by Judd Vowell
OVERTHROWN
THE GREAT DARK
Judd Vowell
Second Edition © 2017 Judd Vowell. All rights reserved.
Original publication © 2016 Judd Vowell. All rights reserved.
www.juddvowell.com
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0692744338
For Charlie
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART ONE: GETTING THERE…………...……………1
PART TWO: MOMENTUM……………...…………..167
PART THREE: GETTING OUT……………..……….223
PART FOUR: CONTROL…………….………………291
PART FIVE: GETTING BACK…………..…………...397
EPILOGUE: STILL ALIVE……...………………….....445
PART ONE: GETTING THERE
1.
T his may sound like the others at first. But it’s not. Sure, there was death and destruction. Widespread riots and murder. But this story is different.
It was all too familiar to me, too. Post-apocalyptic wasteland where only the strong or evil survive. I saw the movies, read the books. Maybe it’s in our nature to wonder what would happen when the whole thing comes crashing down. The only similarity I can attribute to the movie versions is that the whole thing came crashing down. It wasn’t a nuclear war, or an asteroid, or some disease outbreak. Even though disease became a significant problem within that first year. No zombies, no vampires. Just the end of life as we had lived it for the past however-many years. ANTI- wanted a re-set. We re-set, alright…the birth of a new civilization. Hell, maybe we became more civilized after than we were before. Maybe that’s what ANTI- was trying to show us all along.
2.
T raveling alone had become more and more difficult. Small packs began to seem like the better option. It was a lot like those nature channel shows we used to watch together. Herds, packs…they’re all the same. Just hope you’re not the weakest one with the slowest legs. The problem was finding a pack. Survival sure makes humans unbearable. At least they were to me. So there it was, halfway through the journey, decision at hand: pack animal or lone wolf?
Ok, so lone wolf is not exactly accurate. Three lone wolves. What do they call that? An oxymoron? However you label it, it’s what we had become. It’s what we had been forced to become.
Life devolved into “every man for himself” rather quickly. It’s a complicated proposal when you make that a family man. We knew it was getting bad, but we never saw the end coming. Once the government structures collapsed, it was a matter of weeks. Banks, transportation, communication…each fell like dominoes. The global pyramid that we thought could never crumble. So where did we go from there?
The “we” in my little piece of the world was myself, Henry, and Jessica. The Triumphant Triumvirate. I gave us that name the Christmas day we put up the basketball goal in our driveway. I was always naming us things. But that one stuck, probably because it took me so long to explain what it meant. Kids and their never-ending questions. I loved watching their vocabulary grow, even if it meant I had to look up the definition of a word I had spoken with such confidence.
We shortened it to the Triumphs. Still a difficult word to pronounce for Henry, but easier. When he first said it that Christmas morning, it came out as “Tie-ups.” He had outgrown his speech impediment not long after. But we still used the shorter version of our family nickname through the years. Probably more in those last weeks than ever before.
“We’re still the Triumphs, right, Dad?”
“Always, son…forever the Triumphs.”
3.
T he name started appearing in the news more and more: ANTI-. Certainly not scary. Maybe a little foreboding. They wore masks and held rallies on Wall Street. I think everyone felt like it was just a bunch of rebellious kids lashing out at authority at first. Harmless, but just sensational enough to get on the nightly news. Occupy this, occupy that. I ultimately learned to never underestimate the power of a protest.
It was the hacking that really turned heads. Big, important heads. Multi-billion-dollar companies suffered the first strikes. CEOs emailed form-lettered apologies to credit card holders:
“Dear Valued Customer, (Insert Global Corporation) has discovered that a file containing your email address may have been taken during the payment card breach we recently announced. Etc, Blah, Etc, Blah…”
No big deal to me. Cancel the credit card, get another one. And while we’re at it, go ahead and extend my credit line another $5,000. I was starting to wonder how I was going to pay for that upcoming Disneyworld trip anyway. That should cover it.
And that’s how it all started. The snowball at the top of the mountain. Only difference was, this snowball had a guidance system, controlled from within by ANTI-. Once the world’s credit was maxed, they had us set up for the fall. Start with the money, and the rest will follow.
Greed had been very good for a very long time. Seemed to be the American way, disguised as capitalism. We even got a wake-up call with the Great Recession. A chance for a do-over. And we proceeded to do exactly nothing. Back to business as usual. Should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
4.
T hey came into this world too early. Way too early. 14 weeks and 4 days too early to be exact. Jessica arrived about 15 minutes before Henry. She always brought that up when they were arguing. They didn’t argue that much anymore. I kind of missed that.
Their strong wills, their conviction – that came from their mother. She had laid flat in a hospital bed for 37 days straight to get them here alive. Alive accomplished. Healthy was another story.
Jessica fared better than Henry. Apparently girls always do. Some issues with her lungs that never went away completely. Still, she was out of the hospital in half the time that Henry was. He refused to breathe on his own. Stubborn in the worst way. That never went away completely either.
Henry’s lasting complication was his leg. Still bothered him just enough to slow us down. If he focused on it, he could run pretty well. The problem was staying focused. There was a lot to think about in this new life. Too much to think about for a 15-year-old.
The day I realized my kids had grown up, we were crossing one last clearing before setting up camp for the night. I had probably pushed us too far that afternoon, because darkness was setting in fast. Dusk can obscure things worse than midnight with a moon. He was only ten feet away by the time I even knew he was there.
5.
T urns out the corporate hacking was the warm-up. Just a little show-and-tell. It was ANTI-’s war on terrorism that demonstrated just how powerful they had become.
◊◊◊
Terrorism was nothing new. Something terrible, but unfortunately nothing new. Been around throughout history, I suppose. But ever since that fall morning in 2001, it was ever-present. We found ourselves looking over shoulders in airports, analyzing every face in football stadiums. We were protecting our homeland, our future. Time had eased the anger, but the fear was ingrained.
That fear was fed a steady diet of small-scale attacks that led to weeks-long news stories. A bus blows up in England, a train derails in Spain. And then the crazed sympathizers here. A couple of pres
sure cooker bombs destroyed arms, legs, and families in Boston. Some New York cops brutalized by a hatchet-wielding lunatic. It got to where we expected a violent terrorist act every month, then every week. What was worse, retired intelligence officials started telling 60 Minutes and CNN just how many terrorist plots were thwarted before they occurred. Part of me thought that made us all feel a little better. We felt like our governments had some control in this so-called war.
But the radicalized Muslims that formed organized armies to continue this war in the two years leading up to ANTI-’s retaliation were different. Sure, they used classic terrorist tactics. But they were also networked, plugged in. They used all forms of social media to espouse their evil propaganda. And Middle-eastern media was on the take, never hesitating to broadcast the beheading of children or public-square hangings. I swear it felt like we were living in the 1300s. This was medieval. But it was also just a few keystrokes away. That’s what led to all the one- or two- or three-man attacks. Inspiration to destroy Westerners was anywhere and everywhere, on your TV and in your laptop. At least it was until La Censure Vendus.
◊◊◊
The year ANTI- decided to fight back, homegrown terrorists had attacked in the streets of Paris. Cultural, historical, beautiful Paris.
La Censure Vendus, or Censorship Sold, was the most popular European underground rag. Circulated both in print and online, its following was massive. It was founded in 1967 by a group of college dropouts, seeking what they saw as truth in a world built on falsehoods. Typical ‘60s hippie shit, right? Perhaps more apropos in the end than when it began.
The paper’s popularity rose and fell with the tides of political dissension. But it lasted through the years because of its bravery, or because of its salaciousness. Sometimes there was no difference between the two.
For a decade, La Censure Vendus had not once backed off from its vitriol against the terrorist flavor of the month. Viable threats were persistent, especially when an edition questioning the radicals’ mutated interpretation of the Koran was released. One year, their downtown office was firebombed after business hours. But the editors never wavered. It was freedom of speech, by God...or by Allah, if you dare. No matter your spiritual affiliation, in the free world it was a basic human right.
So when news of the Paris incident broke, we all felt violated. It was an attack on our way of life. The two men used military-grade assault rifles and grenades to slaughter seventeen editors, journalists, and staffers. Four more Parisians were killed in the streets as the terrorists escaped. French police found and captured them three days later. Wounded and imprisoned, they claimed allegiance to the most powerful terror-based Islamic army of the day. That was all ANTI- needed to hear.
6.
H e was big, but not the biggest we had seen on our journey. Wiry and stiffened, I could just make out his shape. Coyotes had forever been known for hunting neighborhood cats and farm chickens, but things had gotten desperate, even for the animals. They were willing to come after humans. And the smaller the human, the better.
I didn’t panic though. We had a plan. Before we had set out on our expedition, I had gone through as many possible defense scenarios as I could imagine. And as soon as I realized what we were dealing with, I put the plan in motion.
“Ruuunnnn!” I yelled as I took off headfirst at the animal.
Jessica knew to run left. My left side was the one she always flanked. Henry had been instructed to run backwards. Always backwards. And of course to focus on his steps. “Focus!” I would encourage him in the days of soccer and baseball practices. This wasn’t practice anymore.
My loud yelp and aggressive move toward the coyote was meant to startle the animal, and therefore give the kids a big head-start. If I had enough time to grab the gun at my hip, I would try and get a shot off, too. Worst-case, I had the machete. Hadn’t had to use that one yet.
Just as I hoped, the coyote jumped back a few feet and froze. Bought me enough time to pull my pistol and fire a shot. If I hit him, I never knew it. My attention shifted to Henry as soon as I pulled the trigger, as soon as I saw the second coyote in my peripheral vision.
The sinewy beast was galloping full speed from my right. Closing in on Henry fast. The boy didn’t stand a chance. I raised my gun, but the dusk was too much and the animal too fast. So I ran. If I could cut him off, I’d at least have a fight with my knife. My angle was good, but there was no way to know if it was good enough. Just had to try. Adrenalin is a strange thing, because you never know it’s there until it’s gone.
The moment I realized I wasn’t going to make it, I heard the shot. A different sound than my pistol, but familiar. It came from behind me. I heard the bullet push the air past my right ear. The coyote fell without a whimper. I guess that’s what they meant by dead in his tracks. I turned my head and saw Jessica, rifle in hands, as still as the night that was beginning to envelop her.
Henry was still running, bad leg and all. Focus. I yelled for him to stop, then rushed to Jessica. We had hunted together at the farm plenty of times in the past year. But this was different. I knew she would be emotional. But the emotions I expected weren’t there. She was stoic, confident. Her concern was Henry...and me.
We gathered up, made for the woods ahead. We had to move quickly and get the fire built before complete darkness set in.
7.
T he latest jihadi terrorist movement was gaining momentum faster than any that had come before. It was also the most evil that the world had seen. Their way or the highway. The metaphorical highway here being death. Not just death to the non-Muslim world, but death to anyone who didn’t believe their version of Islamic ideology. Their exact version. There were the stories of mass village executions, even after the villagers had disavowed their generations-old beliefs and converted. And the children. So many children, either massacred or brainwashed or used as suicide bombers.
I think that was the big disconnect, especially for Americans. Our society, our culture, was based on our differences. Hell, the reason our country was founded was religious freedom. We were living in the most tolerant country in the most tolerant period in history. Funny how tolerance becomes apathy over time. When ANTI- attacked the terrorists, we didn’t know apathy would be next.
◊◊◊
The retaliation was direct, organized, effective. It was as if the terrorist armies vanished, at least from an online perspective. You couldn’t discount the power of this type of strategy. After all, global movements inherently need worldwide visibility. And the latest and greatest terrorist regime was most definitely a global movement. But without visibility, how much more could they accomplish?
Instead of reports about the latest Westerner beheading with attached footage, news stories began describing the lack of communication coming out of the Middle East. Internet bomb-making instruction manuals? Gone. Sponsored links to jihadi training videos? Gone. The terrorist connection to the modern world was finished. Any momentum they had mounted ended the moment ANTI- wanted it to end.
Not only did the radical propaganda to which we had grown so accustomed encourage recruitment of western converts to the movement, but it also perpetuated the fear on which the terrorists’ basic existence depended. Without it, we regained our confidence, our power in the world. And to whom did we owe thanks? To ANTI-, no doubt, who claimed victory over terrorism, victory over evil. Looking back, it was brilliant.
◊◊◊
Intrigue and obsession soon followed. Who was this group of international vigilantes, so obviously formed to save our free society? The headlines wrote themselves.
The ANTI- leaders were intentionally mysterious. That just made them more appealing. They already had the masks, some sort of blank-faced everyman thing. Pale white, with two black sunken eyes and a black mouth agape in astonishment. Would’ve been scary as shit as part of a Halloween costume. But not these guys. These guys were superheroes.
Every media outlet started digging. Truth be told, every govern
ment intelligence agency started digging, too. But ANTI- was entrenched. Nobody knew where they were based or how big their network was. How many actual people were involved? What was their nationality? When did it all begin? Once the answers became clear, it was too late to stop them.
8.
M eg was the love of my life. No doubt about it. I knew it the moment I saw her. Hold on, I take that back. Not the moment I saw her. That was something else. It actually happened over our first conversation. Because that’s what we had from the beginning. Conversation, talks, laughter. I’m pretty sure that’s the stuff that matters in marriage. If you can really talk with each other, you can get through anything. We learned that. Because we went through anything and then some.
We met in our 30s, both having bounced around relationships that always met the inevitable dead end. She was so full of energy that it was infectious. You could hear her laugh from across a full room of cocktail partyers. And her passion for life flowed into everything we did together. We would stay up late, drinking vodka and listening to music. We would spend entire Sundays making love. I had never experienced anything like her.
Like the women in her family before her, she had that old-Hollywood, classic kind of beauty. Tall, blonde. She had been on the cross-country running team in high school and college, and she maintained that same level of athleticism for as long as she could. She also held on to the competitive pride. It made her a very bad loser. More than once she had thrown the Trivial Pursuit board across the room when I got an easy question for the win. Let’s just call that passion for life, too.