by Simone Pond
“Avoid Sunset and PCH. Barricades are up.” He points to the map. “Park the car at the top of this street and walk to the address. Cut through the backyard and go through the bushes. You’ll find the entrance to the woods. The campsite is located a few miles up the trail. Whistle three times when you get to the top of the slope. Someone will meet you and take you to the campsite.”
We shake hands with Joe and leave the surplus store lighter and much more equipped to handle the trek.
At the house, we get in a few more hours of sleep before we head out on what I’m now calling our extended camping trip. Before we leave, I shove a stack of journals into Lillian’s backpack. I hold my daughter’s face, looking deep into her tired eyes. “No matter what happens out there, promise me that you’ll write down everything–from the initial phases of the Repatterning, all the way through until you’re an old lady and your fingers are riddled with arthritis. I want you to record every detail so future generations will know what happened. So they will know what to look out for. Your journals might end up being the only records to account for what happened. Do you understand?”
Lillian looks up at me and smiles with confidence. “I promise to write down every single thing.”
We drive through the empty neighborhood in silence, whispering goodbye to our old life. I follow the map and park at the top of the street near the address written down. Once the sun goes down it’s dark enough to start our journey toward Temescal Canyon. We locate the house on the map and cut through the backyard toward the bushes. Lillian and I push our way through to the other side and find the trail. Rags starts peeing on everything, leaving behind her scent.
“It’s a few miles to the first checkpoint,” I say. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Lillian pats my backpack and we head up the slope.
As we trudge up the hill, with only my tiny flashlight illuminating the dirt path, I’m overcome with a strength I can’t call my own. Something far greater is providing the courage to propel up the mountain. Maybe it’s a combination of faith and my motherly instinct to keep my only remaining child alive. Lillian follows closely behind, and I’m so proud of her determination. I’m filled with an overwhelming assurance that she’ll be able to handle whatever lies ahead. My daughter is a survivor. I can rest in peace, knowing I gave her this gift.
###
After the grueling three-mile hike, we reach the top and I whistle three times. We wait in the shadows, until a flash of light strikes our eyes, blinding us.
“Joe sent us,” I call out toward the light.
A silhouette of a man steps closer toward us. “Mary and Lillian?”
“That’s us,” Lillian answers.
The man aims his flashlight toward the dirt, and I can see again. He smiles warmly and extends his hand. “I’m John. Good to have you on board. Let’s get to camp. We’re just a few hundred yards away.”
We follow John down a steep hill toward a campfire at the bottom. He introduces us to the group of six other people. Lillian doesn’t waste a second finding a spot next to a tree. She sets out her sleeping bag and gets inside it with Rags. I stand next to the fire with the other adults, and John hands me a hot cup of coffee.
I’m blown away by the kindness of these strangers. “Thanks,” I say, trying not to cry.
Part of me is so relieved to be here, but another part of me is terrified. I think back to that underground bunker in our neighbor’s yard. I wonder if we should’ve just stayed there. I know it’s only fear trying to creep its way into my thoughts. We need to band together with people like us. The bunker would’ve been safe, but not for long.
“You’re probably wondering why on earth you’re standing in the woods with a bunch of strangers. Trust me; we all feel the same way. Seems crazy to run off to the woods,” John says.
“It seems crazier to go to one of those emergency camps. I’m guessing we have a much higher survival rate. I don’t trust the ECCs for a second.”
“That’s because you’re a smart woman. The fact that you made it here with your daughter shows you’re a survivor. And a fighter. It’s going to be a tough road ahead, but if we stick together, we can eventually overcome these bastards. Justice will prevail. We might not see it in our time, but our future generations will have a chance.”
John’s voice is so powerful; I catch myself nodding. Though I have no idea what the future holds, I feel like anything is possible. “How long will we stay in the canyon?” I ask.
John sips his coffee. “We’re not staying here.”
I’m shocked by this information and rocketed back into a state of fear. “Where are we going?”
“North. Eventually we’re going to start over. Rebuild our communities and create our own group to fight the elites. But first, we’re going to work on one of their plantations.”
I’m not sure I’m hearing him correctly. “Did you just say plantation?”
“For now, the elites need the plantation to keep the food supply going until they complete the Los Angeles City Center. They’re using anyone who isn’t going to the ECCs and putting them to work as slaves. It’s not ideal, but it will serve a purpose.”
I stare into the flames, wondering why John would think becoming slaves would be a good thing. I’m starting to question my decision about coming to the canyon. “What purpose? I don’t understand. Maybe I’m missing something, but why in God’s good name would we work for the elites? If we wanted to do that, why not just turn ourselves in at the ECCs?”
“The emergency camps are death traps, you know that. Our plan works on two levels. While we’re working on the plantations, we can infiltrate the system and gather intelligence. At the same time, we’ll learn how to farm and start storing seeds, equipment, and livestock. When we have enough, we’ll escape. We can start building our own free community. But it will be slow and strategic process.”
John’s plan sounds legit, but I’m struggling. “How will we get off the plantation? I recall a time in our history when that wasn’t so easy.”
“We’ll be gathering everything we need to break out: weapons, tools, and whatever else we can use. We have a headquarters close by with someone stationed there, who will be our connection to the outside world.” John puts his arm around my shoulder and gives me a hearty squeeze. “It’s our best option, Mary.”
I don’t know this man, or any of the other faces staring at me in the glow of the fire, but for some reason I trust him.
###
In the morning, Lillian and Rags join the group at the campfire. I hold back a chuckle, watching Lillian take her first sip of coffee and pretending to be unfazed. My stoic little survivor. She’s talking to John’s son, Aaron. I’m grateful there’s someone close to her in age. They take Rags for a walk, while I stay by the fire, praying for continued strength.
Before we leave for the next leg of our journey, John calls everyone over.
“We’ve lost much. We’ve made huge sacrifices.” He’s right about that. Everyone nods, tears in their eyes. We’ll never forget. “And there will be more ahead. Many tests to endure. While many have given up faith, this group is still alive. That must be for a reason. We must stick together to fulfill this calling. Fight against this corruption and restore humanity. They may have taken our loved ones, our property and our material belongings, but they can never take away our faith. That’s how we’ll win this battle. Everyone, please bow your heads. Father, we ask that you watch over us and guide us on this journey. We look to you for comfort and trust, to be shown the way even when it looks like all paths are closed. Amen.”
###
Along the hike, I stick with John and stay out of Lillian’s way, so she can talk her new friend, Aaron. It’s the first time I’ve seen her happy in almost a year. I listen to the others share stories about what they lost in the Repatterning. I get a better understanding about the elites’ rollout plan for their sickening New Agenda. Anger buries deep in the pit of my soul hearing about their plan to
wipe out the population and start over by breeding new and improved humans inside various city centers across the country. The elites want to build a robot society to control for their own means.
The air is getting heavy with smoke, and I tie a scarf around my face and put on my sunglasses to keep out the ash. I turn around to see Los Angeles on fire. If anyone stayed behind, they’re gone now. I stand on the mountain peak, watching the entire city getting swallowed by flames. I think about all of the innocent lives lost, which makes me more disgusted by the elites. What gave them the right to destroy everything? And why didn’t we stop them before it got to this point?
John taps my shoulder. “Don’t look back, Mary. We gotta keep moving forward now.”
And that’s what we do. We trek through the woods until we reach a red bus parked between the trees. The side of the bus reads, “Hollywood Tours.” We climb inside and sit down just like the tourist used to do; only this time nobody is smiling or taking photos. We’re quiet. John drives the bus down a bumpy trail; the branches scrape the sides and poke at us through the open windows. After a short drive, he turns down another trail into the thickest part of the woods.
He pulls over to a grouping of trees near a hillside, gets up, and exits the bus. Everyone follows in silence.
“This is headquarters,” he tells us. “This is where we’ll store everything we have with us today. Your weapons, ammo, personal belongings all stay behind. Eventually, this is where we’ll start storing the supplies and seeds we take from the plantation. This is also our designated meeting place. If we get separated, we meet here six months to the day.”
I glance at Lillian. She’s staring at me with tears in her eyes. I know she’s worried about getting separated. We’re all we have left. The thought of losing her makes me think of things far worse than Los Angeles on fire. We look through our personal belongings one last time before we throw our backpacks into the hole in the ground. I hold a family photo that was taken about four years back. The light in our eyes seems foreign to me. I know our belongings will be safe wrapped inside a plastic tarp and buried in the ground. But I don’t know if we’ll ever make it back to this spot to retrieve them. I kiss the photo and put it into my Bible. I drop my backpack into the hole. Some fragments of my heart also crumble to the dirt below.
- The End -
The Prepper
THE SEVENTH TIME Mona Hendricks turned down Critter Holt for a movie date, he decided it was time to walk away for a little while. The determined scamp had finally reached his limit on the rejection meter. The one-sided love affair started twelve years earlier on the first day of kindergarten, when Mona, the redheaded firecracker, took his bag of apple slices and ran around the playground taunting him. Throughout elementary school and junior high, Critter pined after Mona like a thirsty dog, only to be denied any water. When they got to high school, Mona joined the cheerleading squad and Critter hung around a more edgy crowd that liked to skateboard and laugh at cheerleaders. Critter watched from a distance as Mona chased her dreams of being the most popular and prettiest girl in school. She dated good-looking guys with bad attitudes. He figured by the time she was finished with the idiot squad, she’d be ready for a guy of substance. Eventually the obsession with Mona faded into the background, like the soft droning of a foghorn. He trusted she’d come around––when the moment was right.
During senior year, the Repatterning laws were getting worse. Critter figured the Planners were moving their plan into the final phases. He’d been paying attention to what had been happening around the world and in his small town of Arvada, Colorado. Businesses had been closing, television networks were going black, and the Planners had shut down the Internet. While most people ignored what was happening around them, Critter was well aware of the madness infecting the country. The “sheeple” easily adapted to the new laws, but Critter wasn’t the type of guy who’d fall for anything––with the exception of Mona Hendricks. His grandparents had escaped from East Germany decades earlier and often warned him that freedom was a precarious commodity. Every day he noticed one more freedom being removed from the equation. He wanted to do something about it and stand up to the Planners.
“They just pile distractions upon distractions to keep us further from the truth,” he told his buddies.
The motley group of scrappy teens would nod in agreement, though they didn’t fully comprehend Critter’s rants.
“If people spent more time studying reality instead of immersing themselves in this surreality, things might not be as bad as they are.”
The day he received his letter about the mandated Executive Order of Conscription, he knew the situation was too far gone to fix. He laughed and tore up the notice. He wasn’t going to show up at some office in downtown Denver to be shipped off to fight in some fictitious war. He wasn’t a fool. That’s when he began making a plan for his escape. He got his buddies on board and they started packing their bug-out bags, which included the following items:
1) Water, hydro flow filter, and straw filter
2) Backpack, vacuum-packed meals, and protein bars
3) Boots, a pair of long pants, two pairs of socks, two shirts, protective jacket, long underwear, ten bandanas
4) Tarp, sleeping bag, and sleeping pad
5) First-aid kit
6) A firesteel and scraper, along with ten boxes of wooden matches
7) Mini-propane stove, small pot, foldable utensils, portable lantern, and extra battery packs
8) Infantry knife, Kahr CM9 semi-automatic with ten boxes of ammo
###
Classmates teased them for their outlandish paranoia and labeled them The Preppers, which was supposed to be an insult, but Critter wore the name with pride. One day all of their liberties would be wiped clean, and they’d be living in a prison state. He went out of his way to ensure he’d be prepared for that day. And when the day came and all of Arvada was crumbling down, Mona would want a man with a plan. Critter had a plan all right. A solid one. He’d swoop in and save the day. Now all he had to do was wait for the right moment.
Critter skateboarded down the bumpy suburban street on his way to school on that crisp Tuesday morning. He sensed the right moment was inching its way closer to fruition. It was “Senior Week” and there had been a bunch of pep rallies and lots of excitement about the upcoming senior prom. Critter didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of it. He thought it was one big ruse to keep the students pre-occupied and far away from the truth. The only reason he bothered going to school was to keep an eye on Mona. Someone had to because Tim Daniels, the special prick of a lacrosse player she had been dating for the last three months, wasn’t going to do it.
A car pulled up behind Critter, almost nicking his skateboard.
“Get out of the road, dickweed!”
Since upper class wealthy types were the only people who could afford gas, Critter suspected it was good old Tim Daniels. He’d been driving Mona to school the last few months and dropping her off late at night. Critter stood in the middle of the road and stared up at the sky, stretching out his arms and breathing in the cool morning air.
“Glorious day today,” he said to the sky.
“Move it, Prepper!” Tim yelled, pressing down on the horn.
Tim drove a bright red 1965 Mustang Convertible. Though the car was sixty-three years old, the thing was in mint condition and shined like a waxy apple. Mona sat in the passenger seat, wrapping a pastel pink scarf around her head to keep her long red hair in place. After all, it was “Senior Week” and she had appearances to keep up. Critter did not. He removed his Rockies baseball cap and turned around to get a good look at Tim’s annoyed face. He enjoyed egging on anyone from the idiot squad.
“You think I’m afraid of your punk ass? I’ll run you down, Prepper fag,” Tim shouted over the revving engine.
“You don’t have the guts,” Critter said.
“You little son-of-a-bitch,” Tim yelled, revving the engine some more.
“O
h, stop it, Tim.” Mona swatted his broad shoulder like a mother would do if her son were acting up. She looked at Critter and smiled. “Hiya, Critter.”
“S’up,” he said with a wide grin.
“Just heading to school. Big day today. Pep rally and all,” she said.
Critter wasn’t sure, but he could’ve sworn Mona’s cheeks blushed.
“Cool.” He ignored Tim, who was turning shades of purple.
“Wanna ride?” she asked.
“What? No way. No Prepper is getting in my ride,” Tim shouted.
“I wouldn’t get in that car if it were heading to the Promised Land.” Critter put his cap back on and moved off to the side to let them drive by.
“Screw you, Prepper.” Tim spat a loogie toward Critter, which fortunately missed him.
“Idiot,” Critter mumbled, watching as they sped off down the road.
Tim and his lacrosse buddies could laugh themselves empty over Critter being a Prepper. But while they were being shipped off to the gas chambers, or wherever that phony war was sending them, Critter would be living somewhere safely tucked away in the Rocky Mountains––with Mona. He was a man with a plan.
###
In the gymnasium, Critter spotted his fellow rapscallions. John, Trevor, and Dave were perched in the last row of the bleachers, keeping their distance from the other students. They had a running joke that stupidity was contagious. Critter sat next to Trevor.
“You might need this.” Trevor passed him a flask.
“Where’d you get booze?” Critter took a nip. It had been months since they had access to any alcohol and he had forgotten the burn. He coughed, handing back the flask.
“Snuck into the principal’s office. Keeps a secret stash in his bottom left drawer.” Trevor winked.
Trevor had been to the principal’s office so often that he had every inch of the place memorized. Critter looked down the bleachers to the freshly waxed floors, where the cheerleaders, in their yellow and blue uniforms, were lining up to start the rally of balderdash. Mona stood smack dab in the middle of the pack, shining brighter than any of the other girls. Her crystal blue eyes gleamed like Venus on a clear night. She glanced up toward the back row and caught a quick glimpse of Critter. He noticed a flash of relief spread across her porcelain white face. She turned away, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and smiled to the audience of excited seniors.
