by Damien King
The Confederate States of America: Part 1
A Libertarian Science Fiction Story
By Damien King
Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved
Acknowledgements
To the anonymous guy from a heavy metal forum who introduced me to lewrockwell.com and a reading list that changed my life.
To My Readers:
Thank you taking the time to read my short piece of fiction. I hope it entertains you as much as it entertained me writing it. It has been a cathartic and fun experience. My goal here is for you to have a blast. Nothing else.
The Americas: Circa 2032
Julien heard the blast and ran to the window, naked. A second blast. The trailer walls rattled.
“Shit,” Julien said. Up on the hill trees blazed red and smoke rose into the night sky. “Shit,” he said again. He turned from the window searching the trailer. He found his jeans balled up in a corner and put them on.
“What’s the matter baby?” The whore said laying on the cot.
“Get dressed.” Julien reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. He tossed it at her. It landed on her belly. “That’s for tonight,” he said.
He reached into his other pocket and pulled out another gold coin. A nice one, African Krugerrand. He walked to the edge of the cot and placed this one in her hand. He hadn’t planned on paying this much. “This is to get back over the border,” he said. “If they find out you were with me you’re dead.”
“What about you baby?”
Julien pulled his shirt over his head and slung his AK-47 over his shoulder. “I’m dead already.”
He opened the trailer door and walked out into the night.
The hill was muddy and steep. High overlapping branches and thick leaves blocked whatever moonlight there was in the night sky. Julien took long strides up the path as if it was mid-afternoon. Countless times during the war he had moved men and weapons to the top of this hill. The path had provided much needed cover from patrolling U.S. attack helicopters. A little darkness right now would not slow him down.
Besides, the sooner he got up there to see what the hell happened, the sooner he’d have answers. No doubt Easton and the boys were already on their way.
To his left he thought he saw something. He stopped and slid his AK off his shoulder. Most likely a coyote or wolf spooked from the blast. He realized he was breathing heavy and making way too much noise. He didn’t see anything. It had to be a frightened animal skittering into the darkness. He was about to throw his weapon back over his shoulder and continue up the hill when he heard something again. He grabbed the AK tighter. From behind a tree a dark shape bolted. It ran away from him, deeper into the woods.
“Stop,” he yelled and aimed his AK. He couldn’t see what he was aiming at. It was small, about four feet tall. His finger found the trigger but he didn’t fire. The fleeing shape stopped. Julien took a few steps closer, his eyes doing their best to adjust to the darkness.
It was a black kid, arms raised, shaking. He couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. The child had no hair.
Julien stared – confused. He didn’t have time for this. “What are you doing out here?” he said.
The kid walked towards him, arms still raised. Julien still had the gun pointed at the kid. When he saw the big brown eyes and long eye lashes he knew it was a little girl. Her face was full of dirt and soot, her clothes were rags, barely covering her body. Julien didn’t lower his weapon.
“What are you doing out here?” he said again.
The girl stared, saying nothing.
“Who are you?” Julien said.
The girl glanced up the hill, towards the flames.
“What happened up there? Speak quickly girl.” Julien was losing his patience. If she had something to do with the explosion he needed to know before Easton got here.
The girl shook her head. She began to cry. Julien lowered his weapon.
“Jules, where the fuck are you?” It was Sawyer. They were looking for him. They were already at the warehouse.
“Julian, you okay brother? Where are you?”
Julien looked up the hill. “I’m here.”
He saw Sawyer, flashlight in hand, come around a bend about twenty feet away.
Julien turned back to the girl. She was gone. He stood there. None of this made sense.
“You ok?” Sawyer said stepping up beside Julien. His eyes went to Julien’s AK. “What happened?”
Julien put the gun back over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Thought I saw something running in the woods.”
“Easton is at the warehouse. It’s a shit show up there. He’s not happy.”
They reached the top of the hill and it was just as Sawyer said – a shit show. The warehouse was a smoldering mess. Flames shot in every direction and whatever was still standing was collapsing in on itself piece by piece.
The light from the fire lit the hilltop brighter than the coming dawn. Julien searched the ground for any sign as to who could have done this. Footprints, tire tracks, anything.
“A little too late for that, don’t you think my little Prince,” Easton Vogel said, walking over to Julien. Easton always knew how to push Julien’s buttons. After the war, through social media and pure word of mouth Julien became known as the Prince of the Confederacy. People were calling for a monarchial government instead of a loose confederacy of states. They wanted Julien part of that monarchy. Julien ignored it, thought it was foolish fodder for talk shows and newspapers. Easton never let a day go by without reminding him.
Julien messed up. He knew he should have been up here guarding the warehouse. If whoever did this was on foot Julian could’ve stopped them, or at least put up a fight until reinforcements came. Julian could have also been in the warehouse when it blew. He thought of the bald girl, a tattered mess and frightened. There was no way she could have done this, could she? What did she know about this?
“If I was up here I’d be dead Easton.” Julien said.
Easton looked at the flames then back at Julien and shrugged.
Julien, Easton, and Sawyer watched the fire trucks come up the west road from town as the fires roared behind them. The trucks didn’t use lights or sirens, something Julien could never get used to living here. As a kid in the U.S. Julien remembered playing with police cars and fire trucks in his father’s office. He’d mimic the siren sounds and the roar of the engines even when his father was in the middle of important meetings with important men. Of course, Julien would get yelled at, his dad would call in Mabel, their black maid, and she’d scoop him up under one arm and carry him out.
The first truck up the hill was Freddy’s, the owner of the Rockwell Fire Department and one of the town’s founders. Even though Freddy and Easton fought together during the war they were more business associates than friends.
“Freddy is going to hammer us when this is over. How much gold we have in reserve?” Sawyer said.
“Whatever we can’t cover will come out of Julien’s personal stash.” Easton said.
Freddy’s guys parked next to a line of trees. He was the first out of his truck directing his men and shouting orders. No helmets, no safety gear, just men who knew their job and did it well. Hoses were pulled off the trucks and teams spread out among the perimeter of the burning mountain of rubble. All of the men were Mexican.
“I have no clue what happened,” Julien said to Easton. “Everything was quiet. Then out of nowhere there was the explosion.”
“Where were you when it happened?” E
aston said.
There was no point in lying. Julien gestured down the hill, towards the trailer.
“Jesus Christ Julien, you were banging one of Christina’s girls weren’t you?” Easton said.
Christina owned the Tally Ho. The first business establishment built in Rockwell during the war, it stood as a symbol of freedom and individualism. It also gave the men a much needed break from the fighting at the border. It was said after a few nights at Christina’s the men would return to the border fiercer and more determined to defend liberty than any other man in the newly formed Confederacy.
Right now Julien wished it was one of Christina’s girls. Easton did not like when any of his guys dabbled in illegal U.S. vagina. Julien’s silence was all Easton needed.
“Messing with United States illegals is going to get you and all of us in a shit load of trouble.” Easton said. “The governor finds out he is going to be up our ass. Don’t think he won’t shut us down.”
Sawyer shook his head. “Jesus Jules.”
“She won’t be a problem.” Julien said. “I gave her enough gold to bribe her way back across the border. She is probably blowing Imps as we speak.”
“She knows the location of one of the warehouses.” Easton said.
Julien looked at the fire. Freddy’s men had it under control. Black smoke and a wet mist covered the hilltop. A few small flames still burned. “Apparently someone else knew the location too.”
“And now it’s your job to find out who.” Easton said pointing a finger in Julien’s face.
Freddy walked over. He wore a white t-shirt, jeans, and slippers. He was soaked and filthy. “My men will have the fire out in another few minutes. So far we found no shoe prints or signs of sabotage. It’s a good bet this was some sort of aerial assault.”
Easton’s face was stone. “Do a full forensic search, we’ll pay extra. If it was a drone, I need to know where it came from. I want to know make, model, and the toilet the guy who fired this thing pissed in.”
Freddy nodded and walked away.
The sky showed signs of dawn. Rain clouds hung heavy in the purple sky.
“Call everyone.” Easton said. “We’ll meet at the trailer in an hour.” He turned away and walked over to Freddy.
Sawyer put a hand on Julien’s shoulder. “Go get the trailer ready Jules. I’ll make the calls.”
They sat around a table inside the trailer. It was a tight squeeze. The trailer was there for anyone on guard duty to have a quick bite to eat, go to the bathroom, and if two watchmen were needed, take a nap. It was never intended for an emergency meeting.
Easton sat at the head of the table. Sawyer and Julien sat on opposite sides of Easton across from each other. Renzo and Vinicius were also seated, with Murray and Danforth rounding out the group. Outside, Little Oliver and Big Oliver stood guard, AK’s at the ready.
Nobody spoke but Easton. “We get paid to protect the citizens of Rockwell and we get paid to provide poppy plants to the top research facilities in the Confederacy. We did neither. The attack on the warehouse gives our clients a lack of confidence. The citizens we protect will go somewhere else for their protection and our buyers will find other poppy suppliers. We need to find out who did this, why they did this, and if retaliation is necessary.”
Even though it was probably a drone strike and he would’ve been killed, Julien noticed Easton didn’t mention that Julien was lucky to be alive. Then again Easton never trusted Julien.
Julien was the son of the Senator who ordered the invasion sixteen years ago and started the Second Civil War, otherwise known as the Second War of Independence.
Easton continued. “Freddy is checking now but all signs point to a drone. Unless Julien’s face was buried between that Imp whore’s legs I am assuming he would’ve heard aircraft overhead. And he says he saw nobody near the scene.” There was a pause and Easton continued. “Anything you’d like to add Little Prince?”
Everyone looked to Julien. He thought of the little girl. Somehow she had a part to play in this but there was no way he’d let the guys know about her. Especially since she ran off. He was in enough trouble with Easton. He’d figure it out on his own. “I saw and heard nothing,” he said.
There was a light knock at the trailer door. Easton leaned back on his chair and opened the door. It was Freddy.
“Definitely a drone,” he said. “We took some debris back to the lab to find out what materials were used. We’ll narrow it down to the country, maybe even the city it was made in.”
“That’s a start. Nice work Freddy. Send me the bill later this afternoon,” Easton said turning back to the table.
Freddy didn’t move.
“Something wrong Freddy?” Easton said.
“We found something else.”
One of Freddy’s Mexicans walked up the trailer steps and stood at the door. Freddy stepped out of his way. The Mexican fireman was holding a charred arm and a charred leg in each hand.
“Shit,” Julien said.
Julien Colton Wolf, U.S. senator’s son and child hero of the Second War of Independence stood at the top of the hill. From this vantage point he could look west and see the town of Rockwell still standing after sixteen years. A border town. The Confederacy’s first line of defense. When he looked east, across the border a half mile away he saw the familiar barracks, choppers, and tanks that at one time unleashed hell on him and his men. Even years after the peace the United States was still on a war footing. The Confederacy only had two volunteers walking along the fence line. The gates were down but a car waited on the U.S. side to be let through. It was rare to have someone officially cross the border. Usually they bribe their way in or out or just sneak across. Julien didn’t like that at all.
It was noon and the high and hot sun had burned off whatever threat of rain there might have been. Flecks of concrete and metal floated in the air. But the smell was as if someone burnt a giant cabbage farm. This shipment of poppy plants should’ve been going out later today. It was a few million dollars lost. Even though there were other towns on the Gulf Coast in the poppy business nobody had the arrangement with the Afghan warlords like the town of Rockwell. The minute the Confederacy was formed it was Julien, just a teenager, who arranged the business partnership with Afghanistan. To this day, nobody knew how he did it. Towns and cities in Afghanistan flourished and in the new Confederacy, the once despised poppy plant – the source of heroin and opium and the failed “war on drugs” – had become a medical and scientific marvel.
But now, a drone strike, a frightened little girl, and body parts found in the rubble could upset the delicate balance. Julien was about to head down the hill and search for the little black girl but he noticed the car that was at the gate was now heading towards the hill.
His cell buzzed. It was Easton.
“Border just called. Two U.S. security agents are heading to the site.”
“This is not their country anymore.” Julien said.
“The two bodies were U.S. citizens. The minute they were blown to bits their implants sent a signal back to their security installations.”
The implants were one of the reasons some of the states went to war. The U.S. government began installing small I.D. capsules into every citizen. Every piece of personal information was collected. Everywhere they went, everything they ate, every person they crossed paths with; all collected. If they had a fever, if they were running, walking, sleeping; somewhere somebody knew. The information gathered was astounding. Politicians lobbied for and against it. Protesters marched for both sides. Anyone who accepted the implants simply became known as “Imps”. After the war anyone who was in the U.S. whether they wanted to be or not was dubbed an imp.
“What if they are just runaways? Why would the U.S. send agents to investigate two dead runaways?”
Easton ignored him. “We’re on our way. Keep your mouth shut and don’t trust these assholes.”
Julien hadn’t slept in over a day and half. He hadn’t eat
en either. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
The unmarked black Cutlass pulled to a stop a few feet from Julien. The noon glare blazed off the windshield but he could make out a male driver and a woman in the passenger seat.
The driver got out first. A bear of a man wearing jeans and a polo shirt. Julien wasn’t sure if the shirt was three sizes too small or no shirt on earth was big enough for this guy’s chest and arms. He looked like he took his legs and attached them to his shoulders.
Julien smirked. He knew he could drop this clown in seconds if need be. The guy was all show. Here to intimidate.
“Get the fuck out of my country. You’re trespassing.” Julien said.
Bear man leaned against the car and said nothing. Julien continued. “I get it. You’re not in charge. Not allowed to say or do anything. Well I’m going to take a nap. When you’re boss decides to get out of the car and introduce herself tell her not to wake me.”
Julien turned and began walking away down the hill.
It was a female voice – familiar. “I am agent McKinney of the United States Homeland Defense.” Julien kept walking and she kept talking. “The two men killed in the explosion were U.S. citizens. The town of Rockwell is under investigation. Failure to comply will result in military occupation.”
Jesus Christ. Julien turned around and if he thought things could not get any worse he was wrong. Julien almost fell. He swayed left then right and steadied himself. No words came out of his mouth. Gabriella McKinney, Julien’s only childhood friend before the war and the only person in the world he ever trusted, stood outside the car.
“Hello Julien. It’s been a long time.”
Julien stared. Gabriella. He didn’t see a U.S. security agent, side arm at her hip. He saw a teenager, frightened, bloody, crying, calling his name as the school walls fell around them. The roof collapsing, cutting them off from each other. Their entire world crashing. But he also saw a rat – a traitor. The one person who knew all his secrets, all his plans. He trusted her and she betrayed him.
