Escape from Region 10: Billy's Awakening

By T.C. Smith

Welcome to a future America that has become a living hell of having every aspect of your life monitored and controlled by the powers that be … and one in which people are rapidly losing their true identities to computerized enhancements.

Escape from Region 10: Billy’s Awakening is a futuristic, sci-fi thriller set in 2035, about a dystopic America whose citizens are mandated by the government to receive a neural implant behind their ear and a microchip in their hand at the age of 18. Those who resist try to escape to Russian Occupied Canada (ROC), where implants are not required. If they don’t make it to ROC, they are placed in a re-education center where they “learn” the benefits of these devices. If they still refuse, they are never heard from again!

Meet Billy Decker, an American living in ROC, on the run after killing a man in a card game at an underground casino. He returns to America (Region 10, the Pacific Northwest) to see what has become of his country. There, he meets and falls in love with the young and beautiful Katy—who has just turned 18. Billy does his best to convince Katy to resist getting “chipped” and return with him to ROC, ultimately setting off a chain of events that will have you rapidly turning pages to follow their adventure.

Join their fight … for the right of humanity to be free!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781543911190

Book preview

Twenty-Three

Prologue

State of Washington—Spring 2025

In a dark catacomb in a mountainside near Ozette Lake—due west of Olympic National Park—there is some light, the light of candles. A man in his late 50s, dressed in a meager, humble manner, is holding a book. It is a paperback—worn, torn, and weathered. The title is Fahrenheit 451. There are six children in their early teens camped around the candles sharing books of the same title, with three children per book. They are reading intently and nodding their heads at their instructor.

His faint voice becomes clearer and louder as he looks up and says in an emphatic manner, And what did Ray Bradbury mean when he said, ‘A book is a loaded gun in the house next door’? The man turns to a boy and asks, What do you think the author meant when he said that?

The boy replies, Sir, I think he meant—

At that moment, the instructor snaps his head like it’s on a swivel, and cocks an ear. He hears voices and footsteps approaching, closer and closer.

He turns to the group of students and whispers, hissing, Candles out! The students blow out their candles. It’s now total blackness but for a bit of light eking around the corner from the entrance of the cave.

Some of the children are crying, terror flashing across their faces. Eyes frantic, they exchange glances. The voices and footsteps are much closer. It is now a distinct sound of heavy boots and harsh voices. There is also a humming sound.

There are now several lights, strong beams of light coming from this noise. The instructor peeks around the corner, his heart racing. He sees a bright ball of light coming towards them—a small, disc-shaped drone about two feet in diameter hovering several feet above the ground. It emits a light so strong that it turns everything in front of it into daylight. Behind this drone are several men dressed like futuristic knights carrying exotic-looking assault rifles. They are wearing black helmets adorned with lights, and black body armor with their black uniforms.

The team leader of these men peers through his liquid-crystal display visor hanging from his helmet, showing a carbon copy of what the drone is seeing in front of it. The children hide in a corner, a nook and cranny of the cave. The instructor comes over and covers them with this body. For a moment they hide, frozen, with terror so great they can’t even breathe. The drone hovers in front of them with its bright light blinding them. The older man covers his eyes with his hand. The drone shouts out, You are hereby under arrest for violating Executive Orders 21967, 21973, and 2177.

The mob of black-clad men arrives and surrounds the older man and his flock with barrels pointed at their heads. The older man quickly reaches for something under his jacket. The soldiers pull their triggers and unleash a sizzle of light —a bolt of electricity that streaks from their weapons onto the older man and the children. This bolt of electricity turns into a wave of plasma that hits them relentlessly and sends their bodies into convulsions. They fall to the ground, unconscious.

The soldiers proceed to place metallic-looking skullcaps on the fallen, which shape-shift around the heads of the alleged criminals while emitting what appears to be a mini-electrical storm.

The team leader barks into the microphone mounted along his chiseled jawline. "Terrorists apprehended. Gathering some evidence.  We’ll be en route to the re-education center soon. He bends down and checks behind the ear of the older man, pushing his hair back. He then feels the meaty part of the man’s right hand between the thumb and index finger. The team leader raises his eyebrows and gets back on the mike. The professor doesn’t have any implant devices, and it looks like he never got any."

He rises to his feet and turns to one of the soldiers. Put the books in the evidence bags. The obedient soldier and two of his comrades snatch up the books that are lying on the ground and toss them into a giant plastic bag. There is a button on the end of it that one of them taps, which sucks the air from the bag, forming the bag into the shape of frozen books.

A moment later, three floating bins about seven feet long, three feet wide, and five feet deep glide across the air about six inches off the ground, followed by three soldiers with their bodies encased in black, shiny exoskeletons. They stomp into the cave and stand silently where the teacher and his flock lie. The soldiers utilize their exoskeleton suits to scoop up the motionless bodies lying on the cold, hard floor of the cave as if they’re light as a feather. They drop them onto the floating bins, throwing bodies on top of each other like it’s a trash heap.

The team leader turns to one of the exoskeleton men. Put the bins in the prisoner transport and take them to the re-education center.

Yes, sir, he replies in an uber-militaristic tone, and the men in the exoskeleton suits follow the command. They push some buttons on a panel on the end of each bin, and the bins magically glide out of the cave. The exoskeleton men follow the bins and disappear into the darkness.

The team leader signals with his hand to the remaining soldiers and says to them, Let’s gather up the remaining evidence, take some pics and call it a day. The team does as it’s told, and briskly departs the cave. Several hundred feet above them is a large blimp gliding across the sky. The team leader on the ground gives the blimp a tip of the hat as they depart the crime scene.

Off in the distance, are a man and his son squatted behind a large boulder observing the aftermath of this violation of humanity. The man is Mr. Decker with his twelve-year-old son, Billy. Mr. Decker is holding a Browning X-Bolt hunting rifle that’s about 20 years old, which he inherited from his father as a young man. Billy peeks over the boulder to continue viewing the situation, but slips in the process, hitting his face on the boulder. He cries out from the pain.

The team leader immediately snaps his head in the direction of the sound and sees the barrel of Mr. Decker’s rifle sticking up over the boulder. He watches as they scamper away into the woods and immediately taps this helmet and calls in air support. We got what looks like two domestic terrorists—probably part of the group that we just apprehended. At least one of them is armed with some type of firearm.

Billy and his father run like hell back to the campsite where the remainder of their family is gathered. Mrs. Decker and the other two kids are off in the distance at a picnic table, eating snacks and enjoying some small talk. They’re hanging out laughing and giggling.

Mr. Decker and Billy sprint as hard as they can and arrive panting and wheezing. Mrs. Decker jumps up from the picnic table. What’s all the excitement?

Mr. Decker replies, Get your stuff. Everything. We’ve got to get out of here, now!

Mrs. Decker throws up her hands. What are you talking about?

We just saw something horrible. Horrible! We saw some soldiers go into a cave and shoot it up. We heard screaming and yelling—the voices of children. After they came out, they saw me and Billy, so they probably think that we’re part of that group. I think they’re coming after us.

Mrs. Decker’s eyes widen in alarm. She turns to the children. Kids, gather up your stuff, now! Billy, get the fishing poles!

Billy sprints to the bank of the lake about 75 yards away to get the fishing poles. At about the same time, a noise above them is heard. They all look up at the sky.

###

Several miles northeast of the lake at the PATO Joint Operations Center—at an undisclosed location in the State of Washington—a chubby, pimply-faced airman, who looks like he’s spent the better-half of his childhood sitting on his ass playing video games, sits at his workstation with joystick in hand staring at his monitor.

He gnaws on his lower lip with excitement. On the screen before him is a picture of a park from high above. It’s a live video feed. He zooms closer and sees a crisp, color picture of a group of people at a picnic table with a rifle leaning against the table.

The airman turns to the officer in charge, a beady-eyed, lean man in his mid-30s holding a coffee mug. Sir, I think we found those domestic terrorists. And there’s a firearm at the site, but we’re not picking up any readout as we normally do with standard, chipped firearms. What should I do?

The officer breathes out a sigh of disgust. "Airman, the team leader on the ground stated they were potential terrorists. I think it’s now confirmed given the fact that their firearm is not chipped; in other words, not registered. Airman, you know the drill. Remove the threat, now!"

The airman’s stoic expression slips into a slight grin. Yes, sir. He whirls back and faces his monitor, toggles his joystick, locks on the target, and pulls the trigger. There is a slight delay. He waits. Then the flash of the screen lights up his face. KABOOM! The huge explosion rips through the picnic table where Billy’s family is gathered. A giant fireball erupts. Debris and body parts fly everywhere. The screen becomes a blur and fades out.

The airman turns back to the officer. Sir, threat removed.

Good job, airman, the officer replies.

The officer takes a sip of satisfaction from his mug. He smiles and nods his head at the airman, affirming his accomplishment.

###

The year is 2035. North America is no longer the continent that it once was. Alaska and the far western provinces of Canada are now under Russian occupation. America, the lower 48, is now a protectorate of the United Nations and PATO, the Pacific Atlantic Treaty Organization. And south of the border, the Chinese are the new Conquistadors of Mexico while also occupying Central America and the Panama Canal—not to mention, they also seized Hawaii along the way.

After PATO took Eastern Ukraine and Crimea, the Russkies retaliated by taking Alaska and the far western provinces of Canada. The Yukon Territory and British Columbia are now occupied territories of Russia. This part of Canada is now referred to as Russian Occupied Canada, or as most folks call it, ROC.

The Russkies got to the doorstep of the continental United States, which is where they were stopped or where they wanted to stop, since they already acquired a moderate climate seaport in Vancouver.

The border between Washington State and British Columbia is now a kill zone with soldiers and border security forces on both sides manning the border.

A few years prior to the current state of affairs, several European countries abandoned the EU and NATO, especially ones from the former Eastern Bloc. They got tired of being bossed around by Brussels and the juggernaut countries that control these ever so powerful entities, so they joined the BRICS nations—Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa. Plus, several of these former EU/NATO countries were getting their gas and oil from Russia, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, as they say.

What was left of the fractionalized NATO became PATO. The remnants of NATO picked up a few Asian countries around the Pacific Rim to strengthen its cause, hence the new moniker. And now, it’s the PATO countries versus the BRICS et al.

Life in America has changed dramatically in the last decade: an attempted revolution followed by a purge of so-called domestic terrorists, a world war, another failed revolution, and perpetual martial law. America is now an Orwellian, militarized police-state. The country that was once the beacon of hope for the World is now a giant panopticon that is divided up into 10 regions—under the control of the UN and PATO. There are no more states as we once loved.

In this new America, when a person turns eighteen, they are mandated by the government to receive a neural implant behind their ear and a microchip in their hand within 30 days. Those who resist try to escape to Russian Occupied Canada (ROC), where implants are not required. If they don’t make it to ROC, they are placed in a re-education center where they learn the benefits of these devices. If they still refuse, they are never heard from again.

Welcome to North America!

Chapter One

Look at me now. Sitting at a blackjack table in some seedy part of Vancouver, in some dungeon-like room. My God, what the hell happened to me? Focus, Billy. Focus. Don’t let your mind drift.

I am sitting at the table. To my right is the dealer. A typical dealer dressed in his monkey suit and keeping it business only. To my left is my partner in crime, Nate. He and I go way back. Grew up in the orphanage together. I couldn’t have made it through that hellhole without him.

Across from me sits a man, some new guy I’ve never seen before. The guy’s a machine. I’ve never seen anyone like him. Talk about a poker face, or should I say a blackjack face. Damn, this guy doesn’t even blink, and his movements are repetitious—almost robotic. Regardless, he’s kicking all our asses. The bastard’s won almost every hand. Even the stoic, calm, cool, and collected dealer is starting to glance at him, as if to say, Who the hell are you?—but more like: "What the hell?"

The dealer deals yet another hand. Doles out the cards for me, Nate, and the new guy. I gently tap my finger on the green felt for another card. Nate waves his hand across his cards to signify he doesn’t want any more. However, the new guy without hesitation abruptly taps his finger on the green felt. The dealer places a card next to his other cards, and then checks if anyone else wants another. The rest of us decline. We all flip over our cards. The new guy wins again—a queen of spades, a five of clubs, and a six of hearts. Damn, this guy is either incredibly lucky or the best card-counter I’ve ever seen in my life.

The dealer hands him his chips, and starts yet another round. While the dealer is dealing out the cards, Nate leans in and strikes up a conversation with the new guy.

Where you from, guy? Nate asks, patting him on the shoulder. The new guy doesn’t even turn to Nate to acknowledge him properly. He just uses his peripheral vision and snaps his eyes towards Nate for a nanosecond and then back to the cards, mumbling, From here, Vancouver.

Nate proceeds to get more inquisitive. Really, I’ve never seen you here before, or anywhere else. What’s your name?

The new guy continues with his cold, stoic ways, and mutters, John.

Nate replies in a smartass manner, "Nice to meet you, John. My name is Nate and this is my buddy, Billy." John continues to watch us out of the corner of his eye while acknowledging the introduction with only a nod.

We continue to play a few more hands. I notice that the guy is now playing with his hair a bit. His hair is somewhat long—not hippie long, but a lot longer than a crew-cut. His hair hangs over his back of his ears quite a bit. He keeps playing with the right side of his hair, behind his ear. And his eyes are flickering, as if light resides in them. From his facial expressions, Nate appears to notice it as well. I know Nate. I know what he’s thinking before he knows what he’s thinking.

John the New Guy wins yet another hand. I glance over at him, and this time I catch a glimpse of a translucent, plastic object under his hair. I look at Nate and make a hand gesture behind my ear and glance back to this John character. Nate quickly glances over at John, then back at me with eyebrows raised and a slight nod.

Nate turns to John, and in a soft but stern voice says, Nothing wrong with card counting, as long as you’re doing it without any assistance, if you know what I mean.

The stranger doesn’t look at Nate. He scowls and pats down the hair around his right ear.

Nate continues to badger John some more, Where do you get your hair cut? I really like that hairstyle you got there, guy.

The new guy finally makes eye contact with Nate. He turns and snaps, What the hell is your problem?

Nate replies, "My problem?"

Yeah, your problem, asshole!

Nate gives the guy a menacing grin, then throws back his head and laughs. "I got a big problem with someone coming in here and using an unfair advantage over everyone else—maybe some artificial advantage!"

I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.

Nate points his finger at John. His breathing deepens, Don’t play stupid with me. You know what I’m talking about!

John gives Nate a harsh look, and hisses, No, I don’t, so shut the hell up and play cards.

The dealer chimes in, Gentlemen, calm down or I’m going to have to ask you to leave the table and the establishment.

Nate says to the dealer in a hostile tone, Come on, man. You know what’s going on here! How can you stand there and play dumb to all this!

The dealer barks at Nate, Okay, that’s it, your outta here!

Nate barks back at the dealer, Bullshit, if you’re that stupid then let me show you! Nate leans toward the new guy, extends his hand, and pushes the new guy’s hair back to uncover something that he was definitely not born with. Attached to his head, behind the ear, is a subcutaneous device, an implant with a piece of translucent plastic mounted on the surface of the skin.

As Nate does this, the new guy reaches for something under his jacket. I see the shape of something bulky and cylindrical under his jacket with his hand around it. He starts to pull the object out while looking at Nate.

Nate’s eyes are the size of golf balls now. He sees what’s in store for himself.

POP! Time stops in a surreal manner as the sound of a gun echoes throughout the room. John the New Guy goes flying back, leaving a halo of dust particles swirling around in the artificial light. He lies there on the ground, clutching his gut, while his white shirt blossoms into cherry red.

Unbeknownst to this cyborg asshole, I had my snub-nosed .38 on my lap the entire time, pointed right at him. This ain’t my first rodeo.

Everyone in the room, except Nate and I, leave the place like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Nate is standing there, his mouth agape, eyes bulged out. He’s trembling. He whips his head over and looks at me. We stare at each other for a second. I throw the table to the side, out of the way. I stride directly over to where the new guy is sprawled. His gun is lying a few feet from him. He is gasping for air. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth. He looks to his right, where his gun is, and starts to reach for it with his right hand. Just before his fingers get there, I stomp down on his hand, hard. He grimaces even more. I point my gun downward—at his eyes. I clench my jaw and then relax. I take a deep breath in and then let it out. I look at him with my left eyebrow raised and a wry smile. He reaches for his gun with his left hand. I quickly say to him, Winner, winner… POP! I pull the trigger and shoot a hole through the palm of his left hand. He screams out in pain while looking at the void in his hand. Blood is oozing out and dripping down his sleeve. I lean closer to him to make damn sure he hears me finish my quip: …chicken dinner!

His arm falls back onto the floor with his face looking up at the ceiling, eyes wide open. He lies motionless, staring straight up. I nudge his foot. He doesn’t move.

I turn to Nate, Let’s get the hell out of here. Nate and I whip around to the left to dart out of there, and see a couple of burly bouncers in black-clad outfits pour into the room with their guns aimed right at us.

The head bouncer holds his gun pointed and says, Billy, we knew we shouldn’t have let your ass in here! You’re nothing but trouble!

Nate chimes in, Come on, man. Billy saved my life. That guy almost killed me. He was pulling out his piece, getting ready to shoot me, but Billy got to him before he got to me!

The second bouncer goes over to the body, takes a look, and sees dead John’s firearm. He turns to the head bouncer, I think these guys are telling the truth. We need to find the dealer to make sure they’re telling the truth. Where is he?

The head bouncer blurts out loud while keeping his eyes on me and his gun aimed, Hey, Joe, come here!

Out of the woodwork, the dealer returns. He comes into the room shaking and shivering. The bouncer turns to him, Joe, what the hell happened?!

The dealer is sweating. He stands there speechless. His brain seems frozen. Finally, he stops biting his knuckle and replies, That new guy was cheating. He was counting cards and kicking everyone else’s ass. Nate saw the implant on the back of his head and tried to unveil it by pushing his hair back. The new guy flipped out and started to pull a gun on Nate, and Billy shot him before he could do it.

At about this time, the owner, Bobby T, cracks open the door and carefully peers out with his handgun pointed downward. His bugged-out eyes glance to the left and to the right and then stare at me and Nate. His voice trembles as he shouts to the head bouncer, Is it safe to come out?

The head bouncer barks back in a respectful manner, Yeah, it’s safe. We got their guns.

Bobby T pops out of his office and heads toward us. Bobby T is a man in his late 40s. He’s got an Italian surname, but he’s actually of a Heinz 57 variety. Bobby T is in good shape for his age, but a bit on the short side, which explains his intermittent Napoleon’s complex.

Bobby T used to be a civil servant in high-level management for some government