Hope Page 18

  The trail to destruction was thus begun. Oh, there were other potholes along the way, but these events were to have such a profound effect on the country that it would be forever changed. When Obama knelt at the feet of the Persians, figuratively if not literally, it emboldened the Iranian leadership. When the president proposed a further reduction in nuclear arsenals with the Russians, the government of Putin eagerly agreed. A great victory in the name of humanity was made out of the decommissioning of upwards of sixty percent of the US arsenal. The Russians played up the plan in the media, appearances between the two leaders were plastered all over the MSM. The Russians, however, were not decommissioning anything.

  Under the Small Arms Treaty, it was announced to the nations of the world that the private ownership of military-grade weapons was now outlawed. Much was made that America, reputed to be the last superpower, had the greatest number of such weapons in private hands. The fact that the US administration ratified the treaty, then went even further by reducing its nuclear arsenal, heralded a new era in global peace while at the same time continuing to bang the drums of war. The rest of the world might have bought this, but the owners of the more than three hundred million guns in the US certainly didn’t. And yet, here, another wedge was driven into the nation.

  There were many gun owners in the country that certainly believed military-grade hardware should be outlawed. They joined the applause of the Treaty. Those that believed that high-capacity magazines should be outlawed joined the orgy of praise as well. That was until it was revealed that additional wording was added that banned any weapon that was capable of mechanical self-loading. In the beginning this caused some confusion and misconceptions. When it was revealed that any magazine-fed weapon, regardless of capacity, was banned, the cries of violating the Constitution grew louder. When it was further revealed that the term magazine also included tube-fed weapons, the cries reached a crescendo. Now there was no doubt what the intentions behind this Treaty were, the virtual total disarmament of the American people.

  The events happening around the globe faded from the minds of most Americans, who were so caught up in their fading freedoms that they paid less and less attention to the happenings on the global scale. And while they wouldn’t pay attention for now, a time was fast approaching when they would no longer be able to ignore it.

  For many in the prepper community, the writing was on the wall. All across the country people were making decisions. Some were headed to their BOLs, others were trying to buy up whatever ammo was left out there, and prices were astronomical. There would be no more shipments, no more mags, no more parts, nothing. All those people that figured they would see “it” coming and head out and use their credit cards to prepare were caught with their pants down, and Big Brother was squeezing Astro Glide into his hand.

  When the TSA started to set up roadblocks and search vehicles, the shit hit the fan. The feds decided to go big. Many people were caught off guard by the TSA being the ones to man these roadblocks. But the ice had already been broken on that issue years ago. Of course, it was called training for terror operations back then. The feds just didn’t mention who those terrorists would be: we, the people.

  The first roadblocks were set up in Michigan. It was bait, and the Michigan Militia took it. When the militia heard that the TSA goons were searching people on the interstates, confiscating and arresting people for possession of firearms, even though the “grace period” wasn’t up, they made their move. A unit of the militia planned a quick op when they heard of a roadblock nearby.

  Using six vehicles, they approached the roadblock from both directions. This particular roadblock was on a frontage road that paralleled Highway 96 outside of Lansing. The lead car had two militiamen in it. As they approached the roadblock, they were challenged by the TSA and asked if they had any weapons. When they replied they did, they were ordered from the car. Both of them were wearing body armor with plates, front and back. Most of the attention of those manning the roadblock were focused on the two “noncompliant” passengers.

  It was then that the other twenty-five members emerged from the other five SUVs and opened fire on the TSA, DHS and State Patrol officers at the roadblock. The incident would forever be referred to as the “Lansing Incident”; it would be a battle cry for the patriots of the nation and the anvil against which all freedom-loving men and women of the US would be hammered against. Four militiamen were killed as well as two troopers, two DHS personnel and four from the TSA. The firefight was intense and short, the result being that almost all the vehicles at the scene belonging to any of the agencies involved were burned through the use of homemade thermite grenades.

  The militia managed to escape from the scene, recovering their fallen comrades. None of them were ever caught, although the MSM would report otherwise. This was our Concord, this was the spark that started it all. America was now a police state. And to make matters worse, America was also about to go to war.

  This was the moment the administration had been waiting for. Before the fires were even out in Lansing, the attorney general was issuing decrees to local, state and federal law enforcement agencies. All weapons in private hands were to be seized. To get around any Constitutional or legal loopholes, the president enacted several executive orders, not the least of which was 13603; section 501 was to have a profound effect on the citizens of the nation. This particular section of the EO was headed by Employment of Personnel and allowed the establishment of the National Executive Defense Reserve or NEDR. It was created under the auspices of training civilians in executive level positions in the federal government. In reality it was a cover to create a private, federal police force, answerable only to the president and the attorney general.

  KLB Inc was awarded an indefinite delivery contract to provide for detention and housing of “suspects and subversives”, utilizing the guidelines established in the NDAA. The National Defense Authorization Act allowed for the indefinite detention of American citizens without any Constitutional protections. The Council of Governors was instructed to assist in the DHS with the activation of the Regional FEMA camps. These camps would be used to house persons arrested under provisions of the NDAA. Soon American citizens would be facing American troops on the streets of the nation. That was unless their attention was focused elsewhere.

  Daniel Taylor lived in a four-story apartment building on Century Cir, off of I-85 in downtown Atlanta. He worked in the IT department of one of the banks in Atlanta and attended the University of Phoenix DeKalb Learning Center across the street from his apartment. In his position he was responsible for keeping the network secure from the constant, daily attacks on the bank’s network. He was one of many who lived in cubicle land, staring into computer monitors all day. Once he finished his degree, he hoped to be promoted out of the gopher farm and upstairs, but for now, this was his life.

  While cyberattacks on banks were nothing new, things were really getting bad lately. He and the others tasked with securing the bank’s servers from attacks were only just able to keep up. And it wasn’t just them. In white papers that circulated through the IT world, it was now openly acknowledged that the early stages of war were already in motion. Power plants, utility providers, banks, traffic networks, military and law enforcement networks across the nation were under constant and crippling attacks. While it wasn’t stated publicly, those in the industry knew where the attacks were coming from.

  Daniel’s girlfriend, Christy, lived nearby in a different apartment. She had hinted several times at wanting to move in together, but so far he’d been successful in dodging that particular bullet. He wasn’t ready for any sort of commitment. He liked his freedom, and from the talks around the water cooler and the employee lounge, married life came with way too damn many restrictions for him. He enjoyed his weekends in north Georgia, where he camped, hiked and fished. He liked his time in places like the Bowmans Island unit of the Chattahoochee River.

  This was where he got away from the hustle and bust
le of Atlanta. Up there it was quieter and there were fewer people. On the weekends he would load his Wrangler up and head out of town with his camping gear and a cooler, not to return until sometime Sunday afternoon. Sometimes Christy would go with him; she wasn’t much of a camper, but was learning to like it. Watching the sun set from the top of a ridge or the sun rising over a secluded pond made it worth the trip. Most of the time, however, he was alone, and that was how he liked it.

  All through the election, things in Atlanta got progressively worse, culminating in riots. The National Guard was brought in to put them down after the police were overwhelmed. This caused even more riots and problems. Two Guardsmen were shot and killed and their weapons stolen. The result was for the governor to authorize the Guard troops to shoot armed individuals and looters on sight. Seventeen people were killed, fourteen of them black; this just added fuel to the fire of racial inequality. The world was coming apart at the seams and the band played on.

  Daniel let out an evil laugh as he jumped and slapped the sign that indicated the elevator. He packed into the first elevator that stopped on his floor. From the looks on the faces of the people already on it, they were not happy with one more person squeezing on. He simply smiled and edged his way in. When the doors opened in the lobby, he was the first one off and made a mad dash for the parking garage.

  Traffic was a nightmare, as was typical for Atlanta. While he was ready to get home and load up, he wasn’t letting it get to him. Where he was headed, there wouldn’t be any traffic. The one thing he did notice was all the police on the road. On his ride home Daniel saw more Atlanta cops, state troopers and sheriff deputies than he ever had. Several times he saw these officers putting people in handcuffs and stuffing them in the back of their car. It seemed like the number of people being arrested was increasing.

  Daniel flipped on the radio, looking for a distraction. He was scanning through the stations, looking for something to listen to that wouldn’t drive him nuts. The radio stopped on one of the local talk stations; Rush Limbaugh was on. He was ranting and raving about how the Republicans had completely caved on Israel, how they were done, they would never be a viable party again. Well, this certainly wasn’t helping his sanity, so he punched a key on the radio and smiled as Kid Rock’s “Cocky” started.

  His cell phone rang. Looking down, he saw Christy’s name on the screen and a smile came across his face.

  He tapped the screen. “Hey, sexy.” This was his standard answer.

  “Hey, babe, where are you?”

  “Stuck on 85, sitting in traffic. Where are you?”

  “At my apartment. What do you want to do this weekend? I was kinda hoping we could go to Buckhead tonight; you know, take me out to do what I want and you can do what you want.” Christy’s voice trailed off into a breathy seductive tone.

  Well now, that was an offer he had to think about. “I was hoping to head up north and check out that trail we found the last time we were out.” He didn’t say anything more than that, not “do you wanna come?” or anything; he was going to have to see what sort of mood she was in.

  “Aw, come on, baby, we haven’t gone out in, like, forever. I wanna go out; take me out tonight, please,” Christy cooed into the phone.

  Daniel’s hand fell into his lap. He looked up at the rag top of his Jeep, his mouth hanging open. In his mind he was screaming why, why, why, but he knew he couldn’t say that to her. He hated to “go out”; barhopping, going to clubs and being dragged out onto the dance floor was simply not his thing. But he liked Christy, for a couple of reasons. That last thought brought him back around, and he put the phone back to his ear.

  “Sure, babe, we can go out. I need to get home and get a shower and change. Just come over when you’re ready,” he finally said.

  The conversation didn’t last much longer than that. Christy was excited at the thought of spending the night in Buckhead; Daniel was just as miserable at the thought. Then he smiled, knowing the hours he would spend slogging through the bars and clubs would be worth it when they got back to his place.

  He finally made it home and into his apartment on the second floor, closing the door with an audible sigh. His first order of business was to get out of the corporate monkey suit and into something more comfortable, so he headed for his bedroom and returned wearing a T-shirt and shorts, feeling far more relaxed. He knew Christy would be a couple—hell, more than a couple—hours before she showed up, and he grabbed a beer and turned on the TV. Fox News and CNN were running talking heads from opposite sides of the gun debates; MSNBC was interviewing some clown from the EU who was pontificating about the US’s role in the global economy and how they weren’t acting very responsibly.

  None of this was doing anything to improve his mood, though, and he flipped to the guide and found Jackass: The Movie, which was exactly the sort of mind-numbing entertainment he wanted. Daniel decided to take a shower and start getting ready; turning up the volume on Johnny Knoxville’s antics, he headed for the shower.

  He was sitting on the couch, watching a piece about Rommel on the Military Channel when he heard that distinct knock on the door. He flipped off the TV and grabbed his keys and wallet before heading towards the door. Opening the door, he was greeted with an amazing sight, Christy had one arm resting on the door frame over her head. She was wearing what was often referred to as a little black dress, little being the key word, and she was smokin’ hot in it. Adding in the black heels and the fact the small dress barely contained her chest, he questioned the plan of going out, thinking staying at his place would be better. But then, if he took her out and let her party it up, it would certainly pay off.

  “Damn, you look fine,” Daniel said as he stepped towards her.

  Christy wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled, revealing her beautifully perfect white teeth; then she pushed herself up on her toes and leaned in and kissed him. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said with a smile, stepping back to check him out, “and all by yourself, I’m so proud.”

  Daniel did a little pirouette. “Not bad, huh?”

  Christy reached out and grabbed his ass. “Not bad at all, so where we going?”

  He had planned what he would say to this question. “ I thought we would start at Churchill’s.” Before he even finished saying it, he started to smile, knowing how she felt about the British-style pub.

  Christy spun and started to walk towards the stairs, tossing her little black purse over her shoulder. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  They started the night at Aria Restaurant off East Paces Ferry Road, a trendy, upscale little place with great food and prices that reflected it. Daniel knew this night was going to cost him, but since he wasn’t going to the woods this weekend, he was going to make it as enjoyable as possible, and keeping Christy in bed all weekend would certainly be enjoyable.

  They enjoyed their dinner; he had salmon, and Christy a chicken something or other. Because of the difference in dishes, they had two different bottles of wine at the table as well. Neither of them wanted dessert, and Daniel quickly paid the bill and they were off to find some music and people.

  Daniel was pulling out of the parking lot when he asked Christy where she wanted to go. Her reply was no help. “Surprise me.” All he could do was roll his eyes as he pulled out onto the road. This scenario had entered his mind, and having been a Boy Scout, he was ready and headed down Paces Ferry to Piedmont and made a right. The stars were lining up tonight, and a car was pulling out of a spot in front of the Havana Club as he pulled in.

  Looking over at Christy, he asked, “Feel like dancing tonight?” His eyebrows jumped up and down as he did.

  Christy was obviously surprised. Being a typical guy, he tried to avoid dancing at all costs, and for him to suggest it was certainly a surprise. “You mean you’re actually going to dance with me tonight?”

  Daniel looked over at her as he put the Jeep in park. The small silver chain she wore around her neck caught his eye;
the little pendant rested in the top of her ample cleavage. He looked a little lower until the little black dress covered his desires. He reached across to her seat and laid his hand on her thigh, running it slightly up her leg under the dress. “You look amazing tonight. Wanna dance?”

  Christy took a deep breath, her mouth slightly open, and began to vigorously nod her head. “Yeah, oh yeah, let’s go.”

  Inside, the bar was packed with all the young and beautiful of Atlanta. Techno dance music filled the place, and bodies on the floor writhed to the rhythm. As soon as Christy broke the plane of the door, her arms went up and she began to shake her ass to the music. They spent the next several hours dancing and drinking. Christy was having a great time, and he knew he would later. It was the only thing that kept him going.

  Daniel needed a break from the dance floor and told Christy he was going to get them a drink. She nodded and turned back to the writhing crowd. Daniel went to the bathroom to take a leak. Of course, there was an “attendant” in there, an older black man sitting on a stool. Daniel saw him when he came in and rolled his eyes. After finishing his business at the urinal, he went to the sink. The soap dispenser was gone, and the old man held out a bottle of liquid soap. Daniel stuck his hands out, and the old guy pumped a few squirts in his hand.

  As he washed his hands, he looked over to the paper towel dispenser, and just as he suspected, it was empty. A smirk ran across his face. When he finished, the old man tossed him a hand towel and he dried his hands. Sitting on the counter was a small basket full of bills, he handed the towel back to the old guy and he tossed it into a basket on the floor. Now he was expected to tip this guy for some soap and a towel.