by Jake Packard
Herbie knew the real reason the choppers were there, ever vigilant. They were searching, detecting, and then blowing into pieces unauthorized transmission sites wherever any may be. Pellet was tightening the noose and keeping it private with one bold military move.
Up on what was left of the stage some heavily armored men kept the crowd at bay. Behind them he could see the Council engaged in animated discussion. In the center of it, as always, Marcus and Gregor were standing across from each other, facing off.
Ibrahim pushed his way through the fuming mob with Herbie and Jamal hanging on in tow. The crowd, although in a chaotic tumult, recognized them and allowed them to pass through, everyone looking for a sign from Salem, greatly disappointed he was not there.
When they reached the stage, Herbie saw that hostilities had intensified since the firefight outside Shantypark in which Jamal and he narrowly escaped with their lives. Marcus wandered off wild-eyed into a corner of the bandshell shouting into one of his cell phones, “It is imperative that you keep those SKs locked down all the way to Douglass Circle. Fan the brothers out in a defending arc all the way from the 7th Avenue gate to 106th Street. I’m sure Pellet’s lookin’ for a way in behind us for a possible surprise attack and that’s the way he’d come. Now hang up before they spook onto this line, next time use the bootleg N-Tel IIIs.” He flipped the phone off and walked like a wounded jaguar back to Gregor, who stood silent and unflappable amongst his boys, his arms folded on his chest like he enjoyed all this. All were waiting for his next words because, despite his ugly appetites, he had a way with crowds.
“You losers,” he took a drink from a flask and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, “you gotta look on the bright side or we’re all gonna die right here. The one good thing about them blowing up our tunnels is that we don’t have to defend them. They’re telling us they’re coming in on the ground. So, I say before they can concentrate into an area and overwhelm us, we choose our own spot to fight.”
A man so white he was almost albino, with a huge earring made of bone and an illustrated body, smacked his big-barreled sidearm, which could blow a hole through the side of an elephant, against the palm of his hand. “But Gregor, what if those fuckheads come from the sky, like last time? At least then we had the tunnels to hide in. We were powerless against their bombs then; what’s gonna stop them now?”
“I’m not waitin’ to find out. We gotta get outta here before they attack, because the best defense is a good offense, asshole. I’m gonna go for the museum.”
A short but brilliant hyperstunner of a pause as the Council grasped what Gregor was proposing. They were desperate just to stay alive, while Gregor was planning a full-scale revolt.
“We’ve got more than enough explosive shit to blow a couple of huge holes in those walls they built near the drive. Then we pour on in and take them by surprise. They are going to be really weak in there, because most of the SKs will be out in the streets patrollin’ the crowds, getting ready to bust on in. They’ll never expect us to hit first. Bang, bang, and we blow on in from two sides, straight in, hand-to-hand the old-fashioned way, the way we used to do it. Then we take out those chickenshit squirrel fuckers, cause, nobody is ever going to take my stani boys in a fight like that. Once we’re in, we got the heart of Uptown. Pellet’s army is spread out in a circle around Shantypark, our best chance is to concentrate everything in one spot and punch on through.”
Gregor took another big swig from the flask in his pocket and turned to his troops. They were busy smizzing and drinking and getting ready for whatever Gregor had in mind. He took another long pull from the bottle and laughed. He glared at Marcus with zealotic fever. “We can use your boys already uptown as a diversionary action. When I give the word, you tell them to attack, then we go the other way.”
“You’re going to hang them all out to dry, Gregor.”
“Do you want a chance of getting outta here alive or not?” Gregor turned to the Council. “The time to strike is right now, when those numb nuts out there think they got us on our heels. I promise you they’ll never know what hit ’em.”
A huge explosion just to their south, just outside Columbus Circle, rocked Shantypark, sending huge plumes of smoke belching into the sky. People everywhere were screaming and crying. Just standing there on the bandshell, doing nothing, they all knew they were soon to be goners. Thus, the Council was swayed.
Ibrahim was helpless. He looked over at Marcus and muttered, “I wish Salem was here; he’d know what to do.”
Hearing that, even in the midst of the end of their world looming down upon them, Gregor broke out into the deepest uncontrollable, smizzified hysterics, like demons conjured up from the dead, spitting in the face of faith.
The Council stared at him in fear. Even though they hated him, this was the time they needed him to be somewhat sane.
“Salem-fucking-Jones? Are you fucking completely fucking outta your fucking mind? I told you from the beginning that guy was bullshit. Look at the mess he got us into now with this peace and love holy fucking crap. Fuck that! People are going to be dying like crazy today, and the dude who brought all this bullshit down on us has totally disappeared.”
Marcus couldn’t summon a real challenge to Gregor’s livid revilement, but he tried. “There has got to be a reason for that. He would never let us down.”
“Bullshit. He sweet-talked you all into making this your last Christmas. What are his sweet faggot words going to do for you now when the squirrel killers come riding in here with their armor and shit, burning and killing and ripping up this garbage heap we live in. Pellet’s been wanting to wipe us out for years, and now Salem has given him the reason to do it in front of the whole fuckin’ world. Salem Jones is fucking bullshit!
“I say we do what we were born to do. If we are going to die today, let’s do it like men and go out in a blaze of glory!”
* * * * *
Automatic Pilot
Sam knew things were not adding up. He had been trying all morning from the safe house to get through to the mayor’s office, but there was no available line of any kind, not even the powerful T3s. That’s when he began to fear the worst. As he approached Manhattan airspace, his automatic pilot overrode his every effort to fly, as if it was taking them somewhere as fast as it could with a will of its own. From what he could see, New York looked deserted. Sam assumed everyone was either off to Shantypark or was hiding in their apartments glued to ABCNN. The chopper banked low along the East River, flew under all those bridges still standing and ended up in a hover over City Hall. Sam’s heartbeat rifled over the top when he saw the motionless body on the roof.
The helicopter descended faster than its human operator would have attempted. The instant it touched down upon the tarry surface Sam leaped out. He bolted over to the door that led to the operations room elevator. A body was wedged up against it, blanched and still. Sam leaned over his boss, his friend, and put his ear down to listen for his heart. He let out a reflexive gasp, there was a beat, albeit weak; but, thank God, Jack was alive.
Several young Iroquois men appeared at his side, and without spoken words they picked Jack up, put him on a portable stretcher, and transported him over to the chopper. Sam watched them carry off the mayor’s body. He tried to open the door that led down to the armored office but it was locked from the inside. How did Jack get up here?
Sam wasn’t built to wait for an answer. As the mayor was lifted onto the back of the helicopter, Sam pulled out his pistol and fired two shots into the elevator shaft door lock and forced the door open. There was nothing there, certainly no elevator. He bolted as fast as he could down the eight flights of stairs leading to the armored office.
At the bottom of the stairwell he found the elevator was waiting, trashed beyond recognition, someone dropped a grenade into it. The door to the operations room was also locked from the inside.
He paused to reload. How in hell did Jack get up on the roof, especially in his condition? There were some thi
ngs Sam knew he’d never understand, but he felt forces at work here beyond the pale of politics. So he said a prayer, something he hadn’t done in years, since his belief in God exploded with all those nuclear weapons. He fired into the lock and kicked his way in to the office where he spent his entire professional life.
The room was empty, unscathed. However, if there was any real air left in there, it seemed to be thick with carbon monoxide. He covered his mouth and nose, whirled back around, and flew up the staircase as if he was the turbochopper and not just a well-trained pilot.
By the time he got back up to the roof, Jack’s stretcher was secure in the rear of the helicopter, and Deganawida was holding his headphones up in the air signaling him to hurry up. There was an urgent beckoning signal on the GPS and Sam better get on the chopper or it was going to lift off without him.
* * * * *
Jail Cell
Maria sat taut, fearful to move, barely breathing amongst the squad of soldiers standing guard in her shadowy dark cell, the handcuffs behind her back excruciating. In this position, she could see into some corners of the small room and in others she knew there were ominous soldiers standing. Her mind was working at a furious pace; doing the only thing she could think of, trying to summon her own Christmas miracle on this day of extraordinary and unprecedented events. Locked up, she was frantic that she couldn’t do anything to protect the people she loved from something she was powerless to stop.
She must have been in there for an hour or two without moving, not wanting to squirm or show her discomfort, afraid to attract any attention, because time here was lubricious, and these petulant soldiers had nothing to do but stare at her helpless female form.
In every conscious moment, she was trying to mentally telepathize warnings to the people in her life who mattered. Her mom. Her dad. Herbie. But to no avail. She wasn’t the miracle maker. She was just Maria Primera, a reporter of miracles. But if she ever needed a supernatural phenomenon, she needed one now.
Instead, a squadron of salacious terminators surrounded her cell blocking any attempt of escape, young Americans who have lost all sense of their birthright that had at one time come with freedom and liberty. What was the general doing? Did he really think he was protecting the world from the next round of religious conflict? Or had he lost his mind, gone power crazy and become unfit for command?
No more time for self-pity or futile efforts at mental telepathy, because the SKs were gathering themselves together in the hallway outside her cell. The electronic door opened on command and the lieutenant marched in. “Okay bitch, time to get up.”
He grabbed Maria by the waist and lifted her off the floor. He leaned in close from behind and put his arms around her, grabbing her breasts. She tried to struggle, he held her back by her crotch, but she broke free. “What are you doing, asshole?”
The lieutenant tried to smack her, but an SK guarding Maria inside the cell stepped out from a shadow and grabbed his wrist before he could strike. The two soldiers glared at each other. “Who the fuck are you?” asked the lieutenant. The guards in the hallway pointed their AK-87s at the intruding officer who kept silent. The lieutenant noticed the two silver bars by his collar. “You know the orders, Captain, delivered right into my face by the general himself. I’m supposed to trust nobody, and you certainly don’t look like my mother.”
The captain squinted behind his face shield, his finger tickling the trigger of the pistol at his side. “You know the mission, soldier. This lady’s going on TV in a little while on the general’s command. He doesn’t want the whole planet to see her bruised. That would mean my ass, since I’m the ranking soldier in charge here, sent personally by him to watch over you and make sure nothing goes wrong like it did earlier today. And, as I just saw, he was justified to be concerned. So, either I report you for disobeying his direct orders, or you let me do my job. I suggest you stand down soldier.”
The lieutenant took a deep breath, looked at his squad behind him and took a sullen step back. The captain continued, “Besides, my fine rodent-killing marines, after the broadcast, she’s all yours.”
The SKs snickered through their mouthpieces and pushed Maria out of the cell. They escorted her down the dim and somber hallway of the dingy penitentiary, while withered, scabby fingers of the depraved and undesirable tapped frantic messages on the bars of their ghastly prison cells as she passed.
The world had gone completely crazy and there was no trust left between people, but as she moved through these passageways of attrition, the captain sidled up behind and removed the unbearable handcuffs from her wrists.
* * * * *
Battle
Gregor pranced up to the thick stonewall, silent, undetected. Several of his men wearing bulky vests under their parkas followed several steps behind. Unspoken, with quiet coordination, they removed their outer garments and revealed the packets of high-powered explosives. Years of training as suicide bombers left them cool and comfortable in the presence of body-obliterating substances. One with glee in his eyes started chiseling away at the mortar cementing the stones together. Ibrahim ran up behind with Herbie and Jamal.
Gregor had a minute to goad. “So Ibrahim, you motherfucking turncoat. How do you like your new boss? Where is your wonder boy now that this whole city is at war because of his pure bullshit?”
“You know, Gregor, I used to love you. Like a father. But then a real brother opened my eyes. He opened my eyes cause he made me realize that we all have the same father. And it ain’t you. I was a stupid ass.”
Gregor liked that and laughed as the demolition boys removed the stones and started packing the hole with explosives. “I could kill you right now, but what would that do? A lot of people are going to die today. You’re a good fighter, let’s see you fight your way out of this one.” He pulled a pipe out of his vest and put some purple smizz into the bowl. He struck a match against the wall, lit the drugs, and took a big hit. He offered the pipe to Ibrahim, and then Herbie and Jamal who blankly refused.
“But I realized my love for you, Gregor, was really more like fear. Some people have trouble distinguishing between the two, love and fear, especially with authority. But not with Salem. Through him it is simple and easy, if you really want to see. That’s where you go wrong my old friend, with all your power and shit, you still don’t see.”
Gregor took another big hit of smizz and the whites of his eyes turned a dull and glassy yellow. “You know what I see, asshole? I see a world of pure bullshit and pain. I see a world where the strong survive and the weak bend over on their knees.” He took another big hit of the drug and his eyes lit up sulfuric. Then he broke out into that place smizz freaks love, that chemical place of momentary personal enlightenment. “I’ve read it all, the Q’uran, the Bible, the Bhagavad-Gita, and you know what I learned, fuckface? Get ready; because this is it. I learned that there ain’t nothing out there, dude. There’s just us. We are born for no reason, and we eat, shit, fuck and kill for no reason. And that, asshole, is it. And why? I’ll tell you fucking why. Because that is it! Do you understand? So, fuck you, and let’s get on with this.”
Gregor signaled his suicidal boys who couldn’t wait to get to work and send as many people to hell as they could. He called Marcus on the N-tel III, and they heard a large booming explosion about two hundred yards away. Pointing at his fearful sons, a deafening explosion rocked their area. Before the smoke cleared, scores of insane stanis equipped with the latest attack apparatus went screaming through the breach towards Allah. With weapons going off and men starting to die, Gregor ran through the hole after them, howling in ecstasy.
Ibrahim looked at Herbie and gave him a wink and a brotherly squeeze to his shoulder. Herbie picked up Jamal, and they followed after Gregor and his hordes, through the hole in the wall of the ancient museum, into the first, and most likely last, declared battle of the third New York City gang war.
* * * * *
Washington Square
Salem stepped through
the arch in Washington Square Park. The early morning snow, still unmelted, refracted the brilliance of the sun, and rainbows scintillated about his body like suckling stars at the end of a spiraling mother nebula. In an instant, the awareness of something vast and colossal flashed the itinerant, hungry population of homeless and helpless who clung to life in this frigid, inanimate patch of urban space.
He walked amongst them, the infirm and the sick, and touched them and offered words of hope and cheer. Those who were faithful and worthy were enabled to see him, really see him, and his offering, the healing, took them to the splendiferous, far past their gnawing hunger and afflictive diseases. They were now able to find the strength to get up off the frozen turf and feel the warmth.
Salem moved and they began to follow. They formed behind him in a procession, whose quintessence was the celebration of his being there. It started with a few humble steps, through the time worn Memorial Arches honoring the first president of an erstwhile nation that failed in its own promise of freedom and opportunity. It headed straight uptown on Fifth Avenue. While all along the way, the weak and the hobbled, and all that were needy, joyously joined in.
By the time Salem crossed 23rd Street, there were thousands of souls stretched out behind him. The people living on the streets, the cold and hungry, were empowered by his presence to raise themselves from the dregs and follow him up the avenue.
From windows above in the quiet affluent apartment buildings, protected by private security people packing assault rifles, innocent but inquisitive young children peered down with glee at the curious Christmas parade going on below on the snowy streets. Their mothers and nannies, not as sure as they, pulled them back and closed the shades. The nervous guards holed up in their reasonably secure lobbies fingered the safeties on their automatics, some wishing they could chuck them aside and join in, others looking for an open shot on this deceiver of men.