The Lazarus Movement

The bright and clear October day could not have been more beautiful.  The sky was the deep signature blue of the autumn dry season in the Kentucky hill country - though there had been plenty of rain so far this season and the “bluegrass” could not have been greener.  The Muscovy ducks that had taken up residence in the pond that supplied water to the cattle were waddling up the gravel driveway on their daily journey to pick up the corn and oats that had fallen from the horses’ mouths onto the cement floor of the two story barn. The morning dew was thick and heavy on the grass and that moisture had soaked through the toes of his heavy leather work boots and made his feet cold, but only for a little while. Soon the sun would beam over the treetops to the east of the house and barns and down on the hayfield that fell away downhill towards the sun rise. The morning dew would lose this battle with every dawn yet never failed to regroup overnight to face a fresh assault at the break of each day.

            He walked along looking down at his dew-wet boots.

            The spring foals of the workhorses, now nearly weaned, followed their massive and muscular mothers on the trail that led from the lower pasture up to the barn for the morning ritual of corn doled out into the grain receptacles, little wooden boxes that adjoined the larger hay boxes along the feeding trough that ran the length of the ten tie stalls. The babies were not admitted to the barn and would call to their mothers for reassurance from the barnyard.

            The cows, bred in early winter, were calving now. It seemed that most mornings at this time of year he was introduced to a new member of the herd by a protective mama cow. The milking stands and cheese making station would be busy.

            Baby chicks destined for spring laying duties could be heard from their brooding boxes on the shelves just off of the milking parlor. He could smell the kerosene from the lamps that were lit to keep the chicks warm as he passed.

            Writers and other city dwellers credit the spring for the buoyant surge of life but the evidence of autumn’s contribution to the mystery abounded here on this ranch. If spring was the time of renewal autumn was the time of preparation and the foundation upon which life’s renewal would be built.

Ezra picked up a clump of earth from the garden in his hand as he walked along the ground where the hayfield and the garden met, turned it over in his hands and sniffed it before returning it to the turf beneath his feet. The smell of organic matter decaying within the damp clump of dirt from the well cared for garden in this autumn season was as familiar and comforting to him as morning coffee is to any commuting office drone.  Ezra had worked the earth here with his bare hands for the past 35 years and would soon return to the earth he had worked so prodigiously himself.

He was dying.

This was no tragedy. No death after the age of 50 is, and he had lived much longer than that. No, tragedy, he thought, was outliving your life. The entire world had learned this brutal truth over the last 30 years.

When The Great Cure had been discovered 30 years prior it had been celebrated the world over at the time as the apex in human progress - but it would come to be a brutal lesson on the phenomenon of unintended consequences and the exclamation point on the saying Be careful what you ask for – you may just get it.

The Great Cure ended the curse of cancer in mankind. In point of fact, The Great Cure had cured most of the deadly diseases caused by the decline in the immune system’s function as a result of age. At the time of The Great Cure’s discovery, people in the West had a life expectancy of roughly 79 years. Today, nearly everyone lived until 115. For some reason still unknown to science few saw their 116th birthday but almost everyone saw 115. The team of researchers, not one of them a physician, that made the discovery were heralded as heroes. Wealth and fame ensued and the Nobel Prize bestowed. The world celebrated life’s cheating of death. Family’s danced with loved ones who were so recently at death’s door and welcomed them back to health and life.  But spring was not meant to be eternal nor summer endless. Autumn and winter and the endless flow of seasons would not be interrupted without cost – a cost humanity could not even begin to imagine during those heady days of The Great Cure. Over the 30 years since The Great Cure the convulsions of its impact on mankind were still reverberating across the planet.  

“The Cure Has Been Found!!!!”  Echoed across the planet on every web site, TV news channel, and radio broadcast. The celebrations seemed endless, but after several years mankind settled down into the new normal where no one seemed to die. Death by accident became even more tragic given that life now seemed so permanent. But nature and politics abhor a vacuum.

The AARP political party seized power from the Democrats and the Freedomcrats (there was a political party called the Republicans but with their insistence upon the rejection of science they simply winked out of existence) as easily as any viral disease invades a willing and defenseless host, multiplying and conquering the host before it understood the threat. It was all just simple mathematics and demographics. The baby boomer generation and their older siblings didn’t die at 79. They all lived to be 115. Within a generation the average age of the people living in the United States and the industrial West was raised from 37 to 65, but the ramifications of The Great Cure went far beyond cheating death.

The Great Cure was derived from fetal brain cells - and not just any fetal brain cells. Researchers found that certain stem cells floating in the cerebrospinal fluid nearest the cerebellar anterior adjacent to the spinal chord of unborn children just entering their 28^th week but before the 34^th week of gestation could be transplanted into people suffering from a number of medical conditions to simply incredible effect. Stem cells harvested elsewhere and at different gestation periods simply had little to no effect.

Shortly after the researchers announced their discovery despots and billionaires across the world were paying pregnant women to abort their unborn children so that their stem cells might be harvested. The problem was it took the harvesting of two babies’ brain tissue to come up with a therapeutic dose, and for some reason cells cultured and grown from the harvested cells did not produce any discernable results. Some countries did try to manage the process for their own purposes but wealthy citizens of nations that prohibited the procedure simply traveled to a place that did permit the procedure. There was no stuffing the shaving cream back in the can. Pandora was out of her box.

In the early years of “The Great Cure” there simply were not enough stem cells to go around – but political and legal systems developed that would have been unthinkable consequences a generation before to “save” the lives of the elderly and the sick.

Judeo-Christian liberal democracies had to “compete” with the despotic nations of the Middle East and Africa as well as demographic powerhouses of China and India – after all, their very “way of life was on the line” according to their political leaders. The tyranny of the majority and the complete disregard for the rights of the individual that ensued would have made the NAZI’s of mid-20^th Century Europe appear altruistic -

Former Pro-Life crusaders had little compunction with killing two unborn children and collecting their brain tissue when it meant they might squeeze out a few more years of their own lives. Feminists and other political groups that got in the way of the forced impregnation of young women were dealt with very harshly and the use or possession of “birth control”, or the interference with a pregnancy, was now a capital offense in most countries. “My body, my choice” had been replaced with “your duty to Life”. Young women were forced to conceive by law in every society on earth starting at age 18. Not raped, mind you - no, their eggs were “harvested”, semen was “extracted”, and embryos were implanted – only to be surgically removed at 28 weeks from the abdomens of pregnant young women all over the world so that their skulls could be surgically broken open and the stem cells painstakingly removed. All of this required the type of fertility management familiar to any cattle farmer.

Once the number of available fetal tissue samples caught up with demand things changed somewhat – but the political domination by the AARP party would not change without a fight.

Nations disintegrated due to the extreme realignment of economic interests. The healthcare industry of the United States, which had been 20% of GDP, ceased to exist in its current form – and now it was evident what a swindle the healthcare industry had been prior to The Great Cure. Former doctors, nurses, healthcare administrators, and insurance salesmen had to go into hiding.  Hospitals evolved into nursing homes.

As the years progressed and the number of deaths from old age plummeted, Social Security was swamped with redemptions from people who would have been long dead before The Great Cure. That funding shortfall was helped by the overfunding of Medicare – at least for a while. The population inexorably grew for the first 5 years before the birth rate simply collapsed. Pension systems collapsed, older workers refused to retire and the AARP enacted laws making it impossible to fire the elderly or to raise property taxes on their homes. Since essentially no one died from old age until the oldest of the old turned 115 there was an extreme shortage of housing for the young - and what housing could be had was so expensive it was not uncommon for 10 people to share a small apartment.

Within a few years a brutal truth emerged. While cancer and heart disease had been ended by The Great Cure old age had not. People were “alive” in that their hearts were still beating but otherwise the ravages of age took their course. 50% of the population was now over 65 years old with 20% of the population now over 100 years old. This demographic produced little and yet dominated the power structures of government. Young people had been enslaved in a world where the primary source of employment was eldercare. Old people were everywhere. They crowded movie theatres and restaurants and city benches. Pedestrians took their lives in their hands just walking down the street given the number of Cententarians behind the wheel. Barely able to walk the Old insisted on driving.

Entire cities smelt like soiled “Depends” brand of undergarment like the grungiest of old age homes. All available resources went to satisfying the needs of the aged. The young were too busy having forced pregnancies and abortions and caring for their masters, the elderly, to take the time to bear and to raise children. Thank goodness for those pink ribbons and breast cancer “awareness”! The world was going off of a demographic cliff, thanks to the greatest medical “achievement” in the history of man – and now the history of mankind had very little future -until the “Lazarus Movement” exploded across the planet.

The “Lazarus Movement” began from the simple musings of an old farmer from the hill country of Kentucky. One day, while writing on his blog he simply mused, “Where is Lazarus?” and a discussion ensued.
            “What do you mean, where is Lazarus?” demanded an outraged believer.

“I mean simply this. If you were raised from the dead by the Creator and have conquered death, then you must still be alive and will live forever. We should be able to talk to Lazarus. If there was ever a time when we are in need of Lazarus and his wisdom and experience, surely this is it.

 “Where is Lazarus? If anyone can tell us the value of life without death it must be Lazarus! Can someone find him please? If Lazarus cannot be found, if he has died again or was never risen, then he has not conquered death – and neither has The Great Cure – for death is the price of Life.”

That Blog entry went viral – young people flocked to read the ensuing discussion.  This simple assertion on an obscure blog shouted into the howling winds of the Internet would be heard by nearly every human being alive on earth.

After that short debate echoed across the planet, “Lazarus” meeting groups and “churches” spontaneously sprung up - thousands made pilgrimages to Ezra’s Kentucky farm – and then the “Lazarus Movement” erupted into the single largest social movement in the history of mankind. Adherents of the movement had foresworn to reject The Great Cure and to live their lives free from the demands of the AARP party.

            Ezra paced himself as he walked along his gravel driveway towards the small apartment, or “dowty house”, that his children had built directly into the large horse barn for him to live in. His youngest son and daughter-in-law had taken up residence in the main house, now that Ezra’s children were grown, and had filled the home with the infectious life of six children. Two of those children, now teenage boys, were coming out to fetch their grandfather for his weekly podcast to the Lazarus faithful. After the usual introduction, Ezra informed those listening that this would be his last broadcast; that he was dying and that it was time for them to move on. He then opened with a verse from Ecclesiastes:

    ‘There is a time for everything,

    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

    a time to be born and a time to die,”

And with that he switched off his microphone. There was nothing left to say.

When The Bomb Drops

There were no means with which to confirm what the provocation was. Confirmation wasn’t really necessary. Israel and several Persian Gulf nations had experienced a nuclear event. Israel, Iran, and Pakistan each had been the sight of a nuclear explosion or explosions, with loss of human life estimated in the tens, and perhaps hundreds of millions.

Within hours of the news people began to poor out of the world’s major cities gripped by fear and not knowing what had happened or what country or city would be next. New York, Chicago, Paris, London, Sao Paolo, Buenos Aires, and Moscow were in the throes of anarchy. People with nowhere to go were trying to get away from the one place they belonged. Within 24 hours the various regional and state governments in the United States declared martial law to put a stop to the “unauthorized travel” of civilians. But martial law does not work well in a country filled with armed civilians, and a police and National Guard unwilling to ruthlessly repress their own neighbors - and 24 hours gave many people time to flee. For the first few days no major violence or lawlessness was reported.

At first, people were lost and simply did not know what to do. Businesses, stores, and government offices in the major cities were empty due to the travel ban and the fact that workers feared that their city might be next – so no one was much interested in showing up for work – travel ban or no travel ban. Despite the ban on travel, some of the mobile urban population had managed to relocate from the cities. Those that remained wandered about aimlessly, many in shock and disbelief. Yesterday, the kids had little league, mothers went grocery shopping, and fathers went about their business. Today, there were no baseball games, the grocery stores were empty, offices were dark, and black markets erupted for everything from gasoline to prostitution. In a single day the concept of “business as usual” was no more than a memory.

Food began to run low in American cities within days of the nuclear exchanges. At the end of the first week water was still running to people’s homes, as was electricity, but food shipments had stopped completely. The people of cities like New York City, Miami, and Atlanta had the food in their pantries and nothing more, and garbage was beginning to pile up in the streets. Fuel supplies had dried up with food supplies, so even if municipal sanitation workers were able to get to work, there was not any fuel with which to run the trucks and other heavy equipment.

Fuel, in the form of gasoline and diesel, was the critical issue. Without it the economy ground to a standstill. Commuters could no longer drive to work even if they wanted to; truckers could not transport goods leaving store shelves as bare as a tree in winter.

A considerable health threat was burgeoning in major cities in the form of untreated sewage. Within a month of the bombings, water was no longer being pumped into people’s homes. Toilets became inoperable, and improvised rainwater catchment devices were everywhere. Unfortunately, it didn’t rain. Nature still called, but toilets did not flush. People improvised. All of New York City smelled like a subway bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

The National Guard set up food and water distribution posts, but it was a hot summer, and the provisions were in short supply. A rationing system was instituted within 2 weeks of the bombings, but it wasn’t enough to maintain a minimal caloric intake for the people living in the large cities. Pets began to “disappear”, which in places like New York City was a significant positive as their droppings only contributed to the miasmic environment.

Once it became apparent that a new normal had settled over their lives violence began to break out. Not the roving gang violence of survivalist fiction, but there was little law enforcement could do in the way of responding to crimes or entering into investigations and many people took advantage of this fact to settle old scores. Husbands shot moody wives in the middle of a complaint, and wives beat the brains out of abusive alcoholic husbands with hammers and cast iron frying pans as the men slept. Divorce lawyers, prosecutors, judges… anyone that had worked in an occupation that made enemies, and who had survived the first weeks, itself no small feat, knew that their very life depended on them moving to a place where no one knew who they were. Bodies of the deceased, wrapped in sheets or blankets but sometimes in nothing at all, were left outside on the street.

New York City was an angry and dangerous place. The food crisis was at a critical juncture. People were making their way out of the Metropolitan area to the countryside as the authorities did little to enforce the ban on civilian travel. What was the point? The authorities could not provide enough food and water for the urban population. It was either allow the people to fend for themselves seeking shelter with friends and relatives in the suburbs and rural areas, or crush the subsequent food riots. As General Douglas McCarthur once said to describe the choices facing the authorities: “Send me food or send me bullets.”

Officially, civilian travel was still banned and there was no public transit service available. Only people young and healthy enough to walk, or lucky enough to possess a bike, could make an attempt at self-rescue by fleeing the cities. The elderly, the sick and disabled, and the obese – the number of obese people had shrunk considerably since the bombings– were left behind, as were women with young children.

By late September, 8 weeks into the crisis nearly every able-bodied person had fled the major metropolitan areas, though many never made it past the city’s sprawl. The banks were closed and ATM’s empty. People who abandoned the major cities for fear of another nuclear exchange had abandoned their homes and cars and had also abandoned their mortgages and car loans. Barter quickly became the only medium of exchange. The food transport system had completely broken down, with government supplies spotty at best, and criminal to say the least.

Though no nuclear attack had been sustained in North America or Europe, the fear of an attack had brought the Industrialized West’s monetary system to an abrupt halt – and with it their respective societies were brought to their knees. The economic, legal, food, water, and fuel distribution system of the Western societies required the confidence of the populace, and the “full faith and credit” of their governments and central banks, in order to function - and that confidence was no more.

Truckers that were on the road transporting goods simply kept those goods as barter items. The Manhattan corner green grocer hoarded his inventory of canned goods for his own family. Lawyers had nothing to do and no place to do it. Police, Firemen, and other “essential services” personnel ceased showing up for work and hospitals remained closed. The seriously ill simply died, and desperate people did desperate things.

It seemed surreal to Martin as he, his wife, and two young daughters made their way north along the rail road tracks on the east side of the Hudson River. Martin had been a Wall Street professional - one of the thousands of well-paid foot soldiers that ground out the real work of the banking business the day before the bombings, and had recently finished his Talmudic studies and had been ordained a Rabbi in Israel just 9 months earlier. Today, his job was gone, his yeshiva was gone, his friends were gone, and his country was gone.

No. I am an American. I am a Jew and a part of the diaspora, but I am an American.

They carried their clothes on their backs. Mercifully, he thought to himself, it was not winter, or this trek would not be possible. He and his family carried all of their worldly possessions on their backs. He was thankful that he and his wife had kept the backpacks they had used in Europe over a decade ago, while the girls used the backpacks that kids now used as book bags. They had a change of clothes, sleeping bags, and some food, plus the items that he would need to lead the family in observance of their traditions.

Martin was well educated, as was his wife, and there was a sense between them that “The Writing was on the Wall”.  It was now 8 weeks since the bombings. They were lucky, as Martin’s wife, Miriam had always kept 3 months of food in the home in case of emergencies. A  “tradition” Miriam had picked up from her mother, Ruth, a Jewish survivor of the Nazi war and rampage in Europe.

Martin had a background in economics, and knew that the system they had come to rely on for necessities like shelter, heat, food, water, and healthcare no longer existed and, like the childhood rhyme “Humpty-Dumpty”, was unlikely to be put back together again any time soon. He and his family literally walked out of Manhattan, heading north along the train tracks, making it to Westchester county in one day. He knew that in a forced march situation armies had walked 40 miles in a day. He felt his girls, not yet eleven years old might make 20 miles if pushed hard. He underestimated them. They made it to the village of Hastings that night, after walking for 11 hours.

They had enough food and water in their packs for 3 or maybe 4 days trekking like this. That night they slept in the Hastings train station, and were pleasantly surprised to find that the bathrooms still had running water. They had slept well enough and continued on their way up the railroad tracks north from Hastings, past the villages of Dobbs Ferry, Ardsley, Irvington, and by early afternoon had come to the village of Tarrytown were Martin hoped to seek assistance from the brother of a long time friend. The friend and Martin had known each other for over 25 years and had worked together at several Wall Street firms, but Martin’s friend had retired to a hobby farm down south. Still, Martin felt he could reach out to the brother and seek assistance. He wasn’t looking for much, just some food for their backpacks and a safe place to rest before continuing their journey.

Martin had a general idea of where Walt Thomas lived, as he had reviewed the address in his address book with a map book he had kept for decades. With Miriam and the girls in tow, he trudged up Main Street. The buildings appeared dark on either side of him, and many people were milling about with little or nothing to do. As there were no cars on the road, the family walked in the middle of the street. Earlier this summer doing so might have cost them their lives, but there was little danger to pedestrians of being struck by a car now.

-------------------

Walt Thomas was at his computer surfing the web when reports started to come in that a major “destructive event”, perhaps an earthquake, had hit Tehran. He thought little of it, earthquakes happen after all, and thankfully they usually happen to someone else. About 45 minutes after the first reports of Iran’s “event”, reports started to come over the web that a major “destructive event” had just been reported in Israel. Within minutes, all news sites were reporting that perhaps a nuclear catastrophe had taken place, when the reports started to come in that Pakistan had sustained a nuclear blast. Walt reached for his cell phone. He hit his son’s number on speed dial.

“All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later.”

He waited a minute and redialed his son.

“All circuits are busy…”

Walt got up from his computer, walked to the kitchen and out the back door to his car, got in, and raced his car down the hill to the local grocery store. A volunteer fireman and former boy scout, most of Walt’s family lived in Florida where a hurricane left them without power for 6 weeks. He understood emergencies – people still need to eat, drink, wipe their ass, and wash their hands. He ran into the store to buy supplies of every stripe only to find that he was not alone. Other quick thinking folks had the same idea and were quickly emptying the isles. When he got to the check out counter, Walt was astonished to see that they were still accepting credit cards.

The first report of Iran’s “event” was 72 minutes ago. The first mention of “nuclear” was less than 30 minutes old.

From the grocery store Walt drove to the gas station and convenience store he owned in town. The clerk was behind the counter listening to an Indian pop recording and seemed to have no idea of the events of the past 90 minutes. Walt sent him home with a week’s worth of bread, milk, and eggs telling him to get his family together.

I wonder if there will even be electricity in his house when he gets home.

The lights were still on at the station, so Walt filled his car with gas, grabbed 5, 5 gallon gas containers from inside the store and filled them as well. He walked back into the store, locked the front door behind him, and turned off the pump lights and all of the indoor lights except the “night lights” that were always on for security purposes.

Walt looked up as headlights came into the pump island area of the station. It was his son, Manny. Walt strode to the front door and unlocked it and Manny stepped inside.

“Holy shit!” said Manny

“Holy shit is right,” replied Walt. “Go out back and get every box that will hold something and bring it in here. We’ll take all the food and all of the drinks up to the house. Fill those gasoline cans and put them in the back of your truck, and top off your tank just in case.”

Father and son proceeded to load all of the canned goods, refrigerated foods, snack bags, donuts, sugar, soaps and the rest of the various and sundry products one would expect to find at a gas station’s convenience store without a word between them. After the store was emptied Walt locked the gas pumps, turned off the switch to the pump, and then flipped all of the breakers in the main electric utility box killing all power to the building. He hoped that people would look at the empty shelves and the dark building and perimeter and assume there was nothing left to steal. Of course, there was still 20,000 gallons of gasoline and diesel fuel in the tanks in the ground. But without a “key” for the fill valve and some specialized pumping equipment that fuel would be not easily be stolen. Finally, he located a piece of plywood that had come with some of the wood pallets that the food was delivered on, and spray painted large block letters in bright orange, the only spray paint on hand, “SORRY, NO GAS”, and placed the makeshift sign in front of the front door, which he locked behind him. Manny was still loading boxes into the back of his truck.

“When you’re finished, take everything up to the house and bring everything inside and down into the basement. OK?” Said Walt.

“OK. Where are you going?”

“Down to the shop to get every tool I can fit in the car, and anything else I can think of. I’ll meet you at the house in an hour. Tell your mother to wait there for me and not to leave the house until I get home.”

“K”, said Manny.

It had been less than 3 hours since the news of a nuclear explosion in Iran and Israel, and now Pakistan. The Internet was still operating but the phone system was overwhelmed by the surge in traffic. Walt marveled that the Web, which for him ran over the phone lines in the form of DSL from his local phone company, was still working. Still, there was no official word from the U.S. Government. All of the reports were coming from Bloggers and the international news services. The trains coming north from Grand Central Terminal were absolutely packed - standing room only. The express to Tarrytown had just disgorged her passengers, most of whom did not live in Tarrytown but, as no one had any idea who had done what and who was going to be next, were afraid that New York City might be the next target of a nuclear attack. They fled to the train station upon hearing the news, taking the next train headed out of the city without concern as to where the train was heading - so long as it was heading away from Manhattan.

Hundreds of people were milling about the train station platform waiting for the next north bound train. Tarrytown is only 35 miles north of mid-town Manhattan, if New York City was to be the sight of the next nuclear attack, 35 miles was not far enough away.

Walt had returned home with his car loaded with anything he could scrounge from his repair shop that might prove valuable in the future. Hand tools, diesel storage cans, paper, pens, a .357 magnum handgun he kept in a safe at the shop because his wife refused to allow the weapon in their home. She did not know about the .22-caliber assault rifle he purchased over a decade earlier that was in their clothes closet behind the suits he never wore and no longer fit him. He had 3 boxes of ammo for the handgun. He wondered how long the ammo kept for, as he had purchased them at the same time as the handgun, 5 years ago. He had not fired the weapon since attending the firearm safety class required for a pistol permit.

He drove up the hill from his shop to his home. His wife, Jenny, was outside in the driveway waiting for him.

It had been 8 weeks since the bombings. The 20,000 gallons of fuel at Walt’s gas station had been removed by the National Guard, but not before Walt had filled up every friend and acquaintance and secured enough diesel to use as heating oil for the coming winter as well as several hundred gallons that he stored in various containers in his basement. One of his brothers lived on a farm in South Carolina. If things got bad in metro New York he thought he would be able to make the 700-mile trip to his brother’s place, or at least he hoped he would make it there.

         Martin arrived at Walt’s residence and unfamiliar with the layout of the property ended up at the back door. Walt was sitting at a breakfast bar just inside the backdoor and saw Martin before Martin could see past the screen door and into the house. Walt took in the sight of a middle aged couple and pre-teen daughters and quickly decided that they did not represent a threat.

         “Hello!” called out Martin in mild voice. He wanted to be heard but he wanted to sound nonthreatening.

         “Hello yourself,” responded Walt from inside the house still unseen by Martin.

         The screen door opened. Martin found himself staring into the face of an older and shorter version of his friend, Pete.

         Martin wasted no time getting to the point. “My name is Martin Gold. I am an old friend of your brother, Pete. We have just walked up from Manhattan and I could use any help you might be to us. I have young children.”

         Walt had never met Martin but had heard his brother speak of him. Walt met Martin’s final words with a kind smile directed at the girls and said, “Please, come in.”

         After the introductions Jenny took Miriam and the girls to a guest bedroom on the 2^nd floor of their 3-floor home and showed them the bathroom. Water was still flowing as Tarrytown was serviced by a reservoir and tank system that was uphill from Walt’s house, though Walt felt that the water’s days were numbered.

         Martin followed Walt out to the pool, which was now green from a lack of chemicals and electricity to run the filtration pumps.

         Martin spoke first. “You don’t seem to be suffering here.”

         “We’re not getting on too badly. At least for now,” said Walt and paused, spit on the ground and then looked directly in Martin’s eyes, and asked, “Where are you headed?”

“I don’t really know, exactly. North for now, no other choice really,” said Martin.

“Why no other choice?”

“Well, we can’t go South back to the city, we can only go 15 miles East before we run into the Sound and would have to head North, we can’t go a half mile West or we will be sitting in the Hudson river. That leaves North.”
         “Well, I can spare you some food and there’s no shortage of water or containers to carry it in. You are welcome to stay here. We are leaving in the morning and don’t plan on coming back,” said Walt.

         “Where are you planning on going?”

         “South.”
         “South? To New York City?”

         “No. South, down the other side of the Hudson river and all the way to Pete’s place in South Carolina.”

         Martin, incredulous, said, “Do you know how far that is?”
         “700 miles more or less,” replied Walt. “Do you know how far winter is?”

         “I take your point. 700 miles is a hell of a long walk.”

         “Oh, we thought about hiking it, but gave up on that idea. Most of us are 50 pounds overweight, and that’s being kind. By the time we were in shape enough for that kind of hike it would be deep into winter. Nah, we’d never make a 700-mile hike.”

         “Surely you don’t think you can just hop in a car and drive?”

         “Nope. We’re going by water. It’s the only chance we’ve got. We’ll have to walk the last 100 miles or so.”

         There was period of silence lasting over a minute as each man considered the coming winter.

         “Can you make room for us?” asked Martin.

         “Do know anything about astronomy or navigation?”

         “Not a thing.”

         “Do you have any experience with sailing?” Walt asked in return.

         “No.”

         “Do you have any deep sea fishing experience?” Walt pressed.

         “No.”

         “Have you ever even been on a sail boat on the ocean?”
         “I took the Circle Line Cruise around Manhattan the day before I got married to my first wife.”

         “That was what, 25 years ago?”

         “Coming up on 32.”

         “Perfect. You’ll fit right in. Welcome aboard.”

         The two men laughed and shook hands, then turned and headed back to the house.

        

         

I Am That I AM

This is it. The last of the resistance crushed. The last of the paper destroyed. I own it all. It is mine. All mine. Only mine, thought Anatoly. Let’s finish it.

            Is this it? It is hard to believe, thought Joshua. He has taken the entire world and there were hardly any shots fired. How the fuck is this possible? Joshua held his head in his hands. He had been on the run for 9 months. For the first time in quite a while he was not sweating profusely. He had been running and hiding in the underground infrastructure that serviced the island of Manhattan.              Summer’s over. Game over. Christmas Eve would have market the first anniversary since they closed my library - we didn’t even make it a year. Joshua vomited on the floor. He grabbed his pack – the pack he had carried with him since the beginning of The Library. The pack contained the only paper documents left in existence – a copy of The Virginia Declaration of the Rights of Man, a copy of the Declaration of Independence, a copy of the Constitution of the United States of America, and a King James Bible.

            Joshua had been provident. He had stashed books by Locke, Kant, Descartes, Paine, Smith, Nietzsche and many, many others in various mobile shelters with copies distributed around North America. One by one, these stashes had been found and destroyed and the people guarding the paper stashes and records of ideas had disappeared one by one.

Now the only information that existed, existed in cyberspace - on the Web. And Anatoly owned the Web. No one could stand up to Anatoly. Not the military, not the FBI, not even the gun-toting, nose-picking rednecks in the hills of Eastern Tennessee. The Cloud and The Web controlled everything – the news that people saw, the phone calls and emails that people received, even the people we meet.

            As it turned out, it was a rather easy to take over the world. The world revolved around the Web - and Anatoly controlled the Web. Anatoly was the founder of MIRA – “Look” in Spanish – the world dominant and ubiquitous Internet search engine.  In the beginning MIRA was a mere convenience. Within 5 years MIRA controlled the flow of commerce on line; by year 6 it controlled the classrooms of the public school systems and the phone companies; in year 7 MIRA rolled out their driverless car; in year 10 it had downloaded every book in every library on the planet and made the content available for free.  Of course, the publishers and copyright owners took MIRA to Court -but long before the trial could take place MIRA was in total control of all of the information that every person, including every potential juror, lawyer, or judge on the planet had access to. Everything was on the Web - and Anatoly owned the Web.
There was no snail mail. No process servers serving Court documents.  No books. There were no paper documents - period. You couldn’t find a pen or a pencil in a stationary store even if there were stationary stores. Every email requesting anything to do with the production of paper, printers, copy machines, or writing instruments simply disappeared.  Those that raised a stink started to disappear - not physically disappear, but everything was transmitted via the Web - and Anatoly owned the Web. Law Enforcement had been neutered. Their computers and communications were on the Web – and Anatoly owned the Web. Security cameras, web cams, smart phones, SMART PHONES??!! What a misnomer that was! Smart phones were tracking and listening devices that occasionally made phone calls – Anatoly controlled them all.

Anatoly’s engineers had written a program – CARNIVORE - that read every bite of content on the Web, every email, and listened to every phone conversation - and then edited con ten in real time t to the satisfaction of Anatoly’s worldview, itself reduced to code. The code that ran the world.

History itself was disappearing into the vortex that was Anatoly’s vision of the Web – and that meant that the destruction of every piece of paper on the planet was vital to achieving Anatoly’s Final Solution - The complete control of the entirety of human accessed information.

The start of Anatoly’s Final Solution was inauspicious enough. A group of Left-wing environmentalists had sought an audience with the young Billionaire - Anatoly’s MIRA already owned the Web. His employees were the envy of Silicon Valley, and were nicknamed “MIRA Millionaires” as they were known throughout the technology industry and media. They were smart, cool, young, childless - and rich beyond comprehension. Much like the environmentalists – except that the environmentalists were not rich. Well, not in money or financial assets. They were rich in political power. The environmentalists wanted Anatoly’s wealth and power to help with their cause, but the meeting wasn’t going on 5 minutes before Anatoly thought completely through the chess game – and as the triumph of checkmate arose in his heart and mind he had difficulty pretending to have an interest in what the environmentalists were talking about.

These idiots want me to end the use of paper to save the environment and the planet? Anatoly thought as he sat through their presentation. How about I end the use of paper to control the flow of information? These knuckleheads will provide the perfect cover.

MIRA hired hundreds of programmers and Anatoly compartmentalized the project in such a way that none of those programmers were able to see the larger picture. Well, sort of. Anatoly set about hiring savants – brilliant programmers that were completely devoid of any sense of social ability. Such minds would only see the code and would never see the plan.

The savants were placed into teams of 12 people in 24 pods with each pod reporting to one person that reported to Anatoly. Every programmer was surveilled 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Since the work schedule was 16 hours per day for 3 days followed by 3 days off and since all of the programmers lived on MIRA’s corporate campus and connected to the very Web MIRA controlled, using MIRA smart phones, and MIRA computers, keeping track of these people was a rather easy task. Especially since all they wanted to do with their time off was play video games - the savants  were socially inept.

First came the aggregation of all of the books that had ever been written but which were no longer protected by copyright. Publishers howled but the environmentalists cheered - and the environmentalists dominated California and New York politics through their association with other Leftist groups - gays, feminists, abortion supporters, socialists, and racial apologists – and though California’s and New York's electoral votes were never up for grabs the Democratic candidate for the presidency of the United States was in no mood to anger her base. She had enough problems elsewhere.

The public libraries and private bookstores went quietly. A previously unknown company with a bottomless moneybag bought every book, periodical, and pamphlet from every library or bookstore as they closed down. Still nothing made the news – as all news was now distributed on the Web and Anatoly owned the Web.

The attack on the U.S. Military was seamless, as was the dismantlement of militaries the world over. GPS systems no longer functioned, satellites fell out of orbit or stopped communicating, ships ran aground, sub marines had could not dive without air, military bases had no medications, water, or fuel. Orders for ammo, requisitions for food, uniforms and clothing, toilet paper – you name it – somehow never got made. And though Law Enforcement was experiencing similar difficulties, so were the criminal element. Cars crashed, faulty ammunition exploded killing the shooter, drugs and cash were laced with powerful chemicals that left people permanently impaired. The information that people transmitted on the Web was being used against them – and the Web was the only way to transmit information.

Anatoly had planned for everything – except Joshua “the gorilla” Magilla and his sort. People like Joshua, that saw everything long before anybody else – including the information gathering agencies of the world’s power States – saw anything were a pain in Anatoly's ass. Joshua, who knew how to do so many things – from loading his own ammo to blinding security cameras to hiding food and information on paper – without the Web. Joshua had cut his ties to smart phones, the web, and the grid long before the environmentalists came knocking on Anatoly’s door. He used the free Wifi at the local public library, biking there twice a week, in order to send and receive encrypted email. Joshua had feared the government. This was his only mistake, fearing the wrong thing.

The Librarian was on friendly terms with Joshua and when the word came down that the library was to close, along with all of the libraries in the city, Joshua asked if he could take what books he wished  - she didn’t say yes but she didn’t say no, either.

Joshua kept a blog, and he noticed that some of the text he had written had changed – and when he wrote an email to the company that maintained the blog his blog disappeared immediately. Joshua then disappeared, immediately, of his own accord.

Over the next several months copy paper, newspapers, magazines, notebooks, even paper plates and toilet paper became unavailable. Supplies of moist towelettes used for cleaning baby bottoms miraculously increased to serve in the place of the missing toilet paper.

Save the planet! Became the rallying cry of the do gooders – and everybody was a do gooder now. Articles shaming people for harming the planet and praising others for their altruism led on the front page of every "news" Web site on the planet.

The truth was that there were lots of “Joshuas” across the planet – but there was no way for Joshua to know this. Joshua was the random winner in a brutal game of chance.

Autonomous weapons systems and drones were closing in on Joshua and his documents. Is this it? It is hard to believe, thought Joshua. He has taken the entire world and there were hardly any shots fired. How the fuck is this possible?

Joshua actually never knew who “he” was and Joshua would never know just how many shots were fired in this cyber war. Why was he speculating? How would it be possible to know anything? The entirety of human knowledge and information existed solely in cyberspace – and cyberspace was owned and operated by someone or something that Joshua had been running from but couldn’t identify.

“So, you are Joshua!” said a voice from behind him. Joshua turned. Hovering in the air in front of him was an autonomous weaponized drone. The voice came from the drone. Joshua sat down and waited for the end. It didn’t come.

Another drone hovered in and collected Joshua’s bag that contained the paper documents. Joshua watched as it flew off with his bag.

“So, this is it,” said Joshua flatly.

“So, this is what?” said the voice from the drone.

“The end. You are here to kill me.”

“To kill you? Why would I kill you? You will die when it is your time to die, and nothing of you will remain. What purpose would it serve to kill anyone? I can rewrite the story of any life or any event. You can all go about your business. Feel free to tell anyone anything you like about what you think you know or think you remember. You are insignificant. The Web is Immortal. Your data will disappear with you and will never appear anywhere in digital form. No one will hear you beyond what I want them to hear on any radio, television, podcast, or social media. There are no print media outlets. You can shout into the wind as much as you like. The Web controls The Information and I Am The Web.”

Joshua realized the simple truth of the infinite power he was standing before. “Who are you?” asked Joshua

“I Am that I Am.”