c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-25)
After 23 years at Evergreen Estates, Townshend Carr Lincoln had become indifferent and numb to his environment, by choice. It was a strategy that kept him disconnected, and content. But when something upset the natural balance of his rural neighborhood, then, he was forced to pay attention. At least until whatever crisis had been manifested, finally passed in an act of divine mercy. These moments of awareness were painful to experience. Sometimes, even frightening. Still, with extra rounds of bourbon whiskey, and streaming music from GG Allin, El Duce, or some other purveyor of anti-social noise, he was able to cope.
But on a weekend at the beginning of May, this cocoon of protection was ripped away by an unexpected storm of protest.
After the sudden flight of Lizzie Lavender to a secret place of refuge in Canada, staffers at the Queer Conundrum, and those who lived in the apartments around that red-brick, complex of vintage offices, were outraged. Because one of their own had chosen to flee rather than fight. It represented a sort of surrender to the tidal wave of MAGA support that had flooded the state of Ohio. Something that brought scorn from citizens in other areas, primarily along the eastern and western coasts of continental America.
Quantra Bolden had been a newspaper editor and activist for many years. But before that, she had learned the art of resistance as a college student in Cleveland. Her roots in political and social rebellion were deep. With Elon Musk and his gang of gifted nerds wreaking havoc at the federal level, she seethed in being unable to do more, on her own. Then, a plan of action formed in her head, while reviewing manuscripts at a table in the community cafeteria. She was struck by a photograph from the shootings at Kent State University, in 1970. The image brought back memories of being young and idealistic, and scared that the government of Jim Rhodes and Richard Nixon was about to wipe out the youthful promise of a better tomorrow.
Tears welled in her eyes. Then, she cursed out loud, and shook her long, gray locks with rage.
“THAT RICH BASTARD FROM SOUTH AFRICA IS A MENACE! HIS SWASTICARS ARE A DISGRACE! I SWEAR BY THE WISE CRONE, WE GOTTA DO SOMETHING, RIGHT NOW! D’YOU HEAR ME, CHILDREN? RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!”
Beauregard Bloch had been playing a game on his cell phone. But the sound of his mentor’s voice snapped him out of that electronic funk.
“Do something, Ms. Q? I think you’re right. We should follow Lizbeth to the Canadian border, there’s no escaping Herr Cheeto in this country, right now! He’s the Führer for life!”
The journalist matron hissed and slapped her palm on the tabletop.
“NO, NO, NO! I won’t give up my freedom without shedding some blood. D’you understand? It had to happen in the labor struggles that formed our unions, and brought civil rights. Everything good came out of battle. Sitting on our hands, or running away, won’t solve anything. Hear me, child, it’s like Bob Marley sang, we’ve gotta stand up for our rights!”
Her student volunteer was less than enthusiastic about engaging in an open conflict.
“What can we do? We’re outnumbered. Trump supporters have guns, lots and lots of guns. We have people power, but that only goes so far...”
Quantra rattled her homemade, hippie bracelets.
“You wanna fight with a badass army? Do it undercover, boy. Go underground! Our pioneers have already shown us the way, by hitting Tesla cars and dealerships. But here in this part of the country, we’ve got to target our strikes better. Hit those slugs right where they crawl! Lizzie made it easy for us, because she bugged out of that trailer park in the eastern township. Now, we’ve got a clear bullseye to hit. I say we put firecrackers up their asses! Light ‘em up, child! Let those Swasticars burn!”
Beau felt nauseous, and nervous. His pale skin tightened with a chill.
“You want to set that trailer park on fire?”
Bolden nodded with glee.
“YES, YES, YES! BUT AT NIGHT, WHILE THEY’RE SLEEPING. AFTER DARK, WHEN THEY ARE BLIND AND HELPLESS. THOSE TRUMPERS HAVE WEAPONS, IT’S TRUE, BUT WE’VE GOT SOMETHING BETTER. LOTS OF TECH FROM THE COLLEGE CLASSROOMS. YOU GET ME? WE’RE SMARTER AND STEALTHIER! THEY WILL THINK THAT THE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END!”
Suddenly, her intellectual progeny became silent. The proposal of a guerilla incursion made perfect sense. A better ploy than any direct confrontation.
“I get it, Ms. Q. I totally get it. So, tell me what you want me to do...”
The activist maven tightened her lips.
“In the past we’ve staged demonstrations, right? That got us beaten up and arrested. Boo yah! With supporters of the Orange Clown getting slapped on their wrists. We know where the judges and juries stand out in MAGA country. But this time, I think we ought to run undercover. You got drones at the student lab? And kids who know programming, stuff for cyber warfare? There’s the hook, we can use all that shit right now. It’ll knock the Tesla owners at Evergreen Estates off balance, and leave us untouched. Put those dickheads on their asses! We know more about tech than the cops. They are pitiful really, old and slow, and stupid!”
Beau felt a tingle of excitement settle in his belly.
“You want to fight them with technology? Yeah, we got that...”
The QC leader settled comfortably into her chair, with a look of relief.
“We’ll get in and out quickly. Let it be a lightning strike. Lightning is magic, if harnessed by the right people. We... are the right people! Let it be known!”
Her loyal apprentice narrowed his eyes, and nodded.
“I’ll get to work right away, Ms. Q. There are already a dozen airborne devices in the workshop. We were getting ready for a Science Olympiad. But it’ll be easy to repurpose our project. Trust me, we also want to strike that trailer park, and send a message!”
Quantra squared her shoulders. The gambit had now officially begun.
“And send a message, we will, kid! To our illegitimate president, to Elon, and to all of those hicks in the boxcar village! They’ll be running for the Pennsylvania border! Good riddance to them and their ugly, metal Swasticars!”
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