by Dina Rae
I wiped my eyes and finished scanning the chamber. In the corner, there were bags of nitrates, pipes, batteries, and a large toolbox. There was enough weaponry to support several troops.
My grandfather wasn’t just a con-man. Some would say he was a survivalist, prepper, or someone who believed the end was near. Others would call him much worse, maybe even a terrorist. His beliefs were certainly not mainstream, but I never imagined he was this serious. Did I even know the real man at all?
I opened the toolbox up. There were all kinds of tools, but underneath a magnifying glass was something pink at the bottom of the box. I dug in and pulled it out. At a closer look, it was a pink envelope with paper inside of it. There were two photos and a letter inside. One was a photo of him and my father when he was a boy. They sat on a boat holding up a fish caught on a line. Someone else must have taken the picture. Maybe it was my grandmother. Like my father, she died around the same time when I was an infant. I wished I knew them. George told me plenty of stories, but it was never the same.
The other picture was of George and me. We were at a Cubs game in the city. He wasn’t much of a baseball fan, but took me there for my ninth birthday. I pocketed the photos and cried again. The letter was in his handwriting. My flashlight grew dimmer, making it difficult to read. I squinted to make out the words.
My Dearest Raphael:
I loved you like a son, as much as I loved your father. You know how I felt about his passing. If you found this letter, then I am probably dead. I never wanted you to know about this place unless it was absolutely necessary. Maybe it is necessary, or maybe you are here because you are curious about my retreat. This is why I chose to lead a life of shortcuts. Never had the time to go to school and make something of myself. I needed money to expand my empire. To me, the ends did justify the means. And boy, did we have fun. I hope I taught you well in the art of grifting. Use your skills to survive.
This farm is now yours. Don’t worry. The property deed is in too many names and trusts to find out true ownership for quite some time. The land is worthless to most, so no one will be in a hurry to take it. The crown of this kingdom is now yours. Rule it well.
So my dear, brilliant boy, what will you do? Look the other way? Sell the place? Or hang on to it like it’s your last lifeline? I would want you to use it in some noble way. I would want you to fight the world’s vampires. But whatever decision you make, I hope it is to your advantage.
If you look at the pantry towards the ceiling, you’ll find a shelf full of coffee cans. Check it out. Some are filled with gold. Here is a map of the farm. There are more tunnels and surprises. Again, I love you.
Grampa
I wiped away my tears and folded up the letter. The crown of this kingdom is now yours…What a strange way of looking at this inheritance. George died years ago, and I missed his wisdom, humor, and scoundrel ways every day. He had a dark side. Certain things I never discussed with him. He was proud of my career, but never discussed the news with me. He knew the news business was just a game. Did he approve?
My father’s death had made George suspicious and bitter about the government. He referred to corporate heads and government leaders as vampires. I had no idea how suspicious or how bitter until now. Maybe my career disappointed him, or worse, maybe I disappointed him. I could have been a better man in so many ways.
I found a step ladder and climbed up, grabbing every coffee can on the shelf. Sure enough, three of the twenty neatly stacked on the shelf were filled with gold bars. Things were changing so fast in this new world, that gold would be the only real kind of currency from now on. I thought of George’s suicide and his pain. His ashes sat in an urn on the mantle of my brownstone. I used to talk to that urn when I had a bad day or a good day or just to talk. I felt that he could somehow hear me, almost like his presence was in the room with me. Those moments were gone. At least I had this farm. It was like having a piece of George that still lived on.
I said aloud, in almost complete blackness with just a dim beam coming out of the flashlight, “Grampa, wherever you are, I wish I could hug you, cry on your shoulder, talk to you about how you did all of this. It’s amazing. How did you know this would happen? I worked in the news business, and I didn’t know. The world will have to confiscate this place before I give it up, and that’s probably what they will do. But for now, this is my home.”
Almost a year went by, I found myself enjoying the solitude of the farm as I cleared away brush in key areas, while camouflaging other areas from the naked eye. I cleaned up his guns and practiced target shooting on noisy, thunderous days. Everything that was in need of repair was promptly fixed to the best of my ability. I had no Internet or TV. The need for an outside connection went away for the time being. My cell phone still worked, and I figured out how to charge it from one of my grandfather’s chargers, but no one called me and conversely I called no one.
One night with a can of Spaghetti-O’s and a bottle of rum in my stomach, I fiddled around on my phone and finally made a call. Jaxie was my only family and I missed her. Was she in danger? I had to know.
She picked up on the first ring. “You’re alive! I was so worried. Thank God. Don’t call me on this number. I’ll call you back in a few hours.”
True to her word, she called me back but on a different number. “This is a disposable phone. I suggest you buy some. Get rid of this one very soon. Oh Raph, I can’t begin to tell you everything that has happened since you left.”
“I’ve been spending time on my grandfather’s farm. No links to the outside world, though. And I didn’t want to endanger you. Everything is okay. I’m drunk and lonely. How about you do the talking?”
And that she did. Jaxie babbled on a mile a minute, updating me on current events, her work, and the drastic changes that were being enforced. Her voice sounded much more different than I remembered. She talked in low undertones, even whispers. Her paranoia made me nervous.
“Jaxie, are you okay? I am having a hard time hearing you. Are you alone?”
“Yes, but I am in another town, walking in a baseball field. Sometimes someone gets close enough to hear. I have to be very careful. Wherever you are, you will need to be very careful too. People are having many accidents if you know what I mean. Did you know Vice President al-Bassam died? He accidentally fell out of a high rise in Nashville.” There was a cynical edge to her voice as she told me the details.
“One of the directors at my headquarters also died-heart attack. He was thirty-eight. Speaking of work, from now on we have to wear implants. I have one that was surgically injected into my hand. I’m getting it removed. The chip works as a key, a direct deposit, a credit card, an insurance I.D., and who knows what else. I think it also works as a GPS, but no one is admitting that.”
“Any one snooping around about those Peacekeepers?”
“Not right after you left, but lately I wouldn’t know. I don’t live there anymore. Everyone at work was forced to move into an apartment complex across the street from the Fogle compound. We were told over and over again how grateful we should be to have free rent.”
“Holy shit! Forced to move? Did anyone quit?”
“Supposedly, but then other sources suggested that they had gone missing. Probably another damn accident. Hey, you know who lives on the floor below me? Your friend Brick. Turns out his father runs security at the campus. Small world. Well, not really. Close to half of my old subdivision was filled with Fogle employees. Brick told him everything. Don’t worry. He keeps to himself, and he’s angry and scared just like the rest of us.”
“So what happened to your townhouse? Did you sell it? Are you renting it out? Did the U.N. military quarter the property?”
Jaxie’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Quarter the property? Haven’t heard that term since high school history class. When was that, the Civil War, maybe? Yeah, it’s fucking quartered alright if that’s the term for stolen or confiscated. After the Civil War, the homeowners got their property
back. I got no chance of that happening.”
“They can’t just take your property! That’s unheard of! It’s not war time anymore!”
“Oh yeah? Welcome to post-World War III, Raph. Not all of us are dropping out of society and living on a farm. Here, in the real world, or what’s left of it, the Peacekeepers took my home and gave me a shitty compensation check for tiny fraction of what I paid for it. The check was directly deposited in my new account from the only operating bank that’s still in business. The bank calls itself the World Bank. Catchy, huh? I now receive my shitty paycheck in units, not dollars. Currency has completely changed. The unit is the new global money. And speaking of money, I used to have quite a hefty bank account… Now I’m fucking broke. We are all fucking broke. Correction, not all of us, most of us. That’s how these jag-offs want it, and I’m talking about the god-damned U.N. They just kill our family and now take our stuff, and no one is doing anything about it. I’m sure the same thing has happened to you. Forget about getting an insurance payout for your pad. I’ll bet your bank no longer exists. Seems like it’s all part of a plan.”
“Yeah, Jaxie. It’s called New World Order. The same theory you once scoffed at. So far, it’s only been what, nine or ten months? They’ve taken our guns, our property, our money, and changed our currency. Fogle is right. You are lucky. Because of your specialized skills, you are very valuable in reconstruction. Hell, before the war hardly anyone knew how to operate a satellite, let alone now. You get to live. But my grandfather was also right. This farm is the result of his beliefs.”
“Glad you got a shelter to ball up in. But you can’t hide in the middle of nowhere forever. It’s time to come out and face the world. Again, you have got to get rid of your phone. I know firsthand that they are compiling names that go with numbers. Maybe you don’t realize this, but Fogle took over all of the cells. None of the phone companies are in business. Disposables, disposables, disposables. They will last for a dozen calls or so. Email me a friendly but vague letter from your new work once you come back to civilization. I have a plan. My friend at work inspired me. I can’t wait to tell you about it. It won’t make you happy, but it will give you a reason to live. Call me when you update your communications.”
I grabbed the last bottle or rum, sat on the shredded up couch, and contemplated what Jaxie had in mind. Was she talking about revenge? As if she and I could take down the U.N., the Peacekeepers, and their weaponry. The thought was treason. But I loved the ring of it.
She was right about one thing. I was wasting time. The farm was cleared out and would remain a hideout for now. I had something to offer, but wasn’t sure where I fit in. My technology skills were better than most, but nowhere near Jaxie’s genius level. She was a major asset in this new globalized world. Who was I? Since the American media consolidated into one station, I was shut out. I no longer wanted to be part of it anyway. Where could a washed-up, middle-aged journalist begin a new life?
Chapter Nine
Jaxie
When Raphael left, I dreamt of the dead soldiers standing over my bed and laughing. Will, the dead boy, stomped throughout the house and moaned for help. Two hours of continuous sleep was my current maximum.
Raphael brought on serious trouble for me. I dreaded the day that I would get a knock on the door from the Peacekeepers regarding that night. But that day had yet to come. Maybe we got away with it.
I got another kind of knock that was just as terrifying. A few months after Raphael left, an official from the U.N. stood on my porch with a couple of Peacekeeping escorts. He introduced himself as an economist for the new global government. He was a young, white man with reddish hair dressed in a gray suit. He flipped open his wallet to show me his identification. My heart almost exploded out of my chest. I assumed he came to arrest me for murder.
The man handed me a paper money check with a golden laurel and globe embossed emblem on it. The amount was for units, not dollars. He them rambled something off about eminent domain. My townhouse was now property of the government. I could cash the check at the World Bank now located in the downtown area of Brookline where Bella Largo Bank once stood.
He then babbled on about creating an account and getting a microchip to activate it. I had one week to move. My relocation depended on two variables, my job or my lack of job. I mentioned my position at Fogle.
The man smiled. “Then you have nothing to worry about. They have stepped up as leaders and purchased an apartment complex across the street from the business’s compound. You probably won’t have to share your apartment.”
“Probably? I do not share my townhome,” I said.
“Yes, well times have changed. Everyone here will have to relocate. Some people do not have a Plan B. Consider yourself lucky. One week, Miss Nottingham. Good day.” He and his two soldier bodyguards left my front porch and headed for the unit next to mine.
Maybe I was lucky. No matter how many times I scrubbed the floor and cleaned the furniture, I would never erase the DNA of the three bodies that were shot. The house was a potential murder scene. But the way he announced that I had to move…the way he gave me units, not dollars, for my house…the way my property was basically stolen from me and I was helpless…What did Raphael call it? New World Order. So far, I hated it.
Raphael left me his gun and ammo which were wedged between the paneling and steel door of my refrigerator. Should I leave it with the house? I wasn’t exactly a member of the NRA, but I did know how to pull a trigger. I packed it with the rest of my things.
My new apartment complex was right across the highway from one of Fogle’s entrances. Funny how I must have passed it thousands of times over the last ten years, but never noticed it. The multi-building complex had a cheap, Swiss chalet façade, making it look more like ski lodge than a stylish, upscale place to live. My bitterness resurfaced as I thought about my dream townhouse that I scrimped and saved for years to buy. Now I lived in a cheesy dump. My unit was on the 4th floor with an unobstructed view of the highway. No elevators were installed. The stairs only added to my anger.
At the apartment’s entrance, construction markings were posted. Soon there would be an enclosed bridge that ran across the highway, enabling us to easily walk to work without any traffic worries. The parking lot was quite a hike away from the actual apartment. I immediately thought what a pain in the ass it would be to bring in groceries or shopping bags. Could I even afford to shop anymore?
The apartment was much like the rest of the building-rundown, dated, and chintzy. The beige carpeting smelled like it had just been washed. I set my handbag down on the plastic countertops, grabbed the key, and went down four flights of stairs for another trip of my stuff. As I lugged two giant suitcases up the stairs, I ran into Sai White. She was my work friend. Considering I didn’t have any friends and my family was dead, she moved up to be my best friend.
Sai was a beautiful thirty-four year old Indian woman and a rising star in the security division. She had thick jet black hair that hung past her waist. I remembered her husband Carl died in New York. We made plans to talk after work, but our plans never materialized. Maybe we could spend some time together. I needed a friend more than ever.
“This is your building?” I asked.
“Third floor,” Sai said. She carried a large black garbage bag.
“Lucky. I’m right over you. One more flight. Have you been here awhile?”
“No, no. Just got here yesterday. This bag is filled with knick-knacks, you know, sentimental junk that I no longer have the space for. I’m just going to toss it out. No sense in hanging on to trinkets.”
I caught a glimmer of despair in her deep brown eyes. She lived in the same townhouse complex as me. She, too, must have lost her property. She kept on flinching her head to my right. I looked up and saw a camera. I gratefully nodded in regards to the warning.
“Hey, Jaxie, how’s your martial arts going?”
“Okay. Wish you were in the class. Then I’d have someon
e’s ass I could kick,” I said.
Sai smiled her beautiful set of pearly white teeth and said, “I train in the morning. Are you challenging me? There’s a park on the other side of the complex where we could spar. Let me dump this and give you a hand moving in. Then we can practice.”
Thirty minutes later, I settled into my tiny apartment. Sai and I walked off of the apartment grounds and into the park. As we sparred, she told me an identical story about a man from the U.N.
“It’s not fair,” I said as I kicked her in the stomach, holding back most of the impact.
“Not fair? C’mon, they gave us these grand apartments to live in-rent free.”
“That’s because we work at Fogle. Where do the others go? To even smaller shitholes? Or, I shouldn’t say it…”
“What? The grave? Oh, I’ve thought the same thing.”
“On the positive side, my apartment was clean and there were no signs of rats.”
Sai swung her foot under my legs. I tumbled onto the grass. “Gotcha!” She offered her hand to help me back up. “I don’t know what a unit is, but have a sneaking suspicion it’s nowhere even close to what my husband and I paid only a few years ago. Tired?” I nodded. “Let’s walk. There’s a path over by the fountain. If you see a drone, we gotta quit talking.” Again, I nodded.
We walked and talked for two hours. Most of our conversation was more of a bitch session. Everything changed in the blink of an eye. Both of us suspected the soldiers or other government officials wanted the nice townhomes for themselves and just took them.
“My husband was a Christian. He’d read the Bible to me. I guess he was trying to convert me. Didn’t really work, but a few of the verses really stood out. I’ve especially been thinking “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” lately,” Sai said.
I never read the Bible. Both of my late parents were atheists, and I never had time to pursue any religion. Nonetheless, the phrase intrigued me. “Sai, explain.”
