Before the end, I had a recurring dream. Invariably, it variably ran like this:
It’s Friday morning. My last surviving sibling, Simon, and I with our guns drawn walk quickly through a gray land in thick gray fog. A giant follows us shouting loud. Others answer in a rising din.
To run is vain. Hiding and waiting cannot work for us. I turn and aim. I shoot a giant’s foot. That slows, not stops him.
Simon turns and runs slightly to his right, firing two rounds, I think wild. I run orthogonal, low and fast. I shoot the giant in the throat. His writhing in anguish is my joy. A giant is down and dying amidst ruins.
Simon is slowing now, sobbing and afraid. I catch and hug him hard. “It’s all right,” I whisper. “Go on and cry. This is only our first combat of the day.”
I tie a long line to him so we’ll not lose each other in the fog. As we move again, the line plays out between us. We range wide and make our way among gray ruins and tangled wires.
Drums begin now. The giants’ catcalls echo. Suddenly the line goes taut.
I hear clear sounds of giants growling near. I tug the line for Simon to come back toward me. When I think the line has run its limit, it ranges far too wide. It strains. The line’s end runs out, lashing through my hand.
I run in the direction Simon is sure to be.
Thunder resounds through the leaden sky. I kneel and grope among broken stones, as the sounds of drums and giants’ shouting rise.
My hand finds Simon spread out on the ground, dismembered: giants’ work. Screams are no remedy. I hide among the stones, waiting.
The giants come. The thunder sounds again. The giants roar. Then, comes the silence of the feast.
That was my recurring dream. Each time I awakened from that horrifying dream in a cold sweat, my mind teeming with a hundred unanswerable questions. The three biggest questions lingered: Who might the giants be? Who was the Simon in my dream? What caused the blasted urban landscape through which we had tried to pass?
My life, not analysis, answered my questions as I watched my dream come to life in American cities after the Great Election. The trouble started long before Election Day. In fact, the writing was on the wall by late September, when the students went out on strike. Activation of concentration camps through Executive Orders caused protests not seen since 1968.
Police were overwhelmed, so governors called in the National Guard. The Federal Government put the military on a war footing within the United States. Rumors circulated about midnight raids, detention and interrogation of protest leaders, and three simultaneous, wanton massacres of students in Berkeley, Madison, and Cambridge.
When investigative reporters printed leaked information about the undesirables who had been targeted for the camps, their incendiary reports were suppressed. In defiance, they uniformly published their reports on the Internet and drew attention to them by Facebook, Twitter, and other social media. Taken away in the middle of the night as prisoners, the reporters had no due process. They were never informed of their rights. They were told they could not retain legal counsel. Leadership focused only on public order. The reign of terror then began, though the elections had not yet happened.
Military and police oppression led to a general uprising across major cities and towns across the country. Mobs freed prisoners from prisons and jails. Angry people in Anonymous masks carried burning effigies of public figures. By torchlight and candlelight, ordinary people paraded through the streets.
Organizers held vigils and teach-ins. All those who had gained much during the last eight years of “misrule” scurried into hiding out of fear for their lives, particularly people of color and the LGBT community. Bolder citizens looted stores, broke glass windows and set buildings afire. They faced withering volleys from vigilantes with hunting rifles.
By the fatal Election Day, the people felt the need to stop the violence. Aged voters turned out to vote en masse, prepared to pull the levers for Law and Order candidates. These voters far outnumbered the newly dead, whose credentials were used by posers and illegal aliens bussed to polls where identification was not required.
The winning party won in a landslide, granting a mandate unknown in American politics. Over seventy senators guaranteed an override of any Presidential veto, and 400 Congresspersons guaranteed the passage of any right-wing agenda. More pertinent, Congress would not override the Presidential use of Executive Orders to rule by decree. Together the Presidency and Congress could gang up against the Judiciary, whose numbers decreased by four Supreme Court Justices.
Not coincidentally, those died in the violence when the election returns showed a clear victory for the right. Since all fifty governors were from the winning party, and a vast majority of mayors were also from that party, the tendrils of what we later called “The Octopus,” extended down to the states and the cities. As power choked the country, Homeland Security forces strengthened the borders. There was no escaping the wrath that was to come.
The names of future victims were already in databases. All the mechanics of enforcement were greased for the day after Inauguration Day. As the people who voted for the losing parties rose up in revolt, the authorities clamped down Marshall Law with curfews across the nation. Shoot-to-kill orders against protesters were taken by vigilantes as hunting permits to settle longstanding scores. Ammunition formerly bought by the opposition party to keep it out of the hands of citizens was now issued to Homeland Security forces to maintain strict control.
The definitive Homeland Security databases were put to use, sorting the people as always, but now with the aim to root out and destroy the opposite party’s apparatus and to silence dissenters. Print newspapers were commandeered to print the new government’s propaganda. Online reporting and social media were allowed to continue to run free, so dissension could be tracked by special teams of trolls, and dealt with summarily by force of arms.
In the run up to Groundhog Day, the concentration camps filled to capacity. Overflow prisoners were sent to football stadiums as holding areas.
The President addressed the nation on February 1 proclaiming that the immediate evil of public misrule had ended. He announced that, for expediency and in view of a clear and present danger, he would rule by decree in anticipation of later Congressional actions. Supporters of his party cheered him on, while provocateurs stirred up the opposition.
The military and police moved in strength to kill or arrest all troublemakers. Because the prisons and jails were already filled to capacity, the President annexed Cuba by Executive Order and shipped excess Islamist prisoners to that island as a temporary measure. So, instead of ridding Cuba of Guantanamo Bay as a holding pen, this administration made the whole island a prison.
Those who were sent to Cuba were the lucky ones. At first, the people were glad to be able to walk the streets without fear of being shot in a crossfire. By spring, they began to realize the horror of their electoral decision. The “usual suspects” were, by then imprisoned or killed. Special categories of people were targeted in new lists of victims. These lists, updated daily, included anyone known to have linked to those already identified as favoring liberal views. Since a great many so-called conservatives had relatives and friends who were not so inclined, fear spread among the rank and file conservatives about their known associates.
As in Nazi Germany, the apparatus of a counter-intelligence state settled over the land like an iron maiden. Children informed on their parents. Sisters informed on their brothers. Grandparents informed on each other. Husbands informed on their wives and vice versa.
The lists of undesirables grew very long. The President created a Czar for Domestic Order to coordinate activities across governmental departments and cut through red tape. The Czar was familiar due to the electoral process. He was depicted as the monster in the film Aliens, a likeness that stuck in the public imagination.
I noticed that all opposition parties had been targeted for exclusion or extermination. Communists, Libertarians, and Democrats alike were blacklisted from work. Independents came next because they never could be trusted. In the end, only people who were registered Republicans could hold a job or drive a car.
The dream of national healthcare became a sinecure for the winning party. All others had to fend for themselves. Entrenched Public Health Service officers were swapped out with idle Republicans with no other means of support. They wore their uniforms proudly and took over the dispensing of medicines in the national stockpile. Their objective was to turn their industry into a profitable enterprise. As a result, prices for medicines quadrupled in six months.
As for border controls, security was never as good as now. Before August of the first year of conservative rule, a twenty-foot wall was begun along the southern border. Where it was originally designed to keep migrants out, its use gravitated toward keeping American citizens inside. Illegal aliens were not deported anymore. They were branded as outlaws and hunted down like animals.
A cost-benefit analysis was conducted approving euthanasia of all illegals, with cremation instead of ordinary burial. Crematoriums worked twenty-four hours a day, and mobile units on the Russian model roamed the country taking care of bodies of suicides and summary executions.
Nothing in the country was cost-free anymore. Libraries, museums, parks and monuments had huge fees. The government sold tickets to every conceivable event. Parades were no exception. The Fourth of July celebration of 2017 was deemed the most profitable single event of the year.
Uniformed officers marched proudly through the cities of America, no longer applauded because the people feared them. In several cities, the parades turned violent. The uniformed marchers carried weapons loaded with live ammunition. They opened fire on the protesters. Fortunately, ambulances and mobile cremation units were standing by to clean up the mess.
I was blissfully ignorant of most of the atrocities until the authorities came for my parents. As the eldest child, I was left to keep the family together until my parents returned. Gregor, my brother, helped me until the authorities came for him. Then, I was alone with the four others. When I asked the authorities when my family members were going to be released from custody, they gave me no satisfactory answers.
They called me a troublemaker for asking impertinent questions. They put my name on a list. I realized that I had to find a way to get my four siblings to safety. Since each state had imposed border controls to confine people of color and Islamists, crossing from one state to another was difficult. I connected with a friend to an underground network of unlabeled citizens, loosely governed by people known as The Group.
Under the care of the network, we managed to reach the state of Maine and ended at a log cabin style resort on a lake across from Canada. In the early morning of the day after our arrival, I awakened to discover my siblings telling an obvious informer what we had managed to do to get clear. I did not wait for the repercussions of this betrayal. Instead, I climbed into a rowboat and rowed to the Canadian shore alone. I knew the Canadians had directives to return American migrants, but I decided to take my chances. I evaded the guards with dogs. I hitchhiked my way to Halifax, Nova Scotia.
At a small restaurant, I witnessed a televised message the American government was sending to the world. Order was the theme: The United States had been saved from certain ruin by degenerate and corrupt political forces for more than twenty years. Draconian measures had been necessary to right the balance of power. The legislation of a generation of lawmakers was now being overturned by daily decrees. Not satisfied with the response times of a sometimes recalcitrant and ungrateful Congress, the President had vacated Congress and made Martial Law the norm.
As I watched the propaganda with disgust and sadness, I was noticed by two members of the American Government in exile. They moved right in when they saw me crying silently.
“We know just how you feel,” the woman said. “It’s all so sad. The question is, what is to be done?”
Her male companion chimed right in, “Come with us and we’ll help you find a way to right the wrongs. We have powerful friends who can help us.”
I answered, “I have just escaped from a nightmare. Do you want to subject me to new horrors? No thanks. I just want to be free.”
They both laughed indulgently as if to a child.
“Come dear,” she said, “you must be joking.”
I stood up from the table and bolted from the restaurant. I thought I heard them laughing at me as if I were the fool. I made my way to the harbor. I thought I would find transportation anywhere in the world from there.
In fact, the harbor was cooperating with the American intelligence agencies. Everyone’s papers were checked against the databases. I would have to be careful about stowing away. As it turned out, a small, rogue craft was making its way to Cuba. It needed a crew member to replace one taken by the American authorities. No questions were asked, so I shipped aboard.
The voyage was long, and we sometimes fished along the way. I got to know the captain, a pirate whose knowledge of the coastal regions was profound. Twice we were boarded by U.S. Coast Guard personnel, who searched the boat from focsle to stern. Fortunately, they did not search the special underwater compartment where I lay hidden. We sailed into Havana Bay, and the captain told me the rules for the island, which was now totally comprised of prisoners.
He laughed when he said I’d be most welcome. My problem would be ever getting off the island again. He bid me farewell and good luck. I jumped to the pier as the fog rolled in and covered the bay. Two beggars found me quickly and stripped me of everything I valued. When they saw I had nothing left, they took me to their lair and fed me like an equal.
“What news do you bring from the mainland?”
“America is a nightmare. That’s why I came here.”
The woman laughed and held her sides. “We know that story well enough.”
“The trouble is,” her consort said, “here it is no different. Stay with us tonight. Tomorrow you’ll see what I mean.”
That night I could not sleep. I tossed and turned. My host and hostess must have thought I was asleep. They whispered, but I heard them.
“What do you think she’ll bring on the street?”
“The question is, how shall we sell her?”
“Let’s try to sell her as a prostitute. If that fails, we’ll sell her as food.”
I heard the determination in their voices. When they went to sleep, I found a sturdy knife. I killed them both, the man and then the woman. She fought back, but I overcame her. Now, I had a hideout earned by blood. I had provisions to last a few days. I thought I had time to consider and plan for my future.
The next morning, I wrapped the two dead bodies in their bedding and ventured into Havana. I wore the clothes of my dead male host. I pushed my hair up under his hat. For effect, I smoked a fat cigar. On the streets, walked people in colorful clothing, but they all had eyes searching for an advantage. This was an island of thieves and worse. I was glad I carried the knife.
Down an alley, I saw two men forcing themselves on a young girl. She was struggling against them. One was holding her down while the other, with his pants down, was preparing to mount her from behind. I had no trouble slashing his throat.
When the other let go of the girl, I plunged my wet knife into his neck. The knife sank to its hilt. The girl was weeping uncontrollably. She was afraid I meant to do her harm. I had some trouble reassuring her, so good was my disguise as a man. Finally, I slapped her hard and told her to follow me if she wanted to remain alive.
We made our way like a couple back to my hideout. There, I revealed to the girl that I was a woman. I showed her the two thieves and traffickers I had killed. I suggested we should steal a boat that night and sail for Haiti. In the meantime, I advised her to rest while I scouted the harbor to find a suitable boat.
I returned that evening, after finding the boat. I told the girl to eat and gather food for our voyage. She trusted me enough by then to tell me her name. She was called Simone.
The fog socked in the harbor when we left the hideout. Still, we had no trouble finding the boat and taking the lines off the bollards. I had learned much about sailing while coming from Halifax. I told Simone what to do, and she complied.
We cleared the harbor and made our way silently to sea, past the U.S. Coast Guard cutters that patrolled the area. I guessed right that the patrols would be looking for boats going north, not south.
We reached Haiti in three days and put ashore at Port au Prince. There, we learned that the Americans had just begun gassing all people on Cuba to clear the way for new profitable investment opportunities.
Clearly, the giants were at work.