FCA001_471104_Garrett_Lucas_IM

“Statement of Lucas Garrett, regarding his odd experiences as a medic in the military. Statement number 471104, originally given the fourth of November, ‘47. Recorded March the thirteenth, 2070, by Issac Moon; head archivist of the Frozen Chariot Archive.

Statement begins.

I was never one for the medical field. As a child, I would get woozy every time I saw my blood. Whether it was a skinned knee, hangnail pulled too deep, it didn't matter. I always felt very woozy. My father was abusive when I was young, was a heavy drinker. He would often toss me and my brother around. Every so often, the blood would flow, a scratch or something. Every time it was on me, I felt sick.

The odd thing was that when my father drew Ross’s blood, I never felt a thing. No dizziness, no sickness. Nothing. My father died when I was 12, so I didn't have a chance to try and understand why it was only my blood that caused my nausea.

I realize this has pretty much nothing to do with the statement I came here to give. Nonetheless, I joined the NCSA when it began two years ago, after a group of Union soldiers stormed my town, Pikeville, Kentucky, in January of ‘45.

Pikeville was a beautiful town before that happened. Serene, if you ask people who’ve visited. When the Union soldiers occupied the town, they cut everyone off from their jobs and allowed no-one to come in. So the trees grew out, houses fell into disrepair, et cetera. The electricity was cut after 3 days, an effort to “stop rebel disinformation.” That’s what they told us, at least. I wasn't keen on believing them, not after what all I’d heard of them doing the days before we lost power.

After around a week, the food supply began to dwindle. When the power was finally let back on, the Union had taken down every news station, social media site, everything. Bar their own things, of course. The nonstop broadcast of propaganda lasted less than a day before people started to go out into the streets.

People were protesting this occupation of our town, some over food, some over lack of clarity, but several had been ousted from their homes by the Union military. This struck me harder than the lack of food and information. The federal government had violated its own 3rd amendment.

I knew something was dreadfully wrong, as the last time this happened was almost two hundred years ago. In social media for a few months prior, there were many talks of civil war brewing. I tended to stay off those sites and platforms. My family and I just dismissed it.

“That won't happen,” My mother would always say. My brother agreed more strongly than I did. But nonetheless, I disregarded the situation like they did, thinking it was nonsense.

I learned later that the confederate groups of Colorado and Florida had both come out publicly, occupying most of the south. The soldiers gave us rations after 2 full days without food. They looked very reluctant, not caring or compassionate. They had occupied multiple more houses by now, storing up weapons in the house next door to mine.

During the middle of the night on February the 19th, I was wide awake. I had too much coffee trying to stay up and read. I saw a shadow out my window, then a breaking glass pane. I stood up to see what had happened.

Next door, in the house the feds had been using to store weapons, I saw six people in blue jeans and flannels jump through the broken window. One man was outside, taking the guns they stole and putting them on the back of one of the electric ATV they had brought. After around 10 minutes I heard a gunshot, silenced, but still audible. I heard a shout, then two unsuppressed rounds.

Within one minute of this, I saw them all jump out of the window and drive off in the two ATVs. Then 10 well armed federal soldiers running on foot, guns raised. “Stop now.” One shouted.

“Fat chance!” I heard from one of the men on the ATVs. Seconds later, I heard a loud whoosh and an explosion within the building. The men who had come after the men in blue jeans were lit up with gunfire in the confusion.

After half an hour of confusion from the feds, I heard the rumble of multiple high-powered vehicles and the whoosh of a helicopter. A large-”

“Are… are we recording these now?” Eva Cantrell, one of my assistants, interrupted. I hadn’t heard her enter the room.

“Oh, hey Eva, yes we are now.”

“Since when?”

“Matthias suggested we start so we can preserve these statements in a more permanent way. He’s having me digitize all the statements in audio and text form.”

“How come?”

“Well, you know him.”

She laughed, “You’re right, ain’t no telling.” She left the room and closed the door behind me.

“Right then.

Statement continues.

A large group of Rebel soldiers, in the hundreds, were storming our federally occupied town. Within one hour, the occupying federal force was driven out.

The new group sent us all to rest. The next morning, they supplied us with lots of food, and set up their own tents to stay in. Some families willingly let some of them use their houses.

We weathered two more small attacks before I decided it was a cause worth fighting for. The feds were indiscriminately killing innocent civilians, the constitution was suspended, everything seemed to be falling apart.

After joining, I was sent to the NCSA’s makeshift medical program, and 3 weeks later I was in the field. The first several months went fine, I tended to civilians in newly occupied areas of Kentucky. But after the 2-month mark I began to see more and more very odd injuries.

I had been relocated from Kentucky to Indiana to help get a rebel standing there, and the civilians there were in very bad shape. I hadn’t seen an injury like this in my life. The young man was maybe 17, he had deep dark bruising in his arm. It seemed as if a blade had passed through his arm, but only his bones and nerves. I told some other medics, and they didn’t seem to understand, said it was just a normal break. But I know what I saw.

I saw multiple other odd cases in my time in the military. Most were just soldiers screaming, claiming to feel burning pains in their stomachs. But that one boy stuck out to me. The next worst was a young man who had an entry wound in his skull from what looked to be a sword, it was a 2-inch slit in his forehead. He had come a few weeks after his injury, he wouldn't explain what would happen. When he was asked, he seemed frightened, quickly shooting glances around the room we sat in. As I said, he came after the wound healed, claimed “My brain hurts.” I wasn’t sure what to make of this one. It wasn’t as explicit as the boy with the arm, but I felt the same, weird, gut-wrenching feeling as that one.

I spent only a month more in the military before I was medically discharged. I had been shot clean through my chest. Haven't been the same since. Not after those boys.

Statement ends.

Not much followup to be done here. Lucas has seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth after his most recent employment as a nurse. That was 2052.

I have Jay and Sam looking into this case further, but I doubt it will go anywhere.

While this is recording, I might as well explain our purpose in archiving these statements. The Frozen Chariot Archive is an organization that focuses on statements of the unknown, unnatural, and unexplained. It was founded to collect statements from the military and civilians just before, and during, the second American revolution.

The goal is to simply investigate what was claimed, as it is an unprecedented number of statements of the supernatural. Almost every other war in the world has less than half the number of statements.

In this file, I will only include the ones I find most compelling. There are thousands of statements to go through.”