The story seemed too absurd to believe; on the other hand, I was sitting in a van in a parking lot, waiting for a return call from an embryonic resistance organization, planning an escape from America.

I was especially interested in information from District 2, the Northeast. I figured that would be the best route for me. I’d drive through upstate New York, crossing into Canada at the very busy Niagara Falls checkpoint. I wondered if it might make sense to go through New York City. The city was an easy place to get lost in and I still had a lot of friends living there who would be willing to help me. But it looked like it might be too big a risk; the self-declared Sanctuary cities, in particular New York and Boston, had been designated for enhanced security. According to the district military governor, Peter Poopé (pronounced Poop-A, the French way, he proudly pointed out), international flights had been temporarily suspended to prevent radical elements from entering the country, although ports would remain open and cargo operations would continue.

Drivers throughout District 2 were being warned to expect pop-up roadblocks on major arteries. Checkpoints had been reported on the Long Island Expressway and Route 27, the road to the Hamptons. There were also scattered reports of gas shortages, although I was pretty certain that was simply a way of cutting down travel between districts. Whatever, the roadblocks, checkpoints, and gas shortages were going to make my drive to the border a lot more complicated.

It was early evening before I finally got a response. The burner vibrated the correct code. A text message directed me to an online site, GobbledeeandGook.org, and provided a code. Gobbledeeandgook was a Wonderland site; it had been created for a single use and was linked to no other sites. You couldn’t get there from anywhere else. I opened it and typed in the code. The procedure seemed way over the top; I half expected it to go up in smoke to the accompaniment of dramatic music after I’d read it. An area code 646 number appeared.

It rang three times. A pleasant male voice answered, “Gobble, Dee, and Gook. How can we help you?”

I hesitated.

The voice filled the silence. “How can we help you, Rollie?”

“I, um…” I had wandered into a new world and had to get my bearings.

The voice prodded me. “We’re here to help, Rollie.”

“Who is this?” I asked finally.

“I guess you could call me your travel agent.”

I swallowed, then exhaled; it was going to take me some time to get used to all this. Even with all the excesses and insanity of Trump/Pence, I had never expected it would go this far. None of this seemed real. In fact it didn’t even seem possible. “How … how do you know what I need?”

“You reached out to us for help, remember that? We know you’re on the list, so there aren’t a lot of options.” There were hundreds of people in the same situation, the voice explained, trying to get out of the country before they were detained. The majority of them from the East Coast were heading north. To assist them, a rudimentary “underground railroad” had been created and was cranking into operation. “We can get you to Canada,” the voice said with confidence, “but it’s going to take a little time.”