End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  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 something less flashy and noticeable. "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 then we need to get some rest."

  Paul got sucked in. He found himself 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 watched over his shoulder. Senator Bryant's 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 timelines 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 the 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 megabomb. *Megabomb 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 megabomb threat keeps population fearful, dependent, under control.

  Phase Eight: Once all pieces in place, intercept megabomb from rogue group, sparing humanity. Declare victory in the age of a new order.

  The steps had been broken down as if they were a PowerPoint 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 PowerPoint steps?" Samantha asked.

  "They're insane," Paul said after a thought. "They're insane, but they've got the power to try it anyway."

  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 'rogue group' must have gone even more rogue 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 st
ill 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 after 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 from Samantha's lips 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 guy 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" had 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 mechanic 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 though he was probably 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 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 and 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. He had to take the first chance that he could to escape. It would be a challenge, but Sacha believed it possible. He felt that his life depended on it.

  The brown van arrived outside a darkened warehouse deep within the boroughs of the city. They stopped at a chain-link fence with barbed wire on top that surrounded the building. A man rushed to the fence, opened the sliding gate, and let them enter. The van crunched along the pebbles of gravel, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. As it neared the front of the warehouse, the man shut the sliding gate, looped around a chain, and locked it. The van pulled to the side of the building and parked.

  "We are here," Ammon said to the men in the back.

  Sacha knelt and attempted to look out the front window to get some idea of where they had arrived. He was too nervous to ask any more questions. He estimated that there were probably more of Ammon's men in the warehouse. His best chance at escape was back at the docks. Now it seemed all but impossible. The van side door slid open, revealing a man dressed completely in black fatigues. His face was stone-like and emotionless. He ordered the men out of the van in a native Arabic language. Ammon approached the darkly dressed man and placed a hand on his shoulders.

  "Give them a break, friend. They've been through quite a lot," Ammon said.

  The man ignored Ammon's request and began to speak in English.

  "The Americans are here, and I don't have time for your foolishness,"
the man responded.

  "They're here now?" Ammon asked, genuinely surprised.

  "Yes, they've been waiting an hour for you," the man barked.

  Hasan and Omar climbed out of the van as Sacha followed. There were no windows into the warehouse, no spotlights overhead. Everything was quiet except for the chatter of Ammon and his agitated comrade.

  "We had a little bit of trouble with the authorities, as you know. Maybe you should have been there so I could sit here playing with myself," Annon barked.

  "Getting arrested is your fault, not mine. You should have planned better. You should have been as far away from Wall Street as possible before the bomb went off. You did that to yourself. And where are the others?"

  "They're dead," Ammon said. "Enough of your nonsense, I want to speak to Rashad."

  The man stopped bickering with Ammon and simply walked away for them to follow.

  Sacha stepped out of the van and examined his surroundings. Though he had been careful not to ask too much since he was forced along for the ride, Sacha wanted some assurance. "Where are we? What are you going to do with me?" he asked.

  Ammon smiled and placed his arm around Sacha. "Relax, Sacha, you have no reason to be afraid. You're going to meet our leader, Rashad."

  Sacha believed that he had plenty of reasons to be afraid. He didn't understand what Ammon wanted with him in the first place. He was European, whereas they were Middle Eastern. What supposed affinities were they supposed to have for each other? What if they asked him his religion? As a heavily religious country, he was raised a Christian and belonged to the Roman Catholic Church. He didn't want to make any assumption, but he was sure they weren't Catholics.

  "We've stalled enough, let's go inside," Ammon said, removing his arm from around Sacha. Hasan and Omar nodded and followed the man in black to the warehouse door. Ammon waited for Sacha to catch up, but he just stood there, uncertain. "It will be alright, I promise, come inside," Ammon reiterated with growing frustration.