On a summer morning, Gadarenia was once a lush, green spot dotted with row houses and busy people heading off to their jobs, the retired sprucing up their yards and children dutifully awaiting their school buses in small groups at the ends of each street.
You might say Gadarenia was a simple, middle class Garden of Eden.
In winter, it was equally beautiful. When snow fell on stark, bare trunks and limbs of trees, there was such an ethereal feel of a holiday post card.
Something quite peculiar was happening all across the country.
When John Lamb became president, with his strutting, bossy attitude, it seemed to put everyone on edge. Suddenly, there was anger everywhere. And before you knew it, guns.
Eventually, guns began to appear on the streets, in the school yards, on school buses, in classrooms and even in the churches. No one remains now to recall just when the metal epidemic began.
It might have been when President Lamb was about to be removed from office. Yes. That might have been when it started.
Not that Lamb can be blamed for anyone picking up semi automatic weapons and parading around in public everywhere with them.
Still, Lamb's snarky attitude didn't help. His veiled and oft times pointed remarks bore a strong resemblance to a call to war between neighbors that couldn't be missed.
His words divided the country as surely as if he was using a king sized machete to cut a swath between every region.
But I digress. Gadarenia was the last to take arms only because so many of the populace were first, second and in some case third generation relatives.
It all started when a bunch of young, middle age males began parading in the streets as if there was a war about to start. You would see them in their cammos, semi automatics strapped at their sides and belts loaded with ammuntion.
The older generations of Gadarenia began to leave their homes less and less out of fear of some one thing blowing out of proportion and streets running with blood.
They'd already seen it happening in other parts of the country. Whole towns turning into ghostly remains of violent takeover by these young militants, always at the ready to mow down anyone they deemed an "opponent."
In the beginning though, most civilians or "civies" as these militia boys referred to the public, tried to ignore the sight of guns everywhere. Cities began to look like captive war zones.
Still when your infant needs milk, you have no choice but to leave your home and head to a store where everyone is armed to the teeth.
Before long, even the most hesitant bought weapons and armed themselves...just in case someone in the grocery store took issue with your buying the last remaining quart of milk.
The sight of school kids as young as five years old on the street corners armed with child sized semi automatics became the norm.
Why not? The bus driver had her semi automatic and once in their classrooms, students became accustomed to teachers wardrobes including a semi automatic.
After about half a decade, Gadarenia was like every town, village and city in the country. No one was ever unarmed.
Then, it happened. One night at Sam's Pub, one all too inebriated guy took issue with the way the guy at the bar next to him glanced his way.
"What're YOU lookin' at?" Mike Orens bellowed.
"Not you, that's for sure!" Chuck Pavone answered
Both men reached for the trigger on their weapons and within less than 3 minutes, bullets sprayed the entire room, leaving behind the rank odor of hot air and death.
Blood ran through the place like there was a major blood drive.
Sam's Pub was permanently shut. But, Gadarenia had other bars. One by one, angry, armed men who had one too many soon found themselves without any watering hole.
Families began to fight among themselves and neighbors took up arms against neighbors.Sons began to kill fathers and siblings. When mothers tried to stop it, they too were shot.
It wasn't long before Gadarenia was a war zone where the few remaining men and women patrolled the streets in broad daylight always ready for an opportunity to "protect" themselves.
"Themselves" were basically all that remained of the population
There sat Lamb calm and cool in his Oval Office, mugging for the armed camera men, feeling for all the world as if he was the most valuable jewel in a royal crown.
Now and then, he'd make sure he got in a dig or two about how his constituents being so well armed felt as protected as he did.
It wasn't even possible to stop the carnage with state guardsmen. Lamb made sure they were the first to go when he became president.
To his way of thinking, he and those who had the most money could look down from those golden penthouses on all of the carnage and rivers of blood knowing they were safely ensconced high above it all.
In the Oval Office, his some time residence, the place was surrounded by three different groups protecting him. What remained of the capital police who had not been mowed down in the streets. the country's military were scared out of their wits militia boys would be wanting to take over the capital and his own personal security boys housed just inside the entrances and on each floor.
Seeing him heading to his southern mansion was like a national parade of uniformed men as wide as the streets and at least a mile long. Yep. Lamb had no worries about protection.
From the third floor of his capital residence, he complained about the noise in the streets from gunfire.
"Do they have to do that night and day?" he sneered.
"Sir, if you don't want to lose the return on your gun manufacturing investments, yes. they do. Think about how much money you are making with each round of ammunition spent," Jess Rostur, his chief advisor said.
"I never thought of it that way."
One might have thought Lamb would have, at the very least, considered the link between the sudden growth of wealth among gun manufacturers, gun and ammunition retailers and a public whose addiction to violence was not about to change.
Eventually as the gun plague spread, town after town was emptied of all but the best marksmen and women. The few towns that once had owners and operators of shooting ranges went out of business. No need for them now that townspeople were so able to point and shoot with precision and accuracy.
Roads and highways also emptied. The reason? Road rage among heavily armed people. Public transportation stopped when overcrowded subways, airports and bus and train depots, became shooting galleries.
No need either for shopping malls. Those too were littered with the bodies of the dead and the rank odor of death.
Mall security guards were all shot dead in one of those angry sales massacres when shoppers were scrounging for the last items in the stores.
In fact, security in banks, post offices, libraries and museums no longer existed. Patrons of these public facilities knew they had all the protection they needed slung over their shoulders.
For a short while, only churches provided a slight semblance of security and protection and even they turned into angry, armed congregants.
At first, schools were protected by armed guards until teachers and school administrators were allowed to be armed with semi automatic weapons. After a few "accidental" shootings of students from stray bullets and parents angry at teachers who gave their kids bad reports, schools also became like Dodge City.
Parents kept their kids at home, schools closed and teachers and administrators made themselves more useful protecting themselves from the comfort of home.
Students relied on home computers for their studies and for socializing online with a world of cyber friends they never met face to face, nor ever would.
It was difficult to figure out whether guns everywhere were to blame for the only bastion of non violent communication remaining, social media that very soon went the way of schools, towns and cities, which after only one decade became ghostly reminders of what once was life on planet earth.
Cats and dogs were the first to become victims of the guns of Gadarenia. All it took was a neighbor's dog barking too long or too loud or a cat venturing over a picture perfect lawn to reduce the pet population. Even armed kids considered pets fair game for targets.
So fearful had the situation become that it was inevitable a war between a too armed populace and police would turn into an easy excuse for shooting police for trying to keep what little peace remained. After only five years, there wasn't a town left with an active police presence.
Not that Gardarenia had ever had more than 20 men and women in blue When police became a fun game for target shooting from empty buildings and second story windows, all civility was finally gone.
It was hard to figure out which was more dangerous to human life, broad daylight or the dark of night. Who knew who could be lurking around the corner of a street in daylight or hiding in the alley of a building in the dark of night?
The only sounds heard were either the rata tat tat of gunfire or the eerie silence of town after town emptied of normal human activity.
Lamb and his administrators were not totally immune to lethal danger either. All it took was a hint of vocal authority from anyone in any local, state or federal capacity to utter a semblance of command and they signed their death warrants. Naturally, Lamb and his cronies became armed and reclusive.
If there were any survivors of this heinous phase of existence, they hid themselves well and dared not show face anywhere in public.
Strange isn't it when danger is so thread bare as to be the end of life as men and women once knew it?
Days, months and years passed. Those who didn't die by the gun, died from starvation. Most of the food had already been looted from stores, leaving behind only bare shelves. Warehouses where food was stored were stripped and vacant.
Refrigerators and freezers went dead when no one dared venture out to their electric and natural gas utility jobs, assuming they weren't already shot dead from customer complaints.
With nothing but the sound of deathly silence, Janice Linton, her semi automatic slung from her bony shoulder was emaciated from hunger. She knew if she didn't try to find food and water, she'd end up dead, just not from gun fire.
She crept around the corner of the vacant apartment building where she once rented a comfortable one bedroom suite. Her landlord was one of the first to die for daring to demand the rent he was owed.
"I've got to get some food in me. There isn't a single can of anything left in the other empty apartments."
She realized she had gotten used to talking to herself. Those who hadn't run off in terror were long dead from gun fire, starvation or disease.
"I am lucky not to have been killed by diseased rats that feed on the dead in the streets," she said.
She laughed out loud in half crazed amusement until she thought she heard movement. She removed the gun from her shoulder and prepared to aim.
A rat the size of a small overfed bear cub scurried past her, stopped, looked back at her and hurried on.
"I should have killed it. At least my gun would be useful for something," she thought.
Janice Linton knew if she fired her gun it would be heard all over the entire of Gadarenia for the echo it would cause. She felt nauseated at the thought that a rat might just be her last meal.
Surprised by the bright sunlight after living in the dimness and darkness of her apartment with no electricity, her eyes narrowed to try to focus on where she might find food.
Bravely, she stepped from around the darkened building's corner out into the street. She didn't expect to see anyone. From her apartment window, she had watched and watched the emptiness in the street below until the only movement seemed to be an army of rats.
She walked passed stores with glass windows completely shot through by constant gunfire. Walker's Shoe Store, Larsen's Book Store and even the Gadarenia Movie Theater across the street was starkly silent and a reminder of the people's right to bear arms that wasn't infringed.
Not when small bands of armed militia saw to it public places made for great target practices.
"The movie theater!" Janice said
"There's bound to be popcorn or candy bars there. I'll take anything I can get my hands on."
Out of instinct, she looked both way as if there might be the possibility of being struck by a vehicle. A grin crossed her face.
There "were" vehicles on Gadarenia's main thorofare, shot through with bullets and looking as if they'd never had an owner who wasn't armed.
She stopped just as she reached the door to the theater. Now, she was sure she heard footsteps
She darted around, glancing furtively and hurried inside the theater. From the distance of about twenty feet to the middle of the street, she saw a man with his gun slung around his shoulder.
Janice waited in dead silence to see what his next move would be.
Tom Bleckerston, a six-foot two inch tall man with a shock of dark brown, curly hair and dark eyes trod slowly to the sidewalk in front of the theater.
He had the same idea as Janice. Hunger makes people do strange things and throw caution to the wind.
In the darkness of the theater's entrance, Janice stood stock still watching Tom.
"Stop right there or I'll shoot!" Janice said, as Tom's came through the doors.
"Not if I shoot you first. Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm armed and WILL shoot. Who are YOU?" Janice demanded.
"Tom Bleckerston. I'm only looking for food. Who are you?"
"Janice Linton. There's no food here," she answered
"How do you know? It's too dark in here to tell. Do you have a flashlight?" Tom asked.
"No. Just MY gun!"
"Look, lady...We may be the only two left in Gadarenia. I have a flashlight. Let's see if we can find something to eat," Tom said
"No! Hand over the flashlight!" Janice replied.
"I won't. You better shoot me if you want it," Tom said
Tom knew he was calling a potentially lethal bluff and could end up dead at any minute.
There was a long, drawn out silence.
"How do you know we are the last two living beings in Gadarenia?" Janice asked.
"I'll tell you what. I'll go out into the middle of the street and yell for anyone to see if they answer," Tom said.
"Are you crazy? You'd get shot."
"Not if we are the last two left in this town."
Janice saw Tom walked out into the middle of the street. She shook her head believing any second she would see him drop to the ground.
"Hey! Is there anyone here? Janice Linton thinks you'll shoot me dead. Well..? Go ahead. Shoot if you will," Tom bellowed.
Tom waited. Janice held her breath. Nothing...not a sound. Except perhaps, the rushing of rats running for cover.
"See? Even the rats are afraid of being shot," Tom said.
"That's not funny!"
"Look, do you want to find food or not?" Tom asked.
Janice didn't answer and allowed Tom to use his flashlight to search the theater's refreshment stand for anything edible.
All they found was a frankfurter still stuck to a skewer inside the steam cabinet and popcorn so stale inside the popcorn maker, the first bites were like biting into a handful of pebbles.
Tom handed Janice the frankfurter while he gobbled the rock hard popcorn.
Janice eyed Tom suspiciously.
"Seems you and I are alone in this ghost town. Where are you from?" Tom asked.
"Here. Where else? I live in that apartment building across the street. Where did YOU come from?" she asked.
"I've walked about ten miles from Tall Hills. It's as vacant as this town. It's like this everywhere I think," Tom said.
Tom started for the street with Janice trailing slowly behind him.
As they past Little Red Wagon Nursery School, the wide glass windows shot out, they saw the remains of the mummified carnage inside. Little ones still in diapers and toddlers still in playpens.
"Damn guns!" Tom screamed and threw off his gun.
Horrified, tears slipped from Janice's eyes as she stepped back two steps and heaved her gun to the ground.
