From the thirtieth floor of Kingman city hall, I am given a bird’s eye view of the modern American city. Kingman’s ninety-eight thousand residents are largely concentrated in a confluence of high-rise apartments along Andy Divine Blvd, with more being built every day in rezoned suburban sprawl. Every necessity available by a short walk or e-bike, from public schools, clinics, bodegas, and its many pubs and nightclubs. The latter of which are a favorite for visitors coming in on high speed rail lines between California, Nevada, and Arizona. Madison Clarke is its Mayor.

I tried to ignore the news. Every day there was some new piece about that administration, each more upsetting and unbelievable than the last. Its not that it never felt real, it was just one more thing you had to deal with. I didn’t have any bandwidth left between rent, car payments, my student loans, and every day hoping and kissing whoever’s ass I had to so I wouldn’t get laid off. The sight of national guardsmen and immigration agents became just another everyday unpleasantness like school shootings or homeless camps.

Telling my kids what to do when they saw a deportation raid or military vehicles was just another depressing necessity of parenthood. Right below dropping my kids off to see their father on weekends and hoping that he actually bothered to clean up that stye of a house for them, instead of only for that worthless social worker.

I knew I was one of the lucky ones. I still had a job, it might not have been a job I went to college for, but it kept a roof over our heads, my kids fed, and even a little bit left over for at least one streaming service plus. I even managed to keep a little bit of savings. Not enough if any of us got sick, but it was something. Better than winding up in the Freedom Cities⁶. My best friend Alyssa and her husband lived in the one in K-Town after they both got laid off. I saw her once when we were both dropping our kids off at school. I couldn’t look at her. I was too afraid that she’d ask to crash at my place.

[She looks away]

I had barely enough room for me and my babies, I couldn’t…

[She pauses, and takes a deep, raggedy breath before continuing.]

Well, that was life during the Big Sad. At least in California there were still government services. Immigration raids and national guard deployments were few and far between, not like back home in Columbus. At least before the election.

After…

[She smiles.]

I’d never voted before then, never saw the point. A few of my friends managed to bully me into registering, and I really liked the Congresswoman’s reels. I figured, “what’s the worst that could happen?” Then she won.

I can’t remember any other time when people seemed that excited, especially for my generation. We were finally gonna have one of us in the Oval Office, someone who actually knew just how much it fucking sucked out here.

Were you worried about the legitimacy crisis?

Not really. Its not like this was the first election where the winner refused to accept the results. Even I knew that, despite how checked out I was back then. I never thought I’d get a literal crash course in the the realities of politics.

It was mid-December, a Tuesday. I was grabbing a late lunch after non-stop calls since 7am. No-thanks to our latest client from Australia, who was always checking to make sure our software updates had “none of that AI stuff in it.” Two years after the crash and businesses were still trying to scrub that garbage from their product suite. I pulled up to a light, took another sip of soda and another bite of the burger I promised my doctor to eat less of. I was right next to a hardware store, demonstrators showed up anytime there was word of another immigration raid. People were honking in support, cheering them on, and I remember seeing a few people flying those USA-Mexican hybrid flags. A few were holding campaign signs for the President-elect.

I guess that’s what made me join in, gave my horn a couple toots, and waved to this little girl being held up on what I guess was her mother’s shoulders. I should have been watching the road, paying attention to what I was actually doing. I didn’t see the police cruisers barreling towards us until I got t-boned.

I don’t remember the impact, just the aftermath. My head was spinning, every sense was dulled for what felt like an hour, but must have only been a moment. I started to snap out of it when I saw an LASD officer in riot gear knock that woman, still holding her girl, to the ground. The shooting pain in my wrist brought me back.

I couldn’t move it without it throbbing in pain, and could tell immediately it was broken thanks to an incident with my ankle at my High School track and field finals. My driver’s side door was crushed, so I had to crawl over the center console to get out the passenger side. Every bump and jostle set pain up my arm. I managed to right myself enough to avoid spilling out onto the ground, but was immediately knocked down anyway by one of the cops.

Pain shot through my whole body, I thought I was gonna pass out. The cop who knoeck me down yelled something, but I was so out of it. It must have been “stay on the ground” because he didn’t do anything after I just decided to lie there.

When I saw the deputies starting to zip-tie people, I panicked and shouted, “please don’t! My wrist is broken!”

The one next to me kicked me in the ribs before telling me to “stop resisting.”

[She chuckles.]

I was an overweight sales associate who’d just been in a car wreck and they thought I was in any position to “resists?” I always thought it was just a joke when people talked about cops doing that. All I could do was just lie there and think about the pain, my kids, if I should call my lawyer or the sitter, and how Spencer and his crook of a lawyer would try to take away my custody once they found out I’d been arrested. Tears were starting to stream down my face when I heard the gunshots.

From the Deputies?

That’s what I thought at first. Then, after I felt little drops of warm blood on my face and looked up to see the cop who kicked me had been hit in the neck. He fell to one knee, clutching where he’d been wounded while trying to reload his gun with one hand. More gunshots, and more people yelling. It got so loud I tried to cover my ears by pressing my left against the ground while my one good hand covered my right.

That meant I was facing toward the deputy who got hit. Something made his eyes go wide, and he was calling out to someone. He tried to get to his feet only to get hit again, this time in the side of his chest.

After that, I wasn’t thinking about anything. Not about lawyers, or money, or my ex, not even my kids. I just closed my eyes, didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, and prayed whoever was left wouldn’t notice me.

Didn’t work. I was shaking so hard from the adrenalin they probably spotted me immediately. I’d never had anything close to something that violent happen to me and I was convinced, like deep in my body convinced, that what came next would be worse. The person who grabbed me called for someone to help get me to my feet. I looked through my tears and saw two people. They were both armed, both dressed in regular clothes, except they were wearing black body armor. Directly in front of me was this shorter black woman, and next to here was an older Hispanic man a little taller than her who was built like a tree trunk.

The woman asked me my name. I tired to speak, but all that came out was my teeth chattering. She just said, “Come over here let’s get you cleaned up,” and took me over to an ambulance. “My name’s Deija, I’m an EMT,” she told me.

As we got clear of my totaled SUV, I could see there were more people with guns, maybe a dozen all trying to help everyone else who’d been shot, or stripping the bodies of the cops.

Stripping the bodies?

For more guns, ammunition, body armor. Tree Trunk seemed to be in charge, he was shouting at the others, switching between English and Spanish, “Just the ammo, we can’t carry anymore guns! Throw it into the trucks and start sorting it.”

That’s when Deija started on my cuts and I hissed at how much it stung.

“Shhh, don’t worry I’ll have you fixed up in a minute. Were you at the protest when it happened?”

The adrenalin hard started to wear off and I could actually respond, “I was just driving by. Coming back from lunch…”

I teared up again, “I only got one bite of my burger.”

She laughed and hugged me. I felt ridiculous, but it brought me back to reality.

“What happened?”

Deija didn’t seem too surprised that I didn’t know what had started barely and hour ago.

“The pigs tried to take over the city. A right wing mob tried to break into City Hall, and they joined them! Started firing on us counter protestors, but we managed to beat them back. It was a hell of a fight I’m here to tell you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“We grabbed a few of their radios and heard the Sheriffs Department were headed toward Wilshire⁷, so we decided to cut them off in case the other pigs decided to join them.”

I actually asked, “Whose we?”

Deija smiled, “The people, girl. Angelinos aren’t gonna roll over for that cokehead in DC.”

I didn’t know what to say. She finished patching me up. Set my wrist, which hurt like hell. She even called me a rideshare to get home after Tree Trunk started telling everyone, “We gotta head out, the bastards are trying to take over the airport.” I gave Deija a hug, and wished her luck.

I waited across the street, it was so quiet. It felt like the city had been abandoned. I called my kids’ school, and got through just as the car pulled up. I spent the whole car ride back arguing with the principal to just let my kids out early for the day. “We’re sheltering in place Ms. Clarke. I can’t let any kid go home, much less walk the halls until its safe.”

When I got home, I called Liam directly. He was calm, a lot calmer than me. He told me, “Mom, we’re not supposed to talk until its over. I love you. Call you back if I live.”

[She laughs.]

Little turd though that was funny. I couldn’t get ahold of Emma, she was still in kindergarten and didn’t have a phone. All I could do was sit in my suddenly way too spacious apartment and wait. I took a couple painkillers I had saved from my postpartum recovery with Emma, and actually managed to fall asleep.

I didn’t see my kids again until the next morning. Mrs. Ruiz, one of the women in the school front office was pounding on my door, and for a moment I almost forgot what had happened. Then my wrist started acting up again, and I could hear Liam calling for me. “Mom? Mom we’re home, open up"!”

I nearly broke my neck falling out of bed, and ran to the door. I hugged my babies harder than at any time in their lives. Mrs. Ruiz gave us a minute, even helped me get them both to bed before asking me, “What happened to you Mady?”

I suddenly realized that I’d been involved in the shooting of a police officer. I told her that I’d been in a wreck. Mrs. Ruiz was a decent person, but I was still afraid that if word got out someone would kick in my door and take me away.

Did you know about the MAGA regime’s declaration of Martial Law?

I’d heard a little about it the night before. That Junior wanted all police to be on stand by for the Electoral College vote. I asked a few of my friends in the company Hang channel, and they all just said to ignore it. That since he wasn’t the President he didn’t have any power to do it.

I wish I ignored them, and stayed home.

With my kids down, I got out my phone and spent the next few hours doom scrolling. I learned about all the cops and rioters that had sided with Junior’s regime, not just in LA but everywhere. In every city there were people and police trying to overthrow the government because the Electoral College wouldn’t just hand them the election.

I saw that the people that saved me were now calling themselves the Knights of Angeles, and had joined up with a huge mob of anti-MAGA demonstrators to barricade the cops along the 405 near the El Segundo exit. I saw Deija’s face again. She was standing on top of an overturned police cruiser, waving the flag. The camera caught her from below, with the sun just behind her head. She looked like a Saint on a stained glass window.

[She points down at the mural covering a building overlooking Metcalf park. It depicts Deija Abney, better known as the Angel of the 405.]

She was shot and killed just after that picture was taken.

They say 30,000 people died just on that first day. In LA alone, it was well over a thousand, with I don't know how many more wounded like I was. And because of people like Deija, the Reds were pushed out of LA, and a hundred other cities.

⁶Popular term for the larges encampments for unhoused persons in the 2020s.

⁷Los Angeles Police Department Wilshire Community Police Station