
I took some nourishment bottles off the shelf and passed them to David, along with a few diapers, and left the supply cupboard. He shoved them into the diaper with Mother’s treasures. Instead of turning back to the entrance, I went toward the sleeping rooms of the older children. There was one more thing I had to do. No time to discuss it with David, no time to explain. A child had hope. I couldn’t destroy that.
David followed me to the bedside of the boy who reminded me of the Little Prince. He woke and sat up as soon as I touched his shoulder. He smiled when he saw it was me. David was looking at the little boy, puzzled, and then back at me.
“This young man is my friend,” I whispered to David. And then I leaned down to the child. “Would you like to break a rule with me?”
He nodded, eyes wide.
“Quick,” I said, “put on your shoes.” He bent immediately and slipped his shoes on. So quickly he obeyed! Without hesitation, fully trusting. Trusting me because I had broken a rule for him. I laid his thin blanket across his back and shoulders.
“Carry your clothes and follow me,” I said, and he did. Soon we were all outside. I turned off my torch. The fire at the stage was growing. Flames stretched into the air and embers licked the sky. The smell of smoke was strong. I thought I heard someone shout. We had to hurry.
The moon, that great curved sliver, hung low in the sky. We ran to the parked bus-boxes and stopped, looking for the hole. David pointed. There it was. Our gateway to freedom. It was smaller than I had expected, but John had somehow managed to slip through it. So would we.
The stage was fully engulfed in flames now; I heard more shouting and the sound of people running. Gunfire. Why gunfire? From where? By whom?
In an instant, David stepped in front of me and pushed the diaper holding our supplies and Mother’s treasures through the hole to the other side. Then he motioned for the boy to go through.
He did as he was asked, slipping through the hole quickly and easily. David took Elsa from my arms and passed her gently through to the boy. He held her carefully, as though he understood that he was holding the entire reason we were attempting this escape, breaking all of these rules.
David motioned with his head for me to go through next. I wanted to be last, to be the final sentry, but David motioned firmly again, so I knelt and began to crawl through the hole. The sharp, cold metal fence ripped my clothes and scratched my skin. The cement base was hard and rough against my knees and elbows. The smell of dirt was close to my face, filling my nose. Crawling like this, moving forward inch by inch, felt like a dangerous eternity. The boy reached down and patted my head, urging me forward. Finally I was through and the boy handed Elsa back to me. I held her close and took the boy’s small hand in mine as we looked back across the fence to David.
He was standing with his back to us watching the chaos, watching the fire, which was now casting an eerie orange glow against the black sky. “David,” I called out, my voice revealing more urgency than I had intended. “It’s your turn. C’mon!”
But he didn’t move. He just watched the fire. Crackling. Dancing. Growing.
“David, please!”
It felt like an eternity that we all stood there. Me, Elsa, and the boy on one side of the fence, David on the other. We were probably ten feet apart, but it might as well have been miles. My heart dropped in my chest. I had been prepared to do this alone, but once David had agreed to come I’d realized just how foolish I’d been. How would I survive without him? How would I keep Elsa alive? But now, with him ignoring my cries and time running short,
I forgot about the relief I’d felt and instead focused on the one thing, the only thing, that really mattered: I had to get Elsa away from this place. Far, far away. And now, with or without David, that is exactly what I intended to do.
I clenched the boy’s hand and turned to leave.
“Wait! I’m coming!” It was David. Sweet Jesus, David was coming.
As he crawled through the fence I thought I saw something, someone, beyond it, near the bus-box that obscured the hole. A day-shift Transport Team member? The day-shift Gatekeeper starting duty early, sent by the Authority since Randall was absent? Then more shadows of people running, shouting.
The fire was spreading closer to the Children’s Village.
All of those children at risk. The babies. I knew right away that I would have to go back. I had to save more. If I didn’t, then I would be no better than the Republic. But I was better. I respected life; they destroyed it.
David was now on the other side with me, the boy, and Elsa. They were safe. I had to go back. I turned to David. “Take Elsa and the boy and run.” Then I got down on my hands and knees and began to crawl.
David pulled on my shirt so hard it stopped me dead in my tracks.
“What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
“The fire,” I gasped, looking up at him. “It’s moving toward the Village. Toward the children. And it’s my fault. My fault and I have to save them.”
“No, it’s not. Stand over here and look. That’s why I stayed on the other side for so long—I had to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.” He took several steps to the right. “Look closely. It’s not moving toward the Village. It’s moving toward the Authority’s supply building.”
I got up and went to where he was standing. I squinted and stared, concentrating hard. He was right. The stage was fully engulfed in flames and soon the supply building would be as well. The children were safe for now and, with all the chaos we’d created, no relocations could possibly occur in the near future. We had bought them time. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. I leaned against him in gratitude for a brief second.
But now we had to move. We had to get as far away as we could, as fast as possible. The ground sloped away from the fence, a long, slippery hill sloping down into shadows. At the bottom of the hill, far below, the sound of running water, splashing over rocks.
David started down the slope but stopped after just a couple of steps. With one hand, he took the energy cell off his thigh and tossed it into the darkness.
“Take yours off, too,” he whispered. “They might be able to track us if we have these on.”
I threw mine and heard it hit against a rock. Something scurried through the underbrush.
Together, David carrying Elsa and the few supplies, me holding the hand of the boy, we ran down the hill toward the sound of the water.
Around us, trees. Great, majestic trees. Leaves rustling. Soft, soothing sounds.
Tall grass, touching our ankles. Damp and cool. Unfamiliar.
Behind us, fire and chaos.
Ahead, freedom. And the unknown.
AFTERWORD
Effective execution of Agenda 21 will require a profound reorientation of all human society, unlike anything the world has ever experienced—a major shift in the priorities of both governments and individuals and an unprecedented redeployment of human and financial resources. This shift will demand that a concern for the environmental consequences of every human action be integrated into individual and collective decision-making at every level.
—DAN SITARZ, Agenda 21:
The Earth Summit Strategy to Save Our Planet
The reason that this novel exists is because of a woman named Harriet Parke. Harriet paid attention to the radio and television segments that I, and others, did on Agenda 21 and could not believe what she was hearing. Alarmed, she started to do her own homework, her own research. When it became clear to her that Agenda 21 was as evil as she’d feared, she knew she had to do something about it.
So she started to write a novel.
Harriet, like so many members of my team, is a “storyteller.” She realizes that many people don’t want to read a long story in a newspaper or watch a two-hour documentary about a topic like Agenda 21—but they might read a novel. And, if they do, then maybe they’ll read this, the Afterword, and learn a whole bunch of new facts. And, if they do that, then maybe they’ll make the same decision as Harriet and help spread the word.
If your eyes are now open to the reality of Agenda 21, then I ask that you please pass this story on to a friend—maybe even someone who would otherwise never read about some obscure UN program. Don’t tell them about this Afterword. Don’t even tell them that Agenda 21 is a real initiative. Let them go through the discovery process themselves. In other words, lead them to water, but don’t force them to drink.
If you help activate your friends, family, and neighbors, then I have complete confidence that they will not only educate themselves, but they will, in turn, activate others. Once that happens, we will have a force that is far stronger than any international bureaucracy.
THE BASICS
Now, let me state the obvious: this novel is fiction.
But let me also state the controversial: it may not stay that way. In fact, if the United Nations, in partnership with radical environmental activists and naïve local governments, get their way, then the themes explored in this novel may start to look very familiar, very quickly.
Before all of the accusations begin about me promoting some kind of conspiracy theory, let me be clear: this novel plays out the ideas and concepts contained in the real Agenda 21 to their extreme ends. I do not really believe, for example, that people will be reciting pledges in honor of squirrels any time soon—but when animals and nature are valued more highly than human life, all kinds of absurd things begin to enter the realm of possibility.
Like most plans with evil, world-changing intentions, Agenda 21 doesn’t exactly advertise itself that way. Those who are behind it know that they would never get the support they need if they simply stated their true objectives. So instead they couch their ideas in all kinds of flowery language that makes it sound as though their only goal is to leave a better, healthier planet to our children—and who doesn’t want that?
Once you cut through all of the propaganda, you’re left with nine basic principles that Agenda 21 intends to pursue:
1. Move citizens off private land and into high-density urban housing.
2. Create vast wilderness spaces inhabited by large carnivores.
3. Reduce traffic congestion and slash fuel use by eliminating cars and creating “walkable” cities.
4. Support chosen private businesses with public funds to be used for “sustainable development.”
5. Make policy decisions that favor the greater good over individuals.
6. Drastically reduce the use of power, water, and anything that creates “carbon pollution.”
7. Use bureaucracies to make sweeping decisions outside of democratic processes.
8. Increase taxes, fees, and regulations.
9. Implement policies meant to incentivize a reduced population (i.e., “one-child” type laws).
But before we get to the endgame, let’s go back to the beginning. To understand where Agenda 21 is meant to take us, you first have to understand where it came from and who is behind it.
THE HISTORY
In 1972, Stockholm, Sweden, hosted the original UN Earth Summit. This summit resulted in the “Stockholm Declaration,” an action plan containing twenty-six principles and seven proclamations—the final of which made it clear exactly how large and transformative their plan really was:
[Achieving our environmental goals] will demand the acceptance of responsibility by citizens and communities and by enterprises and institutions at every level, all sharing equitably in common efforts.
Words like “equitably” should always ring alarm bells, even when the underlying idea—protecting th
e environment—is hard to argue with. Remember, when we’re talking about the world, a country like the United States is in the top 1 percent. “Equitable” means something very different to developing countries than it does to Americans. Whereas we might believe that increasing our gas mileage, using dimmer switches on our lights, or programming our thermostats is doing our fair share, the rest of the world strongly disagrees. They don’t want our conservation, they want our money. Our technology. Our land and our natural resources.
To be completely fair, I’ve read the full Stockholm Declaration and it’s fairly benign. Sure, it’s filled with a lot of socialist nonsense, but given the summits and declarations that would soon follow, Stockholm turned out to be the least of our worries. But, of course, progressives think long-term. They understand that major change can come in small increments. To them Stockholm wasn’t a failure at all, it was just a starting point.
The following year, the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) met for the first time and developed a lengthy document that advanced the findings of the Stockholm Declaration. Most notable about this meeting was that it was led by Maurice Strong, UNEP’s Executive Director. Strong, a multi-billionaire who has taken up environmentalism as a cause, once warned: “Frankly, we may get to the point where the only way of saving the world will be for industrial civilization to collapse.”
Maurice Strong surfaces many times along the road to Agenda 21, but that quote is really the key to understanding everything that Agenda 21 and its affiliated plans are all about. In fact, if more environmentalists admitted, as Strong did, that the only way to achieve their goals would be for the industrialized world to collapse, we might finally be able to have an honest debate.
In 1976, the United Nations Conference on Human Settlements met in Vancouver and determined that humans were simply producing too many children. “World population growth trends,” they wrote, “indicate that numbers of mankind in the next 25 years would double . . .”
The fact that they were incredibly wrong (world population actually increased 48 percent over the next 25 years) is really beside the point. Those projections were never about accuracy, they were about fearmongering. If people believed that they were destroying the Earth because they were having too many children then they might be willing to do something drastic about it.