(YAY Chapter 1!)
Chapter 1: Into New Mexico
The sky gradually changed hues as Vivian Freedman drummed the surface of the steering wheel with her thumbs. Her feet were tapping rapidly in anxiety. The line for entering New Mexico’s state borders was surprisingly long. She didn’t really know where people thought they were going – people like her. The length was probably more of an illusion anyway. Most people had fled to small towns, and even crossed the border into Mexico. The only reason for the long line was the new bureaucracy involved in travel by car. Two years earlier, a person simply drove from one city to another, perhaps running into a scarce toll booth. Now, military controlled “safety booths” crowded the boundaries of every major city or state line. Because of this, it took her an extra day just to cross the state of Texas. For once, she had been happy to see the void of city life in between San Antonio and El Paso. Joy overfilled her when she thought of the long, uninterrupted roads in New Mexico and Arizona. The small towns in between consisted of few soldiers and law officials to heckle her. Instead, they were filled with the city-dwellers who quickly fled their homes when the government declared martial law, and the military converted cities into huge domes of insecurity and anxiety.
The catalyst that changed American life occurred eight short months before. July 4, 2016 would be the most memorable Independence Day in Vivian’s life. The president’s life had been cut short by a bullet. She still didn’t understand how it happened. The president had heightened security around him at all times, and because of the subconscious fear of terrorism that continued to live in the United States, no one doubted high security. This was especially true of the president, who had become increasingly paranoid in the eyes of the media. She still didn’t understand how it could happen. There were no video clips of the shooting, no dramatic, gut-wrenching visual evidence like John F. Kennedy’s assassination. There was just the highly publicized video and photos of the president’s body lying humbly in an open casket for all to see. Vivian was repulsed by the disrespect she found from her fellow countrymen that week. Videos and photos of the dead president floated around the internet, followed by an abundance of disgusting comments. Perhaps she had been naïve, or maybe she had become so involved in college life that she simply could not see how infatuated the world had become with seeing other people’s suffering.
Upon the president’s untimely end, the vice-president quickly claimed his new position of power. It took months for the government to come up with an adequate suspect for the assassination. During October, the new president’s administration announced that the prime suspect was a group of “domestic terrorists” who lived and thrived in the country. Media sensationalism over U.S relations between Russia and China promptly ceased and turned its attention homeward. Newspapers had officially gone out of fashion in 2010, and thus the internet was the main source of the news. There was speculation of “whodunit,” “who’s next,” “it could be your neighbor for all we know.” People became suspicious of everyone. So suspicious, in fact, that there was little outcry when the government announced an increase in the presence of the military in cities nation-wide. There was an influx of registration into the National Guard, the Army Reserves, and the newly created Civilian Security Services. Within weeks, the president announced the rapid withdrawal of troops from Iran and signed a peace treaty with the country.
Amazingly, the American people were so moved by the events of 2016, including the reaction to monstrous natural disasters and a long-awaited peace treaty with the Middle East, they voted the new president for another term. As vice-president, his superior was campaigning for a second term with low approval ratings. It was unlikely he would win the November elections. But after he died, the vice-president swiftly took over campaigning. The first Hundred Days in his first official term would be unforgettable. He declared martial law on the country, claiming that citizens were prone to attacks by these “domestic terrorists.” Safety booths were set up along the boundaries of all major cities and all state-lines. The security in airports, which no one thought could become any tighter, “improved” as well.
The strongest of those who rejected the President’s new policies fell away from publicity within time. The media underwent drastic change. Vivian noticed a strong decline in provocative speech from big media corporations, and many of the more liberal stations became less and less argumentative.
The last time Vivian spoke to her family in Las Vegas was in December. By that time, Las Vegas was one of the key cities suspected of harboring “domestic terrorists.” It was customary for her to return to her father’s house during Christmas. Yet, the new bureaucracy made it difficult for anyone to travel by air. Airline tickets doubled in price, and driving was simply out of the question. As imagined, this impacted the tourist economy of Las Vegas, and in time the economy of the city would collapse completely. Her father owned a small automobile repair shop that practically went down in flames once people began to either leave Las Vegas or hide their money. Nonetheless, her father had always been optimistic about the life in general. He lived adventurously and spontaneously, much to Vivian’s fear. When she called him during Christmas, he assured her that these times would pass soon. But he also mentioned moving to his new wife’s hometown in New England, since working in Las Vegas was no longer a viable option. He still had three children living with him, and it was his and Vivian’s step-mother’s ultimate goal to provide a nurturing home for them.
Her brother, Brian, remained skeptical as always. She spoke to him for only a moment during Christmas. From their short conversation, she could sense his dismay that his privacy was beginning to wither in the wake of the new administration, that he could no longer sustain himself with one job, and that his girlfriend’s family had fled and she along with them. Clearly he had abandoned hope that night, because he was very much wasted by the time Vivian had called him.
As she waited for the line of cars to move on, Vivian regretted the choices she had made. She and her brother never had an optimal relationship, they were never quite best friends, but they still looked out for each other and cared for one another. They looked alike, having brown-colored hair and eyes, the same nose and embarrassing bushy eyebrows. They were both short for their age and sex, with Brian standing a few inches taller than Vivian. Both required glasses or contacts, but her eyes were much worse than her brother’s. Both had perfectly aligned teeth and never needed braces or had cavities. Still, Vivian had always been rather jealous because Brian had whiter teeth than she did, yet he drank and ate more teeth staining foods. He had a stout figure and thin lips like their mother, while she had a leaner figure and fuller lips like their father. His face was etched with acne scars while hers remained feminine, and soft. Usually, Vivian forgave but never forgot while Brian forgot but never forgave. She often held grudges for extreme amounts of time; when disheartened by Brian’s actions, she would tell him that she still owed him one for him peeing on her when they were children. Even though he would comeback with “that was ages ago” she saw the act of peeing on someone extremely vile. She never forgot it. Finally, she decided that she could now justify herself by gloating that she graduated college before him, even though he was older.
When Vivian decided to move to Texas with their estranged mother, citing that Texas educational facilities were much better, her relationship with her family had waned. She no longer spoke to them every night or ate dinner with them, or argued with her little brother and sisters. She mainly stayed in touch in the virtual world, watching over them on their internet profile pages like Tagged.com, or on their video blogs on Youtube. It was strange having a virtual relationship with her family, but she also realized that her generation grew up in an extremely anti-social, virtual world.
This virtual relationship ended suddenly when the government began censoring the internet. Everyone was watched when they entered anything in a search box. Youtube added a new rule to their policies claiming that any video containing anti-government material would be promptly deleted. Any other videos with unsuitable material would be scrutinized under the Moderators Court and deleted if thought needed. Because of this, Vivian had not heard from her family since that last call in December.
There were two cars ahead of Vivian. The sky had already dulled into blackness. She turned off her MP3 player hooked into her car stereo. A man in uniform motioned for her to move forward before having her halt a few feet away from the car in front of her. One car away. It took her a few moments to remember that her camera was still plugged into her battery charger.
“Oh damn,” she hissed as she quickly bent over to unplug it. She looked up to see the same man walking towards her car. Panicked, Vivian bent down over the passenger’s seat and slid her camera under it, then quickly grabbed her cell phone and plugged into the charger instead. Just as she did so, the man knocked on her window. She brushed her hair out of her mouth as she turned to look at him through the window. She pressed the button in her central panal that rolled down the window, but was careful to roll it down only half way. The exhaust polluted air almost shocked her as it ransacked the insides of her car. The man flashed his light in her eyes, causing her to squint a little. She didn’t know why they did that, but felt it was more psychological than anything.
The man’s uniform was completely black. The only differing color were the white words “CSS Inspector Special Class” that emanated from just above a buttoned pocket on the breast of his jacket. She imagined that the words “Civilian Security Service” were embroidered on the back of his clothing, curving delicately around the presidential emblem, also in white.
Vivian saw his dark eyes move towards her cell phone attached to the battery charger. She held in a nervous breath as he peered back at her.
“Alright miss, you’re going to need to have an ID and insurance out. When you move up, be expected to have your arm scanned for your social security information. All this information is confidential, only for governmental use. Be aware that every time you’re scanned, your location is tracked. Be expected for a quick search of your car if need be. If we do find anything we deem dangerous material, we have every right to confiscate and and or destroy said material. We also have the right to hold you for questioning without the presence of a lawyer, and if we decide you are a danger to this country, we have the right to take the next step in arresting you and sending you to higher authorities. Depending on the situation, you may or may not have the aid of a lawyer as deemed by the law. If you understand and agree to these policies, you may continue past the white line where Inspector Officer Harris will undergo these procedures. Do you understand,” his dark brows furrowed, creating a mass of white crevices in between. He peered at Vivian.
“Are you okay, miss?”
She didn’t realize it, but her eyes had gone wide with surprise. The procedures on the city borders were much different than this, and she had been expecting the same thing. She was reawakened when a chuckle reverberated from his body.
“It’s alright. It seems like a lot, but there’s nothing to worry about. If you don’t have anything to hide, then you shouldn’t worry. If you think you do, I will guide you to the turn around and you can be on your way home,” he told her, maintaining his professional, deep demanding voice.
She paused and looked at him. “No – No I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting that,” she gave a little giggle and smiled. He returned the gesture before looking up at the car in front of her. It vacated the lot slowly, seemingly cautious in its movements.
“Well Inspector Officer Harris is ready for you.” He straightened his posture and stepped away from the car. Vivian let out a deep sigh while putting her car in drive. It glided up slowly as Inspector Officer Harris, dressed in the same garb as the previous official, motioned for her to stop. She did so and put the car in park, rolled down the windows, and turned off the engine. Once again, the officer flashed a light in her eyes.
“Do you have your ID and insurance?” She nodded nervously and began fumbling into her small purse, followed by the glove box, to present the desired documents. He looked at them with his flashlight for a little while, before peering at her. He looked up and nodded to one of his assistants to come over. There were at least five other people in the little lot where the search and scrutinizing was done. All of them had guns. This one just happened to be a woman, who had dark skin, eyes and hair. Her hair was pulled up in a dark bun so tight that Vivian swore she could see the lids of her eyes stretching. As the woman walked up to the car, her lips pursed.
“Please stick out your right arm so that I can scan for your SSN,” she demanded. Vivian did so, turning her body to the window to show her arm. The woman took out a device about the length of a long lip gloss tube and the width or stack of 52 poker cards. A dark blue light ignited one end of the device, while a handle burgeoned out from the other side. The woman took hold of the handle and pulled in a small trigger. The blue light strengthened as it ran along the upper part of Vivian’s right arm, gliding from the tip of her wrist all the way to the indent of her elbow. It beeped incessantly as the woman continued. When she was done, she looked at the upper part of it where a lightly lit monitor exposed Vivian’s numerical identity. It also showed whether she had been convicted or sentenced of anything, if the government deemed her dangerous, or if she was associated with any known “domestic terrorist” groups. Inspector Officer Harris handed the woman Vivian’s ID and insurance. She compared the information.
“Her info’s clean,” the woman told her superior. The inspector nodded and handed Vivian her documents. She took them gladly while rubbing her right arm.
“Where are you headed Ms. Freedman?” he pressed his hand on the car’s windowsill and looked down at her.
“Las Vegas,” she replied quietly.
“Las Vegas? You know that it’s an area suspected of internal terrorist activity.”
“I know that,” her voice came out more commanding than she wanted it to. “My family livs there, and I haven’t heard from them in months.”
He seemed to jeer at her for a moment.
“Well, there’s a gas station up ahead. Be sure you fill up and get plenty of food. There are rebels scattered all across the highways, though. You sure you can handle it?” His smile irked her.
“I’m sure I’ll find a way,” she responded coolly to his insinuations. Inspector Officer Harris let air from his nose in what Vivian thought was a laugh.
“Fine then, Ms. Freedman. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You can pass.”
“But sir,” the female assistant argued, “Shouldn’t we check her car?”
“Heh, she’s dead meat anyway.”
Vivian’s eyes slinked at his speculations. As she continued to glare him down, she turned on her engine and put her car in drive. The yellow and black-striped bar in front of her began to lift up as the four CSS officers, holding their guns, moved out of the way for her to pass. She rolled up her windows as she looked ahead of her and crossed the line into New Mexico.
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