The Experimental Education Center
By
Carl Croshatch
Copyright 2013 by Carl Croshatch
All rights reserved.
No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Experimental Education Center
By
Carl Croshatch
Those of you who’ve read my book Reporting from a Small Town will understand why I was forced to leave my home and business in Zipperfinch Lake under the cover of darkness. Luckily, I had large amounts of funds stashed away from my various business ventures so I’m able to travel around the country in my new car and live quite comfortably. I’m very careful to keep an eye on my rear view mirror as I drive along due to the contract the Deranged Killers Motorcycle Club has out on me. Even though they’re based in Zipperfinch Lake, they are loosely affiliated with many motorcycle clubs throughout the United States.
My zeal for reporting news, which is what got me into trouble in the first place, never left me so I am now reporting on the many changes I’ve observed taking place in The United States since the last presidential election.
While traveling through the deserts of New Mexico, I came upon a new government facility located about a half a mile off the road. It was clearly visible behind the usual government perimeter fence up near the road complete with the warning signs that informed the public that armed guards patrolled the area with orders to shoot trespassers. The fence was at least ten feet high and topped with razor wire.
Driving further down the road, I came upon the main entrance. Two heavily armed guards dressed in desert camouflage eyed me warily as I drove past. They were standing behind the locked gate near a cement block guardhouse. The main building which resembled a fortress was still visible across the half mile of open desert. It was constructed out of solid concrete with walls that looked to be about twenty feet high. It had razor wire on the top of the walls and one obvious entrance. There were also six strategically placed guard towers on top of the walls. It resembled a super max prison and was one of the most forbidding looking structures I’ve ever seen. But there was something strange about it. Even though it looked new, some New Yorkers must have found it almost immediately. There was graffiti art painted on most of the two walls I could see from the road. Some of it was quite beautifully done, too.
Three miles further down the road, I came upon a small building called Hal’s Diner. The place looked friendly enough so I decided to stop for lunch, especially since there weren’t any motorcycles parked out in front. Still pondering the massive building I’d just seen, I walked into the diner, took a seat at the counter and ordered a ham and cheese on rye. Seated in the booth directly behind me were two middle aged gentlemen who, from the subjects of their discussion, I assumed to be locals. After I’d introduced myself, they invited me to join them in the booth. For their protection, I’ll call them Frank and Ernest.
“I just passed a serious looking building a few miles back,” I said casually so as not to arouse any suspicions. “It looks fairly new.”
“Oh, that,” said Frank as he took a sip of coffee. “That building was finished about six months ago. Both Ernie and I got jobs working on the construction of it. We still work there on occasion. He’s an electrician and I’m a plumber. We do other odd jobs there, too.”
“Yah,” said Ernie. “We had to join a union and then they made us sign an official looking paper saying we wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”
“Why are you telling me?” I asked.
“You ain’t from the government, are you?” asked Ernie.
“No. I’m certainly not from the government.”
“Everybody knows we can’t keep a secret,” said Frank. “Neither can anyone else around here. The whole county knows about it”
I took the last bite of my sandwich. “What is it for?”
Ernie looked at me as if I’d just walked in from a foreign country. “It’s called The New Mexico Experimental Education Center. If it works out the way the government hopes it will, they’ll be building a lot more of them all around the country.”
Frank looked over at Hal behind the counter as he held up his coffee cup to indicate he was ready for a refill. Hal came over and filled the cup to the brim. “The government used stimulus money to build this center,” continued Frank. “They say it will decrease unemployment. We all know how well that worked out last time.”
“Who are they trying to educate?” I asked.
“Conservatives,” said Hal who happened by and joined in the conversation. “They used to refer to what they do in there as indoctrination. They fully admit they don’t want any conservatives at all in this country.”
“It would be better defined as a gulag,” said Frank.
I looked directly at Frank. “Who are these people that came up with this idea?”
“Anyone connected with the White House from the president on down,” he said.
“Can’t congress de-fund this project?” I asked.
“No,” said Hal as he cleaned the booth behind us. “The president issued a secret executive order that approved the project.”
“But that’s unconstitutional,” I protested.
“When have you ever known this administration to worry about such a little thing as The Constitution?” asked Frank.
“You want to take a little tour of the facility?” asked Ernie.
I must have looked a little worried. “What about the armed guards I saw at the gate?”
“You mean George and Sam? They’re real nice guys. In fact, Sam’s my neighbor,” said Frank. “All you have to do is slip them a hundred bucks apiece and they’ll open the gates right up for us. You can afford a couple of hundred dollars, can’t you?”
“I sure can,” I answered.
After I’d paid for the three meals and slipped Hal a hefty tip, the three of us walked outside and hopped into Frank’s brand new pickup.
“Stimulus money?” I asked as I looked around the shiny new truck.
“Sure is,” answered Frank. “I’m almost considering becoming a Socialist myself. The trouble is, I’ve been a hard working conservative for so long that I’d have a rough time just sitting around doing nothing while I collected money from the government.”
As we headed back down the road toward the facility, I looked over at Ernie and asked, “What about the guards? They must have guards in there.”
“Sure they do,” he answered. “There are lots of them but they’re nothing to worry about.”
“How can that be?” I asked.
“They’re recent college graduates who play beer pong and other games. They’ll occasionally wander the cell blocks spraying the detainees with pepper spray but, for the most part, they just play games on their computers and nap. They’re happy to have a high paying government job that doesn’t require much of them, what with the economy being in such bad shape and with the unemployment rate so high. The government recruits them directly out of college. Most of them come from Ivy League schools. Since they’ve already been indoctrinated by their professors, government officials don’t have to test their loyalty to the regime. They just teach them which way to point the pepper spray and, if they don’t spray themselves in the face, they’re put right
to work.”
“Yah,” said Frank. “If you look at a voting map of the last election, most of the land mass of the United States is inhabited by conservative voters. Even in the highly contested state of Ohio, most of the areas are red. It’s only when you look at the highly populated urban areas that contain colleges and universities that you see the hotbeds of Socialism and Communism. That’s why college students are chosen for these jobs.”
We turned off the road and drove the short distance to the main gate. George and Sam came out to greet us and, as Frank engaged them in friendly small talk, I pulled out my wallet and grabbed two one hundred dollar bills. After handing them out the window, George and Sam both thanked me and walked over and swung the massive gates wide open.
The prison loomed even larger as we made our way down the approach road and pulled in to a parking spot next to the main entrance. Ernie hopped out and swung the door open while motioning for Frank and me to join him. We entered into a tastefully appointed reception area. Since no one was around, Frank led us through the door into the main facility. There were a few very young looking guards who barely noticed us as they sat at their computers playing various on line games. I saw a large black and white engraved sign directly in front of us that read “Level A.”
“What’s Level A?” I asked Frank.
“This is the level where the arrested conservatives start out,” he
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