Truth in humor - or humor in truth?
Posted on 10/07/2013 8:54:53 AM PDT by Lazamataz
Near-silently, I padded through the grasslands, crouching down low, the chill air frosting my breath with every exhale. I hoped -- nay, prayed -- I would be unseen by the hastily-deployed military and civilian martial-law enforcement squads.
Following the roads was simply not an option. The checkpoints were placed every few miles leading out of Atlanta, and every one of them had armed personnel with ballistic armor. Some even had lightly-armored vehicles. No matter if you went by back roads or expressway, there they were - and all of them had a school bus or two to ferry you to either a camp, or simply back to Atlanta.
I saw two patrolling martial-law troops in the distance, and, knowing they had infra-red detection, threw myself quickly into a small gully, hoping to break the line of sight to me.
I waited. I listened. After a time, I heard them re-enter their vehicle and drive off. I had not been seen.
It was my goal to make it to the coast and somehow -- any way possible -- flee the country of my birth, the United States of America. Something horrible had happened to her, and that which we believed "could never happen here", happened here. We had become a brutal, oppressive tyranny whose underpinnings were now communist. We had squandered the gift of freedom.
I remembered the events of the last few weeks: How, on October 1st, 2013, the government shut down. I seldom paid attention to the news, and when I did -- tuning into CBS or NBC for the nightly updates -- I had always viewed the constant political struggles between the Republicans and the Democrats to be nothing more than posturing and politics, all nonsense, and all meaningless to my life.
How wrong I was.
The shutdown dragged on, and frankly, I didn't know who was at fault. It seemed the White House and the Senate were being obstinate and unwilling to compromise, but I also wondered why the Republicans couldn't simply let go of their desire to delay or defund Obama's health care plan. Sure, I had looked at the plan, and it seemed simply awful -- but politics always had a way of fixing the unacceptable over time, or so I thought.
Soon the shutdown went against something the talking heads called the 'debt limit', and again -- not being an accountant -- I paid little attention to it all. The problems started in November of 2013.
I had noticed on various internet news sites, that Obama's White House had been shutting down things that didn't seem to make sense -- a private monument known as the World War II memorial, highways near Mount Rushmore, and even a stretch of ocean eleven-thousand square miles large. None of these needed Federal funds, so why were they shut down? It seemed petty and vindictive to me, and I was surprised at the petulance and arrogance of Obama -- a man I had voted for in 2008.
The White House announced it would 'be forced' to stop all Social Security, Medicaid, and EBT funding in November, because of the debt limit, and because funding had stopped. The Republicans quickly gave in to all of the White House and the Senate's demands. Strangely, even though the Democrats got every single thing they asked for, they refused to approve the funding bills and the debt increase. They claimed that there was more they now wanted.
Republicans rushed bill after bill out of the House, and each time, the Senate rejected the funding bill. I began to see that the press on which I had relied, all these years, might not be impartial after all. To every increased demand by the Democrats, the press reacted with approval, and when the Republicans met that increased demand, the press savaged their 'intransigence'. It all seemed so bizarre to me.
November the first passed, and reports began to emerge of seniors being evicted, and EBT food stamp cards not working. Sporadically, I heard of small riots. These began to grow in number, even in Atlanta. On the third day of these increasingly-common riots, I started to get concerned. I contacted a friend, asked if I could stay at his house in the countryside -- he said yes -- and contacted my boss to get a week vacation until all the strife blew over.
I was gathering my belongings for my little 'vacation', including my prized AR-15 rifle, and was packing my car, when I noticed smoke starting to rise from the Atlanta skyline. What was going on???!? I went back into my house, turned on the local news, and was greeted with a live broadcast of a major riot that seemed to stretch for miles. The news helicopter was showing numerous fires burning, and people -- so small from the camera's altitude -- milling about. The news reporter in the chopper seemed aghast. She was saying, in a trembling voice, that many murders and assaults were being reported, that there was widespread looting, and that the National Guard had been called in.
I decided not to leave yet. I wanted to know that it was safe before I left. I scanned various national news channels, and was greeted with reports of similar riots occurring in many major cities. People were angry, violent, and things were quickly spinning out of control.
As I watched these events unfold on live TV, about six hours after the first reports, an Emergency Broadcast Bulletin came on. I was warned to stay in my home, that there was a twenty-four-hour-a-day curfew in effect. Soon afterwards, a national news figure came on, and reported that President Obama had invoked the Emergency Powers Act.
I sat, stunned, and suddenly very chilled. I, a good liberal, had payed a lot of attention to this Act. Born decades earlier, the intent was to give a President a chance to resurrect America after a nuclear war. It allowed the President absolute, dictatorial powers. The Congress and the Senate were removed from the decision-making process and all American assets could be seized by the President. I had been terrified when Bush -- that damned idiotic monkey -- had been in office, that he would use some excuse to invoke this Act.
But the Act had been invoked by MY guy. I felt betrayed and terrified. I made a decision to quickly escape to my friends house, then... perhaps... flee the country for a while, until America returned to normal. I grabbed my passport and some money I keep in the house. My rifle, ammunition, food and water, and changes of clothing were already in the car. I got into my vehicle and made for the expressways.
I found quickly that the expressways leading out of Atlanta were jammed. No traffic was moving. I pulled my car off to the side, grabbed as much food and water as I could carry, and my rifle. Luckily I lived on the outskirts of Atlanta and could make my way out by following a path that occasionally had stretches of woodlands, where I could move undetected.
I saw many people who had made my decision -- some armed, some unarmed -- and we slowly migrated out of Atlanta. After about a day of walking, we were well outside the Perimeter. Some of us huddled in a circle, and they held a vote on where to go and decided to remain as a group. They asked me to join, but I declined. I had always been a bit of a loner.
The next few days consisted of my hiding and trying to escape the carnage in Atlanta. I traveled by night and slept by day. I avoided contact with all other people -- I had enough food and water to last five days, I figured -- and I especially avoided anyone in a uniform. I observed, and went around, military checkpoints. Once in a while I'd stop to see what they were doing. Generally, they were getting people out of cars, frisking them for weapons, and putting them on school busses. When a bus would fill up, it would depart for points unknown and a uniformed man would pull up a new, unloaded one.
This was awful. I didn't quite know what was going on, but I sure didn't like the look of it.
But that was then. This is now. My food has run out, and my stomach is growling. I saw a small house standing alone and silhouetted against the rising half-moon, and I decided to see if anyone was there -- and get a meal, somehow, any way I could. I began to make my way there.
I had almost reached the house when I heard the thrumming of helicopter blades getting closer, and heard vehicles roaring towards me from several directions. In a matter of minutes I found myself surrounded, the helicopter blazing a light at me and clearly showing my position. Soldiers poured from the vehicles, armed with rifles, all pointed at me. A loudspeaker ordered me to place my rifle at my feet, and show my hands. I was outnumbered, and clearly outgunned. I did as they asked, was taken into custody, and was brought -- bound with plastic handcuffs -- to a checkpoint. I was rudely pushed onto the bus, and took my seat, uncomfortably.
So this is how America ends, I thought. We are now a full-on tyranny.
I had time to think, as the bus filled up, about what had happened. In retrospect, it was clear that my voting for Barack Obama the first time had been a tragic mistake. I didn't vote at all in 2012 -- I really didn't like Mitt Romney -- but I couldn't bring myself to vote for Barack Obama again. But, in 2008, I -- like many of my peers -- thought that the chance to 'do penance' for all the wrongs visited on people of color, over all of America's history, was a way to right a multi-generational wrong. Little did I know I would be voting for a bloody, horrible tyrant.
The bus engine fired up. and lurched forward.
I wondered, quietly, what would become of me.
I was about to ask the same question.
Hey Laz! Please add me! Thanks!
But, hey folks, the moral of the story is:DO NOT WAIT to get out.
If you're to stupid, to timid, to “in can’t be happening” to get out in time, DO NOT head for the highway - didn't you see the first episode of “Revolution”? LOL
If you haven't gotten out and settled somewhere long before TSHTF, at least have an escape route plotted and a destination in place. Hopefully, you‘ve not only squirreled away some supplies, but practiced some self-sufficient skills. (I'm teaching my granddaughters how to knit, how to make laundry soap, hand soap bars, butter - using just cream and a glass jar, etc. You need more than supplies, you need to know to replenish supplies.
And don't just pick out a place on the map to head to. You may think you can melt into the wilderness and no one will know you're there. Guess again. Every square inch of land is owned by someone. The more remote, the fewer locals, the more they all know if a strangers around and they might not cotton to strangers just showing up and expecting to be allowed to squat on their land and using their resources. -
Establish a relationship, get a piece of land, arrange to use a piece of land, (might even want to think of this 'piece' across the border.) well before you NEED it - because, in actuality, you NEED IT NOW.
I know liberals who are gun-aficionados. I live in Atlanta, after all.
Laz - got a ping list for this? Please ;o)
Hang in there, maybe Travis can save you.
:p
Exactly, you have identified one message. I want my kindred and like-minded Free Republic friends to be able to make it through whatever comes.
The second message is to be aware that this exact scenario has a chance of actually happening in real life, and to be prepared for it.
Great comment. Thanks.
Okay.
Truth in humor - or humor in truth?
If I am not already on it, please add me to the ping list.
Your story is off to a good start. As I said on FB, you should copyright it.
Back to reading it... ;-)
I know you...
gimme a book...
Liberal.
;)
Happily, the act of writing confers an implied copyright.
Very good read! My eyes are on October 17 and shortly thereafter. Your fiction may very well become fact. I’ve not been very public about my thoughts on Obama and his probable thirst for martial law, because I was branded “extremist” and “conspiracy theorist”.
Time will certainly tell.
Nope. Sea is closed. order of CinC. Besides, Laz was too slow...not that it mattered much.
Travis had already sailed, but was boarded, taken captive, sent to work as a trimmer at a Midwestern locale, Chinese owned meat processor (hot dogs, low grade bologna, etc) and must become proficient in Spanish --- or will be "replaced".
Travis's boat was given over to become "New China" (formerly USA) fishing vessel, or reserved for recreational use of New China commanders and middle-managers.
Good job, Laz!
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