by Nathan Jones
“Afternoon, officers,” he called.
The greeting didn't dispel the wariness of the men at the roadblock. “We're here to direct refugees to the Interstate,” an older policeman called back. “If you're caught off I-15 you'll be lucky to only get a face full of pepper spray, and if you're caught looting or causing public disorder you'll be shot on sight. If you're looking for assistance go to the FETF camp on Antelope Island, directly northwest of Salt Lake City, or to the prepared relief stations in the towns to the south. You'll find shelter and food at those locations, but here you'll only find trouble.”
“We're not refugees, sir. My sister lives up in Midvale with her family. We're on our way to get her.”
The older officer's eyes stayed narrowed. “FETF has resources for finding lost family members. Take the Interstate up to their camp and check there.”
“I will, thanks. But I'd like to check her house first since she may have stayed put.”
“She might not've had the chance,” one of the younger officers said. The other two policemen had let go of their guns after the first exchange but he was still fiddling with his. “The rioting was heaviest in SLC and Ogden and a lot of citizens in the area were evacuated to the FETF camp. You're going to want to go there.”
Matt had a feeling he might end up at the camp anyway, but he still intended to try his sister's house since it was on the way. No need to irritate the policemen by explaining that, though. He started forward again. “All right, I'll try there first. Thank you.”
He hadn't gone more than half the distance to the roadblock before the two younger officers, a wiry guy not much older than him and a slightly overweight man with a mustache, were darting forward to intercept them. “Put down your packs,” the wiry man shouted. “And keep your hands where we can see them.”
Matt froze. “What's going on?”
“Contraband check,” the older officer said, making no effort to sound reassuring.
That only made him more worried. “What counts as contraband?” And more important, but not something he was about to ask outright, what was the punishment for being caught with it? He was uncomfortably aware of the Glock on his hip, and for that matter Trev's concealed 1911. His friend might have a conceal carry permit but the officers might not be terribly sympathetic about that.
It was better to be up front about it. He carefully unbuckled his pack's belt and moved his buttoned shirt's tail out of the way so the 9mm was clearly visible. “I'm carrying a-”
In an eyeblink three guns were pointed at him. “Hands in the air!” the mustached man screamed. “Do it now!”
Matt immediately obeyed. “Is there a problem?” he asked, trying to hide his terror. “I was carrying it openly, at least the best I could while wearing a pack and a buttoned shirt.”
The guns didn't waver as the mustached man inched carefully forward to pull the Glock from its holster and toss it aside. “The Governor issued a ban on firearms,” the older officer answered. “All law-abiding citizens are required to turn them in.”
“Since when is giving up our second amendment rights abiding by the law?” Trev demanded. He'd dropped his backpack but was making no move to reveal his own concealed weapon. His voice was also shaking, either from fear or anger. Judging by how he was handling this situation he seemed to be one of those people who managed disagreements badly and let his emotions completely overwhelm him.
The policemen noticed it too, and their fingers were starting to look itchy around the triggers. “There have been gunshot fatalities in the riots,” the wiry officer said. “You don't want to run into an armed mob, do you?”
“No I don't. Especially when I'm unarmed myself.” Trev was actually visibly trembling now. “Another sacrifice of freedom for security?”
For Pete's sake, Trev, shut up! Matt thought frantically. They were going to end up in jail.
The wiry fellow started towards his friend, either to frisk him or to punch him in the face. Trev seemed to realize it too because his common sense finally kicked in. “I have a concealed carry permit,” he said hastily, raising his hands to the level of his head. “I'm carrying a 1911 in an underarm holster beneath my jacket.”
“Hands behind your head,” the man ordered, waving his gun. Trev complied, and a moment later his jacket was yanked aside and his gun drawn free. “Keep 'em there,” the policeman said, tucking the gun into his waistband. Trev was thoroughly patted down, then the officer backed away.
While his friend was being frisked the overweight officer ordered Matt back half a dozen feet and started rooting through his pack. A heavy hunting knife was tossed over to join Matt's previously discarded 9mm, along with a few boxes of ammo and some spare magazines.
Before too long Trev's pack received the same treatment as he was directed back to stand beside Matt. His friend watched his gun being set in the pile with an almost sick look on his face; that 1911 was one of his favorite possessions, and Matt had gone with him to the shooting range outside Aspen Hill a few times in the last few years so they could practice with it. He knew his friend went twice as often without him.
Then the officers began making a second pile with all the food from their packs. “What are you doing?” Matt blurted, surprised.
The wiry fellow glanced up. “You stupid, dude? We just told you, contraband check.”
“You're pulling out food.”
The older officer spoke up, sounding bored. “Martial law mandates that any food being carried within city limits is to be assumed stolen and immediately confiscated. Also FETF regulations make it illegal to hoard more than 2 weeks' worth of food and mandates that it be confiscated from offenders, so you might be guilty on both counts.”
A federal offense to hoard food? And any food you carried was assumed stolen? Matt had never heard anything so ridiculous. That basically made possessing any food while traveling illegal, and if you had food storage and stayed put you were also hosed. “This is less than two weeks' worth,” he protested. “It might not even be enough to get to Midvale and back once I find my sister's family and we have to share it between us. Anyway I give you my word it's my own food, legally purchased.”
“It doesn't matter, it's the mandate,” the older officer said. “We have to take this, but if you need food you can go to the FETF camp for assistance.” He was starting to sound like a broken record, and every answer was FETF.
“Can't we keep at least a day's worth?” Matt asked, not caring if he sounded like he was begging. “Enough to get to Midvale?”
“Anything you need will be provided at the FETF camp.”
Yeah, go begging to the government when you just stole my food so I can't take care of myself anymore. And I suppose they'll give us travel rations for the trip home, too? Matt felt a growing wave of despair. What was going to happen if he depended on the FETF for what he needed to survive? What about April and her family and the food they needed? They might all end up trapped on Antelope Island, unable to leave unless they wanted to starve. Just more refugees among the tens or even hundreds of thousands.
No, if worse came to worst he could go hungry for a few days to get back, although he worried about his sister and especially her children having to do the same.
“This is robbery, you know.”
Matt whirled. “Seriously, Trev, shut up!” he snapped, all of his anger at this situation spilling out at his friend.
Trev ignored him, glaring at the officers rifling through their packs. Matt saw with uneasiness that the older officer had put away his gun to draw out a smaller, plastic device with a blunt square tip. A taser. That was even worse, wasn't it? The policeman might not just outright shoot someone who hadn't done anything, but he probably wouldn't be as shy about using a stun gun.
Incredibly enough, Trev kept going. “We're just trying to get to his family and bring them home, and you're going to make that almost impossible for us? Don't people already have enough problems?”
The wiry officer glared at him, finge
r shifting slightly on the trigger. “Going to get violent, tough guy? I could picture you at one of the riots throwing a brick at my head.”
Oh no. Oh no no no. They were so going to end up in jail. Why couldn't Trev just shut up? “We'll get to I-15 as quickly as we can and follow it the entire way,” Matt said hastily, trying to sound calm. “Can we go?”
The older officer watched Trev with narrowed eyes. “You know, son, I'm tempted to call a van over and have you hauled off to Point of the Mountain. That's the camp where all the rioters are hauled after we round them up. You want to paint us as the bad guys just like everyone else, but you'll notice that I haven't tased you yet. Even though I'm very, very tempted.”
Trev looked like he had something to say to that, but by some miracle he kept his mouth shut and looked away instead.
Matt spoke for him. “He won't cause any problems, officer, I promise.”
The policeman dragged his eyes away from Trev and glanced over at him. Matt felt like a criminal under that considering gaze, and it was all he could do not to hunch his shoulders. Finally the man nodded. “I wouldn't stay too long in the valley. The public unrest is only going to get worse from here on out.”
He nodded back, feeling a surge of relief. “Thank you.” The officers finished rooting through the clothes and camp equipment still in their packs, then gathered up the food, knives, and guns and walked away. Trev knelt and began shoving his remaining possessions back into his pack, and after a moment Matt followed suit. As quickly as possible they slung their packs over their shoulders, not even bothering to belt them, and started through the roadblock towards the onramp leading to I-15.
Matt felt like he was walking past an unchained rottweiler as he edged around the patrol cars, doing his best not to make any threatening moves or come too close to the glaring officers. After they were past the roadblock Trev came up alongside him, then quickened his pace and pulled ahead.
Matt hurried to catch up to his friend, who said nothing. The look on Trev's face was curiously blank, the only sign of emotion his white-knuckled grip on the straps of his pack as they followed the ramp onto the merging lane. Matt didn't blame him: he was pretty pissed off himself.
After a few minutes of incredibly oppressive, temper-thick silence he cleared his throat. “I bet you think this is my fault.”
Trev laughed harshly. “No, you did the right thing. Duck and cower, jump to help them as they rob you blind, make your friend sound like a crazed lunatic when he protests and tries to defend our rights, then thank them when they mercifully let you go rather than hauling you off to a prison camp for the horrible crime of walking down the street.”
Matt's anger boiled over. “I didn't have to make you sound like a crazed lunatic, you idiot. We might have convinced them to let us keep our food if you hadn't called officers of the law robbers.” No response. “Besides, at least now we won't have to worry about running into armed thugs.”
“Aside from the ones we just ran into?” Trev laughed again. “You don't get it, do you? Real criminals will all still have their guns because they know how to keep them hidden. Everything those policemen think they're doing to “protect” us only serves to make honest citizens helpless while mildly inconveniencing real criminals.”
Matt resisted the urge to snap back. It was starting to sink in that unless April and Terry still had their food storage it was going to be an awfully long, hungry trip the rest of the way and back. He was already feeling the first pangs just thinking of it, and the thought of what lay ahead made him feel queasy. Had he ever in his life gone more than a day without eating?
“I guess we'll be walking on I-15 up to Midvale after all.”
“Did you finally change your mind?” Matt asked, unable to help himself. “Or are you doing some ducking and cowering of your own obeying the police officers' directions to stay on the Interstate?”
Surprisingly Trev didn't rise to the bait this time. “Our weapons and food are gone. We don't have anything to steal anymore so it doesn't matter if we walk right through refugee groups wishing them a nice day. But at least we have your talents of persuasion to keep us from getting shot in the head now that we're unable to defend ourselves.”
“Well you're just full of sunshine and rainbows, aren't you?” Matt demanded.
“Sorry, I just got robbed at gunpoint because you wanted to go through a police roadblock in a riot zone. All so I can help you find your family, who might not even be home when we get up there and could be literally anywhere among millions of people on the move. I really should try harder to keep a positive attitude.”
Matt wanted to stay pissed off but his friend had a point. After all the stupid things Trev had just said and done, though, he couldn't bring himself to admit it. He just fell silent and kept walking, at least for five minutes or so as Trev fumed beside him. Then he remembered. “We're not completely defenseless,” he said, pausing to dig in his pack. As his friend watched he pulled out a couple cans of bear spray and tucked one into his pocket where he could get to it fast, holding the other out.
Trev took it, looking slightly mollified. “I'm surprised they didn't take these too.”
“Me too, actually. They'll be better than nothing.”
“So now we just have to worry about starving to death.”
For the love of . . . would his friend ever let up? “Yes, we have to worry about starving. I guess we'll just have to forage for food on the way.”
“No foraging,” Trev replied, ignoring his tone. “We don't have time, it would be dangerous to look, and after all this time you'd have to be an idiot to assume there's food to be found in the city without serious searching. Not to mention that any food we did find would be heavily guarded. Get ready to go hungry, and remember that a human can survive three weeks without food. We'll worry about eating once we've got your sister's family safely out of the cities.”
Matt made a face. “We're going to be walking that entire time, we need something or we won't have the energy to keep going. Have any ideas?” He tried to sound snide, but it was sort of ruined by the fact that he really, really hoped his friend actually did have some.
To his surprise Trev nodded. “You saw my abandoned car along Highway 6, right? Well I might not have mentioned that it had a ton of food in it that I had to leave behind.”
It was hard not to laugh out loud as relief surged through him, and Matt felt all the anger and tension that had built up during the confrontation with the policemen and since fading away. He threw an arm around his friend's shoulder. “Seriously? That's amazing!” His smile abruptly vanished. “Wait a minute though, your car was completely trashed. There's nothing in there.”
“Doesn't matter. I cached the stuff.” Trev abruptly stopped and turned to face him. “But now we've got a decision to make. Do we go back and crack into the cache or do we keep going to Midvale, find your family and get them out of populated areas, and grab the cache on the way down?”
Matt frowned. “Why wouldn't we go get it?”
“Because you're talking about a 30 mile round trip, maybe more. It's only a bit more than that to Midvale at this point. And if we bring more food with us we might have to worry about it being stolen again, by authorities or by anyone else we meet. Since our destination will very likely end up being a FETF camp anyway the food we brought would be as good as gone, and we'd lose almost a full day going to get it.”
Those were all good points. “You're talking about over two full days of going hungry, assuming we go directly there and come directly back and somehow managed to make the same time with April's family traveling with us. It'll probably end up being twice that time, maybe more since the camp will be an even farther walk. Do you really want to go almost a full week without eating?”
Trev smiled. “Not quite a full week. If your sister's still at their house they might still have their food storage, and if they're at Antelope Island we should be able to get a meal there. It is a refugee camp after all.”
Matt couldn't argue with that reasoning. His sense of urgency prodded him to continue on and find April and her family as quickly as he could, but things could get really bad really fast if they didn't have food. “If you're willing to go hungry I'm willing to try it.”
His friend responded by turning and continuing on up I-15. They passed a swarm of refugees coming the other way, many of whom called out asking for news or ribbing them for going the wrong direction. Matt did his best to respond with his own jokes and wise cracks, but he couldn't help but notice that Trev had sunk into brooding. His friend was probably still steaming about the roadblock, and Matt couldn't blame him. He'd come to rely on his Glock and he'd paid dearly for ammunition and accessories for it, but it had still been a gift and he hadn't had it for long. Losing the 1911 had to be much harder.
He only hoped they didn't miss those guns before they got back to Aspen Hill.
With all the chaos in the populated areas Trev continued to voice his fears that they'd run into trouble walking on I-15 with so many people around, and kept his hand near the bear spray in his pocket and encouraged Matt to do the same. But it turned out violence on the road wasn't very common at all, and for more reason than just that everyone was tired and dispirited and more interested in flight than fighting.
For all the breakdown of law and order there was a government presence on I-15 keeping the peace and protecting the refugees. Not just on the roadblocks leading into cities like the one they'd encountered, either. As they walked north they passed small fortified emplacements manned by policemen or highway patrol every ten or so miles, as well as six-soldier squads from the various Armed Forces wearing FETF armbands and patrolling up and down along the median, nonlethal weapons ready to use at the slightest sign of disorder. Matt saw more and more of these squads the farther north they went.
And they weren't just there for show, either. At one point Trev and Matt had to swing wide around a large group that had stopped in the middle of the road for some internal dispute with lots of yelling and even a bit of pushing. As they walked past the disturbance a FETF patrol coming the other way hurried over, raising shotguns loaded with beanbag rounds to pan the entire group as they shouted for everyone to break it up.
