by Michael Bray
"If you leave, you will be struck down. The lord is watching us Earl. Through me, he's delivering his message."
Earl shook his head. "No, this is all you. You're not thinking straight. I don’t know if its denial or fear, but it ain’t normal."
Miles leaned close, and Earl felt the subtle shift from anger to fear. "If you decide you're not with me, then it means you're against me. Against the lord. Against everything, we have been brought up to believe. If I can't trust you to be part of this, then I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you can't stop us."
"And what does that mean?"
"I think you can figure it out," Miles whispered. "You know me, Earl. You know I'll do whatever it takes to win. That's why I was chosen to carry the message of our church."
"And that's the whole point. This ain't our father's message or the message of our church. You're sittin' there talkin' about spreading the word of some group of people who for all we know could just be common terrorists."
"Give me a chance," Miles said. "At least, let me try to show you. If you still feel so strongly about it a few weeks, then I’ll go back to the old teachings."
"We might not even have a few weeks, Miles. Not with the way this thing is shaping up, having said that, you haven’t done wrong by us yet, so I’ll give you the time to convince me."
"That's all I ask."
"Meantime, you need to talk to the staff before they walk out of here and leave the two of us to run this place on our own."
"I will, just as soon as you call that meeting like I asked."
Earl nodded and stood, scraping the chair against the wood floor. “Alright, we'll do it your way. Just don't say I didn’t warn you."
Miles nodded as watched as Earl left the room. He turned his attention back to the window, looking beyond the grumpy tan coloured cow which had wandered to the fence of its pen, and to the sky beyond, which was a brilliant and tranquil blue. Miles wondered if yet more chaos had been heaped upon the shoulders of the nations of the world. He certainly hoped so. Fear would win him the day, and fear would be the tool which ushered in a new era. Smiling and incredibly pleased with himself, he poured himself another cup of coffee and began to gather his thoughts ahead of the staff meeting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON D.C
PYCROFT LED THE PRESIDENT towards the roof. Even though he was trained to ignore everything but the job at hand, even he was horrified by the brutality he had witnessed. He had seen friends - men and women who he knew well, people with families and children who he knew by name lying dead in the halls as those who assaulted the White House mercilessly cut through their defences. Holding the building now was a lost cause, meaning the only option was to flee. So far he had engaged and killed five of the attackers, all of them displaying the same traits of being almost impervious to bullets apart from headshots which seemed to keep them down. Running low on ammunition, Pycroft was desperate to get the President to safety.
"This way sir, keep low," Pycroft said as he cut towards the exit to the roof and the waiting chopper. Another explosion rocked the building, and for a second, Pycroft was certain the entire structure was about to collapse around them. Without thinking, Pycroft tackled the President to the ground and covered him. Dust and smoke lingered in the air, making breathing difficult.
"What the hell was that?" the president grunted from the ground as the rumbling and shaking subsided.
"Could be artillery, possibly explosive charges, who the hell knows that these people have brought with them. Either way, we need to get you out of here sir." Pycroft yelled as he once again helped the President back to his feet.
He paused by the door leading to the roof, checking his weapon was loaded whilst trying to ignore how few bullets he had left, Pycroft took a deep breath and opened the door.
He expected to see the pale white flat roof and the waiting helicopter. Instead, there was nothing. The entire wing of the white house had collapsed, smoke and fire billowing from the wreckage.
"My god, what have these people done," Fitzgerald muttered.
Pycroft couldn’t formulate an answer, and could only think about the loss of life to yet more of his colleagues and friends.
"We need to find another way out sir," Pycroft said, his cool exterior at last betraying him.
“Why would they do this?” Fitzgerald muttered.
“Same reason they locked us out of the bunker. They knew this was the secondary escape plan.”
"Where the hell do we go from here, Pycroft?"
For the second time in quick succession, the Secret Service agent had no answer. He would never give up, nor would he tell the President their chances of escape had narrowed significantly. He brought up a mental image of the layout of the White House as he tried to figure out an escape route, yet every one meant putting the President in significant danger. Just when he had given up all hope, his earpiece crackled to life. Through the static, Pycroft heard something which meant they might just have a chance.
"This way sir," he said, leading the President back the way they had come, past the zing of gunfire as it echoed through the building. Pycroft led them through the President’s private living quarters and out onto the terrace. The south lawn below was filled with police, fire trucks and soldiers who were working to try and take on the men who had stormed the building. From their vantage point, the devastation was plain to see. Smoke billowed from the collapsed section of the building and muffled explosions could be heard amid the gunfire and screams.
"What are we doing here, it’s not safe," the president screamed. Pycroft pushed him to his knees.
"Stay out of sight." Pycroft barked, pushing Fitzgerald to the ground.
He waited, knowing that if any of the men who had stormed the building made it out onto the terrace which ringed the upper floor, there would be no way to defend themselves or escape.
"What the hell are we waiting for, Pycroft?" The president snapped.
He was bloodied and dirty, his suit torn. Somehow it had shattered the illusion of him as a world leader. He was now just a frightened old man.
"Pycroft! We can’t stay here. What the hell are we waiting for?"
Pycroft pointed across the lawn. "That."
The helicopter was coming in low and fast, its nose dipped towards the ground, tail in the air. Painted jet black, Pycroft knew they would only have one chance to board.
"Come on," Pycroft said, dragging Fitzgerald by the arm towards the pickup point which had been relayed to him in his earpiece.
They arrived at the flat section of the roof, skirting around the array of solar panels which covered its surface. The helicopter came in low, hovering at the edge of the roof. The side door slid open, and black-clad men - This time, U.S Special Forces - filtered out, hopping onto the roof. Five of them in all, each clad in protective body armour and armed with automatic weapons. As per protocol, they ignored Pycroft, and instead surrounded the president, ushering him towards the hovering helicopter. Pycroft went to follow, and as he started to walk forward a bullet sliced through the air in front of him, the sound reaching him a split second later. His training took over. He dropped to his knees. Rolled, getting cover behind one of the solar panels. The men who surrounded the president didn’t stop to help Pycroft. Their mission was to ensure the president's safety. They bundled him into the helicopter as Joshua’s men opened fire from across the terrace. Pycroft returned fire, conscious that he would soon be out of ammo. Joshua's men took cover, and the split second was all he needed. Tossing his weapon on the ground, he turned and sprinted for the chopper, which was already starting to bank away from the edge of the building. Without thinking of the consequences if he missed, Pycroft leapt from the edge of the roof, pushing off with everything he had and aiming for the open door on the side of the helicopter. For a sickening split second, he didn’t think he would make it, his forward motion slowing as gravity took over. It was then that his knees hit the
edge of the door and he fell unceremoniously into the helicopter. Black gloved hands yanked him inside as the door was slammed shut. The chopper banked up and away from the building, taking its precious cargo away from the chaos. Below them, the building which was once the symbol of America’s power had been decimated by Joshua and his men.
II
Riddled with bullets and debris and with air heavy with acrid smoke, the Oval Office sat abandoned. The gunfire was becoming more sporadic as Joshua’s men finished off the lingering resistance. Joshua strode into the office, broken glass crunching underfoot. He took in the scene, savouring the smell of fire and death. He walked to the president’s desk, running his fingertips lightly over the polished mahogany surface, leaving a trail in the dust which had settled on it from the numerous explosions. He walked around it and lowered himself into the plush chair. It felt good, it felt...right.
He closed his eyes, marvelling at the relative ease of their operation. In the end, it had been as they had expected. Overconfidence had cost the Americans their base of operations. Even though it was just bricks and mortar, the symbolic nature of their act would ensure the world would listen to them. The world was already reeling from their attack; it was time to deliver the final blow.
Genaro walked into the office. "You sent for me?" The scientist said, trying to hide his awe and fear.
"Yes. How close are we to taking full control of the site?
"It's done. The building is secure."
"Good."
"Unfortunately, the president managed to escape. I fear it will only be a matter of time before armed forces retake the building."
Genaro was afraid of how Joshua might react to the news, which made the fact that he smiled somehow more disturbing.
"They won’t attack."
"With the president safe, I’m afraid you might be wrong. They won’t take this lightly."
"They will scramble around and wait for someone to make that decision. By then it will be too late."
"But the president-"
"-The president doesn’t matter," Joshua cut in. "He's just a man, a symbol of the old world which is dying as we speak. When the world hears what I have to say, everything will change."
"Forgive my uncertainty, Joshua, I just don’t see how we can maintain our control of this situation."
Joshua smiled and sat back in the chair, enjoying the comfort. "The list I gave you, the list of names. Is it done?"
"Yes."
"They have taken control?"
"Yes, just as you requested."
"Get me access to the controls for the nuclear weapons. I trust they have hacked into the systems without detection?"
"Of course. The people on the list were the absolute best in their field. The government firewalls were no match for their skills once we turned them."
"Good. Make sure they know what to do.
"I'll set them to work Joshua, they will do as you command.”
Fantastic work, Dr. Genaro.”
"We are still in danger, Joshua. We don’t have the men or the firepower to repel an attack. We don’t have the time to fortify if a counter attack comes soon."
Joshua smiled again, a gesture which was as creepy as it was confident. "You should have more faith in me, Dr. Genaro. Once I speak to the world, we will have all the time we need."
"How do you intend to do that? How will you reach them?"
"Technology, Dr. Genaro. I'll use the world's love of technology to my advantage."
III
The chopper sliced through the air racing towards Joint Base Andrews in Maryland. The president had now recovered from the initial shock and was watching through the window as they streaked closer to their destination.
"Mr. President," Pycroft said shouting above the constant thrum of the rotor blades. "We should reach Andrews in the next ten minutes. Air Force One is fuelled up and ready to go."
The president looked the bloodied and bruised Secret Service agent in the eye. "I never got a chance to thank you, Agent Pycroft. You saved my life."
"Just doing my job sir. The rest of the cabinet are already on board and waiting for your arrival."
"What about the White House?"
"Lost sir. The people who attacked now have control."
"Did anyone make it out alive?"
"Initial reports are unclear sir," Pycroft said. "It doesn’t look like there were many survivors."
The president nodded, his brow furrowed. "They really caught us off guard. Sons of bitches have some balls to do this."
"Sir, the public will want assurances about your safety. After seeing the attack on the White House, they'll be fearing the worst."
"As soon as we get in the air I’ll clean myself up and address the nation. Any word from Vice President Carter?"
"He's at the Pentagon sir. He's working on intel. There is so much out there that it’s hard to separate the truth from the speculation."
"I want to speak to him. As soon as we board Air Force One."
"Yes, sir."
The chopper descended as they neared the waiting aircraft, giving the president an unobstructed view of the streets, where the public were starting to loot and riot through desperation and fear.
II
Air Force One was a customised Boeing 200Bs. From the outside, the white-bodied aircraft with the blue nose and stripe down its side looked to be just like any other of its kind; however its insides were unlike any other aircraft in the world. It was comprised of three floors of offices, medical facilities, and operations rooms, making it akin to a mobile White House. With armour plating strong enough to withstand a ground-based nuclear explosion and electromagnetic shielding across its entire length, it was deemed to be the safest aircraft on the planet. The chopper touched down on the runway beside the idling plane, its crew waiting for the president to board.
Pycroft took his place at the president side as the sliding helicopter door was opened. President Fitzgerald climbed out, walking across the tarmac with Pycroft at his side. Armed guards waiting by the entrance stairway saluted as the president and Pycroft ascended into the craft.
"Mr. President, sir,” said a bloody Chief of Staff Morrison as the door was closed behind them.
"Eamon, good to see you. I’m glad you got out."
"It was luck more than anything. I was on the south lawn when they attacked. I was lucky."
"Any idea what we're dealing with?" the president said as he walked through the plane towards the media room, which boasted an array of computers, telephones and televisions.
"It’s a coordinated attack, the bastards drew us in by conducting isolated attacks all over the world just big enough to draw us into sending troops out to help. Because of that, our people are stretched all across the globe and communications are going down at an alarming rate."
"Have you spoken to the vice president?"
"Yes sir, he's at the Pentagon waiting to speak with you."
Fitzgerald paused and stared at the array of television screens, unable to believe how quickly things had gotten out of hand. Almost all of them were showing footage of the White House, which was surrounded by dozens of police and fire trucks.
"Any word from inside?"
"Not yet sir," Morrison said. "Communication networks have all gone to hell. People everywhere are trying to contact friends and families to make sure they're safe. It’s causing havoc."
"It's smart," Fitzgerald said. "Without knowing it, the public are helping them to disrupt our operations."
"That’s not all sir. We’re worried this situation might trigger other terrorist groups into action against us."
Fitzgerald nodded, wondering if they would ever catch a lucky break. "Ground all non-military flights. The last thing we need is another 9/11 on our hands. What about our people who are engaging these bastards?"
"We're losing sir."
"Then send more men."
"It's not that sir, the biters are infecting people at a rate of more than a hu
ndred an hour overall."
"Then kill them damn it!" Fitzgerald spat as he took a seat.
"Sir..." Morrison hesitated, unsure how to proceed. "We have received reports, unconfirmed at the moment but reports all the same which may change things for the worst."
"Spit it out Eamon. This is no time to be holding back."
"Intelligence intercepted three snippets of communications, one from the London, one from Paris, and another in Hamburg. They were all saying a variation of the same thing."
"What were they saying?"
"They were saying the dead were coming back to life, sir."
Fitzgerald nodded, his brow furrowed.
"You don’t seem surprised sir," Morrison said.
"Right now I’ll believe anything. Try to get confirmation on that. As soon as we're in the air I want to speak to Paul and see if we can get ourselves out of this mess."
"Yes, sir. Shall I give the go-ahead for take-off?"
"Do it."
III
Five minutes later, Air Force One was in the air, climbing with its sixty strong crew of staff and passengers away from the city to cruise at thirty-six thousand feet. The president relocated to his private offices which were located on the top level of the aircraft just behind the cockpit. Morrison was with him as the video call came through from the Pentagon.
"Mr. President," Paul said.
"Glad to see you're okay Paul. I hope you have some good news for me."
"I wish I did. The fact is this is a much worse situation than we feared. Rather than a series of random attacks by soldiers who went rogue, we believe this is a deliberate and coordinated global attack."
"That’s impossible. There isn’t an army in the world big enough."
"Sir, this group have already increased their numbers by more than six hundred percent in just a few weeks. We project at their current rate of expansion and infection, they will outnumber our forces three to one within the month."