Free Betrayal: Society Lost, Volume Two by Steven Bird Page A

food, water, and medical care. He would then set up ambushes on the main migration routes outside of town to steal from those seeking refuge. After that ruse had begun to bring results, he got the town’s old AM radio station up and running and began transmitting at a low power setting on AM as well. He wanted to attract people, but not too many to be able to deal with.”
    “Why the hell would he do that?” Jessie snarled. “Let’s back up. Start from the beginning. Tell me the whole story, starting with your name.”
    “My name is Toby Robertson. Most people call me T. R.,” the man said as he began to explain. “When the attacks began, I was a hydraulics tech at a local heavy equipment shop. You know, dozers, loaders, graders, and such.”
    Nodding in reply, Jessie said, “Go on.”
    “When the attacks began, being a small town in the middle of the desert, we were sheltered from most of what was going on. We were small fish to the terrorists and their allies, I guess. But when the federal government abandoned the border and redirected the USBP personnel to protect political interests, the cartels south of the border, who we later found out were in cahoots with the Islamic extremists and everyone else who seemed to be in on it, seized the opportunity to rush in and take over. Sheriff Whitaker, the De Baca County Sheriff at the time, was killed in front of his home, beheaded, and impaled on his own flagpole to send a message to whoever would seek to replace him. The corpse and the blood-covered upside-down flag sent a pretty strong message at that.”
    Pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts and to shake off some of his more haunting memories, he continued, “The chief of police at the time, Chief Vasquez, was a good man. He and the mayor set up a defensive perimeter around the town and enlisted the help of many of the local able-bodied men to try and keep the cartels away. It was a pretty violent time, to say the least. Our guys were getting picked off and ambushed left and right. Then one night, both the mayor and Chief Vasquez were murdered, their homes burned, and their families taken.”
    “What became of their families?” Jessie asked.
    “We don’t have a clue. We never saw them again. That’s when Lieutenant Peronne stepped up and declared himself the interim chief of police. He promised we would hold an election for a new mayor, who would then appoint a permanent chief of police as soon as things stabilized. To date, that simply hasn’t happened.”
    In an inquisitive tone, Jessie asked, “The election hasn’t happened, or things becoming stabilized hasn’t happened?”
    “The election. Well, both, really. As soon as Peronne took over, the cartels backed off, and things settled down. For about a month things started to seem like they would be okay. I joined the Fort Sumner Municipal Police because, at the time, it not only seemed like the right thing to do, it was the only thing to do. The shop I worked at closed its doors, like most businesses, so I had nowhere else to turn. As a police officer, I would at least always have a roof over my head and food on my plate. It seemed like the only sure thing.”
    Pausing to collect his thoughts, T. R. continued, “It wasn’t long after that, though, that I began to realize why the cartels had backed off. It wasn’t because Peronne was doing such a good job of keeping us safe, it was because he and the cartels had an understanding of sorts. You see, with the collapse of paper currency, and electronic financial instruments as the nation and world around us spiraled out of control, the cartels found themselves in the same dilemma as everyone else. Money, unless it was precious metals, was simply no good. People wanted to trade real assets that they could use to survive. Food, fuel, supplies, guns, ammunition, all became the new money. And if you were on the wrong side of humanity, as many were, women and children, especially little girls, also became