Stasis (Short Story Excerpt)

"Socialized medicine is the keystone to the arch of the Socialist State"

-          Vladimir Lenin

Kurt was feeling ill. He'd had enough bouts with minor maladies over the years to know this hacking cough was serious. His best hope would be Doc Markham, who should still be practicing in town. It would be a difficult journey, since Kurt lived deep in the wilderness with no vehicle. He had removed himself from society almost twenty years ago.

Hopelessness had driven him away. He'd witnessed the changes take hold over the years –the legislation and policies that stripped American freedoms, bit by bit – watched and seethed, powerless, unable to change what was happening. The government continued to pass constricting laws under the guise of saving revenue and caring for its citizens.

Then came the lobbyists, fueled by big corporate dollars, prodding the government to create more regulations. The forces of crony capitalism stopped Kurt and many others from opening their own businesses, since only large corporations could keep up with the regulatory overload. The descendants of the huddled masses were anything but free.

It got to the point where Kurt had two choices: submit to government pressure and be a good little drone or submit to corporate pressure and be a lackey. Frustrated and defiant, he chose neither and retreated to the mountains surrounding his hometown. Out there, neither the state nor any company held power over him.

Kurt kept chickens, bees, and goats, and cultivated a small patch of land. He even built a few wind turbines from used alternators; these provided enough power for light and for a few box fans for making jerky. The forest supplied the rest of his needs. He loved his home and hated to leave for even a few days, but couldn't ignore his health any longer. 

            He stuffed his backpack with some food and other essentials, slung his cased rifle over his shoulder and headed to town. After two strenuous days he ascended the last ridge and came within sight of Franklinville.

            He quickened his pace. Questions raced through his mind. Would things have changed as much as he feared?  Would he feel like a foreigner in his own hometown? What would he say to a childhood friend, a former teacher, or old Mr. Smith from the grocery store? It had been so long since he'd spoken with anyone.

            As he approached the outskirts of town, the eerie silence put him on edge. Weeds broke through the surface of the streets and sidewalks. Peeling paint and loose shingles were everywhere. Kurt had the strange feeling that something was watching him through the filthy broken store windows, but there were no cars and no people. It was a Saturday afternoon. Where was everyone? Had there been a war? Or a meteor strike? 
            Kurt made his way into the heart of Franklinville, darting from shadow to shadow, needing to hide from the emptiness. The sound of his footsteps was clear and crisp, the only noise in the world. His thoughts strayed to the old apocalypse-type movies, the ones about a sole survivor of the human race.

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