Exiled Omnibus
Authors: James Hunt
Copyright 2015 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.
Table of Contents
Exiled the Beginning: Click Here
Congressman Jones stood in the back corner of the Oval Office, watching the television crew set up the camera for the president's address. His curled smile had seemed permanently glued to his face ever since his legislation made it through earlier in the day.
Jones had conceived Bill HR 395150 more than four years ago, but it had been too radical to introduce then, so he waited. Patiently. The crisis with the Colorado River running dry was the perfect platform to launch it. Everything was starting to line up.
The bill represented the first step toward his ultimate goal. The puppets around him had no idea of its underlying purpose. All it represented to them was a way to save their own skins.
Standing there in the Oval Office, the most powerful room in the world, he felt invincible. Nothing could stop him now. Not armies or nations or politicians. No one.
The lights flashed on as the president entered, surrounded by his advisers, on the opposite side of the room from where Jones stood. He made his way around, shaking hands, thanking some key Capitol Hill constituents, until finally he was face to face with Jones.
“Congressman Jones,” the president said, extending his hand.
“Sir.”
“I think we all owe you a debt of gratitude for saving this country. Your timely action and political reach have ensured our nation will survive.”
“It was an honor to provide our people with resolution in this time of crisis, sir.”
The president leaned in to Jones’s ear. He kept his voice low. “What about our little problem of the troops that stayed behind? I heard there was some conflict?”
“We ran into a few issues, but I’m working on cleaning that up.”
The president leaned back and patted Jones on the shoulder wholeheartedly, like he’d just heard a good joke.
“Why don't you join me during the address? Tammy, you think we can find a spot up there for the Congressman?”
“Of course, Mr. President,” Tammy said.
The heat under the lamps was intense. The sweat beading on Jones’s forehead caused him to wipe it repeatedly, which reminded him of the sweltering, humid summers in Alabama. The sun would scorch him every day during his chores on the farm. He detested the heat, along with the town.
But that small rural community where he had grown up no longer existed. A sign of the times and dwindling resources, and also his sway with the resource committee to pull the town's funding.
Tammy switched a few of the men and women around the president to ensure a well-balanced picture. There was a perfect blend of conservatives and liberals—Republicans and Democrats—behind the president.
Jones knew why. His bill changed the structure of the country. It was a radical move. One that required the American people to know that the different sectors of government stood united behind the new piece of legislation.
Of course, it had to be faces the people could recognize and trust. There was Jones, a twelve-term congressman from the heart of the nation's south, who had worked his way to the top; Congresswoman Ford from Ohio, who had dedicated her life to the continued advancement of women’s rights; Attorney General Marcus Cobb, who was a vocal advocate of the American people's civil rights (as long as it didn't interfere with his delicate network of politicians and big business); Vice President Johnson, who made sure to attend church every Sunday; and Senator Harris, who was the self-made billionaire turned public servant.
The perfectly orchestrated crowd was set to ease the nation's worries. Jones knew the dangers ahead, but people cowered at the sight of their own shadows these days. And those cowering figures gave him confidence.
People could talk about their values and beliefs until they were blue in the face, but the fact was that when push came to shove, people would save themselves over others—the powerful “public servant” crowd around him not excluded. The allure of lavish lifestyles and power had them all intoxicated. Jones only needed to push a little further.
“Mr. President, we're live in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five,” the camera man said then extended his fingers in the air to continue the countdown silently.
Once the cameraman's finger hit one, he pointed to the president, and Jones watched the small red dot on the camera flick on, signaling they were live on air.
***
White molding cut through the small spaces between the yellow kitchen tile that peppered the wall under the cabinets and around the sink. Ms. Fletcher turned the faucet on and watched the usage meter above the sink count the volume of water pouring into her glass. Once the gauge read eight ounces, she shut it off. The system automatically updated, registering the gallons of water she had left based off her weekly rations. She fanned herself and pressed the side of the glass to her head, attempting to cool the beads of sweat forming on her temple.
A solid ring of sweat circled the top of her blouse, and she tried peeling the clinging fabric off her as she walked to the living room. She passed the thermostat on her way out of the kitchen and only briefly glanced at the one-hundred-and-one-degree temperature.
When Ms. Fletcher turned on the television, the signal was scrambled. None of the channels worked. It had been like that since the declaration of martial law earlier in the day when reports of the Colorado River crisis surfaced.
The elementary school she worked at was a madhouse after the announcement. Parents demanded to pull their children, even though the authorities told them that help and answers would arrive before the end of the day.
And from what Ms. Fletcher could tell, that was true. On her way home from school that afternoon, she could see the heightened police presence in the area, which she was thankful for after witnessing the mess she’d had to deal with at work.
People were overreacting. They were letting fear get the better of them. She knew there was a process in which these things happened and had faith in her government to fix the problem. She repeated her assurances to herself every few minutes to ease her ever-increasing nerves.
Ms. Fletcher reclined in her flower-printed armchair and picked up a worn paperback book from the stand next to her. The living room around her, like the rest of the house, was modest. However, since she was a teacher for the public school board, she was allowed more rations than other citizens. She would have liked a better neighborhood in San Diego, but it could have been worse.
As she flipped through the pages of her novel, the television descrambled, and the image of the president, surrounded by politicians, appeared on the screen.
“My fellow Americans, I speak to you this evening with a heavy heart. Earlier today I informed the nation about the continuing water crisis in the Southwest. Reports confirmed that the Colorado Basin, which provides fresh water to most of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado, had finally run dry. All of my attention today has been directed toward coming up with solutions that benefit not just the Southwest, but the entire country.”
Ms. Fletcher snapped the book shut. She turned her reading lamp off, casting the living room into darkness. The glow of the television illuminated her apprehensive expression at hearing the president's words.
“Upon hearing the news of civil unrest in the Southwest, I deployed forces to major cities, establishing martial law to insure that civility and order were maintained during this difficult time. However, the Southwest isn't the only portion of the country suffering from water shortages. The natural resources of our nation are dwindling drastically. It is because of this that Congress proposed a new but radical bill to ensure our great nation continues to survive.”
It was probably nothing more than further restrictions, but Ms. Fletcher wondered where they would pull the water resources from. Northern California must still have some water reserves coming from the Northwest.
“The states of California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico are henceforth no longer a part of the United States of America. The new western border of the United States will run along the current borders of Texas, Oklahoma, Colorado, and Wyoming then run up into Idaho and Oregon. All authorities have been notified of this bill, which was passed in both the House and the Senate, and which I signed into law just moments ago.”
The book fell from Ms. Fletcher's lap and onto the floor as she rose from her chair. She shuffled forward in shock from what the president had just said. The president she had voted for.
“Patrols have already begun along the border, and any man, woman, or child from these former states that tries to cross into the United States will be considered an illegal immigrant and deported back across our western border. Furthermore, any citizens within our new borders that try and traffic any man, woman, or child from these now-banned territories will be punished to the full extent of the law.”
This can’t be happening. They can’t do this. This isn’t right. This isn’t legal. This isn’t fair!
“This was not an easy decision to arrive at, but sometimes the hardest decisions are the ones we must make. To all the former citizens remaining in the Southwest, remember that you hold your destiny in your own hands. I know that you will find the courage and ingenuity to live on. Form your own legislation and laws, but above all, keep each other safe. God bless us, and God bless the new United States of America.”
The president's image remained on the screen for a few more moments then disappeared. The scrambled lines returned.
Ms. Fletcher stood there slack jawed. Her silhouette was barely visible in the darkness of the living room. Then, outside her window, somewhere in the night, gunshots sounded. She clutched her chest, startled at the foreign noise.
She withdrew further into the darkness of her house.
They can’t just abandon us like this, could they? There must be someone doing something right now to fix it, right?
More gunshots fired outside. She backed into the wall of her living room. Her fingers clawed at the plaster behind her. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. The government was supposed to help her in times of crisis. It was their duty. It was their job.