First chapter of my fiction Libertarian themed book:

[The2ndAmendment]

Citizens and Subjects
Chapter 1, The Harvest​

Dear Journal,
February 4th, 2064
Chesapeake Bay, Maryland

We never paid any heed to the wisdom of our forefathers, and we scoffed at those who tried to warn us, we even had a hand in our own demise. Like fools we clung to our partisan divides, blind and full of ire and hatred for one another; we argued and fought, as we had for generations, diminishing, devaluing and debasing our foes with each of our victories, and in turn, being disparaged and denied our very dignity and happiness following each of our defeats.

In both our vanity and arrogance, we were determined to annihilate the other side – at any cost to our liberties; for we believed that a final and debilitating blow to our enemy would at last restore peace and prosperity to our great nation – until the day the Great Leviathan descended upon us, binding and enslaving all to its will.

Today, both we and our former foes stand united, as we are all upon the brink of destruction. The fate of all remaining free men depends on this historical hour, for our battles and struggles have culminated and condensed into this final moment – this singularity of doom.

I know not the results to come, nor do I even know if I will survive this event, but I'd rather die standing, than cower and bow before the Beast – give me Liberty, or give me Death ...

Four Years Earlier:
​

“Joseph! Javier! Come and give your old pop a hand here!” Jim called across the pumpkin fields, sweat pouring from his face, while the cold air nipped at his fingers.

“Old pop? Imagine if Gramps heard you saying that?” Javier called back.

“Come on Jav, didn’t you know that forty is the new sixty?” Joseph said cheerily, jogging alongside his brother, approaching their father, the sun illuminating their blue eyes, their skin glowing light brown, like their mother.

“Just you boys wait until your turn forty!” said Jim, dragging the larger pumpkins towards the pick-up truck.

“I’m already half way there myself pops,” said Joseph, tossing the heaviest pumpkin into the truck with ease, “I mean seriously, I can’t even bench three hundred.”

“Oh! Angela was salivating at the gym last night Joey,” said Javier, cleaving a monstrous pumpkins into quarters, “showing up Mark that night, he didn’t even make it to two-fifty!”

“Was she?” Joseph said distractedly. “Well, I guess she’s sort of pretty…”

“Boys, before I forget, I need you to fill the truck with some bio-fuel when we pass the greenhouse. Get those pumpkin quarters into bags, and put them in the station refrigerator; the train is coming early this week … today actually,” Jim said, throwing the remaining pumpkins into the back.

“Pops, you know we can’t stay tonight to load the train! Fencing semi-finals are tomorrow afternoon in Harrisburg, we’ve got to catch the Pennsylvania train at six o’clock!” Javier exclaimed heatedly.

“I know, I know… I’ll keep Fred and Jamal overtime, they had an easy day at the greenhouse anyway, they’ll still be fresh. Anyway, I can tip conductor to give us a hand, new guy, rather young. Probably be better if I remembered his name though…” Jim said, sighing.

“I think it was Jack, or Jake, maybe Jill …” Javier said teasingly.

“Yeah, that’ll motivate him, insulting his manhood,” said Joseph, jumping into the driver’s seat. “You coming Jav?”

“Yeah, so is Angela,” Javier said, laughing heartily, jumping into the passenger’s side, as the car was starting accelerate. “See you at dinner pops.”

Jim decided to walk west, towards the river, it was a boon to have such a convenient source of fresh water nearby, droughts becoming more common each year. The climate had been changing drastically since the Yellow Stone Eruption of 2054. First there was the infamous “Sun Drought” for nearly two years, followed by unpredictable real droughts and tornadoes all the United States, the entirety of the Midwest is now a shadow of its former self. New York was now one of the great farming giants. There was so much empty land left available, the world’s population dropped to a mere two billion during the famine. Forests already dominated the forgotten suburbs. Then the Plague came, supposedly an old government experiment, abandoned in chaos of the Eruption.

The skies were crystal clear lately, but the droughts were still devastating to the pumpkin and corn yields. The river provided just enough water to keep their farm afloat during the dry seasons, although this year would be different. The Rebellion was becoming more expensive in the North, property taxes had increased nearly eight percent this year alone, and there were no exemptions for farmers this time. He would have to raise his milk prices, it’s the only good Jim sold that allowed him to dictate the price, as it was luxury item.

He skipped some pebbles across the flowing surface of the Ausable River. He remembered doing this with his grandfather more than thirty years ago. It was comforting to remember those moments, to see that river and trees still endured, ever lasting, as if the thirty years were no more than a ripple across the water’s surface.

“Blitz!” Jim bellowed, calling to his dog, a regal looking German Shepard, “Come, I got you a treat.” Jim could see the Shepard rustling the corn stalks, as she raced towards him.

She licked his face, right across his eyes, partially knocking his glasses off. “Ha! You get me every time with that one! You’d think I would learned right? “ he said to the dog, ripping the package open, “Nope, it’s not chocolate today … now don’t be giving me that look, I know you love these.”

Blitz gave them a sniff, then gently took them one at a time, careful of his master’s hands --- and then she saw some deer on the other side of the pumpkin patch

“Go get em’ Blitz!” Jim yelled, watching her run with all fury, knowing she’ll never catch them. “Some things they just never learn,” he said to himself, smiling broadly. He got up and started walking down the dirt road to the greenhouse.

As he walked, he heard the screeching of low altitude cruise missiles flying overhead, normally, this wouldn’t be remarkable, but this time they were heading south, instead of north; the rebels must have hijacked an entire convoy to obtain those … more taxes to pay then. Well, so long as they didn’t hit the greenhouse, having just added ten more stories to it ---- and it was rather costly to bribe the local town hall for the permit, although at least they waived the processing fees.

He arrived at the greenhouse at the start of the noon hour. He’d have to pay Fred and Jamal overtime to stay after four o’clock, which they would accept graciously, most farm owners ignored the overtime laws, preferring to pay the state a rather weak fine instead.

He looked up at his newly renovated greenhouse. She stood thirty-two stories high now, each story the height and width of a football field. His family’s strong agricultural history allowed him to obtain government subsidies and grants for the construction and major additions to the greenhouse, one of the few things you didn’t have to bribe the state and federal politicians for these days, especially with food in high demand on the northern front.

He entered through the front door, the first floor and the basement were the only floors that didn’t have vegetation, for they contained the facilities and other necessary infrastructure vital to the greenhouse, including the computation and information center. Jim saw his daughter, Reina, at the computer monitor.

“What does Albany require this season, Reina? What plans do they have for the new additions to the greenhouse,” Jim asked, checking the status of the liquid nitrogen over her shoulder.

“Apparently they want twenty more tons of Soybeans this quarter, eight more tons of strawberries, and if you accept the contract, they’ll pay to raise the roof on the top level in order to invest in luxury desert apricots. They’ll also deliver you 60 adolescent apricot trees and provide you and all other staff with a free one-week instruction course on desert apricot management. They are to be planted ten yards apart from each other, which gives us just enough space on the expanded uppermost level,” she rapidly, with the trill and clarity of her mother’s El Salvadorian tongue, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Well, at least it’s something new, I’ll definitely think about it --- and really, more soybeans? We haven’t grown that many since the Sun Drought! And if they’re going to invest in these apricot trees, maybe they should stop these missiles from whistling alongside the birds each morning!” Jim said, exasperated, “And I doubt the Rebels give a damn, or even know about our farm, it was bad enough when the Feds were doing it.”

“Oh papa! Now that you mention it, rumor has it that the Rebels have recaptured the Taconic Mountains and are pushing towards Ticonderoga,” she said, standing up from the desk, “Uncle Perez said he will be doing a major airlift to Lake Placid; they’ll be parachuting in Cataphracts within the coming weeks,” she had finished, her voice full of quiet tension.

“This is terrible, the war is coming back to Essex County? My God --- and they told us they were pushing the Rebels back into Quebec!” Jim vociferated wildly, his heart pounding, as if it were heavy and full with rocks. “Listen Reina, you know what the Feds are like, we’ve heard the stories. We’ll have to hide the livestock this time.” He turned away, not wanting to meet her gaze at the moment, “The basement level should do, and if we need more space, we can place them on levels seven and eight, cut the heat to floors as well, don‘t want to suffocate the beasts.”

“We’ll need to move the hay, and what about the flop?” she remarked.

“I’ll have to tell Joe and Jav the circumstances, they’ll have to forfeit their competition, they won’t disagree, this is important. We’ll have to burn the flop, only way to remove it that quickly … I’ll have to indulge the constable, that will be a lot of smoke,” he said, subconsciously reaching into his pocket. “Even Fred and Jamal will understand the seriousness of the situation, if I lose the farm, they’ll lose their jobs,” he said, gazing at the beautiful, cloudless sky, through the confines of the greenhouse windows. He looked back at his daughter, “Hey, we’re going to be all right, don’t you worry. We’ll keep our heads low, stay out of trouble, it will pass.”

“I guess …” replied Reina, with a lack of confidence, returning to the monitor. “I’m going to go through diagnostics on the rotators, levels eleven and twelve aren’t turning fast enough, probably a lubrication issue.”

“Possibly, these newer nano-rods never shatter or even bend … I used to enjoy doing repair work. I’ll be on level twenty today with Jamal, call me when you’ve found out the problem,” said Jim, heading to the elevator.

“If it’s just a lubrication issue, I’ll send up a maintenance bot. I can download the programming off the Farmer’s Almanac, and even edit it myself!” Reina said excitedly, always eager to use her programming skills.

Jim was going to protest, but he thought it better to end on a happier tune. He closed the elevator doors and pushed twenty. He bemused himself with some of Reina’s programs having gone astray, he would never forget the bots washing the windows with pesticides instead of washing fluid --- and she called it a Boolean error, whatever that was.

The elevator stopped early on the sixteenth level, when the doors opened, Fred appeared, brushing the sweat off his brow. He was a lean man, pure muscle, but not that tall. His face looked more featureless than usual without hair.

“Latest style Fred,” eyeing his baldness with a wink, patting Fred on the back.

“Yeah boss, the chicks dig it now,” Fred replied, in a heavy Bronx tone, “Plus, I don’t get those thorns stuck in my hair anymore, I can’t believe people are still buying roses with all this turmoil.”

“I know what you mean, but I guess folks try to savor any happiness they can these days … there’s no price on peace of mind,” Jim said, closing the doors again. “You may as well come upstairs with me to Jamal, you can finish the cucumbers tomorrow.”

“What’s up boss, bad news?” Fred said quietly.

“Bad news and worse news,” Jim said depressingly, as the doors opened to level twenty.

“Well, give me the bad news first boss,” he asked.

“Train is coming tonight, they only just notified me before lunch, I’ll give you double pay instead of time and a half, if you stay until midnight,” Jim said.

“Sure boss, one request though,” Fred replied, “Can I borrow your phone, I’ll have to give Susie a call.”

They walked towards the opposite end of the floor, here they found Jamal inspecting the potatoes for Plague, as ingestion was only way you could be afflicted by the remaining strains. He was a well mannered man, skin as black as coal. Tall and thin, but sturdy overall. “Hey Jim,” he said, in his deep southern voice.

“Hey Jamal, listen, I got to talk to you guys …” Jim said, putting on his gloves, preparing to help inspect the potatoes, Fred did the same.

“I guess it’s time for the worst of the news boss,” Fred asked rhetorically.

“First, I need you both to stay until midnight, I’ll give you double wages, it’s very important,” Jim said, quickly, “The freight train will arriving at nine o’clock tonight, two days earlier than the usual,” Jim met Jamal’s eyes, he could tell he was slightly disappointed. “Here Fred, take my phone before you start touching those potatoes.”

“Yeah sure, I’ll be back in a moment boss” said Fred, taking the phone, “Thank God you installed a bathroom on this level .”

“Courtesy of the mayor, I gave him some of our finest wine in return!” Jim said, as Fred disappeared behind the shelves of potatoes.

“I guess I’ll wait to tell the worst of the news, no need to tell it twice,” said Jim, “You’d think a plagued potato would be easier to spot, can’t even tell the difference unless you use these black lights. Seriously, we’re probably the only farm around that even checks them this thoroughly,” Jim said, frustrated.

“Well, at least you won’t get the blame if there’s another outbreak; Reina reprogrammed the cameras to record every minute of our potato inspections,” Jamal said reassuringly, injecting a serum into one of the potatoes, a law required the practice for roughly every one hundred potatoes.

“Word has it that the mercenaries are buying plagued potatoes to poison the Rebels, I can’t imagine how they plant them into their cargo holds though,” Jim said sadly, knowing the disposal company probably took his plagued batch and sold them, “No one deserves that, it would be better if the plague just killed you, imagine losing all of your mental capabilities? The Feds even blockaded the shipment of plague vaccines to the north!”

“It’s not our war Jim, it will pass,” Jamal whispered.

“It may not be our war Jamal, but … well when Fred gets back, I’ll tell you,” Jim said, looking around, and then he yelled, “Hey Fred! You don’t want cause the Ausable to overflow again, do you?”

Fred yelled back “Coming boss, nah I wouldn’t fancy that river flooding again!” running around the shelves.

“All right guys, the worse news,” Jim took a breathe, “The Rebels have most likely recaptured Vermont, the Feds are retreating to Ticonderoga. Although it’s a rumor, it would explain why the train is coming early, and I saw a shipment of six-inch rail guns aboard the train the previous week, and they’ve been diverting power from the local rivers, most likely to energize them.”

“Well, the Rebels got a technological advantage there, I hear they developed handheld rails over the summer, one-eighth inch, self powered by a miniature nuclear fuse,” Fred said, very boyishly.

“It won’t be any help against what’s coming their way, my brother-in-law, Sergeant Perez, says they’re parachuting several Cataphract divisions at Lake Placid, since satellite technology is useless in the dense forests of the Adirondack and Taconic Mountains,” Jim said, taking his shirt off.

“Also, I heard those fuses take more than fifteen minutes to recharge,” Jamal said, “You may as well be firing eighteenth century muskets --- ”

“ --- I hear it takes the Feds far more than fifteen minutes to replace their expensive equipment after being hit with a rail slug!” Fred interjected. “Anyway, they still carry a standard military blaster rifle, I hear they even seized hundreds of federal Gatling class blasters.”

“Blasters are just as useless against a division of Cataphracts, and rockets will never make it past the automated Phalanx systems these days. Probably better off faking your dead, if they don’t waste time shooting the fallen afterwards … I hear Cataphracts move fast, unlike Immortals, who always shoot the fallen … even impale them” Jamal said.

“Only the runners suffer impalement,” Fred stated.

“Well anyway, I’d imagine a one-eighth rail would be enough to cause severe bruising to a Cataphract, even if it can’t penetrate the armor, it would be enough to force a dismount,” Jim said, “Also, speaking of horses, the worst of the news is that we’re going to have to hide the livestock this time. That milk is the only way I can make a net profit in the winter season, and we need those horses for the Belmont Stakes. Farmer Jackson says they airlifted his thoroughbreds right to the front lines of Vermont last year, and they weren’t even trained for war!”

“I bet they didn’t even compensate him, or paid him in paper as an added insult,” Jamal scoffed, “Although, given the Virginia mill explosions, I bet paper is more valuable than its monetary worth these days.”

“These Rebels are ruining everything,” Jim said, heaving a sigh “But I suppose they have no other choice now, they’d be hung for treason, or sold as gladiators, I can’t decide which is worse,” Jim said, all of them looking thoroughly depressed, “Also, Reina brought up a good point, we’ll have to eliminate all the traces of cow and horse flop, we’ll collect it in pile north of the pumpkin patch and burn it.”

“And the animals boss?” asked Fred

“We’ll herd the cows into the basement level, anything that remains will be put on levels seven and eight, or, if the Feds arrive too early, shot and buried,” Jim said briskly, injecting his own potato with the serum. “Listen, you guys finish up before the hour, and we’ll take a long break until six’ thirty --- don’t worry I’ll pay for your break too ---” observing the look on their faces “-- and past midnight, I hear they are bringing the girls around to Lake Placid, so I’ll let you studs out at eleven’ thirty, fair?”

“Yeah, thanks boss,” said Fred.

“I hope they got some dark ones tonight,” Jamal said wishfully.

It was past five o’ clock, the sun was already low, Jim was closing down the pasteurization pipelines, he’d have to make it look they hadn’t been used in years when the Feds came, and just hope they didn’t check the Albany database for his dairy records. After he was finished, he walked down the first road, the dog coming out of the corn stalks again to greet him. He pet the dog, feeling her long and sleek hair. He looked up again, the sky was rarely ever this clear as it was today, he could already make out the moon.

When Jim arrived home, his father was sitting on the front porch. It was a comfortable two story household, and he could see his wife through the windows, the kitchen a haze of smoke.

“Hey Dad, think you’re up for some action tonight?” Jim asked, knowing his father always wanted to feel useful.

“Sure, what you got in store my old bones?” his father replied.

“Nothing that difficult of course, train is coming tonight, thought you might want to operate the jack, or drive the truck between the warehouse and the station,” Jim said kindly, he was very fond of his father.

“Can’t see why I couldn’t lend a hand there. I suppose it’s still coming at the regular time, nine o’clock?” his father asked.

“That was the message, they didn’t want to upset the schedules too much more than they did, two days early is asking for trouble during harvest season,” Jim answered.

Blitz had taken his father’s sandwich right off the wicker table as they were talking, Jim decided to enter the house while his father hollered swear words at the maze of corn stalks. Chuckling, Jim entered the kitchen.

“Maria, what are we having tonight, smells like pupusas --- and what the hell is that!” Jim exclaimed, pointing at a jar of beige liquid.

“Es horchatas querido,” Maria said sweetly.

“And what exactly is a horchata?” Jim asked, genuinely curious.

“It is a drink mi familia has made por generaciones ( for generations),” she responded, starting to strain it, “It’s made primarily of morro seeds, mixed cocoa, nutmeg and baneela (vanilla). Aye … si tuvieramos poco de canela (if we had some cinnamon) … I could complete la recipe,” she said, looking around for the cinnamon.

“Hey now, everything you make is perfect babe, with or without all the ingredients,” Jim said, caressing her cheek from behind, “I’ll see if I can barter for some cinnamon, I suppose someone will take some soybeans for them.”

Jim’s father entered the kitchen, “That damn dog, she’d better bring a rabbit to make up for it! Well at least we’re having pupusas tonight, not much else to look forward to these days.”

“Is something bothering you Dad, you’ve been looking sort of down lately,” Jim asked, taking a seat.

“Si, yo creo tu … (I believe you ) are troubled by something,” Maria said softly, placing the pupusas on the table.

“Well, when a man reaches seventy, he starts to wonder what he’s actually accomplished in his life. Honestly, I don’t know what legacy I’ll be leaving behind, all I’ve ever done is farm after I left the Marines, but I guess surviving the Sun Drought is legacy enough; I never thought I’d see days like this,” his father said.

“There was a time when the Constitution and the Rule of Law reigned superior in America, today they wipe their ass with it. If we weren’t farmers, we wouldn’t even have preferred citizenship, and my cancer would spread and kill me. They’ve got us by the balls --- obey and receive vital healthcare --- or disobey and suffer a painful death from an easily cured or managed condition. They even banned euthanasia now, well, unless you’re a preferred citizen,” his father finished eerily.

“Apparently, the courts ruled it’s within our ‘religious’ rights as preferred citizens to be euthanized, if we so choose,” Jim said.

“Por favor! The judges only made that ruling since they are preferred citizens themselves, ellos (they) … could not care less about our rights!” Maria shrieked.

“Here, Here,” Javier and Joseph called, nearly kicking the door down, pretending to act like drunken Irishmen.

“I heard we’re having a wonderful dinner conversation pops, thought we’d throw our two cents in,” Joseph said, “Ah, pupusas! Muchas gracious madre! Y Reina nos dijo que usted estaba haciendo horchatas esta noche tambien (and Reina told us you were going to make horchatas tonight too)!” Joseph said excitedly.

Then Javier and Joseph looked their father, and Javier asked “¿Ha Papá bebió horchata antes? (Has father drank horchatas before?)”

“No, but I’m certainly looking forward to it,” Jim said.

“Will you damn kids speak English please,” said Jim’s father.

“Yeah sure abuelo --- I mean Gramps,” Javier said. “So, you’re going to drive the truck tonight , show us your inner Popeye?”

“You bet kid, and I never cleaved those pumpkins into quarters back in my day,” Gramps replied, full of fire.

“Sure, but you didn’t have to haul hundreds of them back then either. It’s 2060 Gramps, we have Miracle-Gro now,” Joseph said.

“And if you put some in la pupusa, I hear you grow some brains too,” Maria said, “Probably why your sister is taking the Grandmaster title este ano (this year), that old Hou Yifan could not hold the title any longer, the old bat was born in 1994.”

“Come off it mom, you’re still sore that Yifan checkmated you in twelve moves, when was that again, 2045?” Javier said.

“Esa mujer (that woman) had simply memorized Zukertort vs. Andersen, el ano de 1865. There was no thinking involved, I expect Reina to avenge me!” Maria cried, then regaining her temper, “¿Y … donde esta Reina? (And … Where is Reina?),” Maria asked sharply.

“Well I understand that …” said Gramps, “She took off down market road with Roja a few hours before sundown --- said she was changing his horseshoes for the Belmont Stakes. She wants to get a quality job before race, highest quality rubber, Malaysian rubber I believe.” Gramps took a shot of whiskey, and then continued, “You know, they used to have those races back in June when I was growing up, too bad global temperatures have made the summer unbearable now, imagine living in the City?”

“No,” said Jim, “It’s dreadful even going there once a year for Election Day.”

“Mhmm, I still remember when my grandfather took me to the World Trade Center, the Twin Towers,” said Gramps. “I was eight years old the last time I went, 1998, yeah I remember that. Looking down from observation deck, the cars appearing no larger than pinpricks …” continuing to ramble under his breathe.

“Como un libro de historia (like a history book) ---” Maria said.

“I heard that!” Gramps said over the chatter.

Around eight o’clock, Jim and the boys headed toward the station, Gramps was driving. Javier had agreed to stay with Gramps to load the truck from the warehouse. Reina still hadn’t returned from town yet, Jim was getting anxious. The boys told him not to worry, that she probably had a ‘boyfriend’ in the village from school.

Their work was tedious, Fred and Jamal labored through the brunt of it. When the train arrived though, it was well worth the effort, everything was neat and tidy, ready to be placed aboard. Jim tipped the conductor five silver Dymes to help Gramps with the jack. The boys had no problem tossing the frozen pumpkins aboard, and they all worked together in order to free the milk tank from the tilted skid, with only a few quarts having leaked out from the commotion.

“Well no use crying over spilt milk,” said the conductor, mopping up the milk from the train floor. “I’ll see you men next Friday … seriously, since when do they send us out on Wednesdays?”

“Times are getting rough, I doubt this will be the last schedule disturbance this quarter,” said Jim.

“Aye, they’ve been having me go nearly four hundred miles an hour … daily … supplies and ammunition are either being used up by the Feds, or stolen by the Rebs,” the conductor said, “And I fear they might start hijacking the trains themselves, once the Rebs figure out how to hack into the rail system,” he finished fearfully.

“Well you just keep out of trouble if that happens Jake, you’re a fine a conductor. Keep your head low, and meet their demands, the Rebs don’t harm civilians if they can help it,” Gramps said wisely.

“Aight, well, I’ll be seeing you gentlemen,” he said, hoping aboard and closing the freight door.

The train started to accelerate as they got back in the truck. Tomorrow they would have collect and burn the cow flop, and hide the livestock, there was no telling how early the Feds would come, although he doubted they would come tomorrow or the day after, still, he couldn’t take any chances.

“Fred, Jamal, you’re car pooling with my boys tonight, correct?” Jim asked,

“Yeah boss, we got to get there before one, or the good ones will be taken.” Fred said earnestly.

“Right, Dad and I will get off at the house then,” replied Jim.

“Let’s put this old piece of junk to the test,” Gramps said, smashing the accelerator back home.

 

[LoneLaugher]

Don't quit your day job.