klm architecture: 2019

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING
REGAINING LOST FREEDOM
A novel by Lavoy Finicum

Chapter 1

CAT

They shall every man turn to his own people, and flee every one into his own land.
—Isaiah 13: 14

The lights of Albuquerque lay two miles to the east of me as I trudged up the hill using the faint silhouette of the power lines to guide me in the dark. Being my father's youngest daughter, his training kicked in, and I paused to listen to my surroundings as I adjusted my tired grip on the 45 Sig Saur.¹ Peering into the dark, I strained my eyes and ears to determine if I was alone. Sensing no one else, my eyes look down upon the city of Albuquerque.

Even though most of the city lights were on, I could see areas where it was dark, having no power. The glow of burning buildings could be seen in some of the blacked out areas. The police, with help from Luke Air Force Base, had tried to maintain control of the city but had finally abandoned all of downtown. Cutting through the center of the city, 1-40 formed a temporary line of demarcation. The psychological barrier of law and order had completely evaporated in south Albuquerque. The gangs that were already strong in the city had free rein, while many of the youth gathered in packs like wolves. Both the hardened gangs² and the youth bands preyed upon the weak and defenseless. The adrenalin of anarchy rose up in them. The appetite of animal instinct was whetted to an insatiable level and all those who fell into their hands suffered horribly.

1. 45 Sig Saur: A quality German made, 45 caliber, semi-automatic pistol. The term "45 auto" is often used to describe any 45 semi-automatic pistol. A semi automatic gun is cocked after each shot but must have the trigger pulled between each shot. A full automatic will continue to fire as long as the trigger is held down.

2. According to FBI reports, gang membership in the United States has increased from one million in 2009 to 1.4 million in 2014.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

This I learned firsthand, just a few hours ago. Mom's beautiful two-story home with the attached three car garage lay in the affluent neighborhood of Albuquerque's Northeast Heights. In this gated community there had been a false sense of security. The small but prestigious neighborhood was closed off by a six foot high wall made of precast stone. The home owners had hired security guards to keep them safe but the guards had shown no courage, melting away like snow on hot rocks when the gang scaled the walls. How many of them there where I did not know but it was enough to hit many homes at once. They came just as the sun dipped beyond the dark clouds that were gathering in the western skies. Mom lived just inside the west wall of the community and her house was hit at the same time as the houses next to hers..

* * *

"Mom, Mom," I spoke softly into the night as the first flakes of a winter storm began to fall. "Why did you trust the politicians and turn in your gun? How could you ever believe the government would keep you safe?"

I pushed back the tears that wanted to come to my eyes. No time. No time for that. The familiar words of my father came to my mind, "Move forward, always, move forward." Turning my back to the lights of Albuquerque, I picked up the dark shoulder bag and resumed my westward walk, keeping the power lines over my head to guide me.

How did Dad ever marry Mom when they were so opposite? Guns went as naturally with Dad as the cowboy boots he put on every morning. He wore his gun as often as he wore his cowboy boots, an old 44-40 Colt, single action revolver,³just like the ones in the western movies. The handle was hand carved from a single piece of rose wood. The deep maroon colored wood was polished smooth by the calloused hands that had held it. The steel of the gun had never been left un-oiled and with the years of wear from the holster it had developed a patina that accented the quality of the gun. It was always buckled around the narrow hips of my father in a double loop Mexican style holster.

3. 44-40 Colt Single Action Revolver: 44 stands for the caliber of the bullet being shot and 40 stands for the grains of black powder that were loaded into the case of the cartridge. Single Action means that the pistol's hammer must be manually cocked between each shot. Old time gunfighters could shoot a single action revolver as fast as the modern semi-automatics.

CAT

Mom, on the other hand, didn't want anything to do with guns. When the federal government offered the mandatory buyback program, she dutifully turned in the 9-mil Sig Sauer Dad had bought her.

Dad was a cowboy from Southern Utah, and although it was Mormon country, he was not a Mormon. To me, he was handsome with his chiseled face and strong jaw.

As a young man, he had come to Albuquerque to attend the University of New Mexico. He had been invited to try out as a point guard for the basketball team at UNM, but was not good enough to be offered a scholarship, but still a pretty big deal for the little town of Orderville whose high school population was under a hundred students. And that is where he met Mom. Dad's dark hair wms always covered by a quality Stetson cowboy hat. Mom never covered her golden blond hair. Her skin was lightly tanned with a flawless complexion. She had contrasting black eyebrows and long lashes that framed deep blue eyes. Even though there was not another woman to parallel her beauty or popularity on campus, she had been swept away by the southern Utah cowboy. The southern Utah cowboy was equally swept away by the City Rose that came to be my mother. But now she was gone.

* * *

Four men of the gang hit Mom's house fast and professionally, two at the front door and two at the back door. With some sort of battering ram both doors were breached simultaneously, With the shattering of glass and the splintering of wood, they swept quickly into the home. Holding a mixture of semi-automatic pistols they quickly cleared each room of the downstairs as efficiently as any swat team.

I had been resting comfortably on my bed upstairs reading and the noise jarred me to my feet. For a second my mind tried to put meaning to the sound of shattered glass. Then I heard Mom scream from her master bedroom downstairs. Fear rose up in me and my heart started to race. I ran to open my bedroom door when I heard the voice of my father in my head. "Stop. Think. Don't be stupid."

I turned back to my bed and slipped my hand between the mattresses. Withdrawing my hand, it was clinging to the 45 Sig Sauer. Another scream from Mom drew me back to the door and I opened it. Stepping out onto the balcony that overlooked the great room, I saw a man standing in the middle. He wore a blue bandana around his head and a dark tee-shirt with no sleeves, his left arm wrapped in tattoos. By both hands he was holding a semi-automatic pistol. His body was facing my balcony but his head was turned towards Mom's master bedroom. My mind kept rejecting what my eyes were seeing and what my ears were hearing. This couldn't be happening.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

I drew my pistol up and, like so many times in practice with paper targets, I put the front sight of my gun on the center mass of the man. Then I froze. I could not pull the trigger. This was a live human being. I should just scream at him to leave.

My movement on the balcony must have caught his attention. He spun around, looked up at me and at the same time his pistol came up and fired. The noise in the enclosed space was deafening, the bullet hitting the banister in front of me, sending wood splinters flying. The shock of the sound and flying splinters caused me to jerk my trigger. My bullet hit the grand piano next to the man and I kept pulling the trigger. I was not aiming, just pointing my gun and pulling the trigger. My bullets hit everything but the man who fled the room.

I emptied the Sig's magazine, my last shots punching holes through the wall where the man had disappeared. When the Sig's action locked back upon ejecting the last round, I did the same as the man and fled. I rushed from the balcony back to my room, locking the door behind me. Like fingernails on a chalk board, another scream from Mom raked through my ears. I was scared but the adrenaline in my body propelled me forward. My mother was being hurt and anger mixed in with my fear. I was moving quickly but my mind seemed to register every detail as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. In one movement, I pulled my black, single strap, bug-out-bag* from under my bed, slinging it over my shoulder. In a second movement, I dropped the spent magazine from the Sig Saur, grabbed a fresh one from the drawer of my night stand and slammed it home. Pressing the slide release on the pistol, the action sprang forward, charging the gun. The third movement was to open my bedroom window and step out onto the roof of the attached garage. I could hear screams coming from the house to my left.

4. "Bug-out-bag": "Bug-out-bag" is a term used for a bag or pack that is stocked with three days of food, water and emergency supplies that is ready at all times for a person to grab and go.

CAT

Slipping out of the house this way was not new to me, as on occasion in my childhood, I had gone this way to meet friends after bedtime hours.

Sliding to the edge of the roof, I made the short step down to the top of the awning that covered the veranda on the back side of the house and from there, an easy drop to the ground. Once more Mom's scream came from her master bedroom. Racing around the corner of the house I had a good view of her bedroom. Two men were in the room. She was struggling to free herself from the first who had ripped much of her dress. The second man was standing by the door entry, looking back into the great room. To their fate they both made good targets and this time I did not hesitate. The sights of my gun acquired the chest of the man assaulting Mom and I pulled the trigger. His body recoiled from the impact and my next shot hit the man at the door.

Mom was not a highly paid executive because she was slow of mind. A keen mind coupled with drive and beauty had propelled her upward in her career.

She quickly grasped what had happened and raced to the now broken window that I had shot through. Forcing the window open she saw me standing on the lawn. Putting a leg over the window sill, she leaned to- wards my outstretched arms when a bullet hit the small of her back. Two more hit her upper back as she fell into my arms and slid to the ground. I blindly returned fire through the open window before dropping down beside her. Switching the pistol to my left hand, I slipped my right arm under her and tried to raise her, but she did not move. The beauty of her body remained but she was gone. She was gone, taking with her any remaining hope of ever returning to live with Dad at the ranch.

Kneeling there, with her head in my lap and gun in my hand, I was stunned. Then the words of my father formed again in my mind.

"Move!"

Quickly, but tenderly, I lay mom's head on the grass. Coming to my feet, I started to run for the stone wall at the back of the yard then stopped. I could not leave Mom like that.

On the veranda was a large terracotta pot of beautiful winter flowers. Fear caused me to crouch low as I came to the pot and pulled a large yellow flower from it. Back to my mom I went. With pistol in right hand and flower in left hand, I knelt beside her. With the hand holding the flower, I brushed a lock of golden hair from Mom's face then placed the flower behind her ear. With emotion and pain welling up inside me, I leaned over and kissed her forehead.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"I'm sorry, Mom."

Voices came from inside the house and my level of fear jumped higher.

Stay and protect mother's body or run?

I ran. I ran like a deer fleeing for its life. To the wall I sprinted and threw my bag over it. Without releasing my grip on the pistol I somehow managed to climb the wall and drop to the other side. I was now outside the gated community in a desert area of the city and running wildly. Within 50 feet I stumbled into a dry arroyo choked with brush and tumbleweed along its banks. It gave me some cover but I did not stop in my flight. The sandy wash bed muffled my running steps and it was a good quarter mile before the arroyo passed under the first paved street. I had been fleeing downward towards the city and the Bosque of the Rio Grande. The Bosque was the thick growth of cottonwood trees that flanked both sides of the Rio Grande River ravine.

Stopping at a culvert that passed under a street I tried to listen between my ragged gasps of breaths. I could not hear anyone chasing me but it did not matter, I fled again. Within the next 15 minutes buildings, streets and sidewalks replaced the open desert. I climbed out of the arroyo and started walking down the street that led to the Montafio Bridge that crossed the river. I did not relax my grip on the Sig Saur as anyplace in the city was now dangerous after dark. Like a homing pigeon, by instinct, I was headed west to my father's home on his ranch in Southern Utah. That was just under 500 miles and I was on foot. For a 19 year old girl, alone, on foot and traveling in wintertime one would think it insane, but I was my father's daughter. He had not left me unprepared.

* * *

All of that had happened but a handful of hours ago. How many hours I did not know for sure. But I had made it across the Rio Grande River and exited the west side of Albuquerque out onto the high desert of New Mexico.

The night was wearing on and I was tiring. The adrenaline was finally spent in my body and the muscles in my right hand ached from holding the Sig. Forcing myself to relax just a little, I stuck the pistol into the top of my jeans. Working my stiff fingers back and forth, I looked up into the night sky. Even with the snow falling I could faintly make out the power lines overhead.

CAT

"It can't be much further, Cat," I said to myself. My name is Cathy but everyone calls me Cat. I knew what I was looking for, for I had been there with Dad.

Chapter 2

DAN

January 27th

I had always thought that the Old Cowboy was a little crazy, a little radical, a little over the top—a man frozen in a time gone by. I was his son, the oldest child of Jake Bonham. Now the words and counsel he had tried to give me over the years seemed to be the only sane ideas in a world that was quickly descending into chaos. For the last few months Dad had called me every week asking me to pack up my family and leave San Diego.

A phone call from Dad was no small thing because he had no phone no cordless phone, no cell phone, no smart phone, tablet, laptop or any electronics period. How could anyone live in today's world without electronics? Not only did Dad live without electronics, he lived without electricity. He had made the calls from an archaic payphone in front of the small motel in the little town of Orderville, Utah. He would make the call on his weekly trips into town from the ranch when he would pick up groceries and his mail.

At last I could no longer brush aside his requests as foolishness. For the last year inflation had been running at 15 -20%. High inflation had caused hardship for the country with significant civil unrest, but Washington kept assuring us that things would be getting better soon. Even with the riots in Chicago and other large cities, I could not bring myself to leave San Diego and my nice paying job as a computer programmer. The stock market had been doing well even though unemployment was holding around 16%.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"It's all a house of cards," Dad would say. "The stock market is being propped up by the Federal Reserve and the unemployment only looks as good as it does because of the job growth in government. Our government is monetizing our debt.² It is borrowing almost 60 cents out of every dollar it spends.³Like a snake eating its tail, this can't last forever. We borrow money from China and other countries and then we print money out of thin air to pay them back. It's like borrowing money from a loan shark and then paying him back with monopoly money It doesn't end well, son."

Then China announced that it would no longer buy our debt and interest rates jumped from 9% to 28% overnight. Inflation did not go hyper but rose sharply each month. The stock market started to drop and riots began in San Diego. I took vacation leave, packed a U-Haul trailer, and headed for the ranch.

* * *

The powerful engine of the Escalade purred into the winter's night as my wife, Jill, slept in the seat next to me. In the back seat was Jamie, our six month old daughter and Will, our two year old son. They both slept but Jamie's sleep was fitful with a troubling cough. The day before we left Jill had tried to get Jamie in to see our doctor but he had suddenly left town.

The back of the Escalade, and the U-Haul trailer it towed, contained those things from our home that we now considered most valuable. Almost overnight, the priority of what was valuable had changed—photo albums, blankets, clothing, camping gear and every last can of food we had left in the house.

1. The Federal Reserve was created in 1912 and is the central bank of the United States but is privately owned. Before the creation of the Federal Reserve the US dollar increased in value. In 1912 a working man's wages were about two dollars a day, with which he could feed a family. Since the formation of the Federal Reserve in 1912 the dollar has lost more than 95% of its value. When Andrew Jackson was President (1829 -1837) he defeated the attempt to create a central bank and got the United States out of debt. It took from Andrew Jackson in 1837 to 2008 to run up 9 trillion dollars in debt. In that period of time we had a civil war, two world wars, Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq Wars. Under President Obama from 2009 to 2014 the national debt increased from 9 trillion to over 18 trillion.

2. Monetizing the debt, in simple terms, means we print our own money to pay our own debt.

3. In 2013 the United States Government was borrowing 43 cents of every dollar It spent.

DAN

Food. A twinge of guilt pulled at me. What would Dad think with me showing up at the ranch with so little food? Of course he would say nothing and in no way try to make me feel like I had let him down. But I had. How many times had he told us kids to lay up stores and supplies?

"Make sure you can take care of yourself and do not count on things you cannot control." Then he would add, "And make sure you are capable of protecting yourself, your family, and your property."

That was his way of saying you better have a gun. That window had been closed for some time now. Again, that twinge of guilt. Before our previous President had finished his last term in office, gun control was the law of the land. With the new appointments in the Supreme Court it had moved hard left. The new Court upheld the President's executive orders, which consolidated even more power in the executive branch of government. Writing for the majority, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court had paid lip homage to the Constitution and Founding Fathers while at the same time shredding the tattered document even more.

"The genius of our Founding Fathers," he wrote, "was to give us a living, breathing charter of government upon which each new generation may interpret for the will and benefit of the whole."

Living and breathing was just another way of saying, "Words mean whatever we want them to mean." The term benefit of the whole meant "Quit talking about unalienable rights."

I would always push back when he would encourage me to get a gun. "Dad," 1 would say, "We live in a different world than you do. The whole country lives in a different world than you do, for Pete's sake! You are stuck back in the days when your Grandpa's Dad rode out of Texas pushing a herd of longhorns. If he came back from the dead this ranch would look just about the same as when he died, even down to his six-shooter you still pack on your hip."

The Escalade droned on. We were now well into the state of Arizona. We had been climbing in elevation and had just passed the little town of Ash Fork. It was a small Highway 66 town that had been dying a slow death since the freeway had been built. Flagstaff was not far away. It would have been much faster to have taken 1-15 through Las Vegas, Nevada but, like L.A., civil unrest was starting to break out there as well. To avoid that, I had chosen to take 1-40 and circle around through Flagstaff. From there I would go north staying on Highway 89 which passed through Page, crossing the Colorado River at the Glen Canyon Dam. From Page, the ranch was less than an hour and a half away.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

Looking in my rear view mirror, I could see the winding lights of the cars on the freeway behind me—white headlights moving east and red taillights moving west. The country was in a state of unrest with people traveling to and fro looking for security. The warmth inside the Escalade was comforting and with a full tank of gas I would have my family to the ranch before I had to refill.

Suddenly the lights of the Escalade blinked out as the engine died. I applied the brakes to a vehicle that had found itself in a world that had just gone dark. The rearview mirror confirmed that there were suddenly no longer white lights and red lights; there were 110 lights.

The Escalade drifted to the side of the road and stopped. Jill stirred from her sleep in the seat next to me. "What's wrong, Dan?" I did not reply. I was afraid that I knew what was wrong.

Chapter 3

CAT

January 27th

The snow was starting to fall a little faster and more than an inch was on the ground. The bushes were wet from the snow, soaking my pants as I walked through them. I was cold.

The gold watch on my left wrist was a gift from Mom and I looked at it. It was 2:20 A.M. Following the power lines, the last ridge that I had crossed was a mile back. When I crossed that ridge I had descended into the wide Rio Puerco valley and was now topping its west ridge. The lights of Albuquerque, which had disappeared from view when I had descended into the valley, were now reappearing and twinkled in the distance.

I was close, I knew I was close. Un-slinging my bug-out-bag from over my head, I set it in the shallow snow. Pulling my flashlight from its side pocket, I began casting the beam across the ground south of the power line.

There it was! The spot I was looking for. A lone cedar tree, weathered by time, clung to a small rocky outcropping. Beyond the tree was a large hollow area. Close to the center of the hollow was a small bump the size of a soft ball.

Walking to the bump I kicked it and a rusty tin can was exposed from below the snow. The tin can was both marker and digging device. Kneeling down, I started digging. I was grateful the ground was not yet hard frozen. Within eight inches I hit the first five gallon bucket. In a moment I had all four of them uncovered and sitting on the snow. I had been shivering for a good while but now it was starting to become uncontrollable. My light tennis shoes as well as the bottom of my jeans were soaked from the snow. The bottoms of my pants were starting to harden as the moisture in them began to freeze. I began to worry. There were some dead cedar limbs lying on the ground by the tree. They were wet and covered with snow. Starting a fire in this weather, shaking as I was, was going to be impossible with the lighter from my bug-out-bag. Hypothermia was closing in upon me. I needed external heat.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

Taking the first bucket, I turned it upside down, emptying the contents on the snow. They were not in this bucket. Emptying the second one, I found them—two road flares. Waterproof and a burn time of 15 minutes each.

With foresight that comes from time and experience, Dad had placed them in the buckets several years ago. I had been there helping him. "Cat," he said to me, "There are times when getting a fire going is the difference between life and death. In those situations a person is often as wet as the wood he is trying to light. This road flare will burn long enough to dry your wood and start it burning."

Stumbling to the foot of the cedar tree, I lit the flare and its red flames crackled to life. I did not appreciate the fact that the light gave away my position to any fool who also might be wandering around in the dark at 2:30 in the morning but that was not to be helped. Breaking the smallest branches from the dead limb, I started laying them on the flare and soon had a good blaze going. The third bucket had a good goose down bedroll that was placed inside a camo covered Gore-Tex liner. Gore-Tex. Gore-Tex was waterproof but still breathed and it would keep me from the wet snow. I pulled the sleeping bag from the liner and laid the liner on the snow next to the fire. Pulling off my wet jeans, I sat down cross legged on the liner and wrapped the bedroll around me and over my head. This left my legs exposed to the warmth of the flames. Finally, after a half hour of warming I quit the violent shaking.

As the heat seeped into me and the shivering subsided, my body started to relax. I started to drift in and out Of sleep and my mind returned to Mom. It did not seem real. Yet there on my hands was her dried blood. Quiet tears started running down my cheeks. My world was changing fast. The comfort and security that filled my youth was taking wings of flight. With comfort and security departing, I had to admit, I was scared. But something remained. Hope. Hope remained and I clung to it. Hope that I would make it home to the ranch. Hope that I would see my brother and sisters. Hope that I would again see my father. That he would hug me in his reassuring arms, comfort my aching heart and make my world right once more.

My eyelids were just closing when a brilliant and blinding flash of light filled the whole of the sky. The clouds and falling snow for a moment were as plain to see as if it were mid-day. Turning my head towards the city of Albuquerque I saw a tremendous pillar of smoke rise up with a mushroom cloud on top of it. I could tell it was coming from Luke Air Force Base.

CAT

The fearful energy of a hydrogen bomb rolled out from under the mushroom cloud.

In unbelief, I stared as all the remaining electric lights of the city blacked out. In seconds I felt and heard the rumble and roar of the atomic explosion. My desperate little camp was more than twelve miles from the impact of the bomb and beyond the blast radius. If I had thought my world had been changing fast it now changed at the speed of light.

Chapter 4

DAN

January 27th

Growing up and with every vacation trip I had made back to the ranch over the years, Dad would have something he wanted to teach me and my siblings. He was a reading man. His library was extensive, from the old classics to the latest political book. Then there were the revolving stacks of weekly periodicals. He would have us all gather together in the great room of the rock home.

If it was winter, he would build a fire in the large rock fireplace. Then, by the light of an old kerosene lamp, he would pull up his old wood rocker and read to us. As kids, sometimes we listened and sometimes we lay on the floor playing with small toys.

From the old world, he would read to us from the works of Aristotle to John Locke. From the new world, he would read from the writings of the Founding Fathers to the latest books by conservative political writers. For fun he would throw in a western novel.

It did not matter from what wide array of literature he would read from, he always started with the Bible. Besides the four Gospels in the New Testament, he loved the writings of the Old Testament prophets like Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Joel.

As an adult and starting my own family, I had found it increasingly hard to listen to him. More and more he would talk about freedom and how those freedoms were being eroded away in this great land. He always sounded so doomsday-ish.

Now I was sitting in the dark, in a car that did not run, in a forest with snow falling. This definitely had a doomsday-ish feel to it.

One of Dad's contentions had been that, as bad as radical Islam and the caliphate were, they were not the major external threat to our country. They were useful puppets of Russia and China, but the caliphate did not have the nuclear arsenal and war machine of the super powers.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"Communism, fascism, socialism and radical Islam cannot peacefully co-exist with freedom," he would say.

"The economic principles of communism, fascism and socialism are false and cannot sustain themselves. The state run capitalism of Russia and China is nothing more than a reshuffling of the old communist leaders who traded military uniforms for business suits.

"When our economy starts to fail, theirs will too. At some point the super powers will have to become predatory to their neighbors. They will prey upon their neighbors in order to keep power and survive. I looked out the window of the Escalade into the darkness. Without the car heater running, the temperature inside began to drop quickly.

China, Russia or radical Islam, it didn't matter. Someone had hit our country with a nuclear strike. It had to be a nuclear strike or at least an EMP bomb¹ It was the only thing that could cause all cars to shut off at once. At least that is what Dad had said.

Jill remained quiet in the seat next to me while I thought. What else had Dad said?

"...Dan Bonham, when our country gets hit it will be a massive nuclear 'first strike' by Russia and China.² They are not going to waste just single EMP strike on us, even by proxy of radical Islam. If they were going to seize the economic engines of Europe and Asia they must first render America inert. They will use a potent concoction of nuclear missile strikes coordinated between the two countries. They will target most of our military bases and much of the power production in our country. And, of course, they will use several well-spaced EMPs."

EMP, an electrical magnetic pulse bomb, detonated in the atmosphere over our country would take out every electronic circuit in the bomb's line of sight. That had to be why there were no lights and why my cell phone would not turn on.

1. An EMP is an electromagnetic pulse that is created by a nuclear blast detonated in the atmosphere which will fry all electronic circuits in the line of sight. A single nuclear bomb detonated high above the state of Kansas would shut down all of the United States.

2. It is clear that Russia and China are increasing the pace of their nuclear weapons build up while the U.S. is unilaterally disarming its own. Russia alone is greatly superior in their amount of nuclear arsenal compared to the United States. (See Joel Skousen's research at "World Affairs Brief.com" link; Strategic threats of this decade. And his book, Strategic Relocation.

DAN

I still did not want to believe it, but it was getting colder in the car and was dark everywhere. Sitting there, wasting time, I thought of the arguments I had with Dad.

"That is never going to happen." I would say. Then he would start with all the reasons it could.

"Listen Dan, your government is lying to you and our media is keeping us in the dark. Russia and China are combining to take down our country economically and militarily.

"Did you know that Russia now has 32 stealth destroyers that can get close enough to our aircraft carriers undetected and sink them?

"We have removed our missile defenses from Europe and changed our nuclear doctrine. Under Bill Clinton it was changed from launch upon warning to launch after receiving a first strike.³ Not only that, Bill Clinton sold to the Chinese our missile technology that made their intercontinental missiles much more accurate.

"No one is listening to China's generals. They speak all the time about open warfare with America and using a preemptive nuclear strike. It’s in their military doctrine."

I could not help but turn the key to the Escalade one more time. Nothing. There were only two cuss words you would hear once and awhile at the ranch, damn and hell. I chose the first and swore softly under my breath, "Damn, damn, damn, why didn't I leave yesterday!"

"Honey," the tone of worry distinct in Jill's voice. "What happened, what's wrong?"

"We're not making it to the ranch tonight. We are not going to get there anytime soon and it's going to be on foot when we do. Let's get moving."

That thought, move, always move forward. Those were my Dad's words and they brought comfort to me. I knew the staggering task that suddenly lay before me. Wife, small child, infant, these I must take over three hundred miles on foot in the face of a coming winter storm, but I was my father's son.

3. Bill Clinton changed the nuclear doctrine of our country in 1998 of "Launch on Warning" by his order (PDD-60) to that of retaliating after absorbing after strike. The U.S. government has been and is currently engaged in number of important transfers of military technology to Russia and China. Again, see the above references of Joel Skousen's research.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

Though I had come to disagree with him as an adult on these issues, there were many good memories from my youth. The memories of my upbringing in the back hills of southern Utah came flooding back to me—memories of ranching, camping and hunting. Those memories brought me hope because I had been given a lifetime of survival skills by a father, a father who made his children a priority in his life, one who never missed a chance to teach and guide them.

Jill exited the Escalade and went to the back of the U-Haul. I grabbed the Maglite from under the seat as I got out. The darkness was eerie. The pine trees loomed tall and a cold breeze moved their branches and I shivered.. The shiver was not all from the cold but also from the dark picture that lay before me. It was a picture that would give any father a chill.

I met Jill back at the U-Haul.

"Jill, we can take only those things we can pack on our backs. We must streamline things to the bare essentials."

I started pulling things out, looking for the camping gear. Jill was holding the flashlight for me as I worked, when I heard the crunch of steps in the snow behind me. The hair on the back of my neck rose as I smelled the scent of alcohol.

"Man, isn't this freaky?" A man's voice brought home to me just how vulnerable I was. Taking the flashlight from Jill as I turned, I saw two men, both Caucasian. The first, medium build, unshaven with hair combed back. He had on a greasy, tan colored, Carhardt jacket. His hands were in the pockets of the jacket and I could tell that the right hand held something.

The second man was also unshaven and unwashed. A dirty stocking cap was on his head with long greasy hair sticking out the sides. He packed a gut but was a mountain Of a man, and under the fat, one knew there was solid mass. If I was to guess his weight it would be over 325 pounds. He was the one who held the flashlight and he was looking at Jill. Starting at her feet, his eyes moved up and back down, taking her all in.

Primal instinct kicked in and I was hyper-vigilant. The Maglite that I held in my hand was a six cell light which Dad had given us for Christmas. Dad gave no trivial gifts and, like so many other gifts, it came with training. Thus, I held the flashlight with my hand next to the lens. Holding it shoulder high, the base of the light extended back over my shoulder.

"Sure is," I replied as I watched the big man step to the side of the U-Haul and shine his light into the windows of the Escalade.

DAN

"Just those two, Joe, nobody else," the big man said, and a nasty grin came upon the face of the smaller man.

With each second that passed pressure had increased inside me. My wife, my children—must keep them safe. I was now a bow, bent to the max and that grin released the string. Springing forward, I brought the flashlight arching down with a crash upon the smaller man's skull. He collapsed at my feet. Leaping to the right, I swung for the head of the big man. Had he not been grabbing for something in the waistband of his jeans he could have blocked the strike. The heavy Maglite smashed flush alongside his head and he should have dropped but did not. He staggered and I struck again and again till he too lay upon the snow. He had fallen upon his back and I reached down and pulled a gun from his waist band. A Kimber 45 auto. So much for gun control keeping guns out of the hands of the bad guys.

Were they bad guys? Had I over reacted?

The first man started to rise and I reacted again with another strike to his head. What was I doing?!

The desire to keep my family safe was overpowering my reasoning. I grabbed the tool box I had placed at the back of the U-Haul and took a roll of duct tape from it. With the tape, I had them both bound hand and foot before they started to stir. Sputtering foul words, the big man was first to come to.

That brought a fresh wrap of tape covering his mouth. For good measure I taped the smaller man's mouth too. Kneeling beside the man, I withdrew a snub nose 38 caliber revolver from his right jacket pocket. The left pocket contained a handful of bullets. I was about to thrust them into my pants pocket when the words of my father came again into my mind. "Keep track of your ammo, son. Don't get sloppy."

1, 2, 3, 4 … 13 and five in the gun, making 18 total. The Kimber had seven in the magazine and one in the chamber.

I stopped and looked up at Jill. During the confrontation I was unaware of her actions, but she was standing beside me holding a fist size rock over her head. It startled me. She had not frozen during my fight. She had found the only weapon she could and was ready to use it to protect me.

"Easy Jill, easy."

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

Where had that reaction come from? I knew she had an internal strength but this was beyond anything I had seen before. She lowered the rock and I handed her the 45 auto.

'Take this and point it at them. If they try to get loose, pull the trigger. The safety is off and it's ready to fire."

Shoot someone who had done nothing more than walk up to us in the dark? Was I still over reacting? This was crazy. Jill was a city girl, beautiful with medium brown hair. The quality of her character had quickly won my father's acceptance. It was he who had taught Jill to shoot. Retrieving the big man's flashlight, I shined it on the snow and could see their tracks. How far had they walked? It couldn't be far. I shined the light back down the freeway. About fifty yards back was what looked to be a late model Lincoln Town Car. I could see no one in it.

"Jill, I'll be right back."

Following the tracks in the snow led me directly to the car. This vehicle did not match up with the character of the two men I had bound in duct tape. The exterior was white with a cream colored leather interior. I opened the driver's door and looked in. There was dried blood on both the driver and passenger seats. I was not surprised. My gut instinct was right and I had not over reacted.

Rummaging through the assorted bags in the back seat I came across a box of 45 auto cartridges. It was the only thing useful and I opened the box. It was partially full and I counted the bullets; five in a row, l, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Six full rows plus one row with only three. 'Thirty-three rounds," I said to myself. "That's good; someone is looking out for me." Truly, it was a God-send and I whispered a few words of thanks.

The trunk was full of valuable items that looked to have been lifted from a wealthy home. On second thought, many of those things had just lost their value within the last half hour. The large assortment of high-end electronics were all worthless now.

There was a mid-sized wood box with Oriental carvings on it. Opening the lid, I found some stacks of 100 dollar bills bound by bank wrappings marked $2000 dollars. 1, 2, 3 ... 10, I counted ten bundles of each, making $20,000 total. Two years ago $20, 000 could buy a lot more than it would today, but two weeks from now it would be worthless. Still, in the next two days it could have some value. The other items in the box would definitely hold their value much longer. There was an assortment of jewelry. Rings, bracelets and necklaces made of diamonds, pearls and gold took up the remainder of the space.

DAN

I was confident the owners of this wealth had departed this life recently and violently. In this rapidly evolving world there would be no investigation by law enforcement of their deaths, no APB on a stolen vehicle. Filling both pockets of my parka with the jewelry, I zipped them shut. I took no more than what the two pockets could hold and then I stuffed the bundles of cash into my shirt. My mind was working fast and a plan was forming on how to keep my family alive and get them home to the ranch.

Returning to our U-Haul, I could see Jill had not been idle. With one hand pointing the automatic at the bound men, she was pulling items from the U-Haul with the other. She had our two year-old child's carrier out and the infant's Moby wrap. The carrier was like a framed backpack in which our little Will could ride. It was built to be able to be worn either on your back or in the front of you. I was glad Jill had loaded that. I could put a backpack on my back and still carry a child at my front. Using the Moby wrap, Jill could do the same for the baby.

I took over the unloading from Jill and she kept watch on the men. I soon had the camping gear out. All I was really looking for was our bug-out-bags. Two Christmases ago they had been Dad's gift to each of us children. He bought the quality backpacks and the items that would go into them but he made us kids put them together. He wanted to make sure we understood what was in them. They had food and water for three days along with items such as first aid kits, space blankets, small polar fleece blankets and fire starters. My opinion of Dad was quickly retuning to that of my childhood perception. As kids we always thought Dad knew everything and could do anything. These Christmas gifts that I had been dismissive of two years ago now gave me increased hope. And I needed that. I needed that because there was a fear growing inside of me. I was a young father with a family that I loved more than life itself. The fear that I might lose one or all of them in the coming days was starting to take root. The fact being, I had already come close to losing them all just moments ago.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

With my backpack on and with little Will cradled in the carrier at my front, I helped Jill put baby Jamie in the Moby wrap. The baby coughed. I put my cheek to her forehead and felt. The forehead felt warm; a little feverish? Being out in this cold I couldn't tell for sure. "She will be okay, she will be okay," I thought to myself, "Need to move. Need to move forward."

"Jill, we need to be going."

Without saying anything, she took the flashlight from me and opened a cardboard box she had set aside on the ground. It contained our photo albums. Kneeling on the ground, quietly she turned the pages of the largest album. Coming to the page she wanted, she withdrew a photo of our wedding day. Then she took the large family photo that we had just taken a month ago. Carefully she folded the large picture and placed them in her inside coat pocket. Standing back up she turned and pointed to the men lying in the snow.

"What about them?"

I didn't want to think about them. I didn't to think about them because there was not an easy answer. There would be no law enforcement to take them into custody. No jail to hold them, no sheriff to investigate, no court to try them. If I let them go they would prey upon the next unsuspecting and unarmed motorist that was stranded on this road. I revolted at the thought of shooting them. If I left them as they were they would freeze to death.

Taking some quilts from the back of the Escalade I rolled their smelly bodies up in them. Hate poured from their eyes as they were unable to speak. They were now bundled up on the ground at the back of the U-Haul. I took a tube of lipstick from Jill's purse, which purse I had to coax Jill into leaving behind. With the lipstick I wrote upon the door of the U-Haul. "Bad men, be careful," with an arrow pointing downward towards them.

It was still not a good answer. They would die there or other bad men would let them go. If they were let loose they would then join together to plunder others. But this answer would have to do; I couldn't shoot them.

"Dan," Jill came close to me, "What are we doing? How will we ever make 300 miles like this?"

"Jill, I have a plan."

Chapter 5

THE TWINS

January 27th

HayLee and KayLee were the names of the twins. That was their mother's doing. She was from the Deep South with ancestors that had fought for the Confederacy. Her family still had a reverence for General Robert E. Lee, hence the names. The problem being, when you called for them it hard to tell the sound of the names apart. By default, the family started calling them HayLee-H and KayLee-K. Mom didn't like it, but it worked and the names stuck. The only ones that didn't use the hyphenated names were themselves.

They were 21 and in their second year at the Utah Valley University in Orem. They were on a full ride scholarship as guards for the University's basketball team. Basketball ran strong in the mountain valleys of southern Utah. The high school located in the small town of Orderville which town was not even big enough to warrant a stop sign on the main street. They were identical twins with very few differences between them. One significant difference, however, was that HayLee-H was right handed, and KayLee-K was left handed. That only complemented them on the ball court as HayLee-H took the right wing position, and KayLee-K took the left wing. They were a dynamite pair on the court and led the team to two state titles in their league. With their long blond hair pulled back in braided pony tails, they were spitting images of their mother in her youth.

It was late in the month of January when KayLee-K awoke in the early morning hours to an eerily quiet world. Laying in the dark, she wondered if she were back home at the ranch. As her mind began to clear she concluded that, no, indeed she was still at her apartment in Orem. The quietness and darkness were puzzling. Those two things went with the ranch, but not with Orem. Climbing out of the warm blankets she stepped into an apartment that was colder than usual. Moving to the window she peered through the blinds of their second story apartment. There were no lights at all. No car lights, no street lights, no traffic lights. She could make out people standing by their cars trying to punch numbers into their smart phones. This all had a very eerie feel to it. This was not like a normal power outage; it was all the stalled cars that caused the uneasiness. Cars always ran during power outages. In the West vehicles moved society. They moved people. They moved things. They moved food.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"HayLee, get up," she called to her sister in the dark. "We need to be moving." The tone of her voice brought her sister wide awake. "What is it KayLee?"

"I think our world has changed and we need to be moving."

"Turn on the light, KayLee."

"No can do, sis. They don't work."

With that, HayLee-H rolled from her bed and onto her knees. Reaching under the bed, she pulled out a dark colored quality backpack. From the backpack she pulled a light stick. Bending the light stick, she activated the chemicals and it began to glow a soft green color. Holding the glowing stick, she walked to the window by her sister.

"It's dark, KayLee, and I can't see a single car running. This looks pretty bad."

"It looks bad and it feels bad. I don't know about you but I think it's time to take a break from school and go see Dad," HayLee-H said.

"Yep, I think no cars running and no electricity qualifies for an activation of Get out of Dodge plan."

HayLee-H laughed wryly. "Get out of Dodge. That used to sound funny."

In short order both girls were dressed in warm clothes.

Not only were they sisters, they were best friends. Where one went the other one did too. Cheerfulness was their nature and they were full of life. Being raised on the ranch, they grew up doing hard things. They had started helping Dad with the ranch work well before their legs were long enough to reach the saddle stirrups.

KayLee-K had also pulled a matching backpack from under her bed. No need to check the contents of the pack, it was always ready to go with enough food and water for three days. The only thing she took out was the 45 caliber Sig Sauer auto. It was just like the one HayLee-K was pulling out of her pack, a full size P-220. Both had matching belts and holsters made of fine leather with a magazine pouch that held two extra magazines. Highly illegal nowadays, but Dad had insisted that the girls take them when they went to college. Dad had always been a law abiding man but as things had changed in the country, there were lines in the sand which he had drawn and from which he would not be moved. One of those lines was the unalienable right a man (or a man's daughter) had to protect himself, his family, and his property.

THE TWINS

"'Those rights come to us at birth," he told the girls when he had helped them pack the Sig Sauers into their bug-out-bags. "They come to us from God and no man, or group of men, has the right to take them from you. It does not matter if it is the tyranny of a tyrant or the tyranny of the majority, tyranny hates the right to self-defense. It is a threat to them. Now you are going to be taught different things at the university.

You will be taught that the collective society determines what rights a man has and does not have. Therefore, those rights are always changing and drifting with the tide of popular opinion. Remember, the vast majority of Germany supported Hitler in the beginning. Majority rule must stop at our unalienable rights. Without that, pure democratic rule is a terrible thing. It's like two wolves and a lamb voting to see what's for dinner."

The cold morning was grey and hinting at snow as the girls stepped out of the apartment. Backpacks on, they carried their mountain bikes down the flight of stairs to the ground level. It was 260 miles from Orem to the ranch. Divided by three, that was 86.6 miles a day. For HayLee-H and KayLee-K that was very doable. They were in great shape from playing college ball. Their long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail which protruded out the back of their matching ball caps above the size adjustment straps, They had on warm ear bands that went under the ponytail, over the ears and over the front of the ball cap. These also matched. They had on warm coats, matching, that covered the holstered pistols.

The sisters stood a moment beside their bikes before mounting.

"KayLee, look at them. Don't they look lost,"she said, motioning to the people now walking away from their cars. "They don't know what hit them. This looks just like Dad said it would right after a nuclear strike. If they think the high inflation was a serious hardship, well, what do you think is going to happen when they figure out that, along with their own cars, the semi-trucks that bring the food to the stores are not running

"It's going to be bad, HayLee. I feel for the good people that turned in their guns in the mandatory buyback program of the Feds. This is no place to be in a couple of days so let's blow on out of here while they're still scratching their ears."

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"You said it, Sis. Let's make some tracks." With that they gave each other a fist bump with fists that were bundled in warm gloves and mounted their bikes. Leaning forward, they soon were up to a good clip weaving in and out of the people and stalled cars. Puzzled people stopped to watch them go. It was the contrast that made the people stop and look. As they passed, there was an air about them that people could feel and see. No confusion, no hesitation. Two on the move, two that knew where they were going, two that were prepared.

Staying off the freeway, they kept to the back roads and headed south. South to home, south to the ranch, south to Dad. They did not stop for people that called to them, they did not stop for those that waved to them, they did not stop for lunch. On they peddled into the grey day with soft flakes Of snow falling upon them. They had gone 90 miles by the time they reached the town of Gunnison. It was not dark yet and they could have gone further but it was the habit they had picked up from Dad that stopped them.

"When traveling by foot or horseback in wintertime, secure your camp before dark. Have wood, fire and shelter before you lose your light."

They were not on foot or horseback, but it was still a good habit. The first low-class motel they passed had a group of men standing in front of it. Having got caught away from home, some of the motel ten- ants were already banding together. With no cars running, instinctually, people knew that something major had happened. There were no city police cars, no highway patrol cars, no county sheriff cars, and that meant no law enforcement. They whistled and made cat calls at the girls passing by on their bikes.

"Hey, girls, wait a minute. Don't be in such a rush. It's cold, come have a drink and warm up."

Ignoring them, the twins did not stop. It was not until the third motel, a small strip motel with all the doors facing the parking lot, did they stop. It was a motel where the manager lived in the room behind the office. The glass door was locked but an Asian man could be seen behind the register counter. They tapped on the door but the man waved them off.

"Not open, not open."

KayLee-K did not reply. She simply unzipped the pack and pulled out two silver dollars and held them against the glass door by the flat of palm. Dad made sure a little "junk silver"¹ was included in everyone's bug-out-bag. The Asian man was no fool. With the crumbling value of paper currency, he could see the silver and knew of its value. Opening the door, he asked, "Do you want room?"

THE TWINS

"Please," KayLee-K replied.

"No water, no heat," he tried to muster authority through his thick accent, but his kindly heart showed through.

"It's okay. We just want a bed to sleep in and maybe some extra blankets."

The girls had picked the old motel for a reason. It still used conventional brass keys for the door locks. All the motels with electronic door locks and key cards no longer worked. It was getting cold and getting out of the breeze and falling snow was a necessity. Pulling their bikes inside with them, HayLee-H hooked the security chain and turned the deadbolt. For good measure, she propped a chair under the door handle. It was dark and KayLee-K activated another light stick. They soon were undressed down to their Under Armor and tucked into the same bed under layers of blankets. KayLee-K on the left side of the bed and HayLee-H on the right, each with her pistol under the pillow.

"It's been a good first day Sis," KayLee-K said. "Two more of these and we'll be home."

"Yes it has, but I'll bet Dad's a frettin."

"You know he will be," KayLee-K replied. "He told us that something like this was bound to happen and worked to prepare us for it. I hope he doesn't worry too much and trust that we haven't forgotten all he's taught us."

"How would you feel right now if you were one of the millions upon millions in this country that didn't believe this could ever happen and never prepared for it?" HayLee-H asked.

"Yeah, no cars running sounded like an impossibility. What was that scripture that Dad would read from the Bible?"

"I'm not sure, but let's find it," HayLee-H replied as she leaned over to open the drawer of the night stand. There happened to be two Bibles in the drawer; A Gideon and a King James. Being Mormon country, there was also a Book of Mormon. Pulling out the King James Bible, she held the light stick close to it. Turning to the Bible index she looked up the word "chariots." After turning the pages for about five minutes HayLee-H stopped. "Okay, I think I've found it."

1. Junk silver is a term used for U.S. silver coins minted in 1964 and earlier that contains 90% silver.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"Micah 4:10. And it shall come to pass in that day, saith the Lord, that I will cut off thy horses out of the midst of thee, and I will destroy thy chariots."

"Well, Sis," KayLee-K said somberly, "I think we have lived to see that happen. Overnight our fast paced, jet propelled world has found itself going at horse and buggy speed."

There was a long pause in the conversation then HayLee-H broke the silence.

"KayLee, do you think Cat was successful in getting Mom to come back to the ranch in time?"

"l hope so, HayLee. Dad didn't want Cat to go to Albuquerque. He wanted Mom to come to the ranch and Cat thought that if she went to Albuquerque she could talk Mom into it. Dad was worried that they both would get stuck there."

Again, silence in the room.

"Sis," HayLee-H started, "I'm worried about Dan. You know that when he got older he had a hard time believing Dad when he would say that things could get really bad. Dad has been calling him and trying to convince him to come back to the ranch. So far, he hasn't been willing to leave San Diego."

"HayLee, you know Dan is tough. If anyone could get out of there it would be him."

Both girls were again silent. The strength and comfort the sisters drew from each other had been a lifelong thing. To have complete trust and confidence in another human being was a gem beyond price.

HayLee-H put the Bible and light stick in the drawer of the nightstand and closed it. It was now dark in the room and the girls drifted off to sleep. Sleep that was welcomed, sleep that was needed. But what is welcomed and what is needed is not always what one gets.

The sisters were in their sleep but for only an hour when a brass key was entered into the deadbolt of their motel room door. Silently it was turned back leaving the door unlocked. The door knob was then turned open and two shoulders slammed against the door. Had there been no chair propped under the door knob the door's safety chain would have been ripped from its anchor screws. As it was, the chair legs cracked but the chain held. It held for the first blow but it didn't hold for the second. With another lunge, the assailants crashed through the door as the legs of the chair splintered and the safety chain ripped from the wall.

THE TWINS

It was that split second between the first lunge and the second lunge that cost the men their lives. The darkness of the room was ripped by jags of light from the muzzle flashes of duel Sig Sauers. HayLee-H fired six shots and KayLee-K fired five.

With ears ringing from the concussion of gun fire, HayLee-H grabbed the glowing light stick from the nightstand drawer. Both men were on the floor. Moaning, one of the men tried to rise to his knees and KayLee-K put two more rounds through him.

Within four minutes, with recharged magazines, the girls were dressed, packed and peddling into the dark.

Chapter 6

CAT

January 27th

The rumble of the nuclear explosion reached my little camp as I stumbled to my feet. I wanted to turn my back to the city and the horrid scene of destruction but my feet would not move, so I buried my face in my hands. How could this happen, how could this happen? Where was our government that was supposed to protect this country? What fools in Washington thought that by unilaterally disarming¹ ourselves it would make the rest of the world like us more? There were actual fools in Washington but there were also traitors. Traitors that knew this would happen. They would not be the ones caught by surprise. Their families would not be in a nuclear strike zone nor downwind in the path of any fallout.

Traitors. That word burned in my mind. One of the few things that the federal government had the right and responsibility to do was to protect this land. Democrats and Republicans both had their share of treasonous representatives. As a whole, the Republican party continue to alienate their conservative base. Freedom loving people put their trust in them because the leadership sounded good when they spoke, making promises and pledges, pledges of loyalty to the ideas of a responsible and limited government. They were hollow pledges that gave only token lip service to the Constitution. Almost no politician considered the Constitution to be the supreme law of the land anymore. They each placed their hand on the Bible and swore an oath to protect and defend it. Once in office they would promptly dishonor that oath. Moreover, the size and scope of the government continued to increase, abetted by their lack of integrity to the promises.

1. Most people think that everyone will die in a nuclear war. This is inaccurate. The initial loss of life in America with a full nuclear attack is about 20%. The majority of countries in the world will not even be targeted in a nuclear war. The blast radius is about 5 to 10 miles and the radioactive fallout dissipates in one to two weeks. The fallout is much different than that of a nuclear reactor meltdown, (See Joel Skousen's research at 'World Affairs Brief.com" link; Strategic threats of this decade.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

It was the disgust that the people had for congress that brought in the third party, The Independent American Party. I had joined The Independent American Party. It split the Republican Party and gave The Democrats unchallenged majorities everywhere. Many of the Tea Party and libertarians flowed into the new party. There were honest Democrats that truly believed in the right of privacy that also joined. It was like spitting into the sea. Government was entrenched, embedded and inserted into every aspect of our lives. The train could not be stopped, it could not be turned; it was off its tracks and had just gone over the cliff.

It was still hours before the light of the new day would come, but I could not wait. I did not want to wait. The falling snow was a blessing. It would help pull down the radiation from the nuclear blast. The prevailing winds were also in my favor as they came from the southwest, pushing the fallout away from me. The people that lived in the Sandia Mountains east of Albuquerque were not so lucky.

Throwing the last of the cedar limbs onto the fire, I piled all the items from the buckets onto my bed. One bucket had a full sized, unframed backpack. It took me a half hour to order, organize and pack things from the buckets into my double strapped back pack. When I was done I was dressed in Under Armor thermals with good jeans made of Gore-Tex over my thermals. I had located my holster for the Sig and it was now buckled around my hips.

I pulled on two pair of wool socks and inserted them in a pair of Danner Pronghorn boots. The leather Pronghorns were lined with Gore-Tex and had 400 grams of Thinsulate. (Dad was big on taking care of one's feet.) My coat was goose down with a Gore-Tex shell and insulated hood. Both pants and coat were Mossy Oak camouflage as was my backpack. Before putting on my pack I had one more thing to do.

Returning to the hole, I picked up the tin can and dug a little more. Out of the dirt I pulled a thin, long case. Three strong snaps bound this waterproof container closed. I brushed off the dirt and opened it. Kneeling in the dirt and snow, I let the beam of my flashlight rest upon the rifle, a simple bolt action Remington 700 in a 243 caliber. A Leopold 3x9 scope mounted to it and four boxes of bullets. I did not remove it from the case but for a moment just looked at it. Distance was now a manageable thing with this rifle. With the scope I could see more things at a distance, I could bag game at a distance and I could better keep hostiles at a distance.

CAT

"Dad," I spoke as if he were here. "How did you know that I would need all these things?" I then picked up the gun and loaded it.

My world, my life, now had a fighting chance of survival. With my backpack on, and rifle slung over my shoulder I headed west. In my coat pocket was a map of New Mexico and a compass. No GPS would work now; we were back to maps and compasses.

Over the years, when we would come with Dad to visit Mom in Albuquerque, he would always stop and make a stash along the way. Mom thought it strange. As children, we thought it fun and an adventure. The first stash he had made was the one I had just opened and it was the most extensive of them all. The other stashes were simple: a five-gallon waterproof bucket containing a three day's supply of food for two people. The food 'Was a mixture but each had a long shelf life of 20 years or more. There was water, but only for two days for two people. From this place there would be another stash 50 miles to the west. Approximately every 50 miles from here to the ranch one could find, if he had my map, another stash. Five hundred miles from ranch to Albuquerque, that meant nine stashes. Traveling slow and careful, it would be three days between stashes. That made 30 days between me and home.

Using my compass, I would travel cross country paralleling 1-40. I wanted distance between me and the burning city. I could not bring myself to look back. Like Lot and Lot's wife from the Bible, I feared that if I turned and looked back I would be overcome. Not that I would become a pillar of salt but I feared emotions of sorrow might overpower me.

"No time, no time for sorrow," I thought to myself and I pushed on. The grey day came slowly to light. I had walked another three hours, now tired, I needed sleep. On a high ridge there was some tall, thick brush which I worked myself into. It had a good view of the land around me while concealing me from others. Not undressing or building a fire, I wrapped myself in my bedroll and sat down. Looking through the tangled brush, I could see the freeway in the distance below me. No cars were running and there were strings of people walking; walking west away from Albuquerque. Bringing my rifle to my shoulder I looked at them through the scope. I could make out men, women and children. All walking, some carrying bundles, others carrying babes. How would they make it? Where would they go? Who could help? It would not be FEMA, or Homeland Security, it would not be any government agency. They had long promised that if everyone did their fair share that all would have security, all would have a home, all would have a job, and all would have health care. Liars. All of them.

Keeping the rifle in hand, I lay down to sleep.

Chapter 7

DAN

January 27^th

I had a plan. A day ago I would have thought such a plan to be reckless and foolish. Today it was probably my only hope of keeping my little family alive.

"Keep your head about you," Dad would say. That was his way of saying, use your brains, don't panic and problem solve.

From the moment the Escalade had died my mind had been working. Mentally I looked forward to what I would be facing. In a few hours, once it became light, this freeway would be a string of refugees walking into the town of Williams, four miles ahead. Williams was not capable of caring for itself let alone any refugees. Like all other cities, it depended upon the daily flow of semi-trucks that delivered food and fuel to it. The city of Flagstaff, that lay 21 miles past Williams, would be worse, much worse. This was high mountain country, it was winter and a storm was threatening. Even if I got my family through Flagstaff I would have to go north across the Navajo Reservation. That long stretch of reservation was high desert plateau. There were few trees for firewood. The land was wide open, with little to break the wind and storm. The dangers upon the roads would increase daily as more people became desperate. It was 260 miles from Williams to the ranch. In the Escalade that distance was nothing. Now, packing children, with all we had on our backs, the outlook was very bleak. If I were a crow and could fly straight to the ranch, it was only about 180 miles. The trouble being, there was a large canyon between us and the ranch, namely the Grand Canyon and I was not a crow. But it was to that canyon that I looked. I knew the canyon and its trails a little. The land and roads on the other side I knew very well.

"Dan," Jill put her hand on my arm as we walked up the freeway. "I've always trusted you," she said. "And I trust you now. You were not raised like most people. I know that you have skills from your up-bringing that can get us through."

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

A vote of confidence; it strengthened my determination. She was right about that up-bringing. When I was young, Dad took me hunting a lot. The hunting I loved most was running the hounds and chasing the big cats. A great deal of that lion hunting took place no more than 60 miles due north of where we now stood. It was the canyon that stood between us. Even the canyon I knew from my youth. Many Of the side canyons on the north we had hiked and ridden by horseback. As a Boy Scout, I had hiked from rim to rim, crossing the river at Phantom Ranch.

Boy Scout. I laughed in disgust. I used to take pride in the Eagle Badge I had earned. Now I wouldn't want anyone to know that I had been a Scout. The Boy Scout organization had violated their own Scout oath; their oath to be morally straight. Where in our Nation's landscape could one find a people, a group, or an organization that stood by unchanging principles? If half of the troubles that Dad said were coming to this land actually came, only those who had unshakable principles would be left standing in the end.

Re-focusing my mind, I reviewed my plan. My plan was to have my family in warmer country before nightfall tomorrow. The light snow on the ground made it possible to walk on the road without the use of my flashlight. The cars were easy to make out as we walked by. All the windows were now fogged up by the people inside who were trying to stay warm. We had walked no more than two hundred yards when I saw what I was looking for. It was a large motor home With two mountain bikes mounted to the rear bumper.

Going to the side door, I knocked. "Hello. Hello, the motor home," I called out.

There was a rustling from inside, then silence.

"My wife and children are out here, could I talk to someone please? You don't need to unlock your door, I just want to talk to you, I think I have something that you might like to trade for."

From inside of the motor home and older man's voice spoke up, "We don't need anything. Go away!"

It was Jill's soft voice that turned the tide of my failing negotiations. "Sir," she replied, '"Please, may we have just a moment of your time?"

This time a woman's voice could be heard. "For Pete's sake, George, there are children out there. Open that door."

DAN

Muffled voices could be heard bantering back and forth inside. A light came on and the door opened. An older man, dressed in cotton thermal underwear, stepped away from the door he had just opened. In the left hand he held a battery powered lamp and in the right hand a long kitchen knife. A grandmotherly looking woman peered around the door and looked at my family. "George, let them come in; can't you see they have a baby?"

The man stepped back another step but kept a tight grip on the knife. I stepped into the motor home and my family followed me. It was a lovely motor home and roomy. The lamp was placed on a table and we were soon seated. The old man also took a seat, but with a suspicious gaze, and did not release his grip on the knife.

I started. "Thank you. I appreciate your time and hospitality." The man still glared. "I will get right to the point." In a succinct and straightforward manner I laid out what I believed had just happened. I then laid out the grim scenarios that they would likely face in the coming days. Even in the poor light I could see their faces turn a little more ashen.

"I believe that we may be able to trade a few items that may benefit each other." I continued, "I need a couple of mountain bikes. I am taking my family across the canyon."

"What?" replied the old lady. You will never make it with those little ones."

"You may be right Ma'am, but I know the country and my family lives on the other side. With those bikes it gives me a fighting chance."

"If what you say is right, why should we give you the bikes? We'll need them." The old man joined the conversation for the first time.

"That is right, sir. You may need them but I'll bet that by 9:00 this morning they will be gone. Someone will take them off the back of your bumper anyway."

"Why didn't you take them yourselves? We couldn't have stopped you." The old woman said.

"Because, they are not ours," Jill said simply. They were beginning to grasp and understand the seriousness of the situation.

"I may be able to help you," I said. With that, I asked Jill to hand me the snubbed nose revolver. 'This will do a lot more keeping you and your things safe than that knife you have. I will trade you this and the bullets for your two bikes."

Taking the keys to the Escalade and U-Haul trailer from my pocket, I handed them to the old man, along with the pistol.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

“My white Escalade is a couple of hundred yards back of here. These are the keys to it and the U-Haul trailer. There is food and some good supplies in it. With a little of that food you may be able to trade for another set of bikes. You will be in a much better position than you are now."

As the old lady had said, I could have just taken the bikes. But a core value that the Old Cowboy, my father, had instilled in me would not let me cross that line. It was a hard and fast line in his world. If you did not earn it, if you did not pay for it, if it was not given to you, it wasn't yours. The thought of the gold jewelry in my pockets and the cash in my shirt caused me to pause. What side of the line was I standing on when I took that stuff? Right now I was going to call it a gift from God because I really, really needed those bikes.

Reaching inside of my shirt, I pulled out five bundles of hundred-dollar bills. "And if people don't know how valuable food has just become, here is some cash for the fools that think this paper still has value."

George may have been a cranky old man but he wasn't a stupid old man. Within five minutes Jill and I were peddling up the dark freeway with our children and packs strapped to us.

"Look out for the bad men tied up by the trailer," I called back as we left.

The small flakes of snow were still falling but the roads were still passable for the bikes. I was glad that Jill was not a couch potato. She loved swimming and aerobics. With Jamie bundled to her front and a pack on her back, she was able to keep up with me as I led the way. With my skills as a computer programmer, which skills now were of no value, I had made a good living. I liked spoiling my wife and was able to give her lots of extra stuff. All the extra stuff that had seemed so important just a short time ago meant nothing now. It was all stripped away and only that of real value was left standing—my wife and children.

I had always loved them but that feeling was now intensified. Jill's willingness to trust and jump out into the dark with me made her even dearer to my heart. I could not fail her. I could not fail our children.

It was a steady climb in elevation to the mountain valley of Williams, but we made good time. It was still a couple of hours before morning when we crested the valley ridge and coasted into town. It was dark and very quiet. Peddling down Rail Road Avenue, I shined my light on the street signs as I passed them. I was looking for Highway 64 and at the east end of town I found it. From here it was 58 miles straight north to the rim of the Grand Canyon.

DAN

I paused a moment to check on Jill and the baby. "'How are you and the little one doing?" I asked.

"Dan, the baby is fussing. I need to change her diaper and feed her."

There was a store front that faced east, Pine Country Store by name. It had a wood boardwalk with a porch roof over it. It gave a little shelter from the breeze and falling snow. "Here, Jill. You can change the baby here."

I took off my coat and laid it on the boardwalk. Jill unbundled Jamie and laid her on the coat. Jill then took her coat off and handed it to me. "Please hold this close to the baby as I change her to block the breeze and keep her from getting chilled," she asked of me.

Little Will stood shivering by the wall as Jill and I knelt over the baby. Jill worked quickly as I held the coat and flashlight. Baby Jamie was soon bundled back up and Jill sat on the step of the store to nurse her.

"We would be in a bad way right now," I thought to myself, "if Jill had chosen to bottle feed and not nurse. All I have to do is take care of mom and she will take care of baby."

The nursing was often disrupted as the baby would cough, cry and then try to nurse again. I wished that I had gotten her to the doctor.

"She feels like she has a fever, Dan." I could feel the worry in her voice.

It was 58 miles to the rim. From there, seven miles down the Kaibab Trail to Phantom Ranch. The last seven miles would drop us over 4,500 feet in elevation. It would be warmer there. It would be closer to home.

I was worried. The cough and fever worried me. Of all the times for the baby to get sick, this was not one of them. "Jill, it is 68 miles to Phantom Ranch. If we can keep an eight to ten mile an hour clip, even with stops for rest, we can be there before dark."

With that we loaded packs, children and peddled north. It was a long dreary day. Worry for the little one gave us new determination and we pushed ourselves physically. One could not tell where the sun was through the snow clouds but it was sometime in the afternoon when we hit the guard shack at the park entrance. There was no park ranger and we peddled through without stopping. We rode through the little town and then past the ranger station. People were standing outside the station. They seemed lost and waiting for the park ranger to emerge from the building to give them guidance.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

The large group turned their heads and watched as we peddled by. We did not wave, we did not acknowledge them. They were sheep waiting for a shepherd that would not come. How many generations had it been, as the quiet beat of government drums grew ever louder, beating out the mantra, "We can help, we can make it fair, you can trust us." The "Good Government Shepherds" were not here for these sheep and in the days and weeks to come they would be torn by wolves.

The sign for the Kaibab Trail was ahead and without pausing we went over the rim. The last seven miles down the steep canyon would not have been hard were it not for the loads we packed. The weight of our children and packs caused our muscles to ache. I was feeling exhausted and again was amazed at the iron will of my wife. Even with that iron will I could see she was nearing her limit.

I was glad that the trail was wide and easy to travel. Even with our exhaustion it did not take long for us to descend more than 4,500 feet in elevation. Soon we had reached the narrow suspension bridge that spanned the river at the bottom of the canyon. We had done it. We had made the trip before darkness came upon us and it was much warmer here. Warmer was a relative term but, compared to the bitter winter weather at the rim, this was almost pleasant.

Dismounting our bikes we walked them through the small rock tunnel that opened onto the bridge. The bridge was narrow and still high above the water. The river bank on the opposite side had a sandy beach. This was the boat beach for the river trips that passed here. There were six boats pulled up to the beach, two from one company and four from another. This was the place I was looking for. I knew this place.

After high school, I had the opportunity to work my way through the canyon twice as a swamper. A young man with a strong back could get a free river boat trip through the Grand Canyon if he would be a swamper. A swamper was one that did all the loading and unloading of the boats at each campsite.

Across the bridge and past the boat beach was a large side ravine called Bright Angel Canyon. It was a pleasant spot with a ranger station and a dozen other small buildings all nestled beneath large cottonwood trees. Here I could find rest and shelter for my family.

DAN

Jill was exhausted, Little Will could not keep his eyes open and the baby was sick, but we had made it to Phantom Ranch.¹ I judged that there were about 45 minutes of daylight left with one hurdle still to cross.

'Jill," I spoke encouragingly, "Just a little further before we stop."

We needed to get these bikes across the bridge and hidden before a park ranger saw us. Isolated down here in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, they would not yet know what had happened. We had no permit to be here, plus, we had come on mountain bikes. These were arrestable offenses.

Crossing over the bridge, I quickly hid the bikes behind some rocks above the boat beach. Taking Jill and the children another 100 feet, I secreted them in a clump of willows.

"Stay here, I'll be back."

"Please hurry, Dan," Jill's voice was pleading. 'The baby is getting worse."

"I must not let them down, I must not fail them," were the thoughts that raced through my mind as I walked towards the buildings. My plan was simple. With six boats beached tonight, the park rangers would not remember every face. I walked past the ranger station as if I was a tourist enjoying the evening.

A hefty female park ranger stood by the front. There was an air of authority and arrogance about her and one could assume that she was the head ranger. I waved to her and she half nodded back.

Beyond the ranger station were more than a half dozen guest cabins built of native stone. The boatmen and tourists were scattered about visiting in pairs and small groups. I sat on a picnic bench and tried to look relaxed. I studied the people in each group. As I studied their faces and body language, I looked for someone with a sincere and friendly face. A young couple caught my eye. They sat alone in front of the far cabin. With smiling faces, they were engaged in a cheerful conversation. Within five minutes of watching them, they stood up and walked into the cabin. When their door shut, I left the picnic bench and causally walked to the cabin. I struggled to appear nonchalant as I knocked on the door. The door opened and I was greeted by a smiling young woman.

Manufacturing a smile of my own, I started. "Hi. How are you two enjoying your trip so far?"

1. Phantom Ranch, along with many other places noted in this book, actually exists as described.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"It's wonderful," she replied, looking a little quizzical.

"Yeah, it's a great trip isn't it? This is my third trip to Phantom Ranch." That was the truth. "But I'm a little puzzled with some events. Do you have a moment?"

Thinking I was a tourist from the other outfit, I was quickly welcomed in. After a little chit chat, I laid the bait. "Are any of your boatmen's satellite phones working?"

"No," the young man replied. "Our boatman said it was the first time he could not get out with his satellite phone, but he didn't seem too worried."

"How about the landline phone at the ranger station?" I queried.

"The ranger lady said that line disruption happens here once in a while. Although, it is a little coincidental," he added.

"What if I told you that I'm not a tourist from the other outfit; that I have just come down from the South Rim and there is no phone service there either? Along with no phone service, there is no power and it is the same in the town of Williams."

"No way!" The girl said, not so cheery now. "I heard that the helicopter didn't make its scheduled drop at the ranger station today. I wonder if it's related."

That was the response I was waiting for. "It is, and it's a lot worse than no phone and no power. I think that our country has been attacked."

"Another 9-11?" the young man questioned.

"I wish that it was just another 9-11, but it's much worse. No vehicles are running anywhere." I said.

'But our boats are running," the girl replied.

"I think it is because you are in this deep canyon. You've been sheltered from the effects of the nuclear strike."

'Nuclear strike? No way!" This time the girl's "No way!" was much more intense.

"I believe so and there will be no one to pick you up when you get to the end of your river trip. Right now I could use your help." I had judged the couple right. Darkness had come and under that cover, I brought my family to their cabin.

DAN

It now had been 39 hours without sleep for me and close to the same for Jill. We were beyond exhaustion. The young man had suggested going to the park ranger for help but, after explaining how that would not be the best thing for me and my family, he agreed to go get the head boatman. Not being fully trusting, I kept the Kimber under my coat and within easy grasp of my hand. The cabin was cozy. It had one bed and a propane heater that was taking the chill off our bones. I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open while he was gone. In 15 minutes, the door reopened and in walked a tall, lanky boatman. He had a short beard and a stocking cap over long brown hair. I rehearsed to him all that I had just previously told the young couple. To my relief, he believed me without question.

"Man!" he said. "We're all in a deep pile of dog crap. My relatives live clear back in Virginia. I'll never make it back there, so I don't know how I can help you. I don't know how we are going to help ourselves."

I looked at him earnestly, "If you make room on one of your boats for my family and bikes and then drop me off at the Thunder River trail, I will be in you debt. My father's ranch is north of Kanab and that is where I am headed. I can't go up the North Kaibab Trail. The North Rim will have six to eight feet of snow by now. The roads are all closed down. But, if I go out at Thunder River I will be at a lower elevation. There will be some snow but it won't be too deep. The trouble being, as you well know, getting to Thunder River without a boat is a very long and difficult thing to do from here." I paused and then started again. "If you do that, I promise you there will be a place for you at my father's ranch."

The boatman stood there a moment, looking down at the floor in thought. Unconsciously, he was nodding his head up and down in approval at the suggestion. Then he started slowly shaking his head sideways as other thoughts came to him.

"It's a long way from where we end at Lake Mead to Kanab with a whole lot of desert in between. Doing that on foot is a tall order even for a desert rat like me." He said. "And I have to keep my commitment to get these boats safely through the canyon. If it wasn't for that I'd climb out with you at Thunder River."

I liked the man. Commitment. Honoring one's agreement. What a refreshing thing to see in action. "I'm glad to meet a man with integrity." I said. "I think I can help a little."

With that I took the jewelry from both coat pockets and the remaining $10,000 cash from inside my shirt. I laid them on one of the beds. It was easy to see that the jewelry was high end and there was a lot of it.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

I continued, "The cash really is of little value but you can get somewhere with the jewelry. This is for the three of you. There should be more than enough for you to get three bikes and some extra supplies. The ranch sits outside of the little town of Orderville. That's just above Kanab."

There was a handshake and the boatman gathered the stuff up off the bed. "lf you are at the boats by the time we launch I'll put you aboard." With that he walked out the door.

I was spent, but my family was warm and safe for now. Sleep was demanding her due and the couple offered us the bed. I put Jill and little Will in the bed and took the floor. The young lady kindly took the baby that was in and out of a fitful sleep, and tended her. Too tired to take my boots off, I was asleep as soon as I stretched out.

Chapter 8

CAT

January 27^th

I do not know how long I had slept on that brushy ridge. The ominous clouds were still spitting little flakes of snow, making it impossible to tell the location of the sun. My watch wasn't working. I guessed that I had slept from four to six hours and it was sometime in the afternoon. After re-rolling my sleeping bag I again started walking west. The trip ahead was daunting but doable. I wished I were not alone and tried not to think of Mom.

I traveled for several hours and could tell evening was approaching due to the dimming of the overcast day. I needed to find a sheltered place to stop and build a fire. As good as my coat and sleeping bag were, their combined insulation was still not enough to keep warm in the cold of the winter night. I would need the extra warmth of a fire.

At some point I had crossed onto the Cahoncito Indian Reservation. I had topped a low ridge to see a small, poorly built home a hundred yards below. Smoke was rising from the stovepipe of a wood stove. I would need to swing wide of the house to keep from being seen by anyone. I was still standing there when the door of the home opened. I squatted down to keep from being seen. A man in jeans and no shirt stepped out onto the front steps of the house. He was holding something in his right hand. Throwing the rifle scope on him, I was aghast to see him holding a baby by one leg. Taking one step down, he tossed the baby out into the snow. I could hear the little one let out a cry of pain. Hopping back up the step, the man slammed the door behind him.

I was shocked. Like throwing out trash and nothing more. Dad had tried to tell me how dark this world could get. "America," he would say, "has been a great and noble country. It has been good because, on the whole, its people have been good. But for the last hundred years, as a people, we have been drifting away from the standards that our forbearers lived by. Cat, my daughter, when things come undone you will be amazed at how fast things become vicious."

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

He was right, I was amazed. For generations my country had known nothing but ease and affluence. There had grown an attitude that because we were born we were owed things; we all had a right to our share of the pie, no child should go hungry and, "no child should be left behind." Well, that child down there in the snow was being left behind. Where was big brother now? I was sure Child Protective Services was not on their way to make sure that baby was not going to go hungry. Who would help? I knew the answer to the question.

"This may not end well for you, Cat," I said to myself. I could not leave the child in the snow and it needed to be helped soon.

Muffled cries turned to whimpers, then stopped. Laying the rifle and pack next to the trunk of a cedar tree, I drew out the Sig from its holster.

The element of surprise was what I was counting on. It was not hard to guess what was happening inside of that house. That baby had a mother and that man was not its father.

Coming in at an angle to the house, I came quickly to the corner. Ducking under the front window, I came up to the door. I paused, my heart was racing and my fingers trembled. It may seem strange, but I was feeling regret. My regret was that if I never came out of this house alive, Dad would not know why or how I died.

Drawing a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped in. The man who had thrown the child was leaning back on a dirty couch, his bare feet propped on a coffee table of empty beer cans. A fresh cigarette hung from his mouth. He never had a chance to rise as my bullet took him just above the mouth.

"What the hell was that?" came a man's voice from the bedroom to the right. The door was ajar and in two quick steps I pushed the door open with my foot. Both of my hands had a firm grip on my pistol and as the filthy, naked man rose off the bed I put four rounds through his center mass. Quickly stepping inside the room, I closed the door behind me. If there were others in the house I did not want to make myself a target for them. My element of surprise was over. Time to move and keep my head about me.

CAT

Stepping up on the bed, not looking at the women lying in it, I pulled open the old single pane window. Quickly I slid out of the window and stepped on to the ground below. Keeping low, I started around the outside of the house. At each window I would raise enough to peek inside. The first was a bathroom window. The small window had dirty blinds but was open enough to see inside. No one was in the bathroom. The next window was the remaining bedroom. It was dim inside but I could see a man in a dirty tee shirt and underwear standing at the door. The bedroom door was cracked open and he was standing there with a shotgun pointed towards the bedroom which I first had gone into. I took one step away from the side of the building and leveled the 45. With my first shot the man fell against the door jam and I shot him twice more before he slid to the floor.

I recharged the pistol with a fresh magazine. Then I circled the whole house and determined that there were no others. Holstering the Sig Sauer, I retrieved the baby from the snow. The child was clothed in a one piece sleeper that was wet from the snow and a full diaper. The little body was shivering and the skin was cold. Holding the infant, I scanned my surroundings quickly and hurried to the house. Laying the little one on the floor by the wood stove, I removed all the clothing. Wiping the little baby girl's bottom clean, I then picked her up and held her close to the warmth of the stove. She was no more than four or five months old.

Darkness closed upon the house and for half an hour I tenderly cared for the infant. The shivering stopped and the baby started rooting for milk. I laid the child upon my coat and in the dark I returned to gather my rifle and pack at the tree. Returning to the house and using my flashlight, I located a cupboard full of government issued welfare baby formula. With a baby bottle that I cleaned, the baby was soon nursing.

I had not returned to the first room where the mother lay sprawled upon the bed. I was not sure why I delayed but I did not want to go in. But go in I must. Carrying the small one, I opened the door and shone my light upon the woman. She feebly turned her head towards us. I knelt with the baby by the side of the bed. With effort, she reached out a hand and stroked the infant's head.

"Please care for her. Her name is Vondell." The broken women withdrew her hand and turned her face to the wall. She was quitting. I sensed that the woman felt her baby now had a chance and, as a dying mother, she could now let go. I heard a deep breath leave her lips as her body relaxed for the last time.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

I returned to the small wood stove and put more wood in it. I left the stove door open and the flames gave a comforting light to the room. Unrolling my sleeping bag, I laid down with the baby in my arms.

As a whirlwind, destruction had come upon our land.

I took comfort from the little babe that slept in my arms. The firelight played softly upon her peaceful sleeping face. I was a nineteen year old girl that, only a day ago, had rested comfortably in her own mother's home. Now I lay on a floor in a Strange, dirty house, holding a baby, with dead bodies lying around. The child and I both had one thing in common; we had both just lost our mothers.

"Dad, I wish you were here."

Chapter 9

THE RANCH

"Be thou prepared, and prepare for thyself, thou,
and all thy company that are assembled unto thee,
and be thou a guard unto them."
Ezekiel 38:7

January 27th

Like an old pocket watch where the hands of time had stopped in the year of 1885, the ranch house, barn and corral looked the same. They sat on the sunny side of a basin, which basin was less than half a mile across. The ranch house was nestled halfway up the gentle slopes of the basin. The thick walls of the house were built of sandstone, which stones came from the cap rock that rimmed the basin. Above the house about 30 yards was a free flowing spring.

It was this water upon which the ranch had been established. From the spring, the water flowed down to the rock barn and corrals in a small ditch lined with flag stone. Below the corrals the water flowed to a small orchard of mature apple trees. From the same spring, another ditch, also flag-stone lined, ran to the house. It actually passed through the house giving the house "running water." It entered the back side of the house and into a large, dark room that was walled off by adobe walls. It was called the cool room. The cool room was entered off of the kitchen space through a door made of heavy rough cut lumber. From this room one could draw water for cooking and cleaning. The coolness of the room was great for preserving food. There were often several quarters of beef or venison hanging in it. A person could cut himself a fresh steak for breakfast or dinner.

For the day and age in which the ranch house was built, it was years ahead Of the Mormon homes that were down in the Virgin River Valley. Not that the Mormon homes were not well built, they were. Many were made of red brick and had a New England look. As nice as they may have been built, none of them had indoor running water with a cool room.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

The stream passed out from under the foundation at the front side of the home. It ran under the wood porch and pooled in a rock water trough at the hitching rack. As the water overflowed the water trough, it ran to the small vegetable garden below.

Beyond the vegetable garden there was a gentle knoll that rose up. Large, ancient cottonwood trees sent down massive roots into the earth and in summer, the trees gave a refreshing shade to the knoll.

The knoll was fenced off by a white wood picket fence. The fence kept cows and horses off. A path led from the rock house to a small hand gate in the fence. Beside the path and before entering the gate was a small, old, but very sturdy hitching rack. If one were to open the picket gate and walk upon the knoll, one would see broken pottery, flint and pieces of ar- row heads lying upon the dark sand. A people had lived and passed away in this little valley long before the Bonhams arrived. They had buried their dead on this knoll and so had the Bonhams.

The cowboy's grandparents and great grandparents were buried there, along with his father and mother.

Each mound of earth had its own story. On the right side of his great grandfather was the burial mound of his wife, the cowboy's great grand- mother. On the left side of his great grandfather were three old mounds with no names upon their rock monuments, just a description, 'Navajo warriors."

The cowboy's great grandfather had been mortally wounded in a fight with the three Navajos that had raided across the Colorado River. He had made it back to the ranch before he died. His dying request was that the three Indians he had killed in the fight be brought and buried next to him. No one knew why it was so important to him, but it was.

Below those burials lay the cowboy's father and mother. He never knew his father and barely could recall memories of his mother. Those memories were tender and sweet. His father died in Vietnam and his mother in a car accident two years later.

The grandfather raised the cowboy from a young child. The old man was tough, hard as nails, but he loved the child dearly. When they rode the hills together, when they ate, and in the quiet evening hours, the "son of a Texan" taught the lad. The old man died on his 81st birthday when he was thrown by a young horse he was breaking.

THE RANCH

Having come from Texas, the Bonhams brought features to their home with a Spanish taste. It stretched out, a single level building with a flat roof that sloped to the back of the house. The roof was of clay dirt and over two feet thick. On top of the clay, Spanish tile had been placed to shed the water. The tremendous weight of the roof was supported massive fir timbers. Those timbers were reinforced in the middle by another timber supported by several large posts.

As one would go through the front door they would enter the great room. One's eyes were first drawn to the massive horns mounted over the rock fireplace on the far wall. They were the horns of a Texas longhorn bull. The bull had come with the Bonhams when they had migrated from Texas generations ago.

The very next thing that one's eye turned to was the large library of books that flanked both sides of the fireplace. If a person took the time to peruse those books they would find an abundance featuring political thought. There was also a wealth of the classics, Tennyson to Dickens. Next to the classics one could find a treasure trove of old history books. Among the history books was the personal history of the Bonhams in Texas. TWO brothers had fought to liberate Texas from the oppressive government of Santa Anna. One had ridden with Sam Houston and the other died in the Alamo. The love of freedom ran deep in the blood of the Bonhams.

To the right of the great room were the kitchen and dining areas. There was both a wood and a propane cook stove against the adobe wall. In front of the stoves was a long, strong, wood table flanked and headed by sturdy wood chairs. All these were polished by many years of use.

Still to the right, a hall passed by the adobe cool room and down to two large bedrooms.

To the left, a door opened to the main bedroom. Next to that door on the wall was an ancient ticking clock. Its hands and swinging pendulum were recharged each month by winding the springs Of the clock using a large brass key. Over the top of the door was an old 44-40 Winchester rifle¹ resting on wood pegs. A worn leather cartridge belt with its loops full of 44 bullets hung from a peg driven in the left door post.

Going through the door, one entered a bedroom that was big, considering the day in which it was built. The head of a fine bed, with frame made of dark oak, lay against the wall to the right. Against the far wall was an iron claw bath tub sitting next to a small potbelly stove. That wall and the wall to the left had large windows from which one could see most of the outside basin.

1. The 44-40 Winchester rifle shot the same cartridge as the Colt 44-40 revolver. For the early day cowboy, this combination made him a formidable fighting man.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

In front of the window to the left sat a small wooden writing desk. On that desk sat only two items. One was a picture of a beautiful woman with long, wavy, golden hair. The other was a large, and much worn Bible.

The only thing that was out of place from a hundred years ago was a simple set of training weights comprised of a bench and rack with a stack of weights for the bar. Next to the bench was a pair of running shoes. The weights were well polished and the shoes well-worn from regular use.

Everything of the house and ranch spoke of care and pride of workmanship. Pride of workmanship—that was a Bonham tradition. The house was fronted by a long wood porch that was also covered by a Spanish tile roof.

It was upon this porch that the cowboy known as Jake Bonham stood. Dark hair streaked with silver hung collar length, under a black cowboy hat, a hat that was pulled tight against the winter breeze. He cast his eyes hopefully down the dirt road that led from his ranch basin to the small town of Orderville. He leaned against the porch post, hands in the pock- ets of his Levi coat. It was cold. With thermals under his wranglers and leather chaps over them, it was still cold. It was lonely too. At the age of 47, the years seemed to be picking up speed.

It had not always been this lonely. There had been the wonderful days of raising his children. They had become top hands, each one of them. They could rope, ride and shoot with the best and they made him proud. Looking at the meadow below, he could see the matching palomino quar- ter horses he had given to the twins. Like the twins, those two horses al- ways stayed together. Beyond the palominos were the other horses. Dan's was a strong bay. Both Cat and his were red roans, all quality quarter horses. Then there was Haley-H's border collie which lay at his feet. The dog shared in the man's loneliness, waiting for the return of her master.

A tender look crept across the hard face of the cowboy as pleasant memories passed through his mind, memories of working the cattle with his children. With his mind now stirred by such memories, he could see the fall round up. He could see the children bringing the cattle out of the pinion and cedar hills, driving them into the large sturdy corral. The twins, on their palominos, roping and dragging the calves to the branding fire came into his memory. He and Dan throwing and holding the hefty calves as Cat ran the iron. His mind's eye could see the smoke curl off of the hot iron as Cat laid a "quarter circle v" on the calf's hide. Good times, memories.

THE RANCH

One by one the children grew up and moved away.

The memories faded and loneliness again replaced the tender look on his face. With his thumb, the cowboy turned the golden wedding band on his finger. There was another horse that could still be seen in the fading light of the winter's evening. It was a beautiful buckskin with dark stocking legs, dark mane and tail. Like the fading light, the hope that the horse's rider would once again return, drifted away into the dark.

The cowboy looked once more down the dark valley, the road no longer visible. It had only been one day since the nuclear strike. Where were his children, where was his wife? The twins should be the first to arrive but it would still be a couple of days, if all went well.

Turning his back to the darkness, with Spanish spurs jingling on the porch boards, the cowboy and dog walked into the house.

Chapter 10

THE TWINS

January 28th

There was an inch of snow on the ground and it was a blessing. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, the white snow made it possible for them to see the road ahead. It was a good thing that the sisters were in top condition for they were able to push on through the night and they did.

As another stormy morning arrived, they peddled into the little tourist stop called Big Rock Candy Mountain, named because of the unique colors of the canyon ledges that rose above the lodge. There was a small, single level, log motel building with doors opening towards the highway. HayLee-H and KayLee-K let their bikes coast to a stop in the parking lot of the motel. Motel door No. 4 was open. The parking space in front of the door was occupied by a new Chevy suburban. The hood was up and an old man was standing on a chair, leaning over the fender poking around at the engine wires.

Seeing the girls he looked up and smiled. Without saying hello, he looked back down and resumed tinkering with the wires. "There was a time when a feller, with just a little smarts, could always get his outfit a runnin'. Now nothin's a runnin'." In frustration, the frail man stepped carefully off his chair and closed the hood. "It looks like you girls have the right idea. Where are you headed on those bikes?"

"Headed home," Haley-H said, "but just right now we need a place to sleep a few hours."

"Home. That word sounds good," the old man said. "My home is in South Carolina but I have a poor feeling down in my bones that I shall die away from home and my kin."

The man leaned his timeworn body against the suburban and looked at the girls more closely. He had ancient eyes and a gentle face.

"So, you are trying to make it to your home, to your kin. I am an old man with most of my days behind me and few before me."

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

In a wistful manner the old gentleman looked away. When he looked back he resumed. "When you are old you have regrets. You wish you had helped others more, been a little more thoughtful, a little kinder. But, at least, I have this day. If you two gals would like, you may take my room. I shall stay in my suburban and watch while you sleep."

There were no other rooms to be had and the old man insisted. The girls accepted. With their bikes and packs, they locked themselves in the room and slept. They slept for several hours and arose to the kindly guardian still keeping his watch. With a kiss on his cheek, they thanked the old man and were on the road again by mid-morning.

Home called to them, home beckoned them on. The twins kept up a pace that ate the miles away. It was growing dim in the evening of the second day as their bikes coasted down into the little town of Orderville. In the center of the town they stopped at the road sign that read Alamo Road. It was the sign that marked Dad's dirt road; the road that led up the mountain and ended at the ranch. The girls could not help but give each other a "high five." They had made the three day trip in two.

It was only two miles further and they pushed on. Soon they stopped their bikes to open the large wood gate into the meadow basin. It was getting difficult to see far but they could make out their home on the far side. A lone figure could be seen standing on the porch. There was a bark and the dog that had been sitting by the man leapt Off the porch. Streaking across the dark meadow, the black dog, with white mane and feet, had reached the wood gate before it could be closed. Like happiness and excitement all wound up in a bundle of fur, the dog could not contain its joy as it jumped on HayLee-H.

After HayLee-H had given her faithful dog a just greeting, the girls peddled up to the front of the house. Looking down from the porch was their Dad. Nothing could soften the granite like features of the cowboy more than his children. This time there was more than joy showing in his face, there was relief and gratitude for silent prayers answered.

That evening a spirit of joy filled the inside of the strong stone house. Warmth from the open fire and food off the hot stove gave a sense of security and peace to the twins. Yet, there was no rest in their father's eyes. All was not safely gathered in. The girls knew he had planned for such a time as this for many years. The several root cellars that were dug into the side of the hill behind the house attested to that planning. The depth of the provisions and supplies in them, coupled with two hundred mother head of cows, made the ranch a refuge beyond measure. That was not mentioning the orchard and garden, watered by free flowing water.

THE TWINS

In the last 48 hours, the nation of affluence that the twins had known was plunged into darkness. In another 24 hours, no large city would have control of its populace. But here, here nothing was different. There was dependence on outside sources for light, power or water, thus no disruption. There was no panic, no rush to a store, no wringing of the hands. But, there was the worry. Cat and Mom were not here from Albuquerque and Dan's family was not here from San Diego.

* * *

The twins awoke to the sound of horses tied to the hitching rack in front of the house. It was before light of a stormy winter's morning. Bundled in blankets from their warm beds, the twins walked out on the porch. The frost of their breaths could be seen in the light of a kerosene lantern hanging on a wood peg by the steps. There were four horses tied to the hitching rack. Dad's roan and Cat's roan, each saddled. There was one of the pack horses with a pack already lashed down. Then there was Mom's, the dandy buckskin, saddled with her saddle on it.

Dad was strapping on a different rifle scabbard to the off side of his saddle. It was a shorter but wider scabbard than the one for his 270 Winchester. 1 Leaning against the post with the lantern, was a scoped AR-15 made by Colt.2 Chambered for the .223 or the 5.56, it had a collapsible stock and a Surefire sound suppressor on the muzzle. It was the scary and now very illegal, assault rifle. It was just one of a half dozen that he owned. The girls were not scared of the "scary assault gun." In fact, they were very proficient with them.

1. The 270 Winchester: Winchester, name of a rifle manufacturing company. The number 270 stands for the caliber of the bullet that the rifle shoots. 27 caliber with the weight of the bullet typically being 130 to 150 grains and is shot at the speed of about 3100 feet per second. The 270 Winchester is a popular deer and elk rifle.

2. The AR 15 is the military looking rifle that is currently being targeted by gun control efforts because of its looks and its ability to carry high capacity magazines. It looks like an automatic rifle but is only a semi-automatic. It shoots a .223 caliber bullet typically 55 grains in weight or the military 5.56 millimeter if the barrel is stamped with the 5.56.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

Dad had considered going with the larger .308 caliber³ but most of the ranch terrain was wooded, hilly, and with a lot of scrub oak. There would not be many long shots where the .308 would dominate the smaller .223.⁴ To help split the difference; Dad only bought the high quality, Hornady V-max⁵ in a 69 grain bullet. They held a tighter group and were lethal. He used the cheaper 55 grain FMJs6 for practice only. Dad was finished now and walked up the steps to pick up his rifle. Before doing so he gave the twins their final instructions.

"Until I get back you girls will need to rotate six hour watches, 24 hours a day. As I explained last night, I've re-positioned the dog houses of the hunting hounds."

Pointing to where Red's doghouse had recently been moved, 150 yards to the East, "I've put Red where the cow trail tops over the cap rock."

Pointing down the small valley about two hundred yards where the dirt road entered into the ranch house basin was Dad's favorite hound. She was of a Walker breed and he called her Belle.

"Belle is down by the gate and I've put Blue on the other side of the meadow." Dad pointed across the valley about 600 yards. There was Blue, Dad's blue tic hound resting on the roof of his doghouse. All the hounds were chained to their doghouses. Hunting hounds could not be left to run loose.

"You can see," he said, "1 have spread the hounds out to help give warning if someone tries to come into the basin from any side. This house is built like a fort. The furthest shot you may have to take will be from here to Blue's dog house. Keep the 270 by the front door in case you need to poke holes at something over there. When one of you does the chores the other keeps watch. Never leave this house without your rifle with you."

3. The .308 is a 30 caliber bullet and that weighs typically 150 grains to 180 grains. This has been one of the common bullets used for years by NATO. Many snipers also used this cartridge.

4. The cartridge shoots slower but has much greater foot pounds of energy than the .223 cartridge.

5. Hornady V-Max is an expanding or frangible bullet that is devastating on game such as coyotes.

6. FMJ is the acronym for "full metal jacket." It is not an expanding or frangible bullet and does not cause near the tissue damage.

THE TWINS

Their father quit speaking for a moment as he reviewed his mind to see if there were any other instructions he should give. Finding nothing, he drew a deep breath and let it out.

"Now girls, I didn't raise you to be stupid. Keep your heads about you. If the Hand of Providence be with me I should be back in about a month's time. Now let's take a knee."

With that the twins knelt upon the front porch and listened to a father implore God that He would watch over his girls until he returned. Standing up he hugged them both, stepped off the porch and walked to his horse. Stepping into the saddle, he smiled one more time at the girls and rode off. He was leading the pack horse with the two saddle horses tethered behind, nose to tail.

The girls were not stupid, therefore, they understood that this morning could be the last day they would see their father. But they had each other and they had hope. Always hope.

Chapter 11

DAN

January 28^th

Morning came to Phantom ranch. It was time to go and I led my family out of the rock cabin. Winter brought its own beauty to this canyon. There was no snow down here but high on the rims it was blanketed in white. I wanted to stay longer for little Jamie's sake but that was not wise. The chopper had not come yesterday with food supplies and it would not come today or ever. There was not a large stock of food here and it was best if I avoided any rangers.

We were able to slip through the buildings to where our bikes were hidden above the boat beach. There below, I saw what I had hoped would not be there, two park rangers. Even more to my disappointment the head ranger was in full ranger mode, checking all the boats and boaters.

I had to get my family and bikes on the boats. Pushing our bikes from the rocks, we were on the beach before she saw us. The ranger's eyes lit up, with a hand on her holstered pistol, she raised the other in a stopping motion.

"How dare you bring bikes into this park! Where is your hike permit?" She demanded. It was clear we had just violated her backyard and we stood in need of severe correction.

Using all the powers of reason and logic, coupled with my best diplomacy, I was able to neither convince her of my story nor dissuade her determination to correct my behavior.

The other ranger, a younger man, had joined her side. Following her lead he also had his hand upon his gun.

'Turn around and put your hands behind your back. The only way you are getting out of this canyon is in our chopper and then straight to jail."

Her face was turning red as I was not complying and not complying was the greatest crime of all. How serious or trivial a regulation might be was not the concern. The paramount concern to the government was compliance. Compliance above all.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

The lanky boatman was standing on a boat pontoon looking at me. Bringing his hands up a little, he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "I don't know what to do?"

I did. I was getting my family on that boat. The lady ranger had stepped closer to the front of my bike and was starting to draw her gun.

I slammed my bike into her and she sprawled backwards onto the sand with the gun flying from her hand. The other ranger had drawn his side arm and I was covering him with my Kimber. It was a Mexican standoff.

The lady ranger was struggling to her feet and before she could rise, I stepped sideways to where her gun lay in the sand and kicked it towards Jill. All this I did while keeping the male ranger covered by my pistol.

"Drop your gun," the ranger demanded but did not have a convincing tone and he definitely did not like having a gun pointed at him.

After I picked up the lady ranger's gun, I did not stop walking. I walked straight towards the standing ranger. I did not stop until our muzzles were within inches of each other's chest.

"Mister Ranger, I am not putting down my gun." Sweat broke out on his forehead. He rightly sensed that his life was on a razor edge. "I am going to put my family on that boat. The only question is if you are left alive to see it."

The ranger's gun barrel was trembling in his hands. With my free hand I laid hold of his gun barrel. With little resistance, I took it from his hand.

With boaters standing wide-eyed, the lanky boatman quickly had my family and bikes on his boat. Meanwhile, I had the rangers taking a relaxing seat on the beach.

"You are in big trouble now," the lady ranger spat. "You have no idea how many felonies you have committed. By the time you get out of jail your children will have children."

Looking at the lady ranger sitting upon the sand, I felt pity for her. A park ranger she may be but she was no rugged individualist. Packing 50 pounds more than her frame should, this woman's physical abilities were not up to the world that was about to crash upon her. She believed that her position and authority still gave her power; that she would soon call down the might of the Federal Government which would turn over every desert stone till I was apprehended. The chance that she would still be alive by the time the snow melted off the rim was small.

DAN

"Ma'am," I said, "I wish that the world you think still exists out there actually did, but it doesn't. If it did I would not be down here in this canyon with my wife and small children."

For a moment, the angry, demanding, face of the ranger relaxed as she truly contemplated my words. One could see that she was weighing them in her mind. Then she shook her head no and the angry expression returned.

"You are the biggest damn liar I have ever seen. How can you tell a whopping lie with such a straight face?"

There was no hope for her and I was going to make sure I got down the river with my family. I hand-cuffed her right hand to the right foot of the other ranger then took their keys. By the time they could hobble back to the ranger station for another key and gun, we would be around the bend. The boats were moving away from the shore. I ran down the beach to the water, jumped upon the pontoon and threw the key into the river. We were away.

Between the rapids, the deep water was smooth as we drifted through the canyon. Each hour that we moved down the river we passed the rugged side canyons that would have been difficult in the extreme for me to get my family through. The hand of Providence had rested upon us.

All day we floated and with each passing hour I was that much closer to home. Ralf was the tall boatman's name, and as we drifted, we spoke of country and freedom.

"If all that you say is true," Ralf said, "it will be chaos ahead. But I'm okay with that. I am so tired of what has been happening to my country. Permits, permission, licenses and approval needed for all that we do in our lives and on top of that fees, fines and taxes. We are told what we can eat and what we can't eat. I have friends that are in jail now because they gave some raw milk from their cow to a neighbor.¹ It's like we do not own our own bodies."

The way this man lived, in many ways, I N,vas sure, was much different than the way Dad lived. But, I knew that Dad would welcome him gladly. The man had given aid to us and Dad would hold that dear. Next to that, the man believed in freedom. Men who understood and loved freedom were always welcomed at the ranch.

1. The FDA has been on a rampage against raw milk seeking to pass the "Leahy Bill" that makes it possible to sentence raw milk producers up to ten years in prison.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

On the boat ride he quoted Thomas Jefferson several times in our conversations. Ralf was a man who wanted to be left alone. He didn't want any help and "kindly" guidance from "big brother." Live and let live.

"Man should be free to make his own choices," he said." "'We should be free to make stupid choices if we want and then be allowed to experience the full weight of those choices. Too many times the government steps in and tries to separate man from the result of man's own choice."

We hit a small rapid and the spray of water misted over us. Ralf guided the boat easily through it as he had done the rapids many times before. He was good at what he did and one could see that he loved it. He loved guiding his boat on the river with no one looking over his shoulder. He continued, "It's like drugs and food. If a man is stupid enough to do drugs, as I was when I was younger, he should be free to do so. He has no right to hurt or injure another in those choices and if he does not hurt or injure another, what business is it of the government? If I was to relax in the evening and smoke a joint in my own apartment and then go to bed why should I have to worry about 'the man' kicking in my door and hauling me off."

The young couple who had helped us the night before were in our boat and the lady joined in. "We have to have laws to protect the public from the drugs. What if you were wasted and then went out and drove your car. Someone could get hurt."

"Haven't you ever heard of drunk drivers?" the boatman replied. "If a man drinks and then puts another at risk by driving he should be stopped, no question. But how many people relax in the evening with a cold beer and never go out and put others at risk. We don't throw them in jail."

"But drugs destroy lives and cost the country billions to deal with. Crime and gangs thrive with the illegal drug business," the lady returned.

"Alcohol destroys more lives every year, by far, than illegal drugs, but because it is not illegal, gangs can't use it for their profit," the boatman retorted. "Do you have any idea how many billions of dollars the government spends each year fighting the losing war on drugs?² The casualty that every American suffers from the 'war on drugs' is the loss of personal freedom. And where does it stop? They say transfats are bad for you, and too much sugar is bad for you, so places like New York outlaw or limit them. My friends are in jail because the government says raw milk might be harmful to you and you cannot share it with others. Don't you ever want to grow up and be responsible for yourself?" he asked the young lady. "You can't give someone else the responsibility to take care of you without giving up your freedom also."

2. MuniLand-Reuters; cost of the war on drugs is more than 50 billion a year.

DAN

I had always been a supporter of the war on drugs. There was no doubt that it was a losing war and the boatman had a point.

The young man joined in this time, "But you have to try and stop unhealthy choices or we all suffer. It drives up the cost of health care tremendously."

"Like I said at first," the boatman replied patiently, "government tries to separate man from the consequences of his stupid choices. They take money from the producing people of the country, who weren't stupid, to pay for the health care and rehab of the ones who were stupid. The stupid guy loves the government who is now helping him by using the money of the Americans who were not stupid. He begins to feel like he has a right to be helped and his loyalty grows towards the 'giving' government. He does not develop an appreciation for the working man whose money has been taken to help him."

"In the process, government grows ever bigger and the resentment grows between the helper and the helped, because government is in the middle. There was a time in this country when a man would give freely of his time and means to help his neighbor without the government," he concluded.

A river rat and a cowboy—he and Dad could live peacefully in the same community with no problems. Live and let live. Or, as the boatman quoted Thomas Jefferson, "1f it neither breaks my leg nor picks my pocket," what is it to me?"

That night we made camp on another beach, and by noon the next day, we were beached at Tapeats River canyon. Thunder River flowed into Tapeats only a quarter a mile up the side canyon. My spirits were lifting. Home was within reach. All the worst Of the challenges were behind me.

I thanked the lanky boatman and the young couple again. Taking the two 9-mil pistols which I had taken from the rangers, I handed one to the boatman and one to the young man. The way the young man handled the gun, I was sure he had never fired one. As the boatman stuffed his 9-mil into the back of his pants, I could tell he was at home with it. Both of them grasped the immeasurable value that the guns now represented.

3. Thomas Jefferson quote, "It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no God. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg" (Thomas Jefferson, Notes on Virginia, 1782). This quote was in defense of the people's right to live their life without interference from the government or their neighbor.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"Don't worry about them," the boatman said nodding to the young couple. "I'll show them how to shoot it."

As the boaters had lunch, we unloaded our bikes and packs. I gratefully accepted food that my new friend, the boatman, offered us. Along with what remained in our packs, it was enough to get us home. As we parted, the tall man took me by the hand and said, "I hope to see you soon."

By the time the river boats were back in the main current, Jill and I were well up the trail to Thunder River. It was not far and soon we could see the river breaking free of the mountain, a river born fully mature. It came out of a cave not far up the canyon wall. Cascading over the boulders below, it was a pretty sight. I remembered riding our horses down here and camping with Dad as a small child. Horses had long been banned from this place, but those were good memories. We pushed our bikes up the steep trail coming out to the Esplanade bench. We were still low enough in elevation that it was a light rain that was falling on us and not snow. The long trail on the bench was not hard going but it was growing dark and baby Jamie was taking a turn for the worse.

Turning off the trail I found a small overhang that sheltered us from the rain. I quickly built a small fire to help warm my family. While Jill tried to comfort the struggling baby, I hunted for more firewood. Wood was not plentiful on the bench but I found a dead cedar tree that would give us fire through the night.

By the time I had broken enough branches and hauled them to the overhang it was fully dark. With the fire to our front, the wall to our backs and the overhang above us, it was not uncomfortable. The warmth of the fire was reflected off the red sandstone rock and there was no breeze. I did not like the worried look on Jill's face and there was a knot forming in the pit of my stomach.

"She won't nurse, Dan, and it feels like her fever is spiking."

I felt helpless. With a piece of cloth torn from her shirt and wetted with water, Jill was wiping the baby's burning brow.

"She is struggling to breathe and I'm worried." Jill said.

I knelt beside them and felt Jamie's forehead. It was very hot. I poured more cool water on the rag for Jill. From the pack I found some aspirin and crushed it on a flat rock. Giving the powder to Jill, she put some in the baby's mouth. By the fire light, it looked like Jamie was able to swallow it. I hoped it would bring the fever down.

DAN

As the night hours crept by, the light rain continued to fall. I kept the fire going as Jill tended our little one. The baby's breathing was very labored and shallow. Her fever had come down only slightly.

Another hour went by and the baby's battle for life became more desperate. The little body was tiring from the struggle and her breaths became more shallow and rapid. It was more than I could bear to watch and I stepped out into the dark. I had been taught that there was a God and prayer was part of my up-bringing.

Finding my way through the dark, I came to a large boulder. There I knelt down and prayed, something I had not done in a long time. I felt no relief. Standing up I could see the small overhang. The light from the fire danced upon the rocks. I could see Jill kneeling next to the fire no longer holding our baby. Before her knees, lay the little child wrapped in my coat.

I stood there in the dark as the quiet min fell upon me. The knot inside of me swelled as if it would burst. I did not 'Want to return to the fire but my feet carried me back. I reached the edge of the firelight and Jill looked up. In the soft light of the fire, her cheeks were glistening from the tears that ran down her face.

It was more than I could stand. I turned my back and stepped away from the light. I made no sound as my heart was wrenched and the tears came. I had failed them. I had let them down.

Anger rose up inside of me. I wanted to blame someone, anyone. But who? Who had allowed our country to become so vulnerable?

Dad had said that when this country got hit it would be a surprise to all but the real power brokers. I had a hard time believing his conspiracy theories but not anymore. Was I not standing in the dark rain, on a bench in the Grand Canyon? Was not my wife and two year old boy huddled together by the body of my dead baby? It was no theory now! It was real and the cost was dear.

My fist clenched as my anger turned from anger to hate. Would to God that the traitors could be tried by a jury of their peers. I would gladly tie the noose and see them hung by the neck till dead.

I do not know how long I stood there as I slowly descended into a bitter pool of hate. Then I felt a touch upon my arm, a soft touch, one that I loved. Jill stood before me. Taking both of my arms, she pulled me close to her face.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"Dan, you can't blame yourself."

But I did. I blamed myself and anyone else I could think of.

"I do. I do blame myself. I should have left days earlier. We would be safe at the ranch by now and Jamie would not be dead."

"We made that decision of when to leave, together. I don't blame you, Dan."

I was amazed at Jill's inner strength. A mother who had just lost her baby and here she was trying to comfort me.

"Dan we still need you. Little Will and I still need you. We have lost Jamie but we are still a family and we can't make it without you."

She was pulling me back from the dark abyss.

"There is one thing that I ask of you. I do not want to bury my little girl in this lonely place. I want her body to fest in the Bonham cemetery and, when I die, I want my bones to rest next to hers. Promise me that Dan."

"I promise, Jill. I promise." The hate and bitterness melted away and allowed the "healing sorrow" to return.

Taking Jill in my arms, I pulled her tight. For a moment the rain stopped. The darkness around us lightened. Looking up, I could see a few stars giving their light to this sad place. I watched the stars for a minute, then they were gone as the gentle rain resumed.

Chapter 12

CAT

February 12^th

It took me five days to get past Grants, New Mexico. Packing a baby in front and a pack on my back, I was struggling. I had made a sling that went over my head and one shoulder from bed sheets to cradle the baby in. It helped, still, my muscles ached and my shoulders were sore from the pack's straps. It had not snowed hard but the snow seldom stopped and it was starting to pile up.

Grants had not been a pretty sight. Refugees from the freeway had fled into the town. Desperate and hungry, people started taking what they could to stay alive. From the hills above the town, I watched small bands of men gather in the streets. There were small neighborhoods that had tried to protect themselves by blockading their streets. I watched as these bands fought the fortified districts and each other.

Hunger was the propellant. It had been only five days and the town was acting medieval. Those that came off the freeway came with no food. My guess was that half the town's residents had kept less than five days of food on hand. In the five days that it had taken me to get from Albuquerque to Grants, a simple American town was coming apart at the seams. It was dawning upon them that there would be no trucks making food deliveries to the stores anytime soon.

I left Grants and traveled on. It took me extra time and effort to avoid the small bands of people that were leaving the towns to scavenge. I headed northwest in the direction of Canyon De Chelly. Dad had chosen the back roads that had the least amount of population for the route on which to place the stashes. I was grateful for that and trusted no one that I saw.

"You have to count on yourself, daughter." Dad would say. "When things are in a bad way there are few people who will be willing to help you. Most won't be able to help themselves. In days like that, trust will be the rarest of commodities."

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

It was now seven days since I had passed Grants. I was cutting across the Navajo Indian Reservation. Things were starting to stack up against me—the snow, the sore muscles, the weight of the baby, the pack and the gun. The top of my shoulders were tender and very sore from the straps of the pack and the sling of my rifle. But it was the snow that was troubling me the most. I had never seen a storm that would not go away. Eleven days there had been of grey clouds. Grey clouds that snowed, never hard, but endlessly. Slowly the snow was stacking up and was now over ten inches deep.

Day after day, the travel through the snow was becoming more difficult. Half of each day was spent trying to gain some ground towards home. The second half of the day was spent trying to find firewood close to some sort of shelter. "Some sort of shelter" too often meant, under a cedar tree. The last time I had truly been warm was the night I slept on the floor of the home where the baby's mother had died, the home where I shot those men.

I found it strange that I seldom thought of the men I had recently killed. I neither thought about them nor felt remorse for shooting them. I had hunted most my life with Dad. I had more tender feelings for the coyotes I shot than I did for those men. A coyote does by nature what a coyote does. He is an opportunist. If he can get a new born calf he will. That's his nature, animalistic. He preys upon anything that is weaker and only fears that which is stronger.

Those men were like coyotes, only worse. A coyote doesn't have a choice to be predatory or not, it is his nature. But, those men had a choice. They had a choice to show compassion or to be predators. They had chosen to be lower than a coyote and it was only strength that stopped them. They had met their "day of reckoning" when I shot them. Now the Judge of the quick and the dead would weigh the intents of their hearts.

Setting the butt of the rifle in the snow, I leaned upon the muzzle. It was no more than midday and I was tired. I was tired and I was hungry. It had taken me four days between the last two stashes. That had left me a day short on food. Packing the extra weight of the baby with the cold and snow I was burning a good deal more calories that I was taking in. It left me weak.

CAT

I should have found the next stash yesterday but I could not find it. The snow and low clouds were making it extremely difficult to locate the landmarks. I was getting worried.

Straightening back up, I pulled open the front of my coat a little. A smiling face of a baby looked up at me and a tiny hand reached for my cheek. Vondell was not worried. She was thriving. Bundled next to my body, she was warm. When I walked it was calming to her and I could often hear her making the cooing sounds of a contented baby.

The only food left in my pack was the cans of powdered baby formula. I would not even let myself consider the thought of using them for anything but the baby.

My legs were shaking from the exertion I had made this morning walking in circles looking for the stash. It was the lack of food that made me tremble.

I knelt down in the snow and laid my head against the rifle that I was leaning upon. My black hair lay in wet strings against my cold cheeks. I was on a ridge and a wide draw lay below me. In the draw was a rusty windmill that was pumping water. The water ran into a ring tank that overflowed to a dirt reservoir. I did not remember this windmill at all. The food stash was lost to me.

"Oh, Dad, I wish you were here," I thought in my heart. It was getting hard to keep up good courage.

As I knelt there, resting in the snow, I watched the blades of the windmill turning, pumping the water. As I watched, the breeze picked up and the blades began to turn more quickly. Then, for the first time in the last eleven days, it really started to snow. The flakes were big and they were coming fast, the visibility was starting to diminish and the windmill was harder to see.

Then I saw it. Something was moving on the opposite ridge of the draw. At first it was just a dark spot in the falling snow. It was moving slowly down to the ring tank. I slipped off my pack and coat. Then I pulled the baby from her sling, wrapped her in the coat and laid her next to the pack. In a low kneeling position with one knee down and one knee up, I racked back the bolt action of the rifle. The bullet, with its shiny brass case, made a metallic sound as I slid the bolt forward and charged the gun. I steadied the rifle in my arms. With my elbow resting on my knee, I tucked the butt of the Remington snugly against my shoulder.

Through the scope I could make out what was coming. It was a brindle colored bull. Large and heavily horned, in his prime and looking to weigh over 1700 pounds. It was a beautiful animal and the heavy muscles rippled under his winter coat.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

Excitement came upon me as I watched the animal through the rifle's scope. I had hunted deer with Dad and several times, after making a kill, we had roasted fresh venison over a fire before dragging the deer back to the truck. That bull was like ten deer and it was food. My mouth started to water and visions of a juicy steak roasting over a fire came to me. I could hear it sizzling over the flames, I could smell it, I could taste it.

I placed the cross-hairs just behind the front shoulder and low in the chest of the bull. My finger started to take the slack out of the trigger. This was an easy shot, no more than 50 yards but, my finger froze upon the trigger as a voice came into my head.

"Cat," it seemed to say. It was the voice of my father. "Cat, if it's not yours, leave it alone."

But I needed it, I needed food. If I did not get food I would not live and if I did not live, neither would the baby. Surely, I was justified in taking this animal for the baby.

"Your needs do not grant you rights. You have no right to take what belongs to another man," I could hear him say.

"What about the baby?" I thought. I had grown up watching our government take from the producing segment of our society to help the children. If they could do it, why not l? This was a matter of life and death.

Dad seemed to rejoin my thoughts, "If you take without permission, even to give to those who are in need, it is still robbery. The same holds true for government. When they take from one group and give to another it is plunder, plain and simple. We cannot do it individually, and since our government derives its powers from us, they have no right to do it either."

My imaginary argument with Dad had just turned political.

"Damn," I cursed to myself.

I lowered my rifle. Someone else owned that bull. Maybe that person was comfortable and well fed or maybe this animal was critical for his survival; to the survival of his family. I could not do it. I could not shoot the bull.

My conscience was at rest but my hunger pangs were not. The storm was increasing in intensity and food now became secondary to shelter and heat. I wiped the snow that was collecting on the baby and cradled her back in the sling. With the coat and pack on, I picked up the rifle and moved forward. I walked down to the windmill to fill my water bottle. The baby would need to be fed again soon.

CAT

As I approached the ring tank the bull's head came up with water dripping from its mouth. With head high, he watched me for a moment.

He was a wild animal and had a powerful set of sharp horns. He dipped his head and tossed his horns, challenging my approach. He was king of this domain and I was an intruder.

Loaded as I was, I was in no condition to run, so I clicked off the safety of my rifle and fired a shot into the air. With a snort, the bull turned tail and bolted for the cedars. He was soon lost from my sight in the big flakes of falling snow.

I filled my water bottle and checked my compass.

"Move forward, always move forward," I could hear my father's voice again in my weary mind.

I walked in the direction of home. A home that now felt to be years away from here. The distances between my pauses for rest became shorter and I was laboring in my breathing.

One hour passed, then another. I could find nothing but low scattered cedar trees that offered almost no shelter. Wood. I need wood for a fire. I was giving up on shelter and desperately looked for wood to burn. The cedar trees were small, green and wet. I could not find a dead one or even one with dead branches. If I could not get a fire going the baby and I would not make it through the night.

I stumbled and fell forward into the snow. The rifle disappeared in the deep snow as I stretched out my hands to catch myself. I was very cold now and it was getting dark. I struggled to my feet and felt in the snow for my rifle. Too exhausted to wipe the snow from the gun, I slung it back over my sore shoulder.

At last I came to a cedar tree that had a few dead branches on it. There was not enough dead wood to burn through the night but, if I could start a fire, it would give me a few hours of rest. Then, to keep from freezing, I would have to walk the rest of the night.

I wanted to cry. The challenge of starting a fire in this deep, wet, snow was overwhelming. I had used my last road flare the night before. Taking my gloves off, I broke twigs from the tree. I pulled cedar bark from the tree trunk and shucked it in my hands to make tinder. It was damp. Everything was cold and damp.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

In a spot that I had poorly cleared the snow from, I tried to make a fire. For half an hour I struggled but could produce no flame. If only I were among pinion trees where I might find some pine gum to help get a fire started.. But I was not among pinion trees. The sweat between my shoulder blades from carrying my pack was starting to freeze. If I did not start to move again I would die from the cold.

Summoning my remaining courage and strength, I packed myself back up. I must walk through the night. If I stopped it would be my final resting place.

I had gone no more than a hundred yards and I stumbled again. This time I was not able to catch myself. Turning to a side so as not to fall upon the baby, I sprawled out in the snow. I struggled to my knees, my whole body trembling.

"Oh, Dad, oh Dad, where are you?" I cried out, into the oncoming darkness.

There was a snort of an animal from behind me and fear raced through my veins. In my mind flashed the image of the wild bull. In panic, I grabbed wildly for my fallen rifle; then a voice.

"Easy does it, daughter?' It was the voice of my father.

Climbing to my feet I turned to see a cowboy swing down from his horse. It was my Dad. He was here! 1 stumbled forward into his strong arms. Burying my face in his chest, I let go of all the emotions that I had kept locked inside me for the last dozen days. The tears and sobs came freely. Tears of joy. Tears of grief and sorrow. Tears of relief and hope.

Hope. Hope had returned.

Chapter 13

DAN

January 29^th

Morning came to my little family on the Esplanade bench of the Grand Canyon. The light rain had quit in the night but the day was still very dreary. We wrapped little Jamie up in her baby blanket and tied it closed. Jill carried her as before and we moved on.

The trail soon came to the last steep climb, the last bench that would take us out of the canyon. It was midday when we reached the top at Indian Hollow. The going was much easier now. There were only six inches of snow on the graveled road and the mountain bikes had no trouble traveling through it. From Indian Hollow to the little town of Fredonia it was about 40 miles, most of it downhill. From Fredonia to home it was another 35 miles.

We slowly dropped in elevation as we peddled along. It was a solemn journey and neither Jill nor I spoke, except as was needed. It was hard to explain to little Will that his sister had died. I left that to Jill. I best able to keep my emotions in check by not talking.

I did not push my family and took time to stop, rest and eat. I determined to break the remaining distance into two days. Before I left the tree line of the Kaibab Mountain I stopped for the night. I made camp by a small rock ledge next to two big dead pinion trees. Bedding Jill and our little boy down at the base of the ledge, I built two large fires to our front.

I slept in short stretches and woke often to keep the big fires going. I wanted Jill and my boy to stay warm. The body of little Jamie I laid in the cold snow away from the warmth of the fire. I was grateful for Jill's insistence that we bury her in the cemetery at the ranch. I could not imagine the hole that I felt inside of me ever healing and I knew I would need to visit her grave often.

I threw another log on the fire and the flames crackled, sending sparks upward into the night. As I stood there "warming my hands, I looked at Jill and Will bundled in their coats and sleeping. I loved my family. It wasn't until I had children of my own that I really began to understand Dad. I knew that he loved us. We were the focus of all that he did. The ranch, the teaching, the training, and discipline, it was all for us.

He kept telling us that the comfortable world that we were raised in would not last.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

"No country, state, town or people can run into debt without losing a corresponding amount of freedom," he would say. "The average American doesn't understand the difference between sound money, fractional money or fiat money. l Nor do they understand the hidden tax of inflation and that it is by design. Most do not know how much our national debt is, nor do they care."

He was disgusted with the public school system and how they produced an idiot electorate. He had shown me a poll from the last election where it was determined that 700/0 of voters did not even know that the Constitution was the supreme law of the land. 65% could not name the three branches of government. These dismal stats were only from those that actually voted.2 It was worse among the population in general.

All of Dad's talk had seemed so academic. When I grew up, I tired of it, turned 18 and left home.

I tossed another broken branch on the fire then turned to warm my backside by the flames.

It was not academic now. My baby was dead and my wife and little boy grieved. I thought of my country and the millions of families like mine who would now, even now, be suffering. It had been so easy to keep my head in the sand and try to fit in with my neighbors. I had enjoyed the comfortable life in San Diego; paved roads and sidewalks, electric washer and drier, central A.G. and heat, not to mention satellite T.V. Then there were the movies, the restaurants and sports. Like my neighbors, I had been able to keep myself distracted.

I turned to face the fire and warm my front side. I looked upon Jill and little Will again. A resolve rose up from below the sorrow. Standing in the light of the pinion fire, I committed. I committed that I would do all in my power to keep Jill and Will alive. I would keep them alive and I would teach them. I would teach them what my father had taught me. This country would need rebuilding and it would need people like our Founding Fathers—like my father.

1. Sound money, fractional money, fiat money: Currency or bank notes that are issued can be, 1: sound money, backed 100% by gold or silver, 2: fractional money, back some fraction of gold of silver, 3: fiat money, backed by nothing but trust. History has been that every government that started on the course of fractional money have all ended at fiat money.

2. Zogby poll 2006; 75% of Americans could name the Three Stooges and only 42% could name the three branches of government.

DAN

The next morning, we were well down the graveled road before it was light. I guessed it to be around 10:00 A.M. when we peddled into Fredonia. I knew this town well enough. Our schools competed against each other in sports. Years ago, it had been an up and coming town but for the last couple of decades it had been in a state of atrophy.

At one time the town was a producing town. It had a large sawmill that shipped lumber across the nation. It had an oil refinery that employed many. It was the home base for several mining companies that mined the high grade uranium south of the town. But government had gotten involved. The environmentalists had successfully shut down the logging. The President's Secretary of Interior had shut down the mining. The EPA, the Environmental Protection Agency, had shut down the oil refinery.

Prior to lumber, oil and mining, the town had begun as a farming community, pulling its irrigation water from Kanab Creek. Unfortunately, many of the irrigated fields had gone the way of the town's industry. There were many retired people and many on welfare. It had been generations since the town had been a self-sustaining community.

Entering the town from the south, I peddled north on Main Street. Even before the "first strike" there had never been a lot of cars on the main street at one time. Now, with no cars on the street, it did not look a lot different. The people I passed did. The friendliness was gone. No one waved at us as we passed. The new city building and fire station were in the center of the town. This is where it was the least friendly. The parking lot, between the fire station and city building, had five horses saddled and standing on the west end of the lot. The horses were being held at the ready by two young cowboys each holding hunting rifles.

Open rifles in a town, major gun violations now.

On the east side of the parking lot were two Fredonia town marshals.

No longer driving federalized police trucks, they were standing by a set of bicycles holding AR-15s. The two groups were facing off each other In an uneasy truce.

From inside the office buildings could be heard angry words. It looked to me like some local ranchers and city officials were having issues. I was just guessing, but I'd bet one of Dad's silver dollars that the issue had something to do with food.

We peddled on through the town and headed to Kanab, seven miles north. Kanab was a tourist town much bigger and richer than either Orderville or Fredonia. It too had long forsaken its pioneer heritage of being self-reliant and self-sustaining.

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING

At four miles we crossed the Utah/ Arizona State line. To the east I could see the new state prison. It was a 350 bed facility. I wondered what had become of the prisoners.

In the next three miles we entered Kanab and passed the high school. To my astonishment, we saw two columns of soldiers in crisp new uniforms. They were marching, in a disorderly fashion, down the sidewalk toward the center of the town. Each was carrying matching M-4 rifles.³ At the next block I had to stop and try to comprehend what I was seeing.

In front of the Glazier's Food King was another row of undisciplined soldiers, about 25 in number. Each one was standing guard, holding an M-4. There also were a number of them on the rooftop.

We had stopped across the road from the grocery Store. There were several dozen civilians standing around the sidewalks.

A young man close by and about my age was leaning against a lamp post. He had on a camo ball cap and a camo hunting jacket, with an angry look on his face.

"What's going on here?" I asked him.

He spit into the street, not taking his eyes off the newly uniformed soldiers across the street. "I don't know what all is going on, but what I do know, I sure in hell don't like."

In disgust, he spat again on the street and continued, "All I know is that by morning time after we lost power these goons were already here. Here and at Honey's grocery store too. They are not soldiers; they are convicts from the prison. It's the DHS agents that are coordinating all of it. Damn Department of Homeland Security! I knew that when our city and county started taking bailout money to help pay for law enforcement the Feds would take control."

3. M-4 is one of the current rifles that the military is using. It shoots the same 5.56 cartridge as the M-16 that was used in the Vietnam War and looks similar. There has been some milling and other upgrades over the M-16 which makes the M-4 more reliable. It looks the same as many of the AR-15s that shoots the .223 cartridge. The has the ability to shoot fully automatically, three round burst or semi-automatically. You can shoot the .223 cartridge in the M-4s but should only shoot the 5.56 NATO cartridges in the AR-15 if the gun is stamped 5.56.

DAN

I knew what he was talking about because it had been Dad's latest rant. He talked about how the local politicians were selling out the last of the control our local law enforcement had to the federal government by accepting the bailouts.

The sell job to the ignorant public came as usual. "We must take care of our firefighters, policemen and teachers. Because we care, we must make sure to keep our citizens safe and take care of our children." They always threw in the children.

The politicians never talked about the attached strings. They never talked about how every law enforcement agency that took the bailouts had to have a DHS agent to oversee it. It was an easy fix for the politicians and the citizens who depended upon a government check of some sort. No need to balance a budget, no need to cut spending. All was well.

It was not long till each law enforcement vehicle had a small, eleven lettered, word stenciled above its name: "Federalized," "Federalized, Fredonia City Marshall," "Federalized, Kanab City Police," "Federalized, Kane County Sheriff." The BLM Rangers, the Park Rangers, and the Forest Rangers were federal from inception.

For the first time the man looked at me.

"Are you taking your family to the park?" He asked.

"NO," I replied. "Why would I be taking my family to the park?"

The man shrugged and returned his gaze to the store, "That's where all those in town that don't have water are being directed to go."

'Are you saying that some of the town has water and some of it doesn't?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's right. The old part of town still has gravity flow water out of the canyons. All the new homes that are further out require pumping for their water. Some of those families are starting to camp at the park already."

I had seen and heard all I wanted to. "Thanks," I said and we continued on.

It was dusk by the time we had peddled up the dirt road and stopped at the old wood gate leading to Dad's ranch. We had made it.

With mixed feelings of gratitude and sorrow, I opened the gate.

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5/31/19

ONLY BY BLOOD AND SUFFERING - Part 1

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