James Rawles - Liberators

“Do you think that we can really make it all the way to Idaho?” Megan asked.

“No, I don’t. At one time, Ken even got me on a three-way Skype call with this Todd guy. I was rather incredulous, his screen name was ‘End of Beans,’ and he didn’t use the camera. Ken later told me that it was a play on the phrase ‘The end of the world as we know it’ except that Todd was an accountant so I guess he managed to merge all that weirdness into one tidy screen name.

“Todd wanted me to sign up for the mutual assistance group package and was even willing to have Terry send me a buying list of where to start based solely on Ken’s recommendation and that he knew that I was a cop. I politely thanked him and said that I had a lot of years of service in and that I was going to stick it out here in Maryland at least until I retired. With all of the redundancy built into the government, we should fare better than everyone. That was my thinking then, but today is a different day.”

“The suspense is killing me here. Where are we going?”

Joshua took a long drink from his stainless steel REI bottle, offered some to Megan, and said, “Dustin invited me to a picnic.”

“You quit your job to attend a picnic?”

“Dustin, who is of the same mind as Ken, called me last night and wanted to catch up since the last time we talked a month or two ago. He asked me about you.”

“ Moi? ”

“I told him that I was falling in love with you. He said that if the situation ever worsened—how does he put it?—‘When the Schumer hits the fan,’ that I should proceed directly to his house for the picnic, and that I should bring you with me as my wife. The implied task is to ‘ Get here, Wingnut!’ ” Joshua smiled as he retold the story. “He sometimes adds ‘Wingnut’ to the end of the sentence to tease me about not joining another branch of the military.

“After Ken’s text messages and Dustin’s call last night, I packed that footlocker you see in the backseat, just in case. All I have at my apartment is my music stuff, a crossbow, a used couch, some thrift store kitchen stuff, and my laptop. I’m not a materialistic person, except for my Jeep. I just can’t live without you, Megan; I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Well, whisking me away out of the belly of the beast was a good start.”

“So, here’s the turnoff to cross the Potomac—whoa, that’s a lot of flashing strobe lights up there! I wonder what that’s all about.” Joshua reflexively reached for his holstered pistol, but he remembered that he had turned in his issued pistol and that his personal one was in the footlocker behind them.

Joshua was still wearing his NSA police uniform and he silently prayed that he would have favor with this checkpoint. Families with overloaded cars trying to get somewhere were unpacking all of their belongings on the side of the road for police dogs to sniff and rubber-gloved personnel from the Department of Homeland Security “Field Operations” to go through.

“Megan, go ahead and get your ID out. And keep that AR-7 wrapped up. The laws about even having a gun in your car in Maryland are not Second Amendment friendly.”

After half an hour, Joshua inched up to the Maryland state trooper and the Frederick County policemen who were conducting the checkpoint.

The young trooper said to Joshua, “Identification, please. Where are you going?”

Joshua did all of the talking. “I am taking my fiancée here back home to West Virginia.”

“You’re not from West Virginia, Officer Kim?”

“No, sir, I live in Howard County, but I’d like to think I could live out this way one day.”

Reciting as if he’d said it many times before, the trooper said, “Any of the following are declared contraband as of 2:00 P.M. EST by order of Governor O’Malley: magazines of any caliber that can hold eleven or more rounds; any physical gold, silver, or platinum not in worn jewelry form; any cash in excess of fifty-five hundred dollars, or durable goods of that same amount. Do you have any of those items?”

“No.”

“Just that footlocker with you is all?”

“Roger that.”

“Here are your IDs, have a good night.”

The Maryland state trooper thought it odd that Joshua would be this far from NSA, but ultimately it was Megan’s West Virginia driver’s license that got them through the checkpoint. Joshua didn’t ask what the situation was, and the trooper didn’t tell him anything except that it was “Just a precaution, on orders from the governor’s office.”

“Well, it appears that you successfully just emigrated out of the People’s Republic of Maryland, Officer Kim.”

“Better a year early than a day late.” Joshua sighed.

They arrived at Megan’s house an hour later, just before dinner.

None of the roads they traversed from the Maryland checkpoint to Megan’s house were unfamiliar, but the collective sense of urgency and uncertainty was very high between them. They listened to the radio and said little, except for what the immediate actions would be when they arrived at the homestead. Joshua pulled in the driveway and Megan hopped out of the Jeep. After he triple-checked his mirrors to make sure that there were no kids behind him, Joshua instinctively backed up the Jeep toward the house. He opened all the doors and the hood (Malorie would likely want to inspect the Jeep from headlight to taillight), grabbed his footlocker, and headed into the house.

Malorie and Megan had already made most of the arrangements for a quick exodus in the weeks before. Since their original plan was to head to Maine, they intended to pack the Honda Accord’s trunk very lightly. That afternoon, Megan had called Malorie before leaving her office to say, “ Malorie, il est temps. Je serai à la maison bientôt. Je t’aime .”

After she had hung up the phone with Megan, Malorie acted immediately and called the nearest neighbor with a homestead up the road. She offered them all of the livestock to raise or slaughter as they wished, including the fifteen laying hens they had. Malorie also said that whatever was still in the house after twenty-four hours was theirs to take. Malorie had the boys’ items packed and both of their bug-out bags ready by the door.

When Megan walked in she saw the boys prone on the floor zooming their cars back and forth in what looked to be the most intense race in the history of mankind’s pursuit of speed. She got down on her hands and knees to kiss them, while they stayed fixated on their race. With all of the pending turmoil, it was nice to know that they still thought that everything was normal. Malorie was in the kitchen making dinner when she looked up and caught her sister’s eyes. They didn’t need to say anything, for they were in lockstep already. They exchanged a quick hug and continued working.

Joshua came through the front door, set down the footlocker, and joined the race with the boys for a few minutes before helping Malorie get dinner on the table. Dinner was solemn. Not a whole lot was said in front of the boys about what would be happening in the next few hours. Megan bathed the boys while Joshua did the dishes and helped clean up from dinner.

Malorie had gone into the basement to dig out one of Eric’s old large-framed backpacks. “I assume that is for me?” Joshua asked as he moved from the kitchen to the dining room, where Malorie was laying out the contents of her bug-out bag.