Liberators Page 13

  “Well.” Malorie swallowed hard before she continued. “Maybe he would’ve taken one of our guns in trade.”

  “True, Mal, but we’d run out of guns before we ran out of corrupt people looking to take them,” Megan replied.

  “No, I get that our resources aren’t inexhaustible, but the rules are different right now under martial law,” Malorie said.

  “Why, exactly, should we follow these rules?” Joshua asked.

  “Well, for starters they have guns—that seems to make it persuasive. Also, they are the governing authorities, which also makes it biblical according to Romans 13.”

  “True,” Megan replied, “but those rules, having the teeth of law in our circumstance, are they just or unjust?”

  “What does that matter? Are you taking his side on this?” Malorie asked her sister.

  “I think that my thought process is pretty rational here, so I’ll try to explain. Now, if a law is a law, what gives it power over people? If the answer is just guns and more of them, then all we need to do is get a whole lot of people with guns to agree with us and just declare the Constitution legal again. If it were that easy, then it would’ve been done by now. I’m talking about a battle of ideas here, not the profession of arms.”

  “Wait a minute, big sister.” Malorie was no longer helping to watch the road for deer or other two-legged hazards; now she was facing Megan in the backseat. “What’s right is right, and this is not situational ethics.”

  Joshua grew up in a boys’ home and didn’t have sisters, or he might have known never to get between them in an argument. “What if they demanded something more than a gun or food or fuel to pass through? What if they demanded one of you women or one of the boys? Do you think that human trafficking only happens somewhere else and not in America?”

  “That’s absurd!” Malorie retorted.

  Joshua took a breath and calmly continued, “Perhaps it seems like a far reach right now, but this whole ‘Crunch’ is a permanent situation. There are multiple generations raised on the idea that government is an inexhaustible fountain of money. Did you see the president’s ‘Inequality Agenda’?”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with lying to the mayor?” Malorie was calmer now but was not giving any ground.

  “This is what the Founding Fathers were fighting for—life and the sanctity of it. If I gave him a gun (that I bought fairly), then I’m giving him part of my life that I traded to earn money to buy that gun or food or fuel or whatever. The ‘right’ to demand money through taxation is legit, but the practice of corruptly taking from one to buy votes with another or to feather one’s own nest is criminal and outside of the lawful purposes of government. Government is not there to be the guarantor that everyone gets theirs; that’s not what Romans 13 was talking about. So whether taking money in the form of taxation or bribery—which is paramount to taking someone’s life—or ‘selling’ the notion of security by getting people to trade their unalienable rights for such a notion is unjust. Governments are there to punish the guilty and to protect the innocent.”

  Malorie bit her lip and thought about that as Megan continued. “It’s like the NSA. They want you to think that they’re doing what’s in their charter—to protect our national security by keeping our government’s communications secure and by analyzing our adversaries’ communications that are contrary to our national interests. This is not all that they concern themselves with now. After 9/11 they quietly added domestic communications to their charter, in the name of security, of course. But when the camel’s nose is under the tent, you cannot convince him to stay out. They stood up the Cyber Security Service (CSS) to keep track of everything and everyone by archiving everything just in case they needed it later to find a correlation with ‘retrospective searching.’ Where in the Constitution do they get the right to do that? Technically it falls under U.S. Code Title 50, which was no doubt enlarged by the Patriot Act to serve their purposes.”

  “So the rules are not the rules, then? Is that what you’re saying?” Malorie had her feet tucked up on the seat with her arms around her knees in full contemplation.

  Joshua added, “Pretty much. Have you ever read either Runyan’s book or Chuck Baldwin’s book—both about Romans 13 and the Christian duty to oppose wicked rulers? And consider the guy who blew the whistle had to flee to Russia for protection. Think about that; he had to go to the former Soviet commies and get asylum from the U.S. in the land of the gulag to protect his and everyone else in America’s right to free speech!” Joshua paused for effect. “If they get to make the rules, then they can move the target when it suits them—this is called positive law, something any libertarian can tell you about. However, when man agrees to follow God’s rules, then the law no longer becomes an entity to itself; it has an anchor in God’s character, which does not change. Me having to lie is wrong, and I’ll stand before God for that. However, I deceived Mayor Simons because if I held my ground in the face of his corruption, I would have put us all at a much higher risk of getting stuck in the West Virginia wilderness, facing death by exposure.”

  “So you lied to save our collective hides, then?” Malorie had reconnected with her sarcasm.

  “Joshua did what he did to preserve our lives,” Megan said. “This is why we had to leave D.C. If we stayed, our life expectancy would be about as sure as the value of the dollar. As soon as the welfare checks stop cashing and the full faith and credit of the U.S. government is exposed to be the fraud that it is, we would be run like grist through the mill. Rome would be burning, but at least the inequality agenda would have reached its final populist conclusion—we would all be equally miserable.

  “That’s the dirty little secret of socialism, Mal.” Megan had her hand on her sister’s shoulder and gently squeezed it. “You must become what you hate to enforce the rules of equal distribution. It simply cannot and never will work. That is why God’s model depends on productivity in conjunction with true Christian charity.”

  As they pulled up to Wayne, West Virginia, it was still early in the morning, and the sun was just starting to paint the horizon a pinkish orange hue. Malorie got out of the Jeep; she was getting good at dealing with the guards. The checkpoint was hastily set up near Wayne Veterans Memorial Park with “God Bless America” clearly displayed to indicate a bygone era of America. Megan had drifted asleep and Joshua thought, “America bless God!”

  Malorie approached the checkpoint to the sound of a catcall that only she could hear over the idling engine. The exchange was taking longer than it should have with one rather large young man at the gate near the volunteer fire department. Joshua could only see what was happening from a moderate distance.

  Malorie’s body language showed that she was tense. The guard, who turned out to be a former star linebacker for the local high school football team, was easily a foot taller than Malorie. The other guards just stood there chiming in on what they’d like to do with such a pretty young lady. When he grabbed her arm, Joshua immediately got out of the Jeep and in his NCO voice said, “Hey, let her go, we don’t mean you any trouble here.” Megan awoke with a start and secured her carbine.

  The guard, who seemed to be keeping warm by drinking Wild Turkey, let loose a long string of foul-mouthed words before issuing a challenge. “What do you plan on doing about it?” Joshua had the .270 out and resting in the V between the open door and the A pillar rather quickly, but not as quickly as some of the other guards were able to draw a bead on Joshua with their rifles.

  The guard, in defiance of Joshua, reached to grab Malorie’s left breast but had not accounted for the S&W revolver in her right hand. In a split second she had the muzzle of the revolver painfully buried in his copious double-chin fat. She said, “On your knees, punk!” His delayed reaction exceeded Malorie’s patience so she kneed him in the groin. When he doubled over she grabbed the back of his collar and used his weight against him by simply pivoting and letting his inertia take him down to a fetal position, where he grabb
ed himself, screaming in pain.

  Joshua shouted out, “Like I said, we don’t want any trouble and you can avoid a lot of bloodshed by not getting stupid here like your friend.”

  The former linebacker yelled a vulgar insult. Malorie’s only response was to pistol-whip him on top of the head, giving him something else to be concerned with other than his hurt pride.

  The other guards caught on that Malorie was no one’s plaything and acknowledged that they didn’t want any trouble. Joshua got in the Jeep and pulled up to where Malorie stood. Megan timed opening the passenger door just as the Jeep passed her sister so that she could get in and they could drive off quickly.

  “Are you okay?” Megan asked as she hugged her and the headrest at the same time.

  Joshua was in third gear and accelerating past the park heading south on 37. Malorie was out of breath as she answered, “I’m fine, but it’ll be a while before he lives that one down.”

  19

  LPCS

  Individuals receive, but they cannot send. They absorb, but they cannot share. They hear, but they do not speak. They see constant motion, but they do not move themselves. The “well-informed citizenry” is in danger of becoming the “well-amused audience.”

  —Al Gore, The Assault on Reason

  Fort Gay, West Virginia—October, the First Year

  The sky was a definite orange blaze now, and everyone was just glad that Malorie had gotten away relatively unscathed. Malorie looked at the map. “It seems like we should be getting to Fort Gay, West Virginia, at daybreak. That’ll be where we cross over into Kentucky. From there it would only appear to be about 120 miles or so to Bradfordsville.”

  Megan stirred from the backseat and said, “Well, at this rate we could be there tonight perhaps?”

  “If we can maintain this rate, then yes—but there’s a lot to that ‘if,’” replied Joshua.

  The Jeep descended the small hill to the checkpoint at Fort Gay. The personnel at the checkpoint were mostly uniformed law enforcement, and Megan pointed out that there was one West Virginia State Police car parked off to the side. “The presence of cops must be good. I never want to go through a checkpoint like that last one again,” Megan said.

  Joshua said, “Without getting all Terminator on you four here, ‘I’ll be back!’”

  Megan quipped, “Get to zee choppahr!” getting a laugh out of the boys while Joshua just rolled his eyes.

  Joshua alighted from the Jeep and kept his coat unzipped and laced his hands behind his head as he approached his law enforcement brethren. He hoped that they’d notice his embroidered badge on his coat. The temperature had dropped significantly, and he was regretting not grabbing his gloves from the Jeep.

  As Joshua approached he said, “Good morning. We’re seeking to cross over into Kentucky to go see my . . .”

  The local policeman on duty cut him off and said, “Ain’t no one driving over into Kentucky anymore.” The young cop seemed irritated from having to stay up too long on checkpoint duty. “The honorable governor of Kentucky has seen fit to block all motor traffic into or out of his state as of midnight last night, right about the time we lost utility power in town. They have two semis from the local Coca-Cola bottling plant in Louisa blocking the bridge and a Kentucky National Guard HMMWV with a fifty-cal, to make the point clear.”

  Joshua said, “Thank you, brother, I didn’t know that. What about foot traffic?”

  “Well, I would highly recommend that you not swim across to Kentucky right now. The temperature has dropped overnight and we’re supposed to get a bunch of snow here in the next day or three. The Farmer’s Almanac is predicting an early winter, too.” Joshua nodded. He noticed that the cop seemed less irritated now and relaxed his arms. “As far as we know, people are still getting over on foot. Rumor has it there is a refugee camp starting up over at the Yatesville Lake State Park just west of Louisa, but I can’t say what the conditions there would be like. You sure are a long way from Maryland; why aren’t you with your force back there? Does that say ‘NSA’ on your service coat?”

  “Long story, but we have a pressing need to get to my brother’s house near Danville, Kentucky.”

  The cop nodded indifferently; he’d probably heard every sad story that there was to hear, and the Crunch had just begun. “Well, ain’t none of my affair anyways. Danville, that’s a good piece from here, ’specially on foot. Do you have little ones with you?”

  “Two women and two children, plus me. Are we allowed to go into town to try to get supplies?” Joshua was trying to hide the panic in his voice over their lack of options.

  “Maryland plates, huh? I suppose you have a Maryland driver’s license, too? Does anyone with you have West Virginia identification on them?”

  Joshua breathed deeply and said, “Both my fiancée and her sister do.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, since you’re a cop and all. But remember this, Fort Gay is a dead end—you can’t go any farther in your vehicle. Y’all shouldn’t bother going to the police station down by the river, either, to plead your case. They’re turning folks away. As you probably know, if you made it this far, Charleston is up in flames and the governor of West Virginia is not going to take the time to hear from the Fort Gay mayor about how he should contact the governor of Kentucky on your behalf.”

  Joshua knew the drill and asked in a joking tone, “Someone already tried that?”

  “Just as sure as I’m standing here.” The cop cleared his throat and went on. “Any kind of supplies that you need are likely going to be sold out at the sports store—I would check the pawnshops.”

  Joshua said, “Thanks, brother,” and turned around and walked to the Jeep.

  A quick vote was taken on whether to go into Fort Gay. They decided that they had to get whatever supplies they could find and head west, especially with the bad weather approaching. The Jeep crossed through its last checkpoint and Joshua pulled into town, looking at the sign on the door of the diner, which read CLOSED. Ever the entrepreneurs, the local Boy Scout troop had a propane griddle set up in a parking lot between the auto parts store and the local feed store with a sign that read PANCAKES, ALL YOU CAN EAT $12.

  “Twelve dollars seems wicked steep, but who knows when we’re going to see hot food again in Kentucky,” Malorie said.

  “Okay, I’m open for ideas here, but hear me out first,” Joshua began. He switched off the ignition and turned to look at both Megan and Malorie. “We’re on foot from here on out, no doubt about it. I don’t think that anyone is going to sell us a vehicle in Kentucky, gas will be wicked expensive or unobtainable, winter is supposedly coming soon, and we are due to get snow. The cop at the checkpoint said that there’s a refugee camp over on the west side of Louisa in some park. I don’t know about you, but I’m not keen on going there. I think it’ll be a crime magnet where either of you or one of the boys could get abducted.”

  Megan was past overtired. “True, it could get positively Grapes of Wrath over there. We can’t enter a situation where we’re trapped and where one of us is separated from the group. We’re simply too small a force to defend ourselves. And knowing the history of such camps, they’ll probably disarm everyone coming in. Our primary mission is to stay warm, dry, and unseen. I don’t think we’ll be able to make much progress through the winter. If we find a place to stay overnight and then move westward only to find that there’s nowhere for us to stay, then we’d be highly reluctant to backtrack to our previous camp.”

  “Great insight, Megan. I knew that you were the big sister for a reason.” Megan flicked the back of her head as Malorie continued, “It would appear that we have to find a place and stay there through the winter—any chance that we can do that here in town? How about Louisa?”

  Joshua winced and said, “I’m not certain that would work. Whoever was prepared enough prior to the Crunch to make it through the winter probably isn’t open to the idea of adding five mouths to feed right now. Besides, we’d have to be very sure tha
t the situation was safe and that people were not psycho or something, and you know what they say about beggars being choosers.”

  “Right,” Megan said. “Taking on someone else’s kids is going to be a hard sell.” She squeezed the boys to let them know that she still loved them and continued. “So that leaves us headed somewhere on foot out of West Virginia toward Bradfordsville, but I’m under no illusion that we’re going to be able to make it there in one multiday trek. I’d give us ten miles a day if we really pushed it, and that’s not considering all of our stuff, either.”

  Joshua added, “The cop said don’t bother with the sporting goods store because they were likely out of whatever we’d need. But he might have just been thinking of gloves, coats, ammunition, and freeze-dried Mountain House products. What we need is the ability to cover ground with our stuff on foot, like those game-cart contraptions.”

  “You mean like what you’d put a deer carcass on to pack out of the woods?” Malorie asked.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Megan tilted her head to one side and said, “I guess that just might work. We’d probably need more than one, though, no?”

  “And if a batch of pancakes is already twelve dollars, then what is the world’s most useful form of ground conveyance post-Crunch going to cost us?” Malorie asked.

  “Just getting this far has increased our chances of survival,” Joshua said. “Think for a moment how many people did not or will not be able to get past Charleston.” The thought was sobering for everyone. “We’ll have to see what we can trade the Jeep for. With the new restrictions, it’s not going to help us reach our destination.”

  “Oh, Joshua! You couldn’t bring yourself to do that, could you? What if we stayed here for a while, see if the laws change?” Megan asked with genuine concern.

  “I’m not sure what other options, if any, we might have. Staying means certain misfortune. See what you have for cash between the two of you and take the boys to load up on pancakes; we’re going to need the carbs. I’ll go check out the town to see what is still out there between the pawnshops and the sporting goods store.” The boys excitedly unbuckled their seat belts, eager to eat pancakes. “Malorie, can I borrow your Android so that I can take pictures of the Jeep?”