by Glen Tate
“How are you, sir?” she asked, finding it odd that she just called her boss “sir” but it seemed to fit in perfectly under the circumstances.
“Fine, but we have lots of work to do,” he said and sat down for his briefing. He seemed to be distant from her. Like he was above her. Not arrogant, but above her. She chalked it up to him being wrapped up in everything; preoccupied, perhaps. Jeanie didn’t care much. She was safe at Camp Murray so her boss could be a little distant to her. Whatever.
Jason started the briefing with a wrap-up of the overnight news. The President would be making a speech tonight about “unity.” This was because several of the southern and mountain western states had announced that they would “opt out” of the federal government. The opt-out didn’t surprise anyone because the southern states had been talking about it for a while. Overnight, the Feds said that even more power outages had hit the Northeast. They had gone down in frequency the past two weeks, but were back. The Feds were getting a handle on it, but the problem wasn’t over. The attacks were still coming from China, but now also out of Russia and Brazil, of all places.
A few high-ranking generals had publicly announced that they fully supported the President and would start to court martial Oath Keepers who did not take a new oath. The new oath military people were being required to swear to was to the President and not to the Constitution like with the old oath. The old oath was the one spelled out in the Constitution and had been used since then.
None of the civilians in the room understood the significance of the new oath. Most people already assumed that the military took some oath to follow the Commander in Chief. The military people in the room understood the significance of the change of the oath. But they didn’t say anything. If they were Oath Keepers they wouldn’t be in this room at Camp Murray, where personnel had been screened for loyalty to the current government—to the President, that is.
“FCards are working pretty well,” Jason said. He reported that almost 50% of the country had one and that riots and looting for food were down dramatically. The corporate mega farms were starting to get food directly to the Feds for distribution. There were plenty of problems still, but given that no one expected it to work at all, the moderate level of success exceeded their expectations. Mediocrity was good enough right now.
Someone asked about food getting out to people, “How is this possible?” A fair question.
“For a few years now, America has been a net importer of food,” Jason said. That stunned Jeanie. America—“amber waves of grain”—that fed the world was now importing more food that it was exporting? How was that possible? “Well, needless to say we’re not exporting anymore food right now. Most of the food imports were luxury foods like fresh fruits and vegetables and there’s not a huge market for those.” Gardening in the U.S. would supply those foods now. “So we’re doing a decent job of channeling all that grain and livestock to ourselves. Luckily for us, almost all of the agricultural production is done by the large companies friendly to us that we have nationalized.” The government could never commandeer millions of small farmers, but getting a couple of giant corporations to play ball was easy.
“One other reason,” Jason said, “we’re feeding people pretty well is that before the Crisis, we wasted an astounding amount of food. Food that wasn’t 100% perfect got tossed. Not anymore. People will eat anything now. Today, our FCard retailers will sell food that used to be routinely tossed.”
Jason didn’t tell the entire truth. Sure, there was a surprising amount of food getting to the stores, especially now that the semis were nationalized and the roads were cleared and patrolled. But still, there was less food, by a long shot, out there. And the food that was getting through were staples, like grains and minimally processed foods. People were getting a sustainable amount of calories, but much less than they were used to. America was on a forced diet.
Jason got serious about the next subject. “This is top secret. One of the problems we’re seeing emerge is the ‘paras.’ That’s short for ‘paramilitaries.’ They’re vigilantes. They kill and kidnap people who they view as corrupt.” He was uncomfortable and said, “This is usually government officials.” He was saying what everyone knew.
“The paras,” Jason said, “are almost always fellow government employees, often police and even some military. Some of the para foot soldiers are civilians, but the paras get their leadership and intelligence from insiders, like police. Many para units started when cops would go ‘off the clock’ to deal with a particular criminal or gang that they weren’t getting approval to arrest.” They weren’t getting approval, Jeanie knew, because the criminals were probably protected by the authorities.
Jason continued. “The number of paras has started to grow and they have started to get bolder and bolder. Now they are also targeting public officials perceived to be corrupt. We’ve been blaming a lot of the killings and disappearances of officials on the right-wing militias, Red Brigades, and even the Oath Keepers. But it’s really the paras. They are everywhere.”
This was scary to Jeanie because she had always felt safe with the walls and troops at Camp Murray keeping people out. But what if they had security threats inside Camp Murray? All those security people with guns. What if one of them decided to start shooting? Suddenly Jeanie felt like a fish in a barrel.
“We obviously are not talking about this,” Jason said as he looked down. He was really concerned about this. “It’s pretty much the worst message we could send. ‘There are well armed and organized assassins in the government who are killing all the corrupt people.’ We’re not exactly highlighting the unfortunate corruption problems we’re seeing out there. The people need to believe the police and military are under control and are there to help them. We don’t want scared people to start thinking these paras are the ‘good guys.’”
Jason smiled and said, “But there’s good news. The loyal police and military are rooting out the paras. They’ve made several arrests. Yesterday, most of the remaining Spokane police department and several deputy sheriffs were arrested by the FBI. It was pretty awful. Cops turning on cops. Some departments are in full civil wars between paras and the cops trying to prosecute them. It’s a mess. Oh, and to further complicate matters, some paras have turned into full-on gangs themselves.”
Jason continued, “In this state, the paras seem most active in eastern Washington and the rural areas. Well, in the rural areas, we don’t exactly have a presence except for intermittent Freedom Corps reports, so we’re assuming the paras are running things there. We see anecdotal evidence of it, like local police running towns and known criminals ending up dead. We don’t know if they’re paras or not. Maybe they’re just exercising emergency powers. We don’t know.”
Jason took a breath and said, “The larger urban areas, Seattle in particular, seem to have good control over their police. These paras obviously create a political problem for us. They would be seen by the public as solving a problem the authorities can’t or, in the case of corruption, won’t. This is why we need to make sure our friends in the media do not report about paras. We don’t even want the term ‘paras’ out there. Remember, assassinations are Red Brigade or Oath Keepers, or, better yet, ‘right-wing militia terrorists.’ You can admit that there are a handful of cops acting like gangs because there are. But do not, do not, let the paras be seen as heroes.”
There was one last thing for the meeting, but at the last minute Jason decided not to tell the media relations people in the conference room. It was that no one was watching the news anymore. He didn’t want the media relations people to think their work was in vain.
When the Crisis first started, news ratings were through the roof. Everyone was glued to the internet, TV, and radio. Now, the numbers of hits on media websites were plummeting. Ratings for TV news and even local radio were way down. They were below, far below, the levels before the Crisis.
Jason was worried that people were figuring out that the government had bee
n lying about everything. People weren’t looking to the broken and corrupt government for solutions. They were looking to themselves. That was what worried him the most.
Chapter 125
I Miss America
(May 13)
Ron Spencer was standing in line. Again. It seemed like that’s all he did all day long. At least they had gas today. But, it was “gang gas” sold by the Russians; the Russian mafia, of course. Young Russian men with AK-47s were the “security contractors” for the gas station. They were polite, but tough as nails.
They spoke English with customers, but spoke Russian among themselves. It was weird to see Russian men with AKs walking around in America. It looked like some weird scene out of Red Dawn, but it was real. All the fears of the Cold War about a totally implausible Russian invasion had come a little bit true.
As he was standing in line, Ron thought that the Russian mafia guards were not oppressing the people like the Soviets depicted in Red Dawn, but were just making a living. A semi-honest living. It was capitalism pure and simple, if “capitalism” meant government controls of everything and then the inevitable black market. That was as close to capitalism as anyone could get in Collapse America. At least, in the cities where the government still had control.
Ron hoped the “gang gas” was not bad. Some of it had been stalling out vehicles because it had fillers in it, including water, it was rumored. But, as a non-government employee, he couldn’t get the FCards that worked at the “government gas” stations where people could get unadulterated gas. Ron had to use his regular FCards which, theoretically, could only buy food. However, regular FCards were traded like cash. The card was not tied to one person; someone could have ten of them if that’s what they bought or traded for. Or stole.
Ron got a few FCards of varying amounts by trading for some silver. He bought silver steadily before the Collapse and had about 150 ounces in one-ounce pieces. He was a Mormon and was supposed to have a year’s worth of supplies for his family according to his church. But he and his wife hadn’t wanted to fill up the garage with bulky cans of food. Besides, that seemed “weird.”
So, they decided to buy and store something much more compact: silver. They got “junk” coins, which were pre-1964 U.S. coins that were ninety percent silver. They would buy pre-1964 silver dollars, fifty-cent pieces, and dimes. Then they got one-ounce silver pieces.
The Spencers started buying silver when it was $12 an ounce and kept getting it all the way up to $43 an ounce. Now it was $600 an ounce, kind of. It wasn’t as if people walked up with $600 of cash and bought an ounce of silver, but the price on the day before the May Day Dump was $545 an ounce.
No one really used cash (paper money) to buy silver or much of anything anymore. First of all, the government made owning silver and gold a crime, although not too many people paid attention to that law. Second of all, cash didn’t buy anyone much and wasn’t accepted usually for food or gas. Some people would accept cash, but in such high amounts—thousands of dollars for a bag of groceries—that people stopped using it for the most part. Besides, with the banks closed, almost no one had cash on hand.
People still used dollars to set prices. For example, groceries had a dollar price but that just meant that a certain number of dollars was taken off an FCard when a purchase was made. Dollars were now just a measuring unit for prices, not a currency used to buy and sell things.
Silver, and especially gold, were king, followed by FCards. People were frequently bartering for their necessities: gas, ammo, guns, medicine. Sex was traded quite a bit, too, but not in Ron’s world. He’d heard about it, though, including rumors that good people he knew were doing it. Alcohol was a hot commodity. Drugs were less so, at least as far as Ron, the Mormon, knew. Many people were growing and smoking pot for themselves, and for trading.
Ron traded a one-ounce silver piece with a corrupt FC person for $550 on three FCards. He would use those FCards to get ten gallons of gang gas that was $55 a gallon. Ron had two five-gallon gas cans with him. Not bad. He could drive for a month on that.
He didn’t have a job to go to and school had been cancelled for the rest of the year—and probably years to come—so he didn’t need to drive for that. He found that he had to drive on various errands, like to get gas that day. Since he had silver, which was something he hid from everyone initially, he was asked by his neighbors to take people to the black-market clinic or move someone’s family’s stuff to a new house or pick up someone’s family members who were moving in with them. His church was very close-knit, so he did a lot of favors for them. He also did favors for his neighbors who weren’t in his church. He did favors for atheists he knew; he didn’t care. People were people. Helping people was helping people. He figured that God had guided him and his wife to get silver before the Collapse and he would use that silver to help people. The silver wasn’t his; it was a tool he’d been given to do good things.
Ron decided that driving people around was his new job. There wasn’t any accounting work, so he had to do something. He made a living—sort of—by helping people. They gave him whatever they could to compensate him for his time and gas. Any little thing he or his family needed. His wife really missed a particular skin lotion, for example. He mentioned it to a couple of people he’d helped and a bottle of it appeared on his porch one morning.
The power and water were still on in Olympia. The bills quit coming. Maybe that was because the postal system had stopped. Ron hadn’t seen a mail carrier in…weeks.
What most people didn’t know was that the government had made a silent bargain with the population: we’ll take all your money and restrict your freedom, but we’ll get you some food and free utilities. It was kind of like the silent bargain in the old Soviet Union; bread and utilities will always be free, but we get to run your lives.
The government was essentially keeping its end of the bargain on utilities. There were frequent power outages, but it was getting better. The internet was spotty at first, but that was also improving. However, access to websites the government didn’t like was restricted. It was possible to get to them, but not unless someone knew a lot about computers. And there was a risk of getting caught, which meant an FCard might become inactive. Maybe. There was so much crime that the government couldn’t really go after people who were looking at the wrong websites, but most people feared a loss of their FCards if they acted up. Many believed the government knew everything they did and could retaliate against them, like the old IRS system. Most people paid their taxes even though the government could not possibly prosecute even a tiny fraction of them. People, or sheeple as Ron called them, had been trained for generations to follow the law no matter what. That made sense when the laws were reasonable and the chances of getting caught were real. Neither of those two things were true now.
Crime was a constant problem. It seemed that a sizable chunk of the population was not following any laws and were not at all afraid of prosecution. There was no functioning police force. Prosecutors and judges? Not anymore.
Ron carried a revolver, a nice Ruger SP 101 .357 Magnum, with him all the time. Even in his house, which was where he’d need it most. He had a holster for it and carried it concealed, which was against the law, but whatever. He’d be out of his mind not to carry a gun when he was carrying an ounce of silver, or two gas cans. The Russians were good about making sure their gas station was safe; they needed to have people coming to their places to buy things, but once a customer left the gas station, they were on their own.
Ron pulled into the Cedars subdivision where he lived and sighed. The FC dorks were “guarding” the entrance. He had quit going to the worthless neighborhood meetings because the weenies were running the show and because Nancy Ringman, the leader of the weenies, had flipped out and accused Ron and his family of being “Mormon hoarders.” Why even go?
But, Ron heard that Nancy showed up last night at the meeting and seemed to appear sane. She said she had an allergic reaction to some med
ication that had previously caused her to “not be herself.” She said she had some new medication and was fine. She was a pretty high-ranking government person so she probably got special access to medications, Ron thought.
Nancy told everyone at the meeting she would be moving soon to “somewhere near Seattle” to run a new TDF, which was a “temporary detention facility.” It was probably one of those political prisons they were setting up. Not a maximum security thing for criminals. These were “Club Feds” for POIs and others who were causing non-life threatening problems for the government. Not much was known about the TDFs. Given what he’d heard about them and who was being sent there, it wasn’t exactly a torture chamber. They were kind of like locked dormitories. It seemed that TDFs were where they sent tax protestors, Patriot bloggers, and other troublemakers who were violating the myriad of new laws. The authorities wanted to make examples of them and scare the population into doing what they were told. The authorities needed the TDFs, which were springing up everywhere because there weren’t enough regular prison cells. Filling the TDFs to the brim demonstrated where the government’s priorities were. They had let most of the real criminals go a few weeks earlier to save money, but were now trying to round up political enemies and seemed to find the resources to house them in TDFs.
That reminded Ron about his former neighbor, Grant. Where were Grant and his family? Were they together? Grant had been on the POI list and owned some assault rifles. Ron figured Grant was probably in Texas now, where he’d be safe. Grant’s wife had been heartbroken that he’d left, so who knows where she and the kids went. It was sad that a nice family like that had been broken up by this whole Collapse.
The weenies were all against a “militaristic” guard when it was Ron and Grant organizing it, but when the Freedom Corps came to the neighborhood, the weenies were suddenly all for an armed guard, under the control of the FC. It seemed the weenies were opposed to a “militaristic” group, except when it was controlled by their government buddies.
