Twin Paradox_Book Two Page 2

  For her controversial report back in 2076, only fifty-eight years after this terrible disaster, Cory Redmann interviewed many people throughout both the former United States and Canada who’d seen it occur firsthand. Mere children at the time, many recalled the horrors of those first few months when desperate neighbors and families found themselves unable to feed their children, unable to travel, unable to work, and unable to get cash from the bank to buy groceries, gasoline, or pay their utilities. There were power outages, sometimes for days at a time, and people resorted to heating their homes with wood-burning stoves or fireplaces (often devising makeshift furnaces out of fifty-five gallon drums and cutting holes in their walls to attach a chimney).

  That winter families moved out of bedrooms into the only room in the house that had heat. Faulty craftsmanship often led to smoke inhalation or fires, which broke out in neighborhoods quite commonly during those times. Death was so prevalent, entire families were sometimes killed accidentally then buried in their own backyard only to have their homes looted for food and firewood by opportunistic neighbors. Nevertheless, acts of heroism and selfless compassion were just as commonplace as cruelty and brutality. North Americans banded together when and wherever they could to survive.

  Determined suburbanites rallied to defend their communities. Bartering for goods and services replaced cash transactions. Most stores and shopping centers were shuttered by March of that year anyway, yet citizens found other ways to survive. Abandoned vehicles would be pushed or rolled into the street to be turned onto their sides to form six-foot high barricades to keep out raiders as they became called. These roving bands of outlaws and thugs preyed upon defenseless neighborhoods and often relied on stolen bicycles for transportation unless they could find a car with a little gas in the tank.

  Communities no longer capable of relying on law enforcement patrolled their own streets and hastily developed systems for citizen defense to catch raiders thieving in the night, often lynching them from electrical poles as a warning to other would-be trespassers. The crisis brought out both the best and worst in folks, driving desperate, hungry people to create whatever mayhem or ingenious solutions necessary to make it through another long, cold night.

  Police were both ineffective and largely unavailable during that bitterly cold winter. Gasoline could not be shipped without providing armed escorts because gangs of raiders were soon attacking tank trucks in an effort to capture fuel supplies for trade on the black market. Police cruisers could no longer get gasoline, and besides, the police officers employed by cities and towns soon felt compelled to take their firearms and return to their home communities to protect their families. The National Guard and returning American military summoned from bases overseas weren’t much help either.

  As Cory learned from survivors who’d been in their teens at the time, the government prioritized military assets for quelling urban unrest, seeking to contain the mean streets of American cities before venturing into the countryside to reestablish order. But it was even more deadly and desperate than just patrolling city thoroughfares and displaying force to discourage looting—like in cases of natural disasters affecting only a single major city.

  No, the vaunted U.S. military was quickly embroiled in a battle against its very own citizenry—whom commanders felt compelled to cordon off inside their own cities until unrest and rioting had finally died down…essentially sentencing those desperate souls within urban areas to misery and death unless they could somehow find a way to escape before military units completed their encirclement. It was brutal, oh yes, but effective.

  Once a city was deemed a quarantined area as one interviewee described it, there was no longer any way out. “You either joined up with the nearest gang and sought their protection,” as one haggard old man said in his interview, “or boarded up inside your home each night and prayed for morning.” He then went on to describe in graphic detail venturing out in the early morning with his father, stepping over dead bodies in the street to forage for food.

  “Even the comin’ of springtime ’n warmer temperatures provided little in the way of relief,” he went on to say. “Epidemic came next. Hundreds of thousands died. Dead folks ever-where. I’m an old man now…still have nightmares ’bout it.”

  They perished from outbreaks of cryptosporidium, a parasitic disease that causes dehydration, fever, stomach cramps, and diarrhea. Millions became ill from contaminated water fed from abandoned treatment plants; and when thousands began dying, people soon began hoarding bottled water, and trading it for goods and services just like currency. In major cities which had to be quarantined due to the outbreak, this ironically became yet another way to restore order as those foolish enough to consume tap water months after the contaminations occurred fell ill to the disease and either died or became bedridden due to its effects. Cities became like ghost towns, practically post-apocalyptic in many ways, leaving them paralyzed so that military units could finally move in and suppress the last of the gangs and raider bands who controlled the streets and burrows.

  Only by June of 2028 did the worst of the disaster seem to be subsiding. The military were finally able to leave major urban areas and establish order out in the suburbs and small towns around the country. Estimates of the dead and injured or permanently maimed were never released by the government of course, but most who’d survived it would claim years later, as Cory found, that the numbers were likely over a million people wiped out by the months-long debacle. And when it all came to an end—when order was finally restored—what was left of the once-great nation called the United States, slowly began to crawl out of its six-month nightmare into a world that no longer viewed it as influential or even relevant.

  Indeed, 2028 would always be remembered as the year the world’s mightiest democracy finally fell. The Glory Days of the USA had all but come to an end.

  Chapter 2

  A New World Order

  In the second part of Cory Redmann’s five-part series, she delved deeply into the aftermath of the financial debacle which saw the implosion of America’s economy and the destruction of its proud society. True, America’s lingering greatness revealed itself in many honorable ways. Citizens banded together and supported one another through times of tremendous upheaval. But the sanitized version detailed in history books approved by government officials didn’t tell the real story that many would now say they still remembered.

  Thousands indeed tried to flee the big cities and make it to the supposed safe-haven of foreign destinations or country estates and summer homes to ride out the crisis. Many remembered the freeways and highways choked with vehicles packed full with provisions and desperate people stuffing wads of cash into pockets, purses, briefcases, or backpacks in hopes of finding a new life elsewhere. Those who owned homes in the suburbs tried desperately to catch trains and subways full of terrified people; or clamored for tickets on jet airliners flying to cities rumored to not yet be consumed by the food riots and rampant looting. Thousands upon thousands tried in fact, but few succeeded.

  “My Daddy picked me up from school one day after the stories got around about the gangs stalking the city,” detailed one elderly lady sitting in her government apartment on a couch with an oxygen tube plugged into her nostrils. “And I remember how worried he was even though he kept trying to reassure me that everything was gonna be alright.”

  As she breathed through her nasal tubes and exhaled rhythmically she added, “And oh yes, he was quite frightened, I could tell. Mommy worked across the city, and typically I’d remain at the school until six in the evening before Mommy would pick me up. Daddy usually didn’t come home from work until seven in the evening, you see?”

  She then remained silent for a moment before Cory Redmann could be heard off camera speaking in a calm voice, urging her to take her time and relax. She took a few deep breaths then continued. “But this day was different, you know? Daddy was right out there in front of the school in his little hybrid electric car waiting for me
, so I thought at first he was knockin’ off work early to take me for ice cream or something. One look in his face told me that was not on the agenda for the afternoon, however. He was in a hurry. Scared about something, I could tell. He waved at me to hurry up and get into the car. ‘We gotta go, honey,’ he hollered out the window to me. Lots of people were there picking up their kids that day, too. People were yelling. I heard folks saying things like, ‘let’s get home, fast’ or ‘we’re leavin’ town right now.’ I thought people might be headin’ out for vacation…wondered if there was some school holiday next day or somethin’.”

  “But it just didn’t feel right, you know?” she added. “Teachers left the school building right along with us and scurried off to their cars in the parking lot to try and get out of there fast as they could. I wasn’t sure just what was going on. Hell, I was only nine at the time...didn’t know I’d never see my teacher, Miss Monica, ever again.”

  At that point, the elderly woman fell silent for several moments while she shifted in her chair to try and get more comfortable before she continued.

  “So, Daddy drove across the city, and let me tell ya’…traffic was terrible. He kept gettin’ frustrated too whenever it’d jam up and we’d get stuck for a while. Tried calling her on his old cell phone—Mommy I mean—but couldn’t get reception. Tried texting her when we’d get stuck in traffic, too, but there’d be no reply for quite a spell, then Mommy would send short messages that Daddy tried telling me were hopeful: like she was waiting for us at her store and looking forward to a nice dinner with us. Things like that. I could sense he wasn’t telling me everything, but I didn’t argue. I was just scared, and didn’t really know why, you see? People and cars were everywhere.”

  The woman then described how when their automobile, after nearly an hour, reached the on-ramp for the highway, they inched along at a snail’s pace for several kilometers to the section of town where her mother ran a small coffee shop. Dad worked for some company in an office building in the city, she explained, but she never fully understood just what he did there—only remembered him from time to time complaining about folks in his department being ‘laid off soon’ and that he ‘might be next, if the company keeps moving its operations out of the country.’ She said they eventually got within a few kilometers of their exit when traffic ground to a halt and some man on the radio news broadcast could be heard warning people to get home and try to “stay off the roads”.

  “Daddy kept muttering, ‘I’m tryin’ to, dammit!’ but then he’d look back at me through the rearview mirror and keep telling me things were gonna be just fine, and not to worry. Being a little girl at the time, I just kept on sayin’, ‘okay, Daddy’.”

  When traffic stopped and remained gridlocked for several minutes—probably half an hour once she really thought about it—that’s when she said she saw men—“scary men”—

  walking along the shoulder of the highway. She also noticed people panicking and leaving their cars to run across the median and cross the highway into nearby neighborhoods. Her father became tense and she could tell he thought they should do the same thing, but likely worried about making a break for it with his little girl in tow. The car was full of blankets, towels, and bags full of warm clothing. Under her feet was a duffel bag. A suitcase was on the floorboard next to her. It looked like the car was packed for a family vacation or something. Nevertheless, all she could focus on was the sight of those frightening looking men—with baseball bats and metal pipes or tire irons—walking toward them. She could see them in the rearview mirror as they approached. There were at least four of them.

  The next thing she remembered was the men passing their car, looking in through the window and pausing for just a brief moment before looking away again then proceeding onto the next group of cars. It was like they were looking for someone, she thought. Her father remained silent and looked straight ahead.

  “I’ll never forget how one of them stared at me blankly, then some guy in the group hollered out about seeing something else that grabbed their attention. Don’t know what he said, really, but the whole gang just moved on up the line to a fancy car ahead of us a little ways, then Daddy started muttering somethin’ I couldn’t understand. Somethin’ ’bout a ‘big Beemer’ ’n ‘Yeah buddy, go on ’n leave us the hell alone’.”

  She then described watching in horror through the windshield as those “angry men” smashed in the windows of the vehicle ahead of them and dragged the driver out onto the road while they ransacked his car. She said she asked her father if they were police or something.

  “I asked Daddy, ‘is that man in trouble?’ and Daddy just turned in his seat and said, ‘no honey, they’re not police…you just look away and try not to worry. They’re looking for money, that’s all. They ain’t gonna bother us I don’t think. Let’s just pray to Jesus that Mommy’s okay and I promise you we’ll find her soon. You’ll see.’ Myself, I remember crying and thinkin’ ’bout Mommy somewhere waitin’ for us and prayed with my hands folded—like I used to do each night at bedtime.”

  In the interview Cory hesitated to ask her the more difficult and obvious question: did they ever find her mother and make it out of the city together? But she never did. At the time Cory was quite overcome by the woman’s sad story. Perhaps ten years later she would have posed that uncomfortable question anyway, in order to satisfy her journalistic curiosity. Then again, maybe not. After all, why ask a sweet little old lady such a thing? She’d said plenty enough already. After that, the woman had little left to add and the interview room fell silent. Cory merely thanked the lady for her candor and bid the cameraman to stop filming as the sad old woman’s eyes teared up remembering the awful scene forty-eight years ago.

  In fact, stories like that abounded wherever she went throughout the northeast as sixty - and even seventy-year-old survivors reluctantly told of what they’d seen, like they were revealing dark secrets from their past which they’d kept hidden from their relatives and grandchildren. Perhaps they didn’t think people would believe them. Cory considered that as a real possibility. Perhaps they didn’t want to rock the boat and seem like they were stirring up controversy. The official stories approved by the new government and taught in schools never detailed such events of course; and many interviewees—they were too proud to admit what they’d seen, and felt more inclined to describe how brave people were and how communities stuck together to help one another.

  “Maybe this was more honorable,” Cory opined in her exposé. Truth be told, pulling skeletons from the closet served no real purpose, in the minds of many survivors. Cory learned this was simply the way of things for the majority of that dying generation of North Americans.

  Yet what Cory did go on to reveal in her report was the embarrassing truth that millions did flee in droves from the cities, and many thousands who knew of the impending disaster in the weeks leading up to the crash merely sought their own survival at the expense of their communities by draining their bank accounts of cash before the banks froze assets. Thousands tried packing suitcases and travel bags with as much cash as they could acquire then scurried to airports or train stations to get out of the city before the rioting and looting grew to epic proportions.

  They knew…many of these people…just what might happen when society came crashing down around them. Law enforcement had no chance of stopping the waves of violence in the streets they could only assume, and when days had passed and people began running out of food, desperate people started behaving like ravenous beasts.

  Airliners flew out of major airports never to return, Cory learned in her investigations, often packed full with relieved passengers trying to reach far-flung destinations. Scenes of people packed around airport ticket counters clamoring for a seat on the last few planes out of town were still vivid in the minds of survivors even to this day. And for the few who made it onboard? Most would never see their homes again. Planes would fly to foreign countries only to find themselves seized by local authorities
and relieved of their cash and valuables the moment they reached the terminal. The crisis was worldwide after all…police and soldiers in other nations had little respect for international law or even ethical behavior once the news of the collapse spread.

  Sadly, no single nation could have risen above this and provided aid to the millions stricken by the crisis going on in nearly every country the world over. Third World countries were affected just as devastatingly as any other. Only isolated communities not reliant on modern technology or electricity felt little in the way of direct consequences. Small towns in the hinterlands of America became highly sought-after destinations for refugees who’d escaped the cities with a handful of belongings. Many simply hiked down interstate highways packed with abandoned cars hoping to find shelter from the cold and perhaps trade away all they had for a hot meal when they arrived in a new town.

  Survivors whom Cory interviewed often described this in their stories too: how endless streams of exhausted people would be seen filing down major roadways, shaking off the cold only to find nothing but a cold gymnasium or community center open to them for the night. Food was often available in those early weeks—from good-hearted souls motivated to assist their fellow man. Yet it was not plentiful and usually of low quality, with nary enough calories to sustain them as they looked for places to stay.

  Churches became safe havens for refugees almost immediately. But with resources strained, and with wary parishioners hesitant to relinquish food stores to the needy as the crisis continued, they could only do so much. Within a few weeks of the crash, even they had to turn away stragglers limping down the highways from major cities which had been overcome by mayhem. So many died that way, of dehydration and hypothermia, but the biggest killer by far was hunger. People simply weren’t in any kind of shape or condition for living like that, walking from town to town begging for food and pleading with overwhelmed suburban homeowners or rural residents for a place to sleep for the night inside from the cold.