True Fiction (Ian Ludlow Thrillers #1)(36)

“About four hours,” Ian said but he quickly reassured his friend. “It’s okay, we paid cash. We know not to use our credit cards ever again.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re toast.” Ronnie slammed the trunk closed and marched to the corral, a man on a mission.

“What are you talking about?” Ian asked.

“Every product Walmart sells is embedded with a radio-frequency ID chip, either in the item itself or in the packaging so they can track their inventory globally. If you don’t think the government is watching that, too, you’re delusional.”

“That’s funny coming from you, especially after what you just said.” Margo turned to Ian. “Can we go now?”

“No.” Ian headed to the corral, where Ronnie was putting ropes around the necks of three goats. He needed to understand how he’d screwed up and the full scope and consequences of his mistake. “Okay, so they know when a box of Oreos leaves the store. How does that point anybody to us?”

Ronnie replied as he led the three goats out of the corral. “You think groceries, books, and other products are the only things with RFID tags? Your driver’s license and credit cards all have them, too. We’re all just inventory being tracked by the New World Order, man. Do you know why I wear a helmet wrapped with aluminum foil?”

Margo spoke up. “Because you’re a lunatic.”

“To block the signal from the RFID chip in my body, honey.” Ronnie led the goats to his house, opened the front door, then let the animals loose inside.

“Of course,” Margo said, then turned to Ian. “I just want to point out that we’re talking to a man who wraps his head in aluminum foil and lives in a house with his goats.”

Ronnie closed the door to the house, marched up to Margo, and held out his hand to her. “Give me your credit cards.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked.

“Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said? They have RFID chips in them that can identify and pinpoint you.”

She glanced at Ian. He shrugged and said, “We can’t use them again anyway.”

“Fine.” Margo opened the car door and dug around in her purse. “You can decorate your hat with them and make a real fashion statement.”

Ian reached into his pocket, pulled his credit cards out of his wallet, and handed them to Ronnie. “Here you go. How do you think RFID chips got into your body?”

“I don’t know when they put one in but I know it’s there.”

“Because you hear voices.” Margo gave Ronnie her credit cards and slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

“Of course not,” Ronnie said. “That would be crazy.”

“Look who’s talking,” Margo said.

“RFID chips don’t transmit audio or video. They share data,” Ronnie said. “I know I’ve got one because the government followed me everywhere until I blocked their signal. Now they don’t know where I am. You’re the first people to come out here in years. The odds are fifty-fifty that you’ve got chips in you, too. They’re putting the chips in everybody.”

“I’d notice if someone surgically implanted a chip in me,” Margo said.

“No, you wouldn’t. The RFID chips they use now are smaller than a grain of sand,” Ronnie said. “The New World Order began by testing them on our pets and we all gladly played along. Once they refined their technology with our dogs and cats and proved that it worked, they miniaturized the chips even further. They began secretly implanting the chips in us whenever we had surgery and then through flu vaccines. Why do you think they make the shots so cheap or even free?”

“Why would they want to track people?” she asked.

“You know what cancer is? It’s mass multiplication of deadly cells. That’s what the global elites think that people are becoming to planet Earth. Soon there won’t be enough resources to feed everybody, let alone for the special few, the global elites, to prosper.” Ronnie marched back to the house, opened the door, tossed the credit cards inside, and closed the door again. “So they need to cut the population in half and kill anybody they can’t control or who doesn’t measure up to their physical and intellectual standards for the master race.”

Margo looked at Ian and spun a finger beside the side of her head to illustrate what she thought of Ronnie’s theories. But Ian didn’t see it that way. He was terrified. The conspiracy theories weren’t what scared him. They were a distraction. It was the simple, terrifying point at the heart of everything that Ronnie said that made him tremble.

“The CIA knows we’re here,” Ian said.

“Hell yes. Winter is coming.” Ronnie came back to the Mustang, grabbed the RPG launcher off the hood, and headed out into the field toward some boulders.

“He is batshit crazy,” Margo said.

Ian disagreed. He trusted what his heart was telling him. He was a fool to think he’d outsmarted the CIA. The only thing that had kept them alive this long was pure, dumb luck and it may have just run out.

Ronnie crouched beside a boulder and lifted it up with one hand. It was an astonishing feat and it took Ian an instant to realize the boulder was fake and that it hid a hatch. From where he stood, Ian could see that under the hatch was a concrete staircase leading underground.