This is alternate history. It is FICTION:

Day One: The Shot

I’d just reached 3 million followers on X.

That’s right. What started out as a way to let off steam morphed into a successful fashion blog. I had sponsors. Celebrities feared my name. Now, I’m writing these words on notebook paper.

My Paper Blog…

Reason why? Why have I been reduced to this? The power’s been out for hours. I don’t think it’s coming back on.

Water, cellular service, WiFi, it’s all down.                                                        

Envision this: America’s most upcoming social media star, now sitting in the corner of her loft, watching her daughter sleep by the light of a single candle.

Want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you. Not that anyone’s going to read this. But as a writer, I NEED to process how the world’s changed by jotting it all down.

So here goes.

July 13^th, 2024, began as just a normal Saturday. My baby girl and I went clothes shopping. You see, she’s five and about to start school. Little diva she is had to coordinate everything. If you guessed that she’s a successful influencer, too, you’d be correct. She sang classic songs on YouTube with her own flair; hence why I nicknamed her Diva. The girl’s got almost two-hundred thousand subscribers! Well, she HAD that many subscribers.

Another rumble in the distance makes me wonder if things will ever be the same…

I digress.

It was a good day and a fun time. We even checked on the beautiful house we’re having built in the Hill Country. The frame’s up. I still can’t believe an uneducated girl from L.A. could afford such a thing!

That was all thanks to you, my awesome fans, who’ll never see this…

It was hot. Just another South Texas day.

We came back to our little piece of suburbia, located about thirty minutes from San Antonio, in a town called Live Oak.

A/C and some lemonade cooled us down. I got to washing the Diva’s new wardrobe.

That sassy girl’s got the perfect blend of class and tough. Just the kind of fashion I influenced people to buy.

Around dinner, we got a video call from my husband. He’s a Master Sergeant, and the Army thought it was necessary to send him to Korea one more time before letting him retire. There’s no way the Diva and I could go overseas. Not with how much money I pulled in. It didn’t make sense to be a different time-zone from my fans. Now, I wish I would’ve. I don’t know how I’ll hear from husband again or if he’s even okay.

Stop…

Those water spots are from your tears, not mine.

Let me get back to it:

While my husband ate breakfast, the Diva and I had salmon and asparagus. It was a good dinner. Peaceful. Hubby had to start his day and I had to clean up. As I finished loading my last dish, my phone began chiming. It’s didn’t stop until the service did.

Before I continue, y’all should know that I’m not political. I’ve never registered to vote. Never ‘picked a side.’ But when I saw the video of former President Trump getting his head blown off, I literally fell.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” The Diva was at my side.

My arms held her, but it took a minute for my ears to hear her.

After years of being spoiled as a loved wife, mother, and successful influencer, I almost forgot a few things: Things from my childhood…

Old trauma reached the surface. I was only eight years old when I watched Rodney King get beaten by the police. The riots, looting, and gunshots that followed made me have to sleep in a bathtub for a week. It was the only way my mama said I’d be safe from stray bullets. Most blamed black people (like my daddy) for what happened. But I lived through it. In L.A.’s April through May of ‘92, everyone of every shade lost their minds. With the police overwhelmed, criminals from every race ignited like a raging flame. They did so just. Because. They. Could.

I’ll never forget the gunshots. It was like living in a war-zone!

As I looked at my little girl, I knew that what had just happened was much bigger than L.A. of 1992. I may not have been into politics, but I’m not blind. A nation as divided as ours could erupt into a battleground, real quick.

“Something’s happened.” I took the Diva’s hands into mine and forced a smile. “We’ve got to get a few things. What I need you to do, is be my brave Diva. Smile. Don’t ask questions. Don’t talk to anybody. Can you do that?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

Like I said, the girl’s got sass.

I rose to my feet. Even though I hadn’t prayed in years, I whispered one. When I grabbed my purse it came to me:

Our windows!

I looked at how many windows surrounded me, knowing that if civil unrest were to break out, they’d be a vulnerability.

Then I wondered if I was going crazy.

Scenes and sounds from my childhood replayed in my mind. No. I knew I wasn’t crazy. We needed to board those windows up, but how?

I remembered the receipt for our solar screens was in my husband’s desk. I grabbed it and then me and the Diva stepped out into the garage and into my super-sized SUV.

It took everything I had to think clearly. What would we need first?

Money.

As I drove to the ATM, traffic was normal for a Saturday in Live Oak, Texas. Lots of cars with an occasional hint of road rage. Like I said, normal.

On the 1604, there was a motorcycle cop monitoring for speeders. I knew that meant things were stable and relaxed a little.

From the ATM I withdrew $500. The Diva and I stopped at Costco. We loaded up bottled water, her favorite snacks, and some candles. The entire time we stood in line was surreal. No one around seemed to know what had just happened. I held my breath after the cashier gave my total, silently praying my debit card would still work.

It did!

I actually wondered for a moment if I was being paranoid. If maybe things weren’t going to be as bad as I thought?

When we loaded up our purchase in my SUV, a bunch of men in Trump gear pulled up in various pickup trucks. They looked furious!  

Guess they thought it would be a good idea to get supplies, too.

For some reason, I felt they were about to supply an army. With a shiver, I got us out of there.

I filled up the gas tank and drove to Home Depot.

At first, I was worried the employees would think my plywood order was odd. To my surprise, the young man at the saw was indifferent as he cut my order. It made me wonder if he knew what had happened and just didn’t care. My little Diva didn’t appreciate how slowly he worked. She became antsy. “This is sooo boring!”

“Come on, we’ll grab a few things and be right back.”

We found some firewood, light bulbs, and a few cleaning supplies before heading back to the apathetic boy. He was just finishing up our order when a young, blue-haired girl stepped up to him, waving her phone in his face.

“Did you hear the news?” She was practically giddy.

He shrugged before staring at her screen.

With drug crazed eyes, the girl scanned my darker skin and sleeve tattoos. Her wild smile grew. Guess she assumed I shared her politics. “Isn’t it great?”

“What’s great?” The Diva asked.

“Oh, you’ll see.” The blue-haired girl smiled at my daughter before gazing at me with her wacky eyes.

The boy was just finishing loading my order onto the cart, allowing me the excuse to only have to smile at the blue-haired maniac before walking away.     

NOTHING about this is great. She was a fool for thinking so.

Again, I held my breath at the cash register. The older man ringing up my order seemed distant and broken. It took him a moment before pressing the correct button for my debit card to process. When it did, I exhaled. He looked at me. For a split second, there was recognition between us. It was like we were the only ones aware that the world had just ended.

Maybe I was reading into that glance too much. Still, I was grateful for his help with loading my order.

“Now what?” The Diva asked, fastening her seatbelt with an aggravated sigh.

Since my debit card was still working, a trip to the closest H.E.B. grocery store seemed like a good idea.

I looked at the back of my SUV. Even with the back rows down, my previous shopping nearly filled the space. We could maybe stack a cart’s worth of groceries on top of the plywood. “A small cart,” I whispered.

“Small Cart, where’s that?”

I looked at my daughter and smiled. “H.E.B. We can only fill a small cart.”

“Oh.”

It didn’t take long to get there. Traffic was light, which was very unusual.

In the grocery store, the few people shopping were taking their time. They seemed completely unaware of what was happening. As I was on the intense hunt for non-perishable food, it was hard to ignore their oblivious behavior.

There were a couple of men shopping that had the same fury in their eyes as the Trump supporters at Costco. By the looks of their shopping carts, we were there for the same reason.

After grabbing coffee and jerky, I was ready to go, but asked if there was anything my girl would like to have.

Of course everything the Diva wanted was either frozen, or dairy. “We need, milk, too!”

Normally I’d get a gallon. With a roll of my eyes, I was only willing to waste money on a half-gallon. Then I thought, ‘maybe I’m being stupid?’

Right then, there were some shouts. I looked down the aisle to see where the yelling came from. I watched people storm through the doors by the pharmacy.

Some employees tried to get in their way. It was useless. The people rushing in had hard eyes and wore matching colors. I didn’t have time to wonder what gang their colors represented, nor did I care. I just wanted to get my daughter away from them.

“Put your feet up.”

“What?!”

She didn’t understand. I had to help the Diva hold onto the cart and once her feet were on the metal, I booked it towards the registers.

I was about to reach a cashier when gunfire broke out.

Most people around me screamed and ducked. Being from L.A., I wasn’t going to be a statistic. I pushed the Diva and my unpaid groceries out the doors by the produce section.

“Mommy, you didn’t pay! You forgot! You didn’t pay!”

The parking lot was in too much chaos for me to respond.

Some people were trying to get in while others were trying to get out. I watched several employees dash to their vehicles like panicked gazelles.

We almost got run over a couple of times before making it to my SUV.

I lifted my screaming child and buckled her in before rushing to toss my food in the back of our vehicle. A group of teenagers had spotted me from across the parking lot. They began strutting up.

I left half the food and got into my car before they began running. I drove out of there before they could reach my vehicle.

With those punks in the rearview, I watched them take off with the rest of the groceries in my cart, cheering like they had just won the lottery. It took a minute for my heart find its way back into a normal rhythm.

The Diva riled it back up again: “You’re a thief!”

“Not now!” I felt like such a bad example as a mom. What choice did I have, though?

The apocalypse was happening all around us and I still don’t know how we made it out of that parking lot alive!

Finally, the Diva stopped screaming, but her breaths were jagged.

Once there was open road in front of me, I could address her. “I’m sorry. Know the world just changed, baby. It’s changed!”

She crossed her arms and pouted.

At least she was calmed down enough for me to focus on driving. Remember that occasional hint of road rage I told y’all about? On the way home there was nothing but road rage!

Thankful for learning to drive in L.A., I handled it with only a few near misses. Once we got to the 1604, that motorcycle cop was gone.

Law and order had left with him. 

When I pulled into my driveway, I backed into the garage and closed it. Like good Covid-19 survivors, the first thing the Diva and I did was wash our hands. I put on her favorite movie before getting to work. Unloading the unbagged groceries was easier than I expected. There was no way I could reach my Costco order without first removing the plywood. Problem was, I’d have to open the outer garage door to make enough room to do so.

That meant my neighbors could see what I had.

I decided tried to unload it in the privacy of a closed garage one more time and nearly dislocated my shoulder.

With a sigh, I pressed the button, opening my garage to every neighbor’s view before pulling my oversized SUV out just enough to yank out the plywood.

I wanted to be quiet. A few splinters made me drop one of the slabs. I don’t remember what cussword I used, but quiet wasn’t happening.

“Hey!”

Heart racing, I looked up to see my neighbor to the left run past his Biden/Harris lawn sign to my driveway. Relieved it was only him, my shoulders dropped. “Hey?”

“Can you believe this is happening?”

“Nope.” Worried his politics were in celebration mode, I continued unloading my loot in silence.

“Oh, here. Let me help you.”

Not wanting to owe my neighbor anything, I reluctantly stepped back and watched his eyes scan my Costco run.

“Is your husband in town?” I asked, hoping to distract him from taking a possible inventory.

“No. He’s in Houston.” For a man with a more feminine bent, he unloaded the last piece of Plywood rather effortlessly before biting his lip. “You’ve got the right idea, though,” he nodded at the bottled water and snacks.

Worried his friendship was going to turn, my spine tightened. “Yeah?”

Brown eyes gazed into mine, not with hostility, but pleading. “Would you mind watching my fur baby while I go to the store?”

My spine became a limp noodle and I hunched over. “No, you can’t. It’s crazy out there!” 

“I have to. She—”

A thunderous rumbling from the sky interrupted him as dozens of Chinooks flew overhead. It seemed they were heading towards Fort Sam Houston. Each one casted a shadow as they flew over us. It was surreal.  I couldn’t help but wonder where they came from, Fort Hood Cavazos, maybe?

Worry for my husband punched that wonder out of my head.

Once the sky cleared, my neighbor looked back at me with eyes even wider. “She needs kibble. Would you watch her? Pretty please?”

My heart became a puddle. “Sure. But be careful.”

“Oh, I will.” In a flash he was gone.

I set the plywood against my husband’s workbench. I only allowed myself a few seconds to feel the pain of his absence. After stroking the case holding his saber, I swallowed my pain down. I was about to back into the garage to unload everything else in private, when my neighbor came running out with his perfectly groomed Maltese in tow.

“Here she is.” He kissed her before reaching through my window and placing his pet in my arms.

“I’ll take good care of her.”

“Thank you!” My neighbor blew his dog a kiss before getting in his Volvo and driving off into whatever anarchy awaited him.

Wish I would’ve thought of his dog when I was at Costco. “I could’ve gotten you some food, earlier. Sorry,” I told the beautiful Maltese.

She kissed my nose.

After handing my neighbor’s most cherished possession to the Diva, I was met with squeals of joy.

“She’s perfect!”

“She’s not ours. Maybe I’ll get you one when this is over?”

The Diva rolled her eyes. “Actually mom, I’d prefer a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. That’s the only dog fit for a queen.”

“Cool. Maybe you can make a new YouTube channel for her?”

The Diva smiled. “Yeah! Except, she won’t outdo my singing. I’m the only Diva in this house.”

Proud of her spunk, I decided right then and there I wasn’t going to let worry for my husband distract me from being what she needs.  

As she kissed my neighbor’s dog I gave her my best smile and got back to emptying my SUV. 

I was surprised that it only took a half an hour to unload and organize my haul. I took most of it upstairs. At the time I figured we may not feel as safe coming downstairs if things got like L.A. did in ‘92.

Afterwards, I ignored the zillion texts I had from gal pals and tried messaging my husband.

No response.

Oh, no. That pain wasn’t going to bubble up again.

It was easier to get over at that time, cuz I still had signal and I figured he was on some sort of information lockdown.

I didn’t want to check the news.

The sun had just begun setting. I needed some normalcy and my neighbor’s dog needed to handle her business. The Diva and I sprawled out on the trampoline to sky watch. Guessing which lights were airplanes and which were stars was our evening routine.

“That’s a plane.” The Diva pointed.

As I watched the white light move before a red one near it blinked, I grinned. “You’re right.”

It was so peaceful.

Until the Diva pointed at something else, “That star is falling, mommy. Look!”

I saw the light before I heard the engine. Oh, that sound; worse than nails on a chalkboard and far too loud to escape.

I grabbed my daughter and rushed into the house. Our neighbor’s fur baby stayed close to my heels. I shut the door before the plane crashed near the junior college a few blocks away.

“What’s happening?!” The Diva asked over and over.

I couldn’t answer her. All I could do was sit on the kitchen floor with my back against the cabinets and rock her in my arms until the post-crash humming ceased.

Once the noise and my nerves quieted down, I decided to check the news just to find the signal was down.

I haven’t heard another plane since.

There wasn’t time to fret over the loss of cellular service. We needed to board up the windows and FAST!

The Diva was surprisingly helpful. She didn’t drop a single nail. “Why are we boarding them up from the inside?”

“So it doesn’t look like we’ve got stuff to hide from people on the outside.”

I’ll never forget her gasp. It was like I’d crushed her entire childhood with the reality that real monsters roam in the night.

She began singing to soothe herself.

It wasn’t much later before the Diva had sung her last song for the day, and drifted off to sleep. I carried her upstairs and laid her on the mattress I’d already moved into the loft. With our bedrooms facing the front, I figured we’d be safer with an extra wall in-between us and the street.

Downstairs, the Maltese was waiting. She was quite energetic and probably hungry.

That was when I heard the first gunshot of the night. It was far away, but unmistakable. There I stood as a grown woman in my own household, thousands of miles from Los Angeles, but inside, I felt like that scared little girl in 1992.

I rushed to the bottom of the stairway and listened to hear if the Diva was disturbed.

Her silence was assuring enough.

The Maltese twirled at my feet. Before I could worry if her owner was ever coming back, (and I’d be burdened with an extra mouth to feed) there was a light tap at my front door.

My heart pounded until it landed in my toes. It took a few seconds before I gathered the gumption to look out the peephole.

Much to my relief, my next-door neighbor stood on my porch. He had two reusable grocery bags in hand.  

I picked up his fur baby and opened the door. “You’re alright!”

“Yes.” His eyes widened. “You weren’t kidding when you said it’s crazy out there.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I had to steal!” After leaning back he bit his fingernails. “Do you think that when this is all over, they’ll let me pay them back?”

“I don’t know.” A tear fell without my permission. “I had to steal, too.”

“Oh, it’s nuts! Who would’ve thought?” His eyes trailed to the very happy dog in my arms. “I got you kibble, though.” He said, patting her before refocusing his attention on me. “I got you a few things, too.”

We exchanged his dog for the two reusable bags. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I did. The first bag has a few sweets and chips that I thought your daughter would like. The second bag has the flare gun from our last boat trip. If you need anything, shoot that sucker in the sky, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you,” my voice trembled. My voice NEVER trembles!

“You bet. And hey, the Mormons across the street left for Utah. Can you believe that?”

“That’s a lot of desert and wilderness to cross.”

“Right! Nice people, though. They gave me and another neighbor some canned emergency food. ” He shook his head. “Can you imagine how gross that would taste?”

“Hey,” I shrugged. “When you’re starving…”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Things are so wild, though. Three houses down, they ‘borrowed,’ a motorhome right off the lot!” He covered his mouth.

I couldn’t help but gasp. “That’s illegal.” 

His eyes widened. “Well, so is stealing groceries.”

It was nice to laugh.

 “Before they took off, they said the police scanners went wild right before going silent. The Mormons were tracking that too, and said it’s only a matter of time before gangs or warlords take over. They wanted to get out before checkpoints were set up. Like that could happen.” He rolled his eyes.

I remember feeling nausea with my doubt. “Right. The National Guard should be arriving, soon.”

“That’s what I said. Everything will go back to normal. We’ll be fine.” He kissed his dog. “And thanks again for watching my little angel. I have a feeling she’s hungry.”

“I’m sure she is.”

He waved her paw at me before leaving.

I closed the door and fastened all three locks before finishing the post-dinner cleanup and whatever else that needed polishing: ANYTHING to stay busy and keep my mind off of warlords and checkpoints.

I’d just poured myself a glass of Sparkletts when the power went out.

After filling up my bathtubs with water, here I am, wondering if all my previous fears were founded, or if the cavalry really is coming?

I glace at my sleeping Diva, hoping we survive the night.

Another gunshot echoes outside. That makes fifteen, thus far.

There’s another one!

That one was close, too close.

Each gunshot reminds me of what happened to Trump…

Day Two: Eerie Silence

I woke up with my right hand clenched around the pen. I must’ve collapsed in exhaustion. With each window boarded up, I had no idea if the sun had risen. I’d always relied on my phone to tell time and didn’t own an analog clock. First thing I did was check my phone, hoping service was back on.

Nope.

When I set down my useless phone, I realized all my previous fears were founded.

“How will we survive?”

I couldn’t remain in that state-of-mind. I got up and checked on the Diva. She was still sleeping, so I crept downstairs. The beams of sunlight peeking through the tiny cracks around my back door were almost blinding.

As I stood in my kitchen, I noticed all of the sounds I was used to were gone. Electricity hums pretty loudly through the walls. It’s a white noise when the power’s on, but when it’s gone, it’s too quiet. Almost quiet enough to drive a person insane.

That was no time for a pity party. I needed to find myself some caffeine.

I took a sip of instant coffee. It was cold and gritty. Yuck!

Then I began to worry about when the Diva woke up. What would I tell her?

What about when it gets hot and the A/C is still off?

My head ached. It still does. I can barely write. My wrist is cramped from last night. What I wouldn’t do to have cell service for just one hour.

ONE HOUR!

I could hear my husband’s voice. Assure him we’re okay. Be assured that he’s okay. I could connect with my fans. Connect with the world. Maybe find some information. Perhaps be assured that the National Guard is on the way and there’s nothing to fear.

As the Diva stirs, I know my hopes are a pipe dream. When she wakes up, reality wins. I’ve got to think long term.

THINK!

If I remember right, most people starve to death after not eating for a month. That means if the Diva and I can hunker down for thirty days, most of the people willing to commit violence should kill each other off by then. In theory, anyone else would be too hungry to be a threat.

I’ve got a full tank of gas. In just thirty days, we can look for help. We can try to get on a military base. Who knows, maybe they’ll reunite us with my husband? That is, if things don’t return to normal before then.

Help should arrive soon. In theory…

In the meantime, we have to behave like help ain’t coming. We’ll start by eating whatever feels cool to the touch in fridge. After that, we’ll ration everything else. Since my pantry was already full and I managed to get a good haul yesterday, we should be able to survive thirty days.

But what about water?

I quickly added up the Sparkletts downstairs, my bottled water grab yesterday, my two full bathtubs, and the various jugs I filled when the power went out. We might have one hundred and sixty gallons, maybe?

That should be more than enough for the Diva and me to survive for a month.

But is it’s so hot!

How will I keep my house from becoming an oven?

I think I have a couple of battery operated fans, somewhere?

I could kick myself for not buying batteries yesterday.

What’s worse, and I mean, this is mental torture: I’ve checked my phone so much, the battery died. Now, every time I pick it up I’m greeted with a lifeless screen.

It’s tempting to break the darn thing. Instead, I’ve tethered it to its charger; hoping for it to be revived if electricity ever makes a comeback.

“Morning, mommy. Is the power back on?”

I couldn’t let her see my fears and forced a smile. After making my Diva breakfast, I came up with some creative games for her to play, silently.

Cuz in this quiet, it’s easy for other people to know that we’re here…

Day Three: Vent

IF I HEAR, “CAN I PLAY OUTSIDE?” ONE. MORE. TIME. I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND!!!!!!!!!

Day Four: The Quiet Disappears

I’ve worn the same shorts and tank top for two days. At this point, I don’t care if I smell bad. It’s so hot, this is the only outfit I find any relief in. Without running water, I can’t even begin to guess how I’m going to do laundry.

What I wouldn’t do for a shower!

At least the Diva has been satisfied. She’s had music playing in her ears and has become quite the little Picasso. 

Things seemed okay until something demonic happened outside. At first the sounds were far away and hard to make out. Once they got closer, they got REAL close. There was screaming, piercing mechanical shrills, and banging from multiple directions.

I was too scared to look out the door.

When the gunshots rang out, I knew there was a battle raging out, just behind my house.

I made sure the Diva heard what was going on by pulling out one of her earbuds.

“What? Oh!” Her eyes widened before I carried her upstairs.

That was hours ago, (I think) and we’ve been up here ever since.

Whatever is going on outside hasn’t stopped.

So many questions the Diva had; questions I couldn’t answer.

I just wish we could go downstairs. It’s cooler and the tile floor feels so much nicer against the skin. But I’m too scared to go down there.

I’m scared of someone breaking in.

I’m scared of whatever is going on outside finding us.

The Diva’s calm and back to drawing. I know the battery for the MP3 player will only last so long…

An explosion sounds off in the distance. It’s almost as loud as that plane crash.

This is way worse than L.A. was in 1992!

Thankfully, the Diva didn’t hear it.

As I write this, there’s chatter outside so close, it sounds like it’s in my driveway. I can almost make out what they’re saying. I don’t want to. The less I’m involved, the better.

Another rumbling shakes my house. The Diva has more questions…

I peeked downstairs a bit ago. It’s almost dark out. The gunfire has slowly decreased and I don’t hear people talking outside anymore.

There’s still rumbling in the distance. It’s not nearly what it was.

Guess whoever was fighting killed most of each other off.

American against American. Sad.

I remember learning somewhere that the Confederates thought they could lick the Yankees in two weeks.

Gosh, I hope that’s all it takes for this to stop.

But the Confederates were wrong, so wrong.

Day Five: Boarded

Last night, the dwindling battle took out two of my windows.

Scared us half to death!

If I didn’t have ‘em boarded up, who knows what would’ve happened.

Needless to say, I’m not sleeping for the rest of my life!

Day Seven: One Week Down

The closest I’ve ever come to living this grungy was during the Texas Winter Storm of 2021. Come to think of it, my husband was overseas then, too.

Guess I haven’t been so spoiled.

No matter.

Today is laundry and bath day. I can’t take it no more and don’t want to catch some sort of skin disease or something.

I’ll figure out a way to save water by sponge bathing and doing the laundry in the sink.

You’d think the distraction would be nice. Here I am, dreading it.

Why?

My mind would rather focus on the rumbling outside. It’s like my brain needs to picture what’s going on, no matter how much my heart doesn’t want to know.

In a way, the noise I once feared has become a comfort. For as long as they’re fighting out there, no gangs or warlords are coming in here.

Then all at once, the noise stopped.

Day Nine: Stench

The Diva and I paid laid low for a couple of days. We played board games: All of them.

It’s been easier to stay upstairs, now that all the meat in my worthless freezer has begun to stink. I’m going to have to get rid of it soon or else it’ll attract bugs.

That’s the last thing we need.

I’m hoping to do that today. Guess I’ll either go out back and bury it, or toss it in a trash barrel and leave it on the curb? I’m sure some stray animal will come and get it. It’s just the latter idea is noisier than the first. 

My trash barrels are in the garage, (thanks HOA!) so I’ll have more cover when loading them than I would standing outside digging a hole. Besides, I don’t want to use a lot of calories or make myself too thirsty. In this circumstance that would be stupid.

Okay. It’s been decided, trash barrels it is. I’ll tell the Diva.

Be right back…

My hands are shaking so bad, I can hardly write!

At least I got all the blood off of them.

Oh, where to start? Where to start!

First of all, loading rotten meat and frozen food that had been thawed out into plastic bags was traumatic. The smell. The texture. I almost retch just writing about it. It took three garbage bags to get it all out. I carried the first bag towards the garage. Even with the smelly disaster I’d just cleared, as soon as I unlocked and opened that door I smelled him before I saw him. 

Through sunbeams that shouldn’t have been shining in my garage, I saw him inside of my SUV, wearing a ragged trench coat, and his eyes, oh his eyes!

I’d never seen such lunacy. Not even in L.A.!

I knew with just a glance that he was on drugs. I think he was trying to hotwire my SUV.

When he noticed me, my first thought was wondering how he bent the large garage door the way it was without me hearing it. My second thought was how I was going to keep him away from my daughter.

The shock of seeing me wore off and he ran towards me with his hands bent like claws!

I didn’t scream. At least that, or else the Diva might have run downstairs and who knows what would’ve happened.

Instead, I remembered the flare gun my neighbor gave me.

It was in the laundry room, just two feet from where I stood. I rushed in to grab it.

He was right behind me.

I couldn’t close the door, not with his arm and foot in the way. I kept the door pressed against him and reached with everything I had to get the flare gun.

Once it was in my hand, I took a step back, let him come in just under the doorframe and fired!

The intruder fell back against the hood of my SUV.

I rushed to my husband’s workbench where some of his unit awards were on display, grabbed his cavalry saber and stabbed the man in his throat.

That’s right, I killed a man.

I KILLED HIM!

I should feel bad about it. I don’t. Isn’t that sick? And y’all, once this is all over, I know I’m going to jail. There must’ve been witnesses and if they didn’t see what had happened in my garage, someone had to see me drag his corpse out to the middle of the street, pile my ruined food on top of him, pour lighter fluid on top and strike a match.

That smell was the worst EVER!

But I had to watch it burn to make sure the fire didn’t spread to my house.

The neighbor who gave me the flare gun didn’t come outside. I’m not sure if he’s dead or too terrified to associate with me anymore.

Once the flames died down and there was nothing but ash, I fixed the exterior garage door the best I could.

I couldn’t fix my SUV, though.

The wires he yanked out were damaged. That means the Diva and me are trapped.

To take make matters worse, I had to use more water than I have been for bathing, just to get the intruder’s blood off of my body.

It could’ve been worse.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

It could’ve been worse.

Day Ten: Unrecognizable

When I first heard the rumbling of a tank, I thought it was a SWAT team coming to get me for killing that man.

I figured it would be better for my daughter if I went outside to greet them, instead of them breaking into the house in full battle rattle.

“No matter what you hear, stay inside.”

The Diva only shrugged.

With a silent prayer BEGGING God she would, I rushed downstairs and grabbed my military dependant I.D. before reaching the front lawn. When I got to the curb, what I saw made every ounce of my body want to cheer.

It wasn’t a SWAT team, but the National Guard!

Their humvee was parked in front of a driveway about five houses to my left. I began waving at them with both hands, jumping for joy like a kid! “Here!”

Two of the four men barely paid me a glance before approaching the house.

I thought they were doing door-to-door wellness checks or something and decided to wait.

When I heard the screaming, my knees locked.

I watch the soldiers bring out an entire family, force them on their knees, and point a handgun at ‘em.

“For voting for Trump!”

Bang!

I heard that four times until the man, woman, and two children had fallen.

They were my neighbors and I didn’t even know their names.

Fear made me want to bolt. If I had, those soldiers may have barged down the door and murder the Diva just as they did those children.

As the humvee approached, I knew I had to appear as though I was on their side and stood my ground.

“Did you vote for Trump?” The driver asked me. He may have worn the same uniform as my husband, but what he was doing wasn’t serving our nation.

“I-I don’t vote,” I stuttered.

One of the soldiers looked over a clipboard before eyeing my address. “She’s not registered.”

As they began to drive off, everything in me said to just let them go, but the love for my husband wouldn’t allow it. “Wait!”

The vehicle stopped and the eyes of murderers turned to face me. “Can’t you see we’re busy pulling the stem of treason out by its roots?”

I didn’t allow his justifying hatred make me falter. Not even the big ‘T’ word could intimidate me. This may have been my only chance to ask about my love. I wasn’t going to let it slip. “My husband is stationed in Korea.” I held up my I.D. card. “I’d like to know if he’s okay.”

“You see this?” The map man who said I wasn’t registered, held up his clipboard. “None of us are good. The rebels knocked out the internet.”

It took a moment to register that he meant Trump supporters. “No.”

“They got air traffic control and every cell tower, too,” a soldier in the back said before shaking his head in disgust. “They took down AI, satellites, everything.”

“There’s no way for anyone to contact Korea. We’re running on analog. You’re on your own.” The driver waved as though I were a gnat.

I was too stunned to move and or to even think, my husband outranked all of them, yet I was disregarded as trash.

When I watched them park at a house across from me, whoever was inside didn’t waste time. Gunshots from the window caused my arms to shield my face in an impulse.

The soldiers seemed ready for this. One may have been shot, but they all took cover and called in a code with the address through their radio.

Within seconds, a missile struck the house.

The fall to the sidewalk gave my arms road rash that I didn’t notice until later. In that moment, my adrenaline was too high to feel a thing. The soldiers laughed while continuing down the street, hunting Americans for nothing more than how they vote.

Knowing my daughter could’ve rushed outside to see what the commotion was, I knew I had to get back into the house. As I got up, my eyes remained focused on the humvee, even when tires squealing from a different direction should’ve gained their focus.

Just as the soldiers turned, something big was shot at them. The hummer humvee flew up into the air before crashing on the road HARD!

Two trucks pulled up beside it. The men that jumped out to make sure their target was eliminated could very well have been the Trump supporters I saw at Costco.

They too, barely glanced my way.

Guess I’m not a threat in this guerrilla warfare…

As I write these words, I want to scream.

I can’t upset my daughter. But I want to scream so badly, “WHAT HAPPENED TO MY COUNTRY?!!”

Day Fourteen: Two Weeks to Flatten the World

Just like the first civil war, this one is an underestimated nightmare.

It’s officially been two weeks since our country was shot in head and so far, the only one who has been, ‘licked,” is liberty.

 Day Twenty-One: Someone to Root for

This morning, I gathered the courage to look in the mirror. Being sickly thin is a small sacrifice in order to keep the Diva healthy.

She’s getting tired of being locked indoors, though.

Therapeutic as it’s been for me, I’ve had to cut down on these blog entries to preserve paper. The Diva’s almost out and needs to be able to draw.

Poor thing. I can’t risk her going outside. Not with warfare and crazed drug addicts lurking!

What’s worse is the battery of the MP3 player died five days ago.

The good news is I got more water.

Y’all could imagine after that last visit, how excited I was to hear the sound of another military vehicle approaching…

All sarcasm aside, I’m not ashamed to admit that I was scared to death.

My fear eventually turned into hope, as something inside of me nudged my body to take the chance and step outside.

I took a quick glance where the last battle played out. Other than the one house blown into bits, it was like nothing had happened. That humvee must’ve been picked off. I shivered at the thought of who did the picking.

With my military I.D. in hand all over again, I stood at the curb and waiting for the approaching sound to come into view.

When I saw it was a tank, my fist instinct was to cower.

Like before, I knew any sign of fear would lead to death. So again, I stood.

As the tank got closer, I began to hear something other than its treads:

“This is the United States Government. If you’re able bodied, we need YOU to fight for our nation’s flag. You’ll be given three meals a day and supplies for your family. Join us and help America live!”

At first I thought they were going to try to kidnap me and force me to enlist.

If that were to happen, how would the Diva survive?!

Still, I stood.

When the tank got closer, I held my military dependant I.D. and chin up.

The tank stopped a few feet from my driveway. The hatch opened and a man in the same uniform as my husband stepped out and looked at me. I read his rank. He was a Sergeant 1^st Class, one rank below my man. “Are you ready to fight for your country?”

“No. My five year old daughter is inside.”

“I see.” His eyes were empathetic. “Is there something I can do for you?”

The sincerity of his offer caused unwanted tears tried to try and find their way out.

I stopped them.

“I want to know if husband is okay. He’s stationed in Korea and I haven’t heard from him since before the assassination.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t have access to personnel. We’re uh, on a different system.” He motioned writing with a pen.

I gulped some air to gather the gumption needed to ask something stupid. “You mean to tell me the army is such disarray that it can’t contact its own units?”

The SFC frowned. “It’s not that simple. You see, when the command to kill innocent civilians came down, everyone who followed that order, betrayed their oath. We’re the ones who kept it. When a bridge like that is blown, there’s no chance of reconnecting it.”

His words poured both relief and terror into my heart. “Our military is split?”

He only nodded.

What of my husband? Which side did he choose? Which side could he choose? Is he even alive? Again, I held in the tears and kept my chin up. “The other side came through here.”

His eyes flashed anger. “Did they kill anyone?”

My eyes fell to the sidewalk. The moment of silence between us said it all. Finally, I gathered the courage to look up. “They said your side attacked our infrastructure, air traffic control, the internet, basically everything.”

“That’s a lie. A cyber attack took down those systems out, right before that unconstitutional order was given. It was them.” By the look in his eyes, I believed him.

“So, what now?”

“We do everything we can to make this survive.” He fingers tapped the American flag on his shoulder.

“I see.” I knew these men weren’t out to kill me and I was desperate enough to ask, “Um, you asked if there was something you could do for me?”

His eyes had such light in them, I wasn’t afraid when he said, “That’s right.”

“Could you take a look at my vehicle? Someone tried to steal it and I’m going to run out of water soon. My little girl and I are trapped.”

Without fear he leaped off the tank and stepped up to my SUV. Once he saw the mess the wires were in, he whistled. “I’m not trained in G.T.A. You’d be better off siphoning the gas and trading it.”

“I don’t know how.”

He smirked. “You’ve got a container that can handle it?”

I rushed to get one of the Sparkletts jugs and watched him use my garden hose to fill it.

“Thank you.” I looked at the houses around wondering who I could trade with. I’d sure hate to be bartering without these soldiers nearby. “Anyone want to trade? I’ve got gas!”

The soldier was surprised by my yelling at first, edgy, even. When a middle-aged Hispanic woman ran out of her house across the street, he relaxed.

“Me! I’ve got juice, I’ve got beer!” Her accent was thick.

“You’ve got a deal!” I yelled.

Sure enough, I got three jugs of juice and a twelve pack of Heineken beer for the gas.

“Thank you, thank you. I’m going to use this to get back to Mexico!”

I haven’t seen her since.

With no use for the beer, I offered it to the soldier. 

“No, ma’am. What I can do is give you some water.”

After giving me an entire case of H2O, they were on their way.

Is it wrong that I felt myself rooting for them?

I mean, after watching what the other side of the same cloth did, shouldn’t I be supporting the soldiers NOT murdering civilians?  

That shouldn’t even be a question. I’m wasting paper.

All that matters now is that the right side wins.

Day Twenty-five: For the last Time, NO!

Without the MP3 player, the Diva is miserable. Therefore, I have to be miserable. Apparently, jumping on the trampoline is the cure for all her woes. At least in her mind it is. Who knew jumping on a trampoline was so medicinal. Perhaps it cures cancer?   

Agh.

For the hundredth time today my answer is NO!

Day Thirty-four: A New Cat in Town

The soldiers in that tank haven’t been back.

They must’ve got their recruits and took off to wherever the battle is.

For a few days it was quiet again, until night before last. That’s when it began to sound like Mad Max was charging in with an army of street racers.

There’s been no chance for sleep ever since.

Gunshots began ringing out this morning. The Diva and I have been back to staying upstairs. With the water the soldiers gave us combined with strict rationing, we’ve a got a week’s top until we risk dying of thirst. The food’s lasted longer because I’ve chosen the skeleton diet.

The evil thought occurred to me that it might be a sweeter death for us to be shot instead of withering away.

I shook that thought off real quick. Ashamed I even let such a notion spark in my mind, I don’t know why I’m writing it down. Humility, I guess?

As the squealing tires and gunshots get closer, I know one thing: Whoever is coming ain’t the cavalry. 

“What’s going on?”

I shushed the Diva. NO ONE can know she’s here. Not from this crowd.

“Don’t shush me!”

The look I gave coiled her into silence.

I’d never dreamed I’d glare at my own child like that. Reality has crushed all of those parenting 101 blogs. “Stay quiet. I’m going to take a look.”

Thank God she did.

First, I tried the peephole. I couldn’t see a thing. I decided sneaking out to the garage and looking past the bent edges of the door to see what the heck was going on.

Just as the Mormons predicted, the warlord was upon us. Dressed like a southern pimp in red and black pinstriped silk, he stood in the back of some Italian sports car, while other men from their hotrods harassed an elderly woman down the road.

“Don’t shoot her. Not if she’s offering trade.” The ridiculously dressed man stepped out of the car to take whatever the woman held out to him. At least ten years my senior, the man had thick, shoulder length hair and was taller than anyone I’d seen. Buff, too. No wonder the street thugs followed him. “That’s very nice.” He laughed as he took whatever jewelry she had. “I love gold! Got any liquor?”

The elderly woman nodded before eventually retrieving a bottle of wine.

“See, this is what I’m talking about.” The Warlord handed the bottle over before pointing at her, “I expect double next week.” He looked around with a grin. “It’s payment for my protection.”

‘Yeah, right,’ I thought. Much to my surprise, he let the woman live. Onto the next house they went: The minions ready to break in if no one answered. And answered it they did. This time, the gang got several bottles of vodka.

They were quite happy and let those neighbors live as well.

I watched them check out the next house. Since no one came out, the minions broke in. A few minutes later, they exited the house with smoke trailing behind them. A minute later, the entire house was on fire.

“This way we know who to protect!” The Warlord shouted as a warning to the rest of our subdivision.

I knew in that moment they’d burn us down. But what could I trade?

As I ran inside, I passed the beer. “Bingo!”

I knew it wasn’t enough.

I rushed upstairs to my bedroom, where the ridiculous gold bracelet I bought myself for reaching a million followers was hidden. “Here we go.”   

Like the last two visits, I decided it was better for me to be bold and greet them outside. I couldn’t risk any of those thugs finding my daughter.

I kissed the Diva’s forehead. “Mommy will be right back.”

It was a hope. The only hope that kept my legs moving down the stairs.

Carrying the case of beer was a lot harder than it should’ve been. I had to set it down and catch my breath a few times before going outside. Guess fatigue is a side-effect of the skeleton diet.

For the Diva, I had no choice but to be strong.

With a huff, I pulled that case of beer up with all of my might and walked out the door. “I want to purchase your protection!”

As slowly as I could, I set the case of beer on the curb before straightening my chin as though such a feat were effortless.

The entire gang turned from the empty house that traded me this very beer to look right at me. Right then, the house belonging to the lady who fled to Mexico erupted in flames.

I did my best not to blink. With all my grit I held up my hand, revealing the gold bracelet that came with the beer.

“Oh, honey.” The Warlord hopped out of his car and eyed my body in a way I’d like to forget. “Are you sure it’s just protection you need?”

His minions whistled.

I held in the terror by raising my chin even higher. “I’m sure.”

“But why? A fine woman like you should belong to me.” As he got closer, I was surprised he smelled like lavender. “You’d have a piece of the spoils.” He tugged at my hair.

“I’m married.”

He made a spitting sound before laughing. “Is he here?” He asked with a nod towards my house.

Figuring it would cost more if I said yes, I decided to go with the truth. “No. He’s a soldier stationed in Korea.”

“Oh. Now that’s sad. Real sad, ain’t it, men?”

They didn’t respond. I figured he was being sarcastic. Looking back, I think he was sincere in own sick, little way.

“I have payment. This is real gold and that’s real beer.”

“Yeah.” The Warlord eyed my bracelet and the beer before drinking my body in. “I’d just hate to leave a pretty thing like you all alone.”

I’d never heard my heart beating through my ears before. Fear caused me to sweat. My eyes fell to the discolored asphalt where the remains of the man I murdered had been charged. A new strength emerged. “I can handle myself plenty. You see that?” I nodded at the street.

The Warlord took an amused glance before bringing his eyes back to my body. “What of it?”

“Look at my garage door.”

He did, though briefly.

“The man that broke in made a mistake. I burnt him alive in the street, right there.” I probably shouldn’t have lied. I did it to sound scary. I even pointed to the spot with prideful smirk.

Much to my surprise, the Warlord laughed. “I love a woman who can cook!”

His minions laughed, too.

“Thing is, I also see your windows.” He nodded at the two broken windows off of my porch. He proceeded to step over to one of the two young trees in my yard. “That’s a nice little border you’ve got going around these. Shame if one went missing.” He looked at one of the younger men before staring at my bedroom window. 

As if they were on some sort of mind meld, the younger man grabbed one of my bricks and chucked it at the window. The glass broke before the brick bounced off of the plywood and rolled off my awning onto the driveway.

The Warlord stared at me. By the look in his eyes, I felt he was impressed. “Preppy.” He grinned. “We’ll take the beer. You can keep the bracelet.”

One of his thugs immediately grabbed the case. He even smiled at me before carrying it to his sports car.

“When I come back next week, I’m bringing you a gift.” The Warlord raised his chin like he’d already conquered my heart. “Maybe that’ll convince you to be one of mine.”

The gang hooted and hollered as he stepped away.

Guess this is the new dating ritual. And I thought Tinder was bad. “We’ll see.”

He seemed to appreciate the possibility of my submission. I then turned and headed for the porch, hoping to God they didn’t shoot me in the back.

“I have something to trade!” My next-door neighbor—the one who gave me the flare gun—ran out of his house carrying a small statue. “It’s real ivory. You’ll find nothing like it anywhere around here.”

“Yeah, except I don’t like homosexuals.” The Warlord gave the nod.

My neighbor was shot right then and there.

I like to tell myself that if I didn’t have a child to protect, my reaction would’ve been different. Even now, I’m not so sure. When survival instincts kick in, they take over everything. Hurt as I was to see my neighbor murdered, when I locked eyes with the Warlord, I gave an indifferent shrug.

His laughter echoed down the street. “What a woman!”

Just then, the Maltese I swore to protect ran out of her house. She was barking at the uninvited guest with the ferocity of a larger breed.

The Warlord grabbed her by the neck and shook her until it snapped.

My heart broke with it.

“Fresh meat!”

As his men laughed, I could no longer look at them.

I wanted to run!

If I did, it would’ve been my death, too.

What would they have done to the Diva?

I get nauseous just thinking of it.

Each slow step I took to the house was agonizing. I made it to the door just as they set my dead neighbor’s house on fire. I kept up the indifferent act going until I got inside. Soon as I shut the door, I fell to my butt.

I couldn’t protect my neighbor.

I couldn’t even protect his dog!

What good was I to protect the Diva?

In silence I cried, until I heard the horrible sounds of the new local government get further and further away. Once I couldn’t hear them anymore, I buried my neighbor in his backyard.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

No amount of sorry’s were enough.

They’d never be.

As dawn and the smoke cleared, I looked past the charred and broken fence to survey how many homes were destroyed.

With only eleven houses intact, my neighborhood looked less like an American suburb and more like the war-torn Middle East.

Overwhelmed, I wiped a tear before something red caught my eye.

Beyond the remains of the Mormons abandoned home was a hand-pump well.

Day Thirty-five: Murky

It’s amazing how fast the overgrowth of the land takes over things. Just getting through small, tract home yards was a mission all on its own.

Once I got to the well, it took what felt like forever to pump out the mud.

What a workout; especially for someone on the skeleton diet.

At last, the brown water turned to yellow, and the yellow water to clear.

I filled every container I had.

“We’ll survive!” I announced to the Diva.

It was the first time she’d danced since this all began.

At the time, I didn’t think of what we’d eat. That’s been dwindling more each and every day. We’ve got water, though.  

I bathed in it.

It was almost like a real shower.

Let me tell y’all what a luxury that was!

Hard to believe I used to take a shower every night.

What fat times.

Spoiled times.

For the first time since the assassination, I believed the Diva and I would survive.

Day Thirty-six: Thieves!

Some idiots tried to steal the well and BROKE it in the process!

So much for my hope of survival.

Day Forty: Pain

I should be dead.

I want to be dead.

Had I not been so tired, the Diva would still be alive…

IT’S ALL MY FAULT!

Not just for sleeping too deep to hear her open the back door, but for how I raised her.

I didn’t want her to take crap from anyone.

Not even me.

Night before last, the exhaustion from burying my neighbor and gathering all that water finally caught up with me.

And she was tired of staying indoors.

Yesterday, when I woke up, I heard the Diva singing. It sounded far away. I was terrified someone took her. I then realized she was outside, playing.

I ran down the stairs so fast, I nearly fell. When I saw my backdoor was open, I slide across the tile and onto my porch to see my little girl, tumbling on the trampoline as though all was right with the world.

“You need to get inside, now!” I tried not to raise my voice. She’d already risked gathering attention as it was.

“NO!” The Diva screamed. “I’m a famous influencer. I don’t have to listen to anyone!”

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder how many times she’s heard me say things like that back when fame inflated my head.

In the moment, fear and anger made me forget why we needed to be quiet. “You get inside, right now!”

“Nope. I’m free. I’m free!” She leaped off the trampoline and ran circles around the backyard, singing, “In the land of the free, and the home of the brave!” The early sun shimmered off her black hair like long beams. At one time, I would’ve thought such rebellion was beautiful. I wanted my daughter to be fierce.

I just didn’t want her to fight me. Especially when I was just trying to keep her safe!

Like my neighbor and his dog, I couldn’t.

I couldn’t save my child!

We heard the rattle before the snake showed itself.

The Diva froze before it struck.

I don’t remember running. I just remember being at her side and swooping her up. Streams of blood fell from the two fang marks on her arm.

The snake continued rattling.

I had to get the Diva away from it. I took her inside and laid her on the couch. I did everything I could to press the venom out. I tied my shirt around her arm to try and stop it from spreading. Nothing worked.

Her dark skin became pale. “Am I going to die?”

I began wailing. I couldn’t answer. I just held her close.

I held her until she turned cold.

When she was gone, I gently placed my baby on the couch and got a shovel. I found that snake and beat it to bits.

But it didn’t bring her back.

I used her mattresses and my best silk to make a coffin and dressed her in one of the outfits she picked the day everything changed.

Inside, rage and sorrow burned strong enough for me to dig her grave. I used one of my husband’s award plaques as her tombstone. With a knife and a broken heart I carved:

Only five years old, the greatest Diva the world has never known.

Once she was laid to rest, I fell to my knees.

I screamed louder than I thought possible.

It took nearly twenty-four hours just to stop crying enough to see this paper.

Why am I writing this down?

Because I failed.

I failed her.

This is my suicide note.

I’m taking these papers and my favorite photos all in one album and I’m leaving.

That Warlord’s supposed to come back tonight. When he does, he’s going to find that my house is already burnt to the ground.

It’s over.

I know that out there, death will find me.

Maybe I’ll be reunited with her?

Day Forty-seven: Redemption?

A lot can change in a week.

I’m writing this on yellow paper, on some sort of legal pad.

Anyone reading may think, ‘What happened to being suicidal and all that, ‘I’ve failed, may death find me,’ crap?”

Well, God had something else to say.

You see, I didn’t even get one block away from my burning house when two men found me.

Like shadows in the full moonlight, they attacked before I could move.

I wanted to die. I just didn’t want what they were planning to go down beforehand. I don’t know how I had the strength to get away.

I did, though.

I ran like the wind.

They chased me onto the street where a set of headlights were blinding. I stopped in hopes that whoever was driving would flatten me like a bug.

Instead, they turned and hit one of my attackers.

The other flew fled back to the shadows.

An overload of stress made me retch. With nothing inside all that came out was noise; very painful noise.

I turned to realize my assailant was hit by a jeep. There was a child in the back and very angry man at the wheel. He backed his vehicle off the sidewalk and pulled up next to me.

“What were you thinking?”

I glanced at the child in the backseat. His eyes and hair matched the driver’s. I was thankful to see he wasn’t hurt. I then looked at the blond man with a military haircut and bright blue eyes, deciding that I owed him the truth. “I just buried my daughter. I wanted to die.”

His eye twitched. His anger didn’t. “Leave my kid out of it next time.”

All I heard next were peeling tires and, “Dad, don’t leave her!”

As the jeep turned around, I knew it was a parent’s mercy, nothing more. For that reason alone, I got in.

“He burned down another house, daddy.”

The driver glanced at the remains of my home, but kept quiet.

I looked back at the kid. “You’ve met the Warlord?”

He nodded. “He took my mommy.”

“Enough!”

The shout scared me enough to reach for the door handle.

The driver glanced at me. “Go ahead.”    

I let the handle go and stayed put. I don’t know why I felt the need to explain. The words just kind of flowed. “Actually, that house was mine. I burnt it. That fat cat was supposed to come back tonight and convince me to be one of his.”

“There would’ve been no convincing. His thugs only steal.” The moonlight enhanced the darkness in his eyes. I knew there had to be a rift between this man and the Warlord.

I decided to probe a bit. “I first saw them a week ago. They wanted gold and alcohol in trade for their “protection.” They let people live. I was surprised by that.”

His laughter was unfitting for the moment. “It was a recon.”

As a military spouse, I knew what that meant. What I didn’t know was, “For what?”

The driver shot a cynical glare my way. “Who to take and who to eat.”

Everything blacked out.   

I ended up in a ranch house in the outskirts of Cibolo.

When I woke up, it was bright. Open windows everywhere. I was surprised to be alone. At first, I wondered if they’d just left me. When I gathered my bearings, I noticed a bottle of water, a MRE, and a fresh change of clothes beside the couch I was on.

I drank most of the water and used the rest to cool my body down before changing. The tee and jeans were a little loose but they smelled clean. And that meatloaf MRE was the best food I’d had in weeks. I felt so guilty for eating it.

The Diva…

The agony of not sharing this meal with her dug its claws deep into my heart. I held in my tears and separated my mind from its grief by investigating my surroundings. Across the house, I found a family room with every window open and the jeep owner sitting in a chair, reading my writings.

His son was stacking Legos on the floor. When he saw me, he smiled.

After the father set My Paper Blog down, he wiped a tear. “Thank you, for this.” He tapped the stack of papers. “And I’m sorry for your loss. I would’ve loved to have heard the Diva sing.”

Sorrow forced me back a step. What could I say?

He motioned towards the chair beside him. “Please, sit down.”

I took the seat he offered.

The way this practical stranger looked at me was different from the night we met. It was like reading My Paper Blog had changed his mind on whatever assumptions he’d previously made about me. In all my grief, I knew in that moment I could no longer write My Paper Blog for me. Not after seeing how it brought a hardened, grown man to tears. Now, I write this for YOU.

“First, I want to say that you have a lot to live for. Your husband, for one. Think of how awful it would be for him to come home missing a daughter AND his wife.” For a stranger, his words were as kind as kin.

I couldn’t allow myself cry. His son was watching.

“I say that as a former soldier.” He lifted his left pant leg just high enough to reveal steel instead of flesh. “Secondly, I’ve been praying and praying for help. I need you.”

I should’ve felt fear. The desperation in his eyes made fear an impossibility.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my wife and I were lucky. After I was medically discharged, I went to school and became a lawyer. Covid-19 paved the way for me got get a lot of work done from home. As a consultant, she worked from home, too. We moved out here to be close enough to take care of all of our medical needs, while far enough to prep for whatever post Covid-19 disaster was coming next. Never expected this, though.”

“No one did.”

He nodded. “A month passed and we were untouched by,” he waved at the windows, “whatever was going on out there. We got comfortable. She began taking morning walks. She was armed. We thought we were safe. The first time the Warlord came through, he was very friendly. Offered to trade. So we did. Things were quiet for a week.” He held in tears. “When he came back, he wasn’t alone. There were too many of them.” He cleared his throat to hold in the pain. “They would’ve got me, too, except, I was an infantryman.” When he pulled out a gun I was shocked I hadn’t noticed it before.

It was right beside him the whole time!

“I took as many of them out as I could. I would’ve got in the jeep and gone after her.” He glances at his son. It was subtle. “They’ve been back twice. Booby traps were illegal in Texas. I’ve got a whole slew them, now. Caught two.” By how he nodded, I knew he meant, ‘two men.’ “I got enough info out of them to find out where this “warlord,” is.”

“The Dominion?” I asked. It was San Antonio’s most exclusive neighborhood, after all.

“No. Downtown.”

“Downtown?!”

“That’s right. He’s got guardians armed to the teeth at every high-rise still standing.”

The whole scenario felt so ridiculous to me, I almost chuckled. “Look, I had both sides of our military come down my street. The first group was in a humvee, the second, in a tank! How in the world was someone like that fat cat allowed to take over San Antonio?”

“You haven’t heard, have you?”

“Heard what?”

 His brow furrowed. “The only law-in-order that’s left is in small pockets across the U.S. and both law and order are fighting each other.”

I couldn’t believe it. “What about the President?”

“It was last reported that he was in bunker. Last I heard was the battle in D.C. was brutal. Many say that the Chinese were involved. There’s a lot of speculation they’re the ones who took down our satellites.” He sighed. “That was just from when I had a CB Radio so I’m not entirely sure it’s true.” 

“What about our governor? Texas was its own country once, right? Shouldn’t he be in charge?”

“They burned the Alamo,” the sorrow in his son’s voice was haunting.

I figured these guys were Texans, and had lived in the state long enough to understand what that meant to them. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, that was after our state government was attacked by um, soldiers from Fort Cavazos.” The father’s eyes began watering. “Apparently, when the order to go after civilians came down, there was a coordinated effort to attack any potential opposition.”

“Red states.” It was not a question.

“Since the side in power had working comms and bigger guns, they had the upper hand.”

“My gosh.”

He rubbed his hair back. “Their attack on civilians ignited half of the military and local militias like wildfire. Many speculate that split in our military is why everything’s collapsed so fast. Guess it’s kind of hard to carry out a mission when you’ve got saboteurs within the ranks. I heard a lot of battles took place internally, all across the military. They’ve been killing each other ever since.”   

“Is anywhere still,” I couldn’t say free, “normal?”

He shook his head. “Not from what I’ve heard. Various gangs and Warlords like ours have set up shop all across the nation. Some towns where there were plenty of resources, tried setting up their own micro-governments. The last transmission that came through warned of war parties from gangs in the cities attacking rural communities. I had to trade my CB Radio for a new solar panel for my well. The neighbor I traded with promised to give me updates once and a while. I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks.”  

I knew that only mean bad news. “What of this fat cat? Why did he set up shop Downtown?”

“Think about it. It’s a lot easier to keep people captive in a tall building where the only escape is to be flattened on concrete. Those hooligans I caught sung like birds, said they’ve a whole ecosystem to secure the place, including an army of homeless who literally eat people alive.”   

Nausea tried to take away the wonderful meal had. I stopped it by standing. “How do you know those thugs weren’t pulling your chain?”

“I’ve seen it, from a distance. We’ve been edging closer each time we do a recon. You see,” the stranger stood. “That’s why I need you.” He stepped up just a few inches from my face. “I have to save my wife and I can’t leave my son alone. I need you to protect him while I’m gone.”

“No!” I waved my hand at the papers on the coffee table. “You’ve read my blog. You know I couldn’t save my own child. I couldn’t even protect a dog!”

“I know.” When he placed his hands on my shoulders, I was not afraid. “Just like I know you CAN do this.”

“How?”

“God put you on my path. I didn’t realize it as the time but you’re the answer to my prayers. Please. Every day my wife’s in there she’s being tortured.”

I couldn’t hold in my tears. Still, I just looked at the floor. I was a failure and couldn’t be trusted with what he needed. “I can’t.”

“You can.” A warm hand lifted my chin. “Remember Army Family Values?”

That broke me. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll protect him the best I can.”

“Thank you.” He hugged me, not as a stranger but as a brother.

Day Fifty: Firepower

I used to hate guns.

That was before I fired one.

You see, my brother refused to leave without making sure I knew how to use them and use them well… All of them.

The amount of range practice I’ve had in forty-eight hours should’ve frightened anyone lurking. It sounded like a small war.

It’s interesting being on the other end of the firepower. In a lot of ways, it makes me feel stronger. I know that if I’d had one these rifles when that Warlord came to my house, my neighbor would still be alive. His dog would still be alive. The Diva could’ve played outside all she wanted. With a gun in hand like the one strapped over my shoulder now, I wouldn’t have been afraid.

I can’t think like that. Not now. My new nephew needs my full attention. His dad just left for what might be the last time.

Day Fifty-two: Homecoming

Sound travels faster at night.

Tire tread on dirt was a sure giveaway that someone was coming. I set up my arsenal by my brother’s broken down truck. With the truck as a shield, I used the night vision he left me to watch the main entrances to his property. Those areas were the mostly likely to be penetrated. They’re also the most covered with traps.

If the Warlord and his minions broke through, it would be a very bad day for them.

Watching where I was taught to look, I realized that in just a few days, I’ve learned a lifetime’s worth. My sweet nephew’s taught me a lot, too. Through him I’ve learned how important it is to read the Bible every day, and how necessary it is to have hope, no matter how dark the world is.

I love that child.

I’d die to protect him.

When several sets of headlights came in view, that’s what I thought was going to happen: I thought I was going to die.

In silence I watched the short convoy avoid every trap my brother had set.

Hope caused my lips to curl.

Was it him?

When the headlights got closer, I recognized the jeep. At first I worried it was a decoy or a ruse of some kind, until I saw my brother’s golden hair. 

“They’re home! Your daddy’s home!” I shouted.

In that moment I was taken back to my husband’s last homecoming. I’d yelled the same thing to wake up my daughter.

The sorrow was almost crippling.  

Once the jeep parked, so did reality. My memory faded.

A woman wearing mismatched men’s clothing covering up something made of lace jumped out of the front seat, just as her son ran out of the house.

“Mommy!”

She dropped to her knees and caught her son into her arms.

It was a beautiful scene of victory before the dozen or so women and children from the two sedans got out.

Their eyes were both weary and hopeful at there their new surroundings.

The Warlord’s slaves, free at last.    

 “This is your home, now. Welcome.” My brother announced before patting his son on the head and smiling at me.

Once his wife followed his gaze, she got up and gave me the biggest hug. “Thanks for protecting my boy.”

I’d just met the woman and cried as though she were a long lost sister.

Then again, that’s what she is: My sister.

As for the others…

Can they be trusted?

Only time will tell.

Day Eighty: Time Settled

Feels like years have gone by.

Guess that’s what happens when you’re busy.

It takes a lot of work to maintain this ranch and keep everyone fed.

Politics and the nightly news sound like relics of an ancient past.

Skin color, what zip code you’re from, political party, rank, all of those things that used to divide everyone aren’t important. Every single day now is just about survival and the bond with those in front of you.

Being alive is a gift.

Staying alive is enough.

We don’t need all of that other drama. It’s wasted time.

From all different backgrounds and shades, we’ve become quite the family.

It’s amazing the stories of survival I’ve learned from the other women here. More details of how our nation collapsed. What went down in the city. The airport. How the rich were the only ones let out, cuz they were the only ones who could afford the bribes demanded by the airport’s skeleton crew. When the planes were grounded, the airport was torched. I also learned of how every affluent neighborhood was attacked.

Rioters destroyed all of the things they coveted.

These horrors are ones our little family has sworn never to repeat.

We strive to protect each other.

It’s amazing.

Since our ranch expanded, only two women have left. They did do so in hopes to find their blood relatives.

Will they?

Only God knows.

We pray for them, though.

Most of the time, we’re busy. So busy in fact, there’s no time to worry about what’s happening beyond the property line.

Here, we’ve got water, livestock, deer, wild boar, a pond filled with fish, and enough space to be comfortable.

What we don’t have is the Diva, or my man.

My new sister, God bless her, has been pestering me to write ever since she read My Paper Blog. She said I’m the record keeper of our broken land.

I don’t know about all that.

It’s a sweet notion, but I don’t think I deserve it.

I’m writing this today because no matter how busy I am, I want the Diva and my husband to know that I haven’t forgotten them.

I think of you two, every single day.

If my sister is right, if I’m some sort of record keeper, I need to keep record of my heart.

I need to tell both of you how I feel.

To my man, what I wouldn’t give to feel your arms around me and kiss your lips. I long to hear your voice. I even miss bickering about how crude your jokes are. Oh, how you made me laugh. Like you, laughter seems so far away. I hope you’re alright. I hope you’re better than alright. I hope none of these terrors have touched you. It’s torture not knowing. If you ever read this, know that I’ve been faithful. Know that I’ve never fallen out of love with you. No amount of time, distance, or the unknown could do that. You’re my man. My one and only.

To my Diva, I miss your songs. No one’s got a voice like you. And I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. What makes it worse is that I know I could now. That’s left a molten edge around the hole in my heart that only you could fill. There is nothing more I’d like than to watch you grow up. Oh, the memories I’ve missed with you! I know that in heaven, you’re perfect. That’s the only thing that gives me peace. It’s the only way I can survive without you. I love you. I’ll always love you.    

Tears have blurred my eyes.

I can’t write anymore.

This paper has been kissed for the two of you, my loves.

Day: Unknown

I stopped keeping track of time a while ago. Whether it’s been six months since Trump was shot, or eight, I don’t know. The temperature has been bearable. For South Texas that means it’s either late fall or early winter.

As I write this, everything has changed.

I’m actually speaking every word I pen, for I am not alone and these words are not just for me.

When we first heard the planes, we were thrilled. Most of our family ran outside. I just looked out the window, smiling. We thought the cavalry had arrived.

Until we saw the Chinese flags…

That’s when the rumble from the ground forces shook our house.

I saw immense rows of tanks and other military vehicles approaching.

When growing up in L.A. back in 1992, I thought I heard a war-zone outside. Now that I’ve seen one, I know better.

The Chinese came in with the technology our military had lost.

Know this, my family gave everything they had fighting. Every one of them went down shooting.

Like Trump, they went down.

When the fighting began, my Sister shoved my writings into my hands. “You take my son and hide. Bury these so people will know about us. So the future will know what happened!”

She hugged me, and then hugged my nephew.

I grabbed my rifle and his hand.

We fled on foot until the gunshots stopped.

Here in our hiding place, the sound of the enemy draws near…

We don’t have much time.

There isn’t anywhere else to run. Like I said, the Chinese have tech. Heat signatures, things like that. It won’t be long until they spot us.

My nephew and I have both made our peace with God, and we have decided to die on our feet.

That’s right, we’ll die fighting.

We’ll die as Americans.

First, I’m going to bury this in hopes that the people meant to read it, will.

Here goes…

To whom it may concern:

We didn’t have to die like this. America was strong! We had EVERYTHING anyone could need or want. It was amazing. Like a disease, hatred infected our nation’s veins with division.

The side-effects were deadly.

We destroyed ourselves.

Hear my last words.

It’s too late for us. But it’s not too late for you.

Love yourself by loving your countrymen.

Even when you disagree, love your countrymen!

Love your neighbors!

LOVE YOUR NATION!

Protect it with every bit of strength you’ve got, so you won’t perish like this.

Sincerely,

The Last American    

Author’s Note:

Thanks for reading.

Now, I must disclose that this work of fiction is my own. My views are my own. They don’t represent my husband, the U.S. Army, my Tribe, the Cherokee Nation, my publisher, or anyone else. This is all just a fictional rendition of what if; what if Trump had been killed on July 13^th?  It’s pure fiction. I didn’t give any of the characters names on purpose in hopes it would make them feel more real to you.

This story is so much bigger than me. Yet the way I see it, my life experiences worked as its foundation.

When you step into a house, you didn’t see the foundation. When you step inside, you see the floor, whether it’s carpet or tile. You notice the color of the walls. The light fixtures. The windows. If the windows are covered, you get a good look at the curtains and notice how well they match or mismatch the rest of the house. Most homes built nowadays have open floor plans, so you notice the kitchen right away. The cabinetry, the countertops, and the water fixtures are all taken in. Are there any decorations on display? Is there a fireplace? If so, what kind of mantle? Are there pictures on the walls? You notice if there is a staircase and the type of railing it has. If there are any built-ins, you’re sure to see them. Basically, once you’re immersed inside of a house, you’re not even thinking of the foundation. Yet the foundation is there.  In fact, you’re standing on it.

So I wanted to share a bit of my personal testimony in hopes y’all will understand this story a little more.

The trauma from experiencing your small world become an anarchy playground, and having to sleep in the bathtub just to avoid being hit by stray bullets, really happened to me. Sure, I didn’t grow up in the city, but the chaos in 1992 struck ALL of Los Angeles County. Especially the poorer neighborhoods, like the one I lived in. It was a Hispanic gang that tormented us. I also heard from others of how criminals from every race took advantage of the situation. It was much worse in the city. 

Having your husband deployed during a horrendous time is very real to me. My husband was already a soldier when we got married and I supported his military career for 19 years. He was actually in Korea during the Texas Winter Storm and a good portion of the Covid-19 insanity. It was only by God’s grace that I had the strength and resources needed to take care of our kids during those events, alone.  

The generosity and preparedness of the LDS is something I know well. I was Mormon until I was nine, and for a little while in my thirties, after it came knocking at my door. While the doctrine caused me to separate from the organization, I love the Saints. Many of my family members and friends are active LDS. I learned a lot from them.

The gay man wasn’t thrown in there to cater to anyone. While he’s not based on any REAL people I know, having him there feels realistic to me. One of my uncles is gay. He and his boyfriend were very good to me when I was a child. I could never see them as anything other than human. I don’t want anyone to suffer just because their sins are different than mine.

Besides, I don’t like blanketing certain groups. I don’t know if it’s because I’m an INFJ and think differently, or because I’ve known so many people in my life from very different backgrounds. I just think it’s foolish to take individualism out of the equation and judge either a single race or a belief system as a whole. For example, my great-grandmother owned two bakeries with her husband. Her mom was a Cherokee registered on the DAWES Rolls. At that time, even in California, if people found out she was native, her businesses would’ve been shut down. She went through great lengths to hide her ethnicity. When her mother would visit, she’d want to sing Cherokee songs. Even in the privacy of her house, my great-grandmother hushed her. This is the United States of America. No one should be made to feel that way.

Now that y’all know my background, I think it’s time to get into politics. Oh, yes, that dreaded word.

Back in 2006, when my husband came home from a year deployment to Iraq, even as a Republican, I was hopeful that when the democrats took over the House, we’d get out of the wars.

Yeah…

That bubble burst.

In 2016, while the MSM was saying women were being pressured by the men in their lives to vote for Trump, it was the other way around for me. I helped convince my husband to vote for him.

That said, in 2020, I did NOT vote for Trump.

Two weeks to flatten the curb was abused in most places. Stimulus checks. Lockdowns. No. I didn’t like any of that. It’s not that I don’t see Covid-19 as real. It’s very real. People who wanted to lock themselves down should have every right to do so. Just don’t force it on others For example, when I was a child, I got Scarlet Fever. I was so sick! Did that mean my local community should’ve shut down?

Absolutely not!

After Covid-19, I didn’t want to follow any politician. I felt like they’re all selfish and supporting them is a waste of time.

With how bad things have gotten under Biden; inflation, crime, division, I began to worry America was already lost.

It was disheartening to say the least.

Earlier this year, I felt God assure me that He’s not done with America. 

I still didn’t like the idea of getting behind a politician. For the 2024 primary, I thought DeSantis might be a good choice, but I didn’t really feel the urge to say so.

Guess I was politically drained and very disillusioned.

That doesn’t mean I stopped caring about my country. I love America. I want it to survive. I love our history. I especially love our Constitution. Yet the division in our country terrifies me.

I see it as nothing less than communism. With my understanding of history, when communism takes over, NO ONE WINS.

So I’ve gotten on my knees and called out to God many times for America.

When the indictments were coming down, I felt God tell me that Trump was His warrior.

It surprised me.

At the time, I processed that with my own small understanding that Trump is one of the few people who could survive the legal and financial hits he’s taken, and still get back up.

Only July 13^th, when I saw Trump get shot in the ear, fall down, and get back up, like a victorious warrior of old, I knew exactly what God meant.

Now, I’m all in. I fully support God’s warrior.

I’m humble enough to admit my previous mistrust and judgments of Trump were wrong.

That said, this is so much bigger than just one man…

I’m not sure how an American civil war 2.0 would play out, nor am I claiming to be an expert of some kind. Far from. That said, God has blessed me with an incredible imagination. The fictional scenarios I wrote out are the horrors that I believe God saved us from, when he saved Trump on July 13^th.  That night, the night of J13, when I couldn’t sleep, I just kept thank God for sparing our country for what would’ve happened if Trump had been killed. What I believe would’ve played out gnawed on my heart until I wrote it down.

THAT’S why I’m sticking my neck out in an extremely dangerous political climate in order to share this story with YOU.

When someone votes differently than you, it doesn’t give you carte blanche to hate them!

What I don’t think most people realize, is that when they hate their countrymen to level of wanting them to die, they might as well be slitting their own throats: Hating your countrymen is hating yourself.

We all need each other in order to make America a safe and pleasant place to be. That doesn’t mean we have to look the same and agree on everything. It just means we have to love each other and love our flag.

I wrote this in love, in hopes that it may help Americans to stop hating each other and our country.  

There, now you know the foundation for this story.

Let me tell you about my foundation:

The Lord God Almighty, King of Angels Armies, is my foundation. Jesus Christ, the Way, the Truth, and the Life, is my foundation.

Jesus replied, “’You must love the LORD your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ The entire law and all the demands of the prophets are based on these two commandments.”

Matthew 22:37-40 NLT

 “So why do you keep calling me ‘Lord, Lord!’ when you don’t do what I say? I will show you what it’s like when someone comes to me, listening to my teaching, and then follows it. It is like a person building a house who digs deep and lays the foundation on solid rock. When the floodwaters rise and try to break against the house, it stands firm because it is well built. But anyone who hears and doesn’t obey is like a person who builds a house on the ground without a foundation. When the floods sweep down against that house, it will collapse into a heap of ruins.”

Luke 6:46-49 NLT

America was built on this foundation.

Right now, floodwaters are rising against it. The attack is within and all around; trying to destroy our country, America, which is God’s great gift to us.

We must show our gratitude by never allowing anything, not like what I’ve written in this fictional tale, not a communist takeover, not a surrender of rights, not hatred, not ANYTHING to take it away.

Our foundation is strong, strong enough for us to stand: STAND AMERICANS! Don’t let America drown. Stand up for this great nation. Never let America fall into a heap of ruins!

I love you LORD; you are my strength. The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety. I called on the LORD, who is worthy of praise, and he saved me from my enemies. Psalm 18:1-3 NLT

Our God is bigger, as should be our prayers.

May God continue to bless and protect the United States of America!

Kimberly Humphreys