As The World Burns

by Roger Hayden

"That it looks like nuclear war," Paul said, causing Samantha to gasp.

  "But the worst is over. We need to put it out of our minds for now. Concentrate on each other and about getting somewhere safe," he added.

  "We could go back to New Haven," Julie said.

  "What's New Haven?" Samantha asked.

  "The place where Julie and I stayed. The protected neighborhood," Paul answered.

  They continued up the winding road and reached a look-out spot to the side where tourists parked to stretch their legs or get pictures. The Malibu pulled to the side and stopped. Its headlights went off with the engine.

  "This looks like as good a spot as any," Paul said.

  Julie opened her door to observe the radiant night sky.

  "It's beautiful," Julie said while walking to the guard rail overlooking the black forest below.

  "Julie, get back here," Paul said.

  "It's okay," Samantha said with a kiss to Paul's cheek. "She's never seen anything like this before."

  Tiny bulbs of stars flickered along an endless ridge or mountains visible in dark shades of deep purple. The air was thick, cool, and refreshing. Julie took a moment to savor the silence, as Paul and Samantha approached her.

  "Hopefully they don't send the cavalry after us," Paul said. "I'm surprised we don't see any helicopters yet."

  "Let's not worry about any of that right now," Samantha said. She placed her hands on Julie's shoulders. In return, Julie moved her hand to touch her mother's. Paul put his arm around Samantha and squeezed her gently as they watched the still beauty of an untouched place where such peace was still possible.

  After star gazing, the family headed back to the car where Paul said they would sleep for the night. Julie lied in the back and quickly fell asleep. It had been an exhausting day for her, more so than usual. Up front, Paul held Samantha in his arms as she told her story.

  "I went to my hotel room after they evacuated the convention center. I met Senator Bryant sometime before. He gave me his card."

  "That's the one we found in your hotel room. That's why we went to the airport," Paul said.

  "I remember I had this panic attack, I called him for help, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't even think he would remember me, but he did. Next thing I knew, I woke in a place that had no windows or doors. It was like being in the inside of a vault. A place underground with all his strange people. He wouldn't let me leave."

  "Did he ever hurt you?" Paul asked with a sickness growing in his stomach.

  Samantha moved her head up from his chest to look up at his face.

  "No. He never hurt me, or touched me or anything you might be thinking. The last night I was there, he was being very pushy. I..."

  Samantha paused.

  "I hit him over the head with a bottle of champagne and knocked him unconscious."

  Paul was speechless.

  "I had to escape. I couldn't spend another day down there. Not with you and Julie out here looking for me. On his desk, he had a laptop. I want you to take a look at it. A lot of the files appear encrypted, but there's serious evidence of Bryant's involvement with the bombs," Samantha continued.

  Paul looked flush with shock. Who was this woman speaking to him?

  "Samantha, that's absurd! You mean to tell me that you think Senator Bryant is going to come after us because you took his laptop?"

  Samantha moved away from Paul, clutched the laptop with both hands, and held it up.

  "This laptop has everything on it. This is the only leverage we have. These people helped murder millions of people already, what makes you think they're going to care about three more?"

  Paul attempted to calm Samantha by placing his hand on her leg. She was still wearing the cocktail dress and in desperate need of normal clothes.

  "I don't know where this is all coming from. This conspiracy of yours, but if it makes you feel better, I'll take a look at the files."

  She rested the laptop down on the seat next to her and leaned in closer to Paul.

  "They said there's supposed to be another attack, Paul. A bomb so big that it could wipe out what's left of the entire country--"

  "Oh, honey, that's not even possible. No such bomb exists," Paul interrupted.

  "Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't, but we can't risk it. We can't just let it happen. How can we even try to pick up the pieces knowing that something like that may happen?"

  "There has to be an explanation of the files on Bryant's laptop. Maybe he's investigating it."

  "The only thing he's investigating is where he can find the next bottle of champagne," Samantha said.

  Paul gave her a perplexed look, then stared ahead.

  "I--" he began.

  "Julie's asleep, we have plenty of time. Just give the files a look, it's all I ask," Samantha said. She grabbed the machine and placed it onto Paul's lap. He looked up at her, confused

  "Please," she said.

  "Anything for you, baby," Paul said.

  He flipped the laptop screen up and turned it on.

  "I'll take a look real quick, and then we'll get some rest."

  One he started, Paul was up for hours opening file after file of incriminating evidence against Senator Bryant. He bypassed many of the document encryptions using his most basic knowledge of computer hacking from his college days. He said very little, as Samantha stared at the screen with him. Senator Bryant involvement in the conspiracy seemed indisputable. After reading through his documents and emails, Samantha asked him if taking the laptop had been worth it.

  "I don't know," he said. "I don't know if there's anything that we can do to stop this thing."

  With such information, there was no doubt that Senator Bryant was going to come after them. They had to keep moving, but where?

  "No, we need to rest," Paul said. "Bryant's not going to find us out here."

  "Can we give it to the media? Someone? We have to let everyone know about this," Samantha said.

  "It's hard to say, it looks as if the state is running the media now. Those are Bryant's people. I know a guy who does a radio show. Or at least he did before. Maybe he can help us. He's the one who told us to go to the airport. Said a secret society was living underground. He also made claims about Bryant’s involvement in this conspiracy," Paul said.

  "Well, sounds like he wasn't that much off," Samantha replied.

  Paul rubbed the sides of his head.

  "This is just too much to take in. If Bryant gets his way we're talking a worldwide nuclear genocide. My God, think about Julie. Think about her future. Either these documents hold the key to who's behind this or they're just wild ambitions on part of the Senator."

  "What are we going to do with it? I'm so scared," Samantha said, tightly wrapping her arms around Paul.

  Paul shut the laptop and held Samantha just as tight.

  "We're going to stay just like this, for as long as we have left," he said.

  There was so much to wrap his head around that Paul wasn't even sure where to start.

  For starters, he read several communication transcripts between Bryant and unnamed sources throughout the entire world. He read documents that listed times, dates, and sizes of impact. He read time lines that stretched for weeks, each step meticulously crafted by Bryant and those in his organization. They weren't all American, and the conspiracy stretched to persons of several nations. They had no national sponsorship, but they were supposedly among some of the most powerful people around the world.

  Their plan was to trigger a series of nuclear attacks, thus creating enough death, destruction, pandemonium, and chaos to destabilize every nation of the world into collapse. That was their plan. In Bryant's notes, they were simply referred to as "The Masterminds," an elite group of conspirators that looked to establish a one-world order. It sounded very conspiracy theorist minded to Paul. He had no idea whether to believe what he was reading, to actually consider a group of people capable of doing such a thing. The mushroom cloud he saw was no theory, nor was
the massive looting, lack of fuel, and sudden collapse of infrastructures in many neighboring states. If these occurrences weren't linked to the Bryant's group, then it was an amazing coincidence.

  Paul read documents that laid out the plan in very simple fashion. One graph gave steps in establishing a new civilization based off their principles of destabilization to a powerful one-world government.

  Before the Bomb:

  Phase One: Assist in arming rogue elements with tools needed to send initial "shock wave."

  Phase Two: Identify strategic areas that indicate a certain missile range from an adversary country across Atlantic.

  Phase Three: Heavily monitor rogue element and ensure bombs are detonated. After mission is complete, capture, detain, and dispose of terrorist group, allowing one single cell unit to remain with mega-bomb. *Mega-bomb is only deployed as last defense measure.

  After the Bomb:

  Phase One: Eliminate means to purchase necessities through currency

  Phase Two: Eliminate the very availability of necessities i.e. food, water, fuel

  Phase Three: Disable power systems, electronic grids, mobility, and self-sufficiency

  Phase Four: Relocate and re-populate areas under martial law

  Phase Five: Bring back minimum amount of power functionality to establish normalcy.

  Phase Six: Infiltrate all media signals, military, law enforcement personnel. Begin gradual push from: all states, all nations to one state, one nation.

  Phase Seven: Prospects of mega-bomb threat keeps population fearful, dependent, under control.

  Phase Eight: Once all pieces in place, intercept mega-bomb from rouge group, sparing humanity. Declare victory in the age of a new order.

  The steps had been broken down as if they were a Power Point slide show. From what Paul could gather Bryant had been an agent. He had been groomed for politics at a very young age for the express purpose of assisting with the conspiracy plot explained in detail on his laptop. The documents read like madness. It gave the specific locations of the attacks, staring with the Wall Street Bombing. The plan was to take no less than a year to establish a new order of government. A new society. Something that didn't mirror the old ways in any type of fashion.

  "What kind of nightmare are they dreaming of here?" Paul asked confoundedly.

  "How can they think something like this would work? How could anyone break down mass murder into little Power Point steps?" Samantha asked.

  "They're insane," Paul said after a thought. "They're insane, but they've got the power to do something like this."

  It looked as though the plan was nearing completion despite any interception of a megabomb. By Paul's estimates, they were at phase seven of the plan. Or at least getting close.

  "I don't know what else we can do," Paul said.

  "You don't understand," Samantha said. "Bryant got chat messages stating that they had lost eyes on the bomb. That they had no idea where it was. Their 'rouge group' must have went even more rouge and betrayed them. Bryant's contacts are afraid that they're going to activate the megabomb and destroy all that's left of the country."

  Paul took Samantha's shaking hand in his and looked at her with calming eyes.

  "It's not the end yet," he said. "There are still people out there, good people who aren't part of some evil plan. They can find the bomb. They just need the information, like you said."

  They held each other for some time, then for what felt like a lifetime of waiting, they kissed passionately under the rooftop of their Malibu for what felt like an eternity. Paul broke away his lips from Samantha's to reveal his next plan that seemed to just appear out of nowhere. It wasn't a good plan, or even a well thought out plan, but Paul was confident, nonetheless.

  "I need to take the laptop to the city and get the information out there. There's only one person I know who can help with that."

  "What, you mean that radio nut you met?" she asked.

  "Yes. He's the only one who can help us. He's the only one I can trust."

  Chapter Ten

  Brotherhood of Men

  On Day One of the attacks, Ammon, formerly known as "Roy," and the surviving prisoners waited for their contact to pick them up near the East Docks. Sacha initially declined the offer to join their shadowy organization, celebrated as the "Brotherhood of Men." He knew what he had seen. The men of the "Brotherhood" ignited a riot on the prison bus resulting in the death of the guard and driver. As a result, the bus flew off the Brooklyn Bridge into the East River. Now there were only four of them left, including Sacha. There was Ammon, of course, still wearing his drenched mechanics uniform. He had tied back his long, stringy hair and was in the process of nursing a small cut to his face from the accident with a rag.

  In addition to Ammon, there were two other men who seemed to follow his lead as trusted lieutenants. One of the men, Hasan, was tall and skinny with a large, bulging Adam's apple. He wore a tank-top and torn jeans. He was dark and tan like that of his other compatriots, but had short, neatly trimmed hair and thick black eyebrows. He couldn't have been more than twenty-six. Sacha noticed that the young man never smiled. He was also the most quiet of the group. He had examined Sacha with stern and suspicious eyes. Then there was Omar, a plump man of a friendly and talkative disposition. He looked young--even in his late-thirties. He brandished a round bull cut that hung slightly in his eyes, and wore a soaked USA American Flag T-shirt. He introduced himself enthusiastically to Sacha, welcoming him aboard.

  As Sacha said farewell to the men and wished them well, they promptly blocked his path and surrounded him.

  "I'm sorry, Sacha. It's not going to be that easy. You've seen our faces, you know who we are," Ammon said.

  "I can forget," Sacha responded. "I'll forget we ever met. Now if you'll excuse me--"

  "Our friends will be arriving soon. Please, come with us. We want to ensure your protection as much as our own."

  Sacha turned from Ammon and noticed Hasan and Omar standing directly behind him with their arms crossed.

  "Are you taking me prisoner?" Sacha asked, turning back to Ammon. "Is that what this is?"

  Ammon hunched over his knees in a hearty laugh.

  "Who do you think we are, my friend, the police?"

  Sacha wasn't amused.

  "I'm not sure who you are, but I do not wish to join your Brotherhood."

  "You, like us, were wrongfully imprisoned. You understand what it's like. You can be a very valuable asset to our organization," Ammon explained.

  Suddenly a dark brown mid-1990s Chevy van came around the corner and crept down the alleyway near them. Its headlights disappeared, replaced by parking lights.

  "There's our ride," Omar said, pointing.

  "Let's discuss this in the van," Ammon said to Sacha.

  "How did they know to pick you up here?" Sacha asked.

  "They're reliable," Ammon answered.

  Sacha thought deeply to himself. He gasped then raised a finger in the air.

  "You planned this! You planned for the van to meet us here. You wanted the bus to go over the railing into the river and you didn't care how many people you killed in the process. You wouldn't have cared if it had killed me."

  "That's nonsense, Sacha. Who could plan such a thing?" Ammon asked.

  "Who are you? I mean you and all of your friends here. Where are you from?"

  "We've told you are names. We're from the Middle East, as you've probably assumed," Ammon answered.

  "Yes, but where in the Middle East?"

  The brown van got closer, and then flashed its lights at the men, signaling them. Ammon was growing impatient with Sacha, but attempted to remain calm.

  "I'm from Egypt, or so I was. Omar and Hasan are Pakistani. But we are no longer a part of those countries, or any nation for that matter. We exist to serve the Brotherhood."

  "Well, I'm from Poland, and I just want to go back home," Sacha said.

  He suddenly felt hands grip his arms and turned to see Hasan an
d Omar holding him.

  "We don't have much time," Ammon said. "We can finish this conversation in the van."

  Sacha slightly jerked, but felt their grip too tight. He stopped and stared into Ammon's remorseless eyes.

  "Are you terrorists?" he asked.

  Ammon's tepid smile dropped into a deep frown. He seemed deeply insulted by Sacha's question. Realizing himself a captive, Sacha began to regret the directness of his question.

  "That's enough questions for now. Come now, let's go," Ammon replied.

  Hasan and Omar pushed Sacha ahead as they walked towards the brown van, leaving the East River docks behind.

  Inside, the van was cluttered with tools. There were no seats or windows in the back, so Sacha, Hasan, and Omar sat on the floor while Ammon sat in the front with the driver. The driver, a stern bearded man, smoked cigarettes with the window only slightly cracked. Sacha sat with his arms wrapped around his legs, trying to maintain his balance through every bumpy turn. There was low-key Arabic chatter between Ammon and the driver. Sacha hadn't been introduced to him yet, so he just kept quiet. Hasan and Omar also said nothing as they leaned back against the inner walls of the van with their heads back and their eyes closed. Sacha had no idea where they were going. What had he gotten himself into?

  After finishing his discussion with the driver, Ammon turned to address the men in the back in English.

  "We'll be there in twenty. Razar tells me that we have to find back roads to the site. The city is falling apart as we speak," Ammon said proudly.

  Hasan lifted his head slightly and laughed to himself. It was the first time Sacha had seen him smile yet. They continued to drive through back alleys and alternate routes along the way to their secret destination. Sacha's mind raced with options. If the men were terrorists, he felt that the likelihood of survival was slim.

  "They'll probably put me on the Internet and cut my head off," Sacha thought.