Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset

by James Hunt

  “I understand, sir. And no one doubts your retaliation.”

  “They left me no choice.”

  Jones noticed the president seemed to be talking to himself more than to anyone else. If the president was this war weary, then now was the time to strike.

  “Sir, perhaps I could help,” Jones said.

  The president’s eyes found him on the couch. He was broken, a wounded animal looking for an escape. The president might as well just have broken down and begged on his hands and knees right then and there.

  “Let me go to Mexico. Before all of this happened, I had been in talks with General Gallo for the purposes of establishing an alliance,” Jones said.

  “Well, it didn’t work.” The words were harsh. The president’s face twisted in anger and doubt.

  “I know, Mr. President. However, both we and the Mexican government know that this war isn’t one either side can afford. Let me finish what I started.”

  “And what if the outcome isn’t desirable?”

  “Then the blame is on me, Mr. President. I will take full responsibility for what happened. You’ll have your scapegoat if I fail.”

  It was all on the line now. This was the only way Jones could convince the president to back his visit. And if he had the power of the Oval Office behind him for his talk with Gallo, it could shift the weight of negotiations back in his favor.

  “It’s on you, Jones. Everything.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “I’ll phone the Mexican president that you’ll be there this evening.”

  Jones said nothing else. He was hanging on by a thread. There wasn’t any room for error now. Everything was riding on this trip. The execution had to be flawless. Mistakes wouldn’t just mean the end of his career, they meant the end of his life.

  ***

  Daniel slammed the empty liquor bottle down next to its peers and almost slid out of the airline chair. Jones kept yelling something at him, but he just ignored him. If Jones wanted him here, then there wasn’t any way he was going sober.

  “Don’t let him have any more,” Jones said, motioning to one of his security detail.

  “I don’t think you have the majority vote for that proposition, Congressman,” Daniel replied.

  “And get him some coffee.”

  The guard cleared off Daniel’s tray, and when he went to remove the rest of the unopened bottles, Daniel grabbed the guard’s wrist.

  “Don’t. Touch. It,” Daniel said.

  His teeth were gritted, the liquid courage the four tiny bottles of whiskey had given him on prime display. The security guard looked over to Jones, who shook his head. Daniel felt the guard pull back his arm slightly, and he released him.

  “Run along now, little doggy,” Daniel said.

  “It’s easy to act brave when you don’t have the coherence to zip up your fly,” Jones said.

  Daniel twisted the cap off another one of the whiskeys but paused before putting it to his lips. The smell was starting to get to him. He’d never been much of a drinker, but the past few days had caused him to swim in it.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Jones asked.

  “What? Don’t like your handiwork?”

  “I didn’t do this to you, Daniel. You did.”

  Daniel snatched the rest of the whiskey bottles and moved to the back of the plane, away from Jones. He didn’t have to sit there and listen to Jones, of all people, berate him about morals. Who was he to judge? Jones had done more backstabbing vile actions in one year than Daniel had done in his entire life. And if drinking was what Daniel needed to do in order to get past all the shit pilling up around him, then so be it.

  But when Daniel twisted off the cap to the next bottle of whiskey he was about to down, it stopped abruptly a few inches before reaching his lips. The sharp, oaky smell flew into his nostrils, beckoning him to drink it, but he couldn’t. Not now. Because for some reason, his son popped into his mind, and in his liquor-soaked state, he couldn’t remember the boy’s birthday.

  He squinted his eyes shut, trying hard to sort through the corrupted files of data still stored in his mind. He knew it was in May, but he couldn’t remember the date. It was toward the end of the month. The twenty-fifth? No, that wasn’t it. What was it? What was it? What was it?

  The tiny whiskey bottle wobbled in his hand. Some of the brown liquid spilled over on to his pant leg, but Daniel didn’t notice. All he could feel was the swelling of tears in his eyes and the lump growing in his throat. He dropped the bottle, and it spilled onto the carpet.

  All of the things he’d done were for his family. That’s what he had told himself during every decision he made. But for the past few weeks, his family had been the scapegoat for his cowardice, not the foundation of courage. And now he was drinking away the memories of the same family he’d vowed to protect, to keep safe.

  Daniel clutched his arms around his body, hugging himself as the waves of sobs left him. He didn’t bother keeping them quiet. He didn’t care if Jones heard him. He didn’t care what the security detail would think. It didn’t matter that he would have puffy eyes when standing face to face with the Mexican president and his vicious dog of a general. He couldn’t remember his own son’s birthday.

  ***

  The plane touched down in Mexico City just before 4 p.m. Central Time. Jones managed to get enough coffee and water into Daniel to make him presentable. He wasn’t planning on having him speak anyway. Daniel was there strictly for show.

  The Mexico City heat and smog made for a terribly uncomfortable combination. All Jones wanted to do was get the meeting over with as quickly as possible. The sooner the meeting was over, the sooner he could start preparing for his debate with Smith. Despite his confidence, he knew Smith would go into the debate with guns blazing. He needed as much time to prepare for it as he could get.

  The drivers of the sedans that arrived at the airport to pick both Smith and Daniel up avoided the slums of the city, but Jones could still see them on the outskirts. Tens of thousands of people living in trash and filth. Jones gave a slight shudder.

  This would be the fate of his country if he didn’t act. The people that were left would be pushed into the trash, and he’d be one of them. He refused to let that happen.

  Most of the faces he passed on the busier city streets looked clean and healthy, but Jones knew that this was an orchestrated route. The Mexican president wanted to be sure to show his American visitors that Mexico was strong, but Jones knew the country was rotting from the inside out.

  The sedans pulled into Los Pinos, the official residence of the Mexican president, which was a part of the Chapultepec Forest, now nothing but barren trees. Much like Washington’s National Mall, the dire times had left little for the ceremony of well kept grounds and pedigree.

  The white stone buildings in Los Pinos had a beige hint of dust to them. And when Jones stepped out of the air-conditioned vehicle, he found that the Mexican president’s residence was not immune to the effects of the terrible smog and heat that plagued the rest of his city.

  President Castell greeted Jones and Daniel with open arms once they were inside.

  “Welcome, Congressmen. It’s an honor to have you here in our country. I trust the flight went well?” Castell asked.

  “Yes, thank you, Señor Presidente,” Jones answered.

  The rumors about Castell seemed to be true. The man had showmanship. If Jones didn’t need to desperately end this war, he could see himself learning something from him.

  “Please, gentlemen. This way,” Castell said.

  Castell lead them through the large halls and into a conference room already set up with refreshments. One of the staff members handed Jones a glass of water. Jones let the glass linger in his hand just a moment too long. Castell noticed.

  “I can assure you it’s clean, Congressman,” Castell said, raising his left eyebrow.

  “Of course, Señor Presidente. I didn’t mean to insult you,” Jones replie
d. “It’s a nasty habit I’ve developed in our current climate. I find myself doing this at my own home.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s why we’re here. Have a seat.”

  Before Jones could sit down, General Gallo stomped into the room.

  “General,” Jones said. “Good to see you.”

  “Congressman.”

  There was no shaking of hands, no other formal greeting than the acknowledgement that both men were in the room. Judging by his entrance and lateness, Jones determined that Gallo had not shown up of his own accord.

  “Shall we get started?” Jones asked.

  “We can start with the surrender of your men in California, New Mexico, and Arizona,” Gallo answered.

  “General!” Castell said.

  Gallo didn’t sit, and Jones was stuck halfway between bracing himself on the chair’s armrests and standing. Jones let gravity take over and finally sat down.

  “It’s all right, sir,” Jones said. “The general is a proud warrior. Nothing but victory will satisfy him.”

  “General, we are here to discuss peace. Surrender implies—”

  “I’m well aware of what it implies, Presidente,” Gallo answered.

  The power struggle Jones was caught between could work in his favor. It was evident Castell wanted the war to stop. All he had to do was get Gallo to sign off on it.

  “Gentlemen, I believe there is a way for all of us to get what we want,” Jones said.

  The tension between Castell and Gallo eased as they both sat down. Jones continued. “Now, before we start, both of you should know that I come here backed with the full power and authority of the American president. He’s trusted me with securing a reasonable agreement between our two great nations.”

  “Which is something we would like to pursue as well,” Castell said, looking at Gallo.

  “Excellent. Now, as far as the southwest territories go, they are still not under United States protection, and our government has no tie to them whatsoever,” Jones continued.

  “The United States’ recognition of the Mexican government’s right of ownership of the California, Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Nevada territories,” Gallo cut in.

  “I’m sorry?” Jones asked.

  “That’s what I want. I want the United States government to recognize Mexico’s authority over those territories to set an international precedent with the other countries around the globe.”

  “General, perhaps that’s something we should discuss privately,” Castell said.

  “It’s up for discussion,” Gallo responded.

  “You think we’re just going to give it up?” Daniel asked.

  “You gave it up weeks ago. I’m just here to collect,” Gallo answered.

  Gallo’s face was a block of stone. Jones grabbed the glass of water on the table. He held it up to the light above and examined it more thoroughly than before.

  “It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Jones asked.

  “What?” Castell asked.

  “All of this… war, famine, drought, brought on by a simple combination of particles arranged in a specific way. Life giving.”

  Jones twirled the glass around. The light refracted through the water, causing the images Jones saw on the other side to appear distorted and misshapen.

  “We need water, gentlemen. Not land. The United States will recognize the Southwest as under Mexican rule. No further attacks will commence unless provoked,” Jones said, taking his gaze off the water and moving it onto Gallo’s face. “And in exchange, you will help us march south and engage in a coordinated military strike against Brazil.”

  “They have the support of Europe!” Castell exclaimed. “And the Russians! If we march down there, we will be igniting war!”

  “The Europeans don’t have the resources for a fight, and as for the Russians, what military they have left is old and tired. The only arsenal they have is nuclear, and they wouldn’t risk destroying one of the last strongholds of fresh water left on the planet. They’ll threaten force, but they won’t be able to back it up. Aside from China, we’re all that’s left of any military presence.”

  “And you think our men will suddenly fight side by side after what’s happened?” Gallo asked.

  “I would expect our soldiers to follow orders, General,” Jones answered. He took a sip then set the water down. “Of course, we’ll need to pull resources for the journey south. What water is left in North California will be provided by your government, and our representative here from North Carolina will be graciously offering his state’s natural resources for the cause.”

  “What?” Daniel asked, rising from his seat, wobbling a bit. “That is not in part of the deal.”

  “What’s wrong, Congressman?” Gallo asked. “Afraid you’ll get thirsty after walking around in those expensive suits?”

  “We’ll draw up the treaty and send a copy for your approval by tonight,” Jones said, rising and shaking Castell’s hand.

  “I’m glad we were able to come to a reasonable solution,” Castell replied, understanding the political cue that the meeting was over.

  Jones went to shake Gallo’s hand, who hesitated before accepting the gesture. Gallo’s grip was firm, and Jones could feel the increased pressure until a slight tinge of pain caused him to tremble.

  “You know, Jones,” Gallo said, “I, like my people, was born in the desert. Our nation is already hardened from the epidemic the rest of the world is experiencing. The dry tongues of your people seem to have made you weak.”

  “We’re Americans, General. We adapt,” Jones answered.

  The pressure from Gallo’s grip loosened, and Jones was released. He massaged his hand, attempting to get the blood flowing again.

  Before Daniel could protest, Jones grabbed him by the arm, and the two men were out the door and back in the sedan that had driven them here.

  “The airport. Quickly,” Jones said.

  “Are you insane?” Daniel asked. “The reason you exiled the Southwest was to prevent water sources from being drained from the rest of the country.”

  “I know what I said.”

  “And now you’re just going to give it to a country that attacked us! I won’t let this happen. You hear me! I won—”

  Jones wrapped his bony hands around Daniel’s throat and slammed his head back against the car window. Lack of food and sleep, combined with the booze still coursing through his veins, made Daniel too weak to peel the vise grip off.

  “Who do you think controls our country? Hmm? Do you think it’s me? The president? Congress? The people? No, it’s whoever has the most money and the biggest guns. Everyone has someone to answer too. And I’m not going to explain my actions to the likes of a drunk.”

  Jones pushed off of Daniel’s neck, who clutched his throat, gasping for breath. The driver of the car rolled up the partition after the thousand-yard stare Jones gave him.

  “We’ll force Mexico to drain the rest of Northern California, and by then, we’ll have made a breakthrough in Brazil,” Jones finished. “That’s why we need to move quickly.”

  The rest of the ride back to the airport was in silence. Daniel stared impotently out the window, and Jones focused on the headrest in front of him. He just had to keep moving. It was almost done. Just a little bit farther.

  ***

  Once Jones and Daniel were gone, Gallo closed the doors to the conference room and ordered the staff to leave. He was left alone with Castell, who had a nervous twitch in his eye and leg.

  “What is it, General?” Castell asked, his voice slightly higher than normal.

  Castell was still seated in his chair at the end of the table. From what Gallo could see of him, it seemed like he wanted to evaporate through the back of the chair and disappear.

  “After you sign the treaty, my men will attack the United States Pacific Fleet and make our way north to the Washington and Oregon Coast, where we will invade and establish a forward operating base,” Gallo answered.

 
“General, this is mad—”

  Gallo held up his hand. Castell went mute.

  “The Americans are bleeding from the inside out. That’s the only reason they’re here,” Gallo answered.

  “And are we not, General? Are our men not bloodied? Is our country not dry? Are our people not hungry?” Castell asked.

  “Yes. But if we make this agreement with the Americans, we will stay that way,” Gallo answered. “I know you’re not a man with much of a spine, Castell, so I’ll explain it in a way I think a politician would understand.”

  Gallo slid to the edge of his seat, his face inching closer to Castell’s until the president could smell the lingering cigar smoke on Gallo’s uniform.