by Ma West
He pushed the intercom. “Linda, get all the senior staff together, ten minutes. Then start recruiting yourself some help, screw the overtime.” He took a short pause to think. “Patch me through to Colonel Major.”
He grabbed a pen and started jotting down notes of things that had to be done. Experience had taught him it was easier to prioritize an existing list than to write and prioritize at the same time. His mind was jumping, chasing, and running from thought to thought. Rather than try to control it, he wrote it, filling yellow note after yellow note. By the time his eight sticky notes were covered, the intercom buzzed and Linda’s voice came over: “Colonel Major parked on line 204.”
“Colonel M, how the hell are ya?”
“Fine, Mr. Hashmore. Mayor out in the field again?”
“Tell you what, fucking handcuff that guy to his desk and they’ll both go missing.”
“Well maybe he isn’t the one needing to be handcuffed to the desk in order for him to stick around it,” the colonel said with a chuckle. “Now what the hell is going on? The fed channels are going absolutely haywire.”
“Only tell ya what I know. Something fucking big is coming down the pipe from the highest level. No indication if it was doomsday-type shit, riot-worthy scandal-type shit, government takeover, or what the fuck. Marching orders were to prepare for martial law. Albany is going to be handling the guard and working with the boroughs, including oversight of the bridges. However, we will not be getting any assistance from the guard or adjoining agency. Let me pause there. What sort of manpower can we possibly gather in the next eighteen hours?”
The colonel grunted as if clearing his throat. “Either you’re a very different man than the mayor or shit is very serious indeed. I could have my men at full strength in eighteen hours, a man force of over eighteen thousand officers. However, sir, if we want to maximize deployment time over an extended period of time, as I do believe this sort of situation might require, then I suggest a deployment number closer to twelve thousand, with officers in reserve to replace due to injury and fatigue, and trust me, sir, you do not want tired officers armed and grumpy.”
“I will defer to your knowledge and judgment so long as you feel you have what you need to control the street if things get a little ugly.”
“Understood, sir, what are your running assumptions as to the cause of such large-scale social disturbance.”
“Damn if I know. Here’s a direct quote from my briefing that might help—‘We expect a very fluid and volatile situation to commence from as soon as now to the president’s address to the nation at 9:15 a.m. Begin immediate ramp-up operations, and prepare for martial law if necessary.’ So that, Colonel, is about the most detailed thing they said.”
There was a serious pause before the colonel spoke up. “In all my years, I have never heard anything like that. Mr. Hashmore, how do we proceed?”
It was nearly a half hour before Linda buzzed him with what he wanted to hear. “Mayor on line one, Mr. H.”
He started to speak the same instant his finger pressed the phone button. “Where the hell have you been?”
The mayor said, “I thought I was your boss. I overslept a little bit. Anyway, what’s tonight’s crisis? Traffic, have you ever tried to get into the city during rush hour, forget about it. Somebody should fucking do something about this shit.”
“Wish I could be so lazy about a little thing called martial law.”
“What the fuck you talking about? Martial law for what? Nothing on morning news about riots or shit. Who the hell tell you that?”
“Albany, and yes, let me quote for you.” He picked up his notes from the briefing. “‘External factors beyond human control may induce unnecessary fear and confusion among the masses. Preparations must be made in advance to control messaging, give reassurance, and quickly respond and put down any innocents before they can escalate.’”
After a short pause, the mayor came back. “Hot damn, finally some action. I was starting to think pussy was the only exciting part of this job.”
“Where you at? I’ll send an escort.”
“J turnpike, and make her a blonde today.”
Things went so much smoother with the mayor back in the office. Hashmore looked down at his interactive map. The table-sized interface device was used to interact with RUDY, the computer software program that controlled the whole command center. Each field unit was issued a cell phone with automated GPS equipment that could relay that unit’s position. When used in conjunction with the Bluetooth visor and headset, it could make each unit a real-world extension of the command center—often also referred to as RUDY.
Currently, he was scrolling through the list of units available. For now, the number was abnormally low. He and the major had agreed that officers with children would be given immediate leave to secure them at appropriate locations, but no leave could be granted if shit started hitting the fan. Second, they activated all reserve and volunteer units. He was overseeing a group of these units right now.
“No, no, the barricades just need to be off to the side, ready for deployment.” He listened as the voice on the other end asked a question. “Well now I don’t know how we will need to deploy them yet.” Another pause. “Hey, watch the tone. Truth is, we don’t know what to expect. It may even be necessary to alter the deployment mid-event, so just do what you can, damn it!” Hashmore ripped off his headset. “Damn retired think-they-know-it-alls.”
The orders were pretty vague. External factors, beyond human control—those words sounded like political cover to him. A green check mark appeared on the map interface, a unit checking in as available. Normally there was a clear purpose, like protesters converging on the police station or a high-speed pursuit, but this time, he had no idea. He decided to focus on larger food stores, ports of entry or exit, and the subway. The transit authority would help with the latter, but clearing the subway system, if necessary, would be a monumental undertaking as a sole priority, much less a third.
The conference room started to fill as the mayor continued to “do the rounds over the phones.” Bankers, investors, rich and annoying, all of them thinking that they were God’s prize to this world. Personally, he couldn’t wait till the rapture would take these bastards down to their rightful place. The mayor didn’t seem to mind kissing their asses, but for him, it was out of the question. As a man of talents and morals, he deserved to be in charge, making sure shit got done right. That’s why the mayor hired him.
Sure, his long friendship with the mayor would have gotten him a job somewhere, but it was his God-given talents that put him in this position now, in charge. The rush of adrenaline that came with every decision, every outcome, flooded away any regret or remorse over accepting the job. His whole life had led up to this moment, this challenge, and all of it God’s will. Now, as he prepared to walk into a room and issue orders to some of the most powerful men in the world’s greatest city, a smile broke across his face and he thanked God.
The mayor ended his phone call, walked up to Hashmore, and placed his arm around his friend. “It’s good to have you by my side in such times. I’ve missed this, you and me, in the heat of the cause, striving for better.”
“How do you do it, Biggo? Putting up with these bastards, consensus building? Don’t you just miss the days when all we had to do was nap and slap?”
“Of course, but the challenge must grow. How many hours did we spend pissing away, complaining about those jackasses before us? Did you forget the dream, the frustration and the passion? Before, we helped the individuals—now we help the masses. If a little ego stroking is necessary to make that happen, well then I must remember that it is not about these bastard or us bastards. It’s about those bastards out there. The more we better our society, the better reward we deserve.”
Hashmore let out a big breath. “Biggo, you always did know just the right thing to say. I only wish your rewards weren’t so . . . tempting. Now, if you will excuse me, I see some egos that need readju
stment and tasks that need to be completed.” The mayor nodded his head and left as Hashmore closed his eyes and approached the briefing room door.
Oh, Lord, thank you for this glory. Thank you for this power. I can feel your strength. I can feel your confidence. I can feel your will flowing out of me. It has been a long time, my Lord, too long. Once, you wielded me like a dagger, capturing or destroying demons infesting your garden. Wield me now again! Let me once again be your hammer! Let me reign down your vengeance upon the evil.
Yes, Lord, show me the way. Show me how to wield your sword. I am eager to please. But, Lord, I find no demon to smite, no villain to chase. What am I to do, Lord? Why give me this power and nothing to wield with it? Is evil approaching? Is this the call to arms? I am ready to answer, Lord. Yet, Lord, where will the evil come from? I see no evil in front of me, nor behind me. I see only men, not demons. What would you want me to do to man? Perhaps, Lord, this power is to ready my fellow man. Shall I lead the battle against the devil’s own brood? I am ready, Lord, lead me to your victory.
The briefing went smoothly enough. Despite their overflowing arrogance, the group managed to maintain composure, and hell, they might have even understood what Hashmore told them. Now that he’d had his fun, it was time to get to some real work. While the mayor had to do his bullshit with the “elite” who only thought they were the most important, he now had to do real work with the truly important people.
Linda had already convened the people who ran this city: Colonel Major, head of the island police force; Commander Thomas, head of fire, rescue, and EMS; Buck Houltwater, the city services coordinator; Lisa Stevens, the water systems supervisor; Bent Anderson, the city’s technical head; and of course the most annoying man in the world, Dane Cook, head of transit authority.
Dane Cook was a man who failed to see his place in the world, a bureaucrat who fancied himself a detective. On more than one occasion during his career, Cook had interfered with an investigation simply in the hopes of claiming it for himself. Now all that leeching had paid off, when Cook landed a cushy job where he could leech off subordinates.
Hashmore got right to business. “All right, everyone, game time is quickly approaching, and we haven’t installed a game plan yet.”
Of course Cook was the first to respond. “What the hell are you talking about? You need to fill us in on what’s going on first before we can game plan.”
Grinding his teeth, Hashmore continued. “All we know is that the president is going to say something today that will create a lot of panic and/or anger, and let’s just hope it’s the first. The president speaks at 9:15 a.m. eastern. That means I want us at maximum staffing and potential by 7:30 a.m. Let’s start by saying that I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I do know that we are going to be the ones responsible for dealing with it. Now let’s sit down and quickly get on the same page about our goals and priorities.” Keeping a commanding tone was important in a room like this. Display weakness, even a little, and these alpha personalities would jump on it instantly.
He wasn’t worried though. If God be for him, who dare be against him?
Chapter 7
Begin Genesis Undone
The sky screamed out in that universally unmistakable tone of pain. Oddly rolled clouds billowed across the sky. The pitch of the scream rose to a wretch. Then silence followed. No traffic, no machinery, no birds, just total silence. One, two, three, No Tip counted in his head, and then came the wave.
The wave brought back with it the sound, which only added to the confusion and misery. He was thrown several feet and landed a foot away from the rooftop edge. Many of the plants had been flung over the side as well. He would have prayed for anyone down below, but as suddenly as the wave came, the air seemed to leave. He began to panic, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him underwater. His body flinched and convulsed, desperately seeking air but finding none.
A hot breeze delivered the foulest, most wonderful oxygen-filled air he had ever consumed. A bright flash filled the sky, but he was in no position to see what was occurring. He lay there for several seconds, breathing hungrily, seeking to blow off built-up CO2 and return his body to equilibrium. The pitch of the scream in the sky had lowered and ended with the sound of erupting water. He gathered himself and rose to his knees. Surrounding the great city were four enormous tethers reaching out into the sky and passing through deep, lightning-filled clouds. A small bird now reacquainted with the skill of flight took off from one of the remaining brushes on the rooftop.
There, at the bottom of the skyline, he saw it. A wall of water multiple stories high was descending on his location. The building began to shake and sway. Lunging from his kneeling position, he grabbed hold of a pipework protruding from the top of the building. The wave was not quite as high as the building, but great amounts of seawater splashed and doused the roof, as if the flush of a toilet had pounded the building and collapsed the edge of the roof. His feet scrambled wildly away from the crumbling edge while his arms held on to the pipework as if it were a falling baby.
The building remained upright, but a large portion of the front had now been washed away. The pipework stayed in place as the seaboard side of the building and floors started to collapse around him. He slid like a fireman down two floors, to where he was able to jump onto solid flooring. A small group of people gathered around him, one of them pointing to the sky. Dozens of smaller UFOs zipped overhead, but he focused on one just above the water. Ten meters in length and three in height, it had a polished looked but gave no reflection or shine. A white, pulsating halo emitted from its undercarriage and penetrated deep into the sea.
Loud screams proved ineffective, forcing the baroness to physically touch each member of the group. Entranced by the unexpected and unfathomable nature of the scene that lay before them, she wrapped her hands firmly around No Tip’s waist and tried to pull him in the direction of the stairs, but he resisted. Again she pulled him, mistakenly interpreting his disagreement for disillusionment. This time, he pointed to the sky, but she still misunderstood. On her third attempt, she placed him in a pressure-point hold.
“Aggggh, let go of me, are you trying to get everyone killed?” His cognitive response surprised the baroness, and his accusation even more so, suspending any immediate response from her. He reached out with his free arm—“free” being a relative term—and yelled, “Look, damn it.”
What was this idiot doing now? He just said what? Look where? The baroness’s mind searched for answers in the face of so many unexpected events. By the time her brain caught up, her body was inexplicably being dragged up the stairs, trying to resist but still bending to his will. His will, what the hell was his name? “Nip the Kid” sprang into her head, and she let out a tiny giggle.
The pitch of the whistling had changed again and was slowly rising in scale. Dozens upon dozens of alien craft swarmed the sky. One of the giant tethers had landed just offshore from her building. Well technically she didn’t own the building, but for all intents and purposes, it was her home more often than not. How many nights had she slept here instead of at her home?
She looked skyward as it darkened behind rolling, energetic, expanding clouds. Using the tethers as tracks, black slits raced down from the sky, one after another, on each side of the city, encompassing it in a ring that splashed down deep into the waters, hurling gigantic waves out in every direction. She was in the path of one of those waves. The thought struck her again: she was in the path of a huge wave. Her instinct was to run, but he pulled her back. What was that fool doing, anyway, counting? His free hand was moving in a rhythmic motion as if keeping time. He wasn’t even looking at the wave of impending death barreling down upon them—it was time to ditch this guy. She yanked her arm, trying to pull away, but this time, he barked back. “I know what I’m doing. On the count of three.”
“Count of three? What are we doing on the count of three?”
He smiled an ominous smile. “Three.”
Her legs were numb yet moving as if willed from an external source. Her breath left her as the horizon rose, only a split second, and then collapsed. The baroness concentrated on adjusting to the freefall. Her arms rose out in desperation but found no anchor. She forced out a breath and saw the ship. The relief came only as a precursor to the realization that he had been wrong. The ship was going to pass them. This fool had just killed her, and she didn’t even know his damn name.
Chapter 8
First Contact
It was impossible to remember which came first, the headache or the blurry vision. No Tip tried to move but was restrained. He looked left and right, but the blurs only changed in tone and pigment, never clarity. There was no sound, due to a soft, cushy gel that had been placed around his ears, preventing him from hearing anything. After attempting several variations of movement, he discovered that slow, gentle motions allowed some freedom for his upper body, but from the thighs down, he was stuck firm.
Several questions ran through his mind, but his last memory of jumping from the roof with the baroness only allotted for speculation. Purgatory was his guess. Seemed right, kind of like a time out. He smiled. Purgatory, he thought, heaven is at the end of the road.
A thick, moist tentacle grabbed his arm while several tingly pricks, as if a bug were walking along his skin, crossed from his forearm down to his fist. He held tight as long as he could, but the sensation became too much and he had to open his hand. A warm, polished stone was placed in it, and the entire hue turned black. His vision escaped him.