The Drop Out Part I

The cities were no longer friendly. You couldn't live privately; they knew your every move. If you bought simple supplies in the city, they scanned your driver's license. Those that had no license had a government ID. No one could steal your identity, because doctors implanted your identity under your skin in the form of a chip. In large cities, grocery lines across the world went far faster as people no longer fumbled for credit cards or checks but simply passed their hand under a beam of light and the funds for their purchase were removed from their central account. They said that it was for your financial safety and convenience but I knew differently. The government controlled you, watched your every move and noted it on your ledger in the files of a central computer. I posed no threat to anyone, but I hated the intrusion on my privacy.

For years, I watched as the progression of the control grew. I knew it would end in this. First, they taxed alcohol and cigarettes for the consumer's own good. Next was the tax on junk food for people that were overweight. They had your medical records and knew everything about you. My license number was all the World Committee needed and they could see my entire life. They knew what I bought, how I lived and ultimately, my interaction with others via the Internet. Your chip revealed your every move and when the central computer noted something strange, the computer alerted the department and someone pulled your file and examined it. I had been through it once and that was enough. The hours of interrogation I had to endure simply because I questioned a decision of the World Committee would make anyone want to drop out of site. I didn't want it to happen again.

Little by little, I amassed seeds, food, clothing, bottled water and all the essentials of life. I purchased a car that ran on solar power so I would leave no trail of gas purchases. I could not move too rapidly but had to remain under the radar to prepare for my exodus from the cities into the far reaches of our civilization. I spent hours in the library, quietly reading books, almost a thing of the past. I couldn't take the chance of looking up information on the Internet, they would know. The time had come for me to leave. The time was now. It was early November and the onset of winter was about to occur. Traveling by car in a snowstorm was risky because of the snow and lack of sunshine to fuel my vehicle. I had to leave now.

I stopped in a small desert town. The town was so small; I did not even find it on a map. It had no post office. In fact, it only consisted of twenty buildings with only eight in use. At one time, it was a town of hope. It was a place where miners lived while they eked out a living on their small claims. As the results of their claim dwindled, the town grew smaller until the only people left were misfits and those that society discarded. It was the perfect place for me to stay.

A coffee shop served as a general store and gas station. It was the meeting place for all the members of the community, at least those that interacted with others. The town father ran the general store and had clearance, as many heads of small towns did, to purchase large amounts of supplies for the community members. He passed clearance and was to report any unusual activity in his town. This allowed the storekeeper relief from the expense of connecting to the World Committee computers and installing scanners for such a small population. Not even the gas pumps had a place to scan your chip, something never seen in more densely populated areas.

I was the stranger in town. You could feel all eyes on me as I entered the coffee shop area of the general store that morning. The small town of Greetings, Arizona did not live up to its name for no one was pleased to see a stranger. No one spoke but their eyes followed me as I looked for an inconspicuous place to sit.

The waitress was an older woman. Her face showed the miles she traveled in the hot searing sun with lines deeply etched from past disappointments and troubles. She looked suspiciously at me, tilting her head to one side and narrowing her eyes as if to read inside my head. Before she had a chance to ask, I spoke first.

"I'm looking for a place to stay. I'm a phytologist studying the Helianthus deserticola, the desert sunflower." I quickly stated, before she could ask me the question. "Right now, however, I really want a cup of coffee and some breakfast." I hoped she accepted my explanation and asked me no further questions.

She looked intently at me, scanning me from top to bottom with a skeptical look I couldn't interpret. Was I detected as a fraud on my first stop of the journey? Would she report me or call for more information? If she did, she'd have to use the phone in the diner where I could see her. There was no cell phone reception in this town. She paused and then began to speak.

Continued in Part II