American Dreams | Book 1 | The Decline

by Parker, Brian

  “Hey! That kid is always out front smoking.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cassandra said, her voice gravelly from lack of sleep. “I remember him. Kinda gave me the creeps, like he was looking for a target.”

  The kid was probably fifteen or sixteen, Hispanic, and as far as I could tell, he didn’t go to school. I’d said hello to him a few times, and he’d replied in Spanish, but that was as far as my interactions with him had gone.

  In the police car, the man went ballistic. He beat on the windows and kicked against the cage separating the front compartment from the back seat. I glanced at the other vehicle where the mother’s head was bowed, the two children out of sight below the door.

  “The dad just started going nuts,” I said, pointing to the police cars.

  “Wait a minute,” Cassandra muttered. “Maybe I do sort of recognize the family. I think he was their kid.”

  “Makes sense. The dad is freaking out about how they’re treating his son’s body.”

  Two of the cops walked over to the car. One of them held a club. He positioned himself by the door as the other opened it. The cop shoved the bar inside quickly and the interior of the police car was lit up in a blue-white light that lasted several seconds. The guy inside collapsed and the cops closed the door.

  “They just tased the shit out of him,” I remarked dryly.

  Cassandra slid back over to me. Her bare skin had goosebumps rippling across it from the chill. “I’m cold,” she said. “And scared.”

  I wrapped my arms around her as she reached up to the bed and pulled the blanket down to the floor with us. She threw it over her shivering body. Resting the back of her head against my chest, she mumbled, “What’s happening now?”

  The scene hadn’t changed much. The soldiers had dumped the body in the street, which appeared to be the M.O. for these guys. I’d never seen it, but I assumed there was a body collection vehicle that came around and picked up the bodies from the street, similar to the roadkill truck that would patrol the back roads where I grew up. The only thing I did know was that two of the three bodies I’d seen prior to tonight had been gone by morning. The gangbanger had been left near the grocery store seven blocks away, so I wasn’t sure when it was picked up.

  After a while, Cassandra’s breathing slowed, becoming rhythmic in the pattern of someone sleeping. The police left about ten minutes later, but the two blacked-out SUVs remained, prompting me to wonder what they were doing.

  Soon enough, a box truck showed up and three guys got out. They were met by one of the Black Suits who pointed off in the direction of the front of the apartment building. The men went to the back of the truck and took out a wheelbarrow for each of them, then bundled off in the direction the Black Suit had pointed.

  I watched curiously, wondering what they were doing. The Black Suit stood on the sidewalk reading a tablet computer. He glanced up at the apartment building and for the briefest of instances, I felt like he was looking at me in the window.

  Instead of ducking down or moving out of the way, I sat perfectly still. It was dark in the apartment, so I’d be next to impossible to see through the narrow gap at the bottom of the blinds. But if I’d moved suddenly, that might have tipped off the Black Suit that someone was there.

  The first of the wheelbarrows reappeared. Inside were boxes, bags, and cans. It looked like groceries. They were confiscating the family’s groceries.

  This revelation sent my mind whirling. All of this was over one family’s food stash? A kid had died, a Black Suit had been stabbed, and four members of a family were in custody over the food in a single apartment? The fact that the Rationing Board had soldiers assigned to it became a lot more ominous.

  Things were going to get bad. Really bad.

  TEN

  Several days passed after the incident with the Black Suits. Cassandra and I once again fell into the cycle of watching television, doing schoolwork, and working out. The time was broken up by meals three times a day, the itching in our bellies being one of the only reliable indicators of the passage of time. Of course we had sex. A lot of sex. It helped to relieve the boredom of being cooped up. We tried new things, including sexual acts that we probably never would have attempted if we hadn’t had so much forced free time together. Some things we liked, others we didn’t. It was a learning experience.

  On Friday, we were in the middle of one particularly interesting position experiment when a series of loud, booming thuds landed on our front door. I nearly dropped Cassandra onto her face

  “Who is it?” she hissed, sweaty from her own exertion of holding the position upside down. Trust me, not everything you see in porn is attainable for the average couple.

  I shook my head. I didn’t know. The knocks came again and I slipped out of her. “Coming,” I called loudly, chuckling at the double entendre.

  Peeking through the fisheye peephole, I saw a blond woman, hair pulled back in a tight bun, giving her face a gaunt, harsh look. She wore a black suit. Over her shoulder were two other men.

  “Um, yeah?” I said.

  “Citizen Haskins, may we come in?” Her voice was muffled through the door.

  “Can this wait? We’re in the middle of something.”

  “No. It will not wait. You may have one minute to get decent, then we are coming in.” One of the men behind her hefted his rifle for me to see through the peephole.

  “Shit,” I muttered. “Um, okay, hold on.”

  I whirled around. Cassandra sat naked on the couch. “What is it?”

  “The Rationing Board is here. We have one minute to get dressed or they’re breaking down the door.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she grumbled. “What about privacy?”

  “I don’t think it matters to them. They have guns.”

  That made her move. She grabbed her sweatpants from the floor and began pulling them on. I rushed over and picked up my shirt. Too late, I realized that Cassandra had put on my sweats instead of her own.

  “Ah, shit.”

  “What?”

  “You’re in my pants.”

  “Fifteen seconds, Citizen,” the woman’s voice came through the door.

  “Fuck,” I groaned, stepping into the leg of Cassandra’s pants. They were tight on me, the elastic waistband barely stretching far enough to fit around my waist, and the bottoms came up to my calf. I looked completely idiotic. As I rushed over to the door, my erection pressed against the fabric. Great, I thought.

  I unlocked it and opened the door a crack, holding my hand over my crotch. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Present yourself for biometric scan, Citizen,” one of the soldiers said, holding a dark grey box.

  “I did this already when I was at the grocery store.”

  “We need to verify your identity, Citizen Haskins,” the woman said, with a downward glance at my outfit. I saw a quick flash of a suppressed grin that disappeared quickly.

  “Um, why?” I asked.

  “To verify your identity,” she repeated. “You don’t have a choice.”

  “What? Of course I have a choice. This is America.”

  “You’re right. You have the choice to submit to biometric screening or to be arrested. Given the interruption to your, ah, obvious physical activity, I’m sure you would prefer for us to be gone as quickly as possible.”

  That “choice” certainly changed the power dynamic between the two of us. “Uh… What do I do?”

  “Just look straight ahead,” the soldier directed as he held the box up. I saw a vertical red light go back and forth twice as he scanned my iris. Then he stepped back and watched the small screen for a moment. “Citizen Haskins confirmed.”

  “Good,” the woman said. She stuck out a hand. “I’m Agent Goodman, from the Bureau of Citizenship Registration.”

  I shook her hand numbly. “May we come in?”

  “This isn’t really the best time…” I replied.

  “Thank you.” She stepped past me into my home. I noticed that
she had a slight hitch in her step, like she had a rod shoved up her ass. “And you must be, Ms. Ortelli, correct?”

  “Yeah,” Cassandra said. “You need to disinfect before you come into our home and walk all over our carpet.”

  Agent Goodman smiled, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t worry about it, Ms. Ortelli.” She frowned. “I’ll try to stay right here on this lovely linoleum entryway.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but Cassandra didn’t take the bait.

  “Thank you. We’ve been in quarantine so long, I’d hate for a random visitor to infect us with the Crud.”

  “We’re hardly here on a random visit, Ms. Ortelli. In fact, I came to see you.”

  “Oh really?” Cassandra challenged.

  I could tell that her fiery mix of Mexican and Italian heritage was getting warmed up, so I intervened. “What’s this all about?”

  “Yes, what is this about, Citizen Haskins?” Goodman retorted. “What are you hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Then why are you, a fully registered and vetted citizen, and yet your live-in…” she pointed at the bulge in my undersized sweatpants, “uh, I assume girlfriend, is not a citizen? Why did you go through the registration process while she did not?”

  “That’s what this is about?” I asked, laughing out loud. “I thought it was something serious.”

  The registration agent’s frown deepened. “This is very serious, Citizen Haskins. Do you not see the security detail that I’ve brought with me? The penalties for refusing citizenship can be swift.”

  “I’m already a citizen,” Cassandra stated. “My parents are second-generation Texans. I was born right here in Austin.”

  “So you say,” Agent Goodman replied. “But how am I to know that you’re not an illegal who shacked up with Citizen Haskins for the benefits?”

  I held up my hands, then dropped them quickly when I saw the soldier who’d scanned me a moment ago shift, raising the barrel of his weapon ever so slightly. “Look, the only reason I’m registered and she isn’t is that I was at the grocery store and did it to get my Citizen ID. They wouldn’t let me buy groceries if I didn’t do it. Cassandra hasn’t left the apartment in like, eleven or twelve weeks, except to ferry groceries up from the first floor to here.”

  “If you knew it was a requirement, then why didn’t you bring her with you to the store?”

  “Uh…” I thought hard before coming up with what I thought was a good answer. “Well, two things. First, our grocery day is only on Mondays. And second, the governor’s decree states that only one person per household is allowed to enter an essential business at a time, so even if she’d gone with me, she couldn’t have gone into the store.”

  “Hmm,” the agent said, tapping her teeth with a fingernail. I was again reminded of how the government types pretty much ignored all of the safety precautions that had been pounded into us common slobs through television ads, internet popups, and social media shares. “Okay, I’ll give you that, Citizen Haskins.”

  The smile reappeared on Agent Goodman’s face. “See, I can be reasonable. Believe it or not, we all want the same thing. We all want to be fully vetted citizens of this great nation and to be left alone. Non-Citizen ID holding Americans will be considered the same as illegals before too long, so everyone should do their part to register with the System.”

  “I have a valid Texas driver license and a UT student ID. Why can’t either of those suffice?” Cassandra asked.

  “Because they don’t, Ms. Ortelli. It’s that simple. A fully-vetted citizen acknowledges that there are a few minor rights of privacy that must be relinquished in order to maintain the good order and discipline of the State.”

  “So, I have to get a new ID?” Cassandra asked.

  “Oh, I can’t force you to apply for a Citizen ID, that would be barbaric.”

  “Buuut, if I don’t get a Citizen ID card, I can go to jail?”

  “Yes,” the agent replied coolly.

  Cassandra looked at me for guidance. I’d signed up for the stupid thing in order to get our food, but did she have to get it? If she stayed at home, then what did it matter. I shrugged. I didn’t know what we should do, but going to jail wasn’t an option.

  “Maybe you remember your recent visit by the Rationing Board?” the agent offered.

  “Yeah, of course,” Cassandra replied.

  “Several items in your pantry were overstocked based on rationing guidelines for a one-citizen household. The agent acted on good faith that Ms. Ortelli would apply for citizenship, thus elevating the household status to a two-citizen home.”

  “And that’s important because?”

  I waved to get Cassandra’s attention and then patted the air when she looked at me in the universal gesture to calm down. Her temper was almost overflowing. She nodded and swallowed. “Sorry. What does changing our status do?”

  “For starters, it increases your rationing allowances. Beginning this weekend, when you return to the grocery store, you’ll notice the initial allowances that were based on total household size will be further defined. Two-citizen households may purchase and retain a larger quantity.

  “Additionally,” she continued, pointing at my crotch once more. The swelling had gone down, but I was already feeling the pain begin to spread from having been interrupted mid-coitus without an orgasm. “You will be allowed to remain sexually active with one another if you are both citizens of the NAR.”

  “What?” Cassandra and I both exclaimed simultaneously.

  “I know, I know,” Agent Goodman said seriously. “Personally, I think that Congress is overstepping their legal and moral authority on this one, but it is what it is. A citizen is not allowed to have sex with non-citizens or illegals. They’re considered inferior.”

  I laughed again. “Okay. This has been pretty funny. Are we on a hidden camera show? Some type of new reality TV that pranks average college students with no money?” I stopped. “Wait. Is there prize money if we keep the charade going?” I whispered.

  Before I had a chance to react, the black plastic oval of a rifle butt smacked against my forehead, knocking me backward. “Quit acting like a damned fool, Citizen,” the soldier growled. “This is serious business.”

  I felt Cassandra’s cool fingers touch my face. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

  I nodded woozily. “Yeah.”

  She whirled on the registration agent. “What the hell are you people doing? He was just—”

  “Careful, Ms. Ortelli,” Goodman said, raising a long, thin index finger. “You mustn’t confuse my generosity at handing out second chances as weakness. Either you register as a citizen of the New American Republic, or you will be placed under arrest. Punishment for such a pretty young thing like you would likely be most severe in an internment camp.”

  “But I am a citizen.”

  “Technically, sure,” Goodman shrugged. “Let’s call this new registration an act of good faith that you’ll remain loyal to the nation of your birth.”

  “I mean—”

  The agent’s posture changed as she leaned over the two of us threateningly. “Ms. Ortelli, you have ten seconds to decide. Your household is number eighteen on my list today. We have twenty-two more homes to visit before I can call it a day. Are you going to register or are you joining the others in the back of this man’s prisoner transport?”

  Cassandra’s eyes asked me what I thought. I sighed and nodded. “There can’t be any harm in just signing up. Sounds like they’ll take you to jail if you don’t.”

  “Fine,” she said, still looking at me. “What do I need to do?”

  “I knew you’d come to your senses,” Agent Goodman said. “Most innocent Americans choose to do so.” I couldn’t see her face because Cassandra was still blocking my view, but I could tell that she was smiling like a used car salesman seeing his next mark walking onto the lot.

  ELEVEN

  “That’s what it says,” I stated in disbelief.

  “
You must be misinterpreting it. I mean, you took a lot of hits to the head over the years. Read it again.”

  I shifted into my most comfortable thinking position on the couch and read the email word-for-word aloud this time. “It says, ‘Greetings, Citizen Haskins. Congratulations! You’ve been specially selected to attend the inaugural Assessment and Training Course (ATC) for the newly created Civic Enforcement Agency (CEA), a branch of government underneath the Department of Homeland Security that will work closely beside the Federal Bureau of Investigation to preserve the freedoms of our homeland and ensure the safety of our registered citizens.’”

  I swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing to read aloud. “’As a graduate of the inaugural CEA-ATC, you will be permitted to select your duty location of choice—a luxury that follow-on graduates may not be permitted as we field more CEA agents. Membership to the CEA is a compulsory duty that you have been specially selected for based on your unique physical attributes. No waivers or exemptions will be granted. You are hereby ordered to report to the Greyhound Bus Station, 916 East Koenig Lane, Austin, Texas 78751 on 07 March 2028 no later than 10 a.m. Central Standard Time. You will attend CEA-ATC at a location in America’s heartland for a period of not less than ten weeks where you will learn to embrace the immense responsibilities of being a CEA agent. Upon reporting to the facility, monthly expenditures such as rent or mortgage payments, vehicle loans, utilities, and the purchase of groceries will be provided to your family—another luxury that will only be granted to the first five ATC classes. Failure to report on the directed date will result in potential jail time and loss of the citizenship that you have earned. The University of Texas has already been notified of your change in enrollment status and directed to provide an end-of-semester letter grade based on your current completed assignments. You are being given an amazing opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a new federal agency. Do not make me regret your selection.’ And it’s signed by some dude named Chris Morningstar, director of the CEA.”