by Joseph Storm
Many of their faces were half-eaten from the powerful lye already at work. Eyeballs seethed from their sockets. Bugs claimed refuge inside their bullet-riddled orifices. Skin slid from skeletal structure, as the sickly smell of decomposition started to permeate the damp air.
Striker fought the nausea, as his strength started to give in. He collapsed to the ground, yelling, “Where are you?”
His voice echoed into the empty air, coming back at him, as if he was asking himself the same question.
He pounded the dirt in anger, finding his third wind, crazily digging as if he had officially gone mad. All that he found were more members of a discarded government.
The first question was clearly answered, this hit is political, his mind echoed. Now, he had to figure out who, why, and how they accomplished their goal. He had a strong suspicion as to who, though it was secondary to a larger question in his mind.
Where is my wife and son?
Joe Striker’s legs wobbled, as he slowly rose to his feet. He looked around, seeing a dark forest filled with unknown terrors. It wasn’t animals that he feared, nor was it finding his way through a moonlit woodland. His military skills would aide him in overcoming both challenges. His greatest fears were of the men who could perform such an act, and the type of world they would give birth to.
He made his way through the hours of tire trampled ferns, broken tree limbs, and creatures that crawl through the night. Striker finally honed in on the clearing skies and guiding light of the North Star.
Along the way, he tore off his suit jacket, peeling the heavy wet cloth from weighing him down. It caused him to shiver with even more discomfort from the brisk November air. With every step forward, he marked random trees with swathes of bloody handprints. His hope was that they would freeze onto the poplar and maple barks like cave dwellings from long ago. He hoped that they would tell a story of untold murder.
I will return someday, he told himself. This place will be the smoking gun.
Striker eventually made his way to a rocky edge, overlooking a large snaking river. His worst fears were realized. No, he hadn’t been abducted to a foreign country, or awakened in some type of alternate universe. The river below him was the Potomac. The massive glowing lights belonged to the Capitol of the United States of America.
He was still in Washington, D.C.
Chapter Two:
The Government
“Trust! We asked you to trust, and you obeyed! The people have spoken, and you shall soon reap the reward of undying loyalty!” President-Elect Simon Judas said on a platform at the U.S. Capitol Building. His teeth gleamed to a sharp shine, every hair was in its staged position, and his tone of voice was at the perfect decibel to seduce the human ear. A president couldn’t have been drawn to any more perfection.
A massive crowd roared in approval. It started with an endless row of chairs, which flowed from the edge of the Capitol steps, merging into every nook and cranny of the National Mall. The enthusiastic followers flowed past the Washington Monument, continuing on past the Lincoln Memorial. The overspill went way beyond that, as the citizens of the United States wanted to see what true change looked like. They knew their country would never be the same, and the vast majority fully embraced that fact.
Having an inauguration on the following day of an election was never attempted before, but it was part of the new promise. “Why wait for January to throw the bums out...when you can do it the next day?” candidate Judas asked, adding much sense to a pointless waste of lame duck time. Due to this change, it caused every congressman and senator to be in D.C., opposed to begging for last minute votes in their districts and hometowns. They didn’t realize it, though it would make them sitting ducks in a pond of grave danger.
“We’re not Republicans, we’re not Democrats! We’re not Independents, Libertarians, or Green Party! We are for everyone! We will provide your every need! We will alleviate your every problem! The days of division are over, as the dividing lines will be erased, deleting individuality from the pages of our history books. This unfair, ancient, and outdated system will be transformed into a collective movement, where ideals replace reality, charity replaces greed, and justice replaces misdeed! From now on, we are one country! One day soon, we will be one world!”
The crowd cheered, as Judas’s eyes got large, and his voice pitch tightened. He stressed a crucial point. “You are only to refer to my administration as The Government!”
The crowd roared in approval once again, as Old Glory went limp from the flag pole. The 50 starred vision of red, white, and blue was lowered to the ground in shame. In its place rose a new flag, jet black in appearance with one upside-down, white star in the middle.
“Your new flag!” he called out, hearing more approval from the peanut gallery.
“There will be no more useless grandstanding in the halls of congress, no more pointless debate holding back progress, no more presidential lies...oral or isms alike.”
The crowd let loose mocking laughter.
“In fact, there will be no more president at all...no limits. You called for stability...that is what I will deliver! No, I am not your president...I am your leader!”
More applause filled the air.
“I am proud to report to you, that we have already disbanded the entire congressional body! They will be taking advantage of you no longer! I worked through the night to deliver on this promise for day one!”
The crowd roared again, this time chanting, “Throw the bums out! Throw the bums out!”
“No more bills! No more war! No more healthcare costs! No more taxes! We will provide, as long as you trust!”
The crowd rose to its collective feet one last time, staying at an aroused state of attention for the next fifteen minutes. Leader Judas rose the arm of his Under-Leader Ben Arnold, as the two basked in the glory of the new state. A smile crept upon Under-Leader Arnold’s face, though a stressful look filled his eyes.
“Do you think the public will turn on you...when they discover what you did?” Under-Leader Arnold whispered into Leader Judas’s ear, “Rumors of murder can end it all!”
“Get it straight, Mr. Arnold...when they find out what we did! Giving an order of execution was an act of pure necessity! We had no choice,” Leader Judas barked back.
“I meant we, leader,” Under-Leader Arnold quickly said, trying to cover any insult to the tone he just delivered.
“Besides, it will be too late by the time the rumors begin,” Judas replied, keeping his smile strong the entire time. He waved to his adoring public and press, as visions from two years back entered his head. He recalled a time when he was called a “political nutcase” by members of the established parties.
People scoffed at the suggestion that we no longer needed checks, balances, and term limits. The public gasped at the thought of abolishing state lines, and moving to a one state nation. The shock continued as The Government Party proposed the end of separate branches, replacing it with a totalitarian governing system. However, as the current leadership let the public down, the more they began to open their minds.
Beloved celebrities rallied to the cause. Always seeking a way to boost their visibility, they hocked their latest product by latching on to the flavor of the moment. The A-list actors and musicians found hip and ingenious ways to incorporate a general theme, a single word that was free of detail or consequences: trust. The administration never went into detail of how they were going to make good on their promises. They were never asked by the free press, and the adoring public never demanded an answer.
Trust was a word that had long abandoned the American people. They desperately voted-in one party to reject them just as fast. The public suffered, as underachieving, overpaid narcissists took lavish vacations with their spouses, dined on thousand dollar dinners with their lovers, and voted their own bloated pay raises. Then they came back every two to six years, begging for more money to waste. Most of the taxpaying public couldn’t afford to live the lifestyle that their elec
ted representatives did daily.
The system was broken. It had come a long way from what the first continental congress intended it to be. It eroded a little bit further with every one that came after it, ending in the disgrace that it had currently become.
Candidate Judas spotted the trump card in play. His underground Russian financier, Mika Sorka, decided it was time to make a move. They sat on the sidelines for years, waiting to pick apart the dead system like a vulture to roadkill. “The time has come,” Mika Sorka said, as the mysterious, large, sweaty Russian had phoned Judas from one of his overseas compounds. The man had large bug eyes, pricey porcelain veneers, graying messed hair, a round belly, and enough money to buy the world twice over. He was the worlds’ first multi-trillionaire.
Mr. Sorka fueled the madness by bankrolling massive protests. He added corporations and businessmen to his list of villains. Pot-smoking hippies, aka, natural allies of the socialist movement, created violent disobedience, chaos, and unpredictability. They did it while drinking their seven dollar lattes and checking their iphones, things those corporations created. As Mika always said, “Chaos creates fear, and fear will lead the docile into our hands.”
The targets proved to be just right. The seemingly compassionate Simon Judas sold his passion play to the public. It was a one-in-a-billion shot, but the anger, frustration, and fear, caught fire like a Florida forest of dry pine.
Cries of ‘trust’ filled the airwaves, as the media fueled the ever burning flames. It became hip to not only support this president, but actually vote for him as well. Candidate Simon Judas sailed to an overwhelming victory. The long-shot hopeful captured over 70 percent of the voting public, putting an untested ideology in office for the first time in U.S. history. It was one that answered to no one. The outcome of positives or negatives would only be decided in the aftermath. Mika Sorka knew that the possibility to take liberties with his presidential puppet’s rule was endless. Judas would bare the brunt of the blame
The plan had always been to immediately jail the congress, charging them with crimes against the country, much like they do in third-world nations when the pendulum swings. However, there was a back up plan in place of emergency.
The plan was proceeding smoothly, when two days before the election there was a problem. A routine auditing of The Government Party’s information system revealed a security breach. Someone downloaded the entire cache of Mr. Sorka’s top-secret network. Besides the mainframe it was stored on, any hardcopy was forbidden to exist. The information was ripe with plans for the future. It would lift the veil of trust from the publics’ eyes, exposing them to a new, twisted world.
“We have a mole,” Mika Sorka said angrily. He called Judas, who was sitting comfortably in his American campaign headquarters. There was one day until the election. “The extraction came from your end.”
“I’ll have this place searched to the last, Mr. Sorka! We will silence them before...”
“Quiet fool!” the accented Sorka yelled. “We’ve received information from an insider at the post office. A package of interest was mailed from your headquarters.”
“Mailed to the press, sir?”
“Not to the press! I own the press...well, the ones that matter. It was sent to a member of the congressional body at a government building. That was days ago. It has surely been discovered...who knows where it could be now?”
“The politicians will be jailed by tomorrow, sir...you have my word. All the polls indicate we’re on course to win...a landslide! We’ll make our move within the hour of victory!”
“That is no longer an option, Judas,” Mika said in a very serious tone.
“I’m sorry, sir...I don’t understand what you mean?”
“I mean...we must activate the back up plan.”
Judas had heard of the “back up plan” as an option, though he never believed it would be enacted. “Are you sure that is necessary, sir...I mean, such an act could be considered barbary if it gets out.”
“Which is why we must take brisk action, you fool! It could be too late already! Once we have power, the mole will be powerless, though if the story breaks before then...names, information, plans...who knows what else the bastard got? We need to strike sooner! Rid the rats...in their beds, kitchens, offices! We will start with their homes, then the congressional buildings...once we have access. Find that package! Release the mercenaries!”
“Before the election, sir? Isn’t that risky? There is still a military...and a police force. We have yet to disarm them.”
“Since when did I grant you the authority to question me?”
“Umm...never, sir. Please forgive me...I was just trying to protect us.”
“I hire much smarter people than you for protection. Now...inform Commander Xavier Sin, tell him to be extra covert with this operation. No one...I mean, no one is to know the details. We have enough manpower to overtake the secret service...I’ve sent you their detail plans in full.”
“What do I tell him to do with the families? Children? Spouses? They will still be in their homes as well. At that time in the morning...they’ll be asleep in their beds.”
“Remove any witnesses. Any and all of them.”
A sickened look came over Judas’s face. He tried to speak, though his voice cracked.
“Silence is a sign of thought...which I do not require of you, Mr. Judas. Do I need to call upon your replacement already? Accidents do happen...even to leaders...catch my drift? You were taught better than this,” Sorka said cryptically.
“There is no reason to doubt me, sir. I have been your man since conception, and I will lead this nation to the place you want it...on its knees.”
“That is what I expect to hear. Remember Judas, a reliant nation is a weak nation. A weak nation is an obedient nation. An obedient nation is ours for the taking,” a hacking laugh sounded through the phone.
Visions of power filled Judas’s head, as any momentary thoughts of guilt were quickly replaced. “I won’t let you down, sir. It is my honor to rewrite the twisted history of this immoral land. I am your willing servant.”
“I believe you are. Therefore it is time to enact the backup plan. I have set up a warehouse across the river in the outskirts of Virginia. Do your duty here. There is forestland...much of which I own. Every politician is in town...right where we want them. Leave the fate of their families to the mercenaries...they are not your concern.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The next time I address you, Judas, you will be the most powerful man in the world. Well, I will be...you will carry out my orders.”
“It’s just a matter of hours, sir. Mere hours until we have control.”
The end game was carried out flawlessly. Each Congressman, Senator, the President, and the Supreme Court vanished in the shadows of timely planning. Voters pulled the levers, poked the chads, and activated the touch screen phones. They overwhelmingly granted victory to The Government Party.
The adoring Washington crowd cheered one last time, as Leader Judas put the past behind him. Giving one last wave to the inaugural masses, he turned to the two men at his side. He linked hands with Commander Xavier Sin and Under-Leader Ben Arnold. “It’s time for phase one, my brothers. It’s time to introduce American authority to their new rule of law.”
******
Crowds filled the DC streets, barely noticing the injured, mud-caked man rushing past them. His suit jacket was long abandoned, and the neck tie served as support for the damaged skin across his throat. He had the look of a worn homeless man, something the D.C. streets witnessed often.
The blood-loss would have weakened any man to his knees, though Joe Striker was hellbent on getting back to his house. He moved at an inhuman pace, not even noticing the signs and jubilation around town. Each sign provided a major clue to the whodunnit question, though none of that mattered at the moment. All he focused on was the unknown fate of his wife and son.
Joe opened the door to his home, sending it crash
ing down to the ground. The door had been kicked open during the earlier raid, jerry-rigged back with some type of wire. Normally, Striker would have examined everything, though again, he ignored vital clues of the puzzle. He rushed through the demolished house, stepping over an overturned television.
Muffled sounds filled the air from the operating TV, though the bathroom door was the only sight that mattered to him. The silence coming from within its walls was the only sound that pierced his aching ears. He didn’t even notice the trail of blood he was following into the crime scene.
The bathroom door swung open. It revealed an empty room still haunted with the memories of hours past. Jenny’s body was nowhere to be found, though her DNA was everywhere. Striker fell to his knees, placing his cheek to the blood saturated floor. Most of the remnants had dried, though a small pool still existed.
Joe Striker, a man who hadn’t shed tears since his exit from the womb, cried like a helpless, sobbing baby. Salty drops of water spilled into the bloody mess, creating a brackish sea of lost love. Jenny was his high school sweetheart. The two met when they were fifteen, swearing to be united in each others’ lives every moment since. His wife was his world, his reason for breathing, reason for living. She was the reason that he rose in the morning, and strived to be a better man than he would allow himself to be.
The passing moments felt like hours. Striker lay curled in an immovable ball, trembling in both fear and anger.
I don’t care if I live or die, he declared to himself. But I will find the body of my wife, my unborn child, and bury them both in a proper way.
Joe’s fist tightened to a grip that could turn coal to diamonds. The hurt and anguish turned to pure anger. Revenge pumped through his blood like an unleashed fire hose, building pressure with every inch forward. Muscles bulged from his arms, causing his veins to creep out like cracks in an etched marble masterpiece. After I find them, I will avenge them. From here on out, it’s the reason for my existence, he thought to himself.
Striker’s fists stayed clinched, as he lifted himself from the floor. The bloody outlined tile imprint was etched into his face like tribal warpaint. A gleam filled his eyes, one emptied of compassion and void of humanity. He was focused, and wasn’t going to let his family’s honor disappear from this earth.