by Alan Seeger
“Is there something the matter?”
“Mr. President,” said the bodyguard, “There is always something the matter in this town.” The agent’s voice had a distinctly southern lilt. He reached into his coat and pulled out his sidearm, a SIG-Sauer P229, and pointed it at Calhoun’s face. The bore of the silencer attached to the barrel of the compact pistol seemed to yawn before Calhoun’s eyes like the maw of hell.
“Leonard Calhoun,” the man continued, “you are just the latest in a long line of necessary sacrifices that must be made for the betterment of our society. Oh —” he stopped for a moment and smiled. “I’m so sorry, sir. We haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Calvin Roberts. I hail from Greenville, Mississippi, and I am here to restore balance to a nation that has been sadly out of whack for a long, long time.”
“But what —?” Calhoun started to say.
“You might be more familiar with me under my nom de plume… or maybe it’s a nom de guerre. I always get those mixed up.” He grinned. “Maybe it’s both. Timothy Murrah, at your service. Your secret service, you might say. I head up a little organization that I call the April 19 Coalition.”
Calhoun’s face flushed red. There were not a large number of personnel in the building at this time of night, but there were a few people on duty, including a number of Secret Service agents. He started to shout for help, and Roberts gently squeezed the trigger of the suppressor-equipped SIG-Sauer, sending a .357 slug into Calhoun’s open mouth, passing through his cerebellum and out the back of his skull. Grey and pink brain tissue splattered the wall and window behind where Calhoun had been standing.
“Sic semper tyrannis, motherfucker,” Roberts whispered. He quickly left the building before anyone had the opportunity to respond.
CHAPTER 47
2020
By the time the television signal came back — ten minutes or so — Stefan, Wade, Brent, Ron and Chuck had joined Brad, Ben and Thunder in the breakfast area, along with half the guests of the hotel and many of the staff. They were gathered tightly around the TV, waiting for news of what had happened. It reminded Brad of the old song that said “We were so close, there was no room/We bled inside each other's wounds.” No one here was bleeding; all the blood was in other parts of the country and the world. Brad felt as though they were people of privilege, living in a resort, watching the unfortunates of the world on the news.
The major networks such as CNN, MSNBC, Fox News and the rest remained off the air, however, so someone switched the channel to one of the local affiliates just in time to hear the anchor say, “— I repeat, this has been a massive nuclear attack on the United States, and it appears that large parts of the rest of the world may have been affected. The —”
The remainder of what he said was a mystery to those trying to listen because the reaction of the group of people that were gathered was extreme and high volume. Women were screaming, men shouting, children crying and teens looking around in confusion. It was chaotic.
CHAPTER 48
1860
Wilkerson figured out the use of the cMMU in short order and made his way to the appropriate remote Gate. He stepped through into another place and time.
He found himself in a grassy field just outside Hoboken, New Jersey, on the clear, cold night of February 26, 1860. He carefully made his way toward New York City, finding the appropriate clothing to camouflage his otherworldliness as he passed by clotheslines in the yards of houses where people slept, never suspecting that a monstrous evil was passing by. By the time it was light, his 21st century clothing was hidden under a 19th century frock coat, overcoat, and a pair of spats worn over his combat boots. Concealing his M4A1 rifle under the overcoat, he gazed at himself in the camp mirror he had in his pack and decided he looked good.
From a half mile away, Samuel watched him through a pair of binoculars.
“Why can’t we take him right now?”
“I told you, our orders are to follow him and take him down once he’s on site, not before.”
Samuel looked at her. “Do you ever wonder how we got involved in this whole mess to start with?”
“No, I don’t,” Callie replied. “I know exactly how it started. Your father found a Gate in his back yard.”
Sam grinned. “Yeah, but I didn’t know it was gonna wind up with Nigel Cummins recruiting me to the Time Teams.” They smiled at each other.
CHAPTER 49
1960
Time Team Delta had arranged for a meeting with a mid-level Chinese official who, Nigel had been assured, would be sympathetic to their cause, which was presented as preserving peace between East and West, and avoiding any chance of a future conflict between China and the Western powers. Chen Shiong-Mao was the intermediary’s name; he had been a resident of Beijing for many years and had only recently relocated to Shanghai. Best of all, he knew Mr. Xue personally and would be able to interpret for the team as well as assist in impressing upon Xue the importance of what these Westerners were attempting to achieve. He was careful to avoid the use of the word ‘Americans,’ since it was quite obvious that Nigel was not one.
As they sat sipping Oolong tea in a small shop in the commercial district of Shanghai, Chen smiled politely at first as he listened to them explain their position, nodding in the familiar Chinese manner. He was quiet, pleasant and didn’t bat an eye when they skirted around the issue of exactly why they needed to meet with Mr. Xue. They simply told Mr. Chen that there was an urgent matter that they needed to discuss with Xue, which had to do with ensuring peace and prosperity for the entire world.
Chen said that he would be happy to assist them, and they decided on an appropriate time to do the deed.
CHAPTER 50
2020
With the Coalition attacks having effectively destroyed what little functionality remained in Washington and with the assassination of President Calhoun having “cut off the head of the snake,” as the proclamation from the April 19 Coalition put it, the Federal government found itself unable to regroup in any form that would allow it to function properly.
Over the next eighteen months, the state governments that still had basic services available began to gravitate towards one another based on geographic location, mutual interests and cultural similarities. By mid-2022, the United States effectively was no more.
The Deep South became dominated by the April 19 Coalition which had destroyed Washington, as well as other white supremacist groups. Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee as well as southern Georgia became the nation of Little Dixie, later shortened to simply Dixie. It was no longer safe for African-American citizens to reside there, so most of them opted for escape to northern Georgia and the Carolinas, now known as the city-state of Atlantia. Despite the destruction of the city of Atlanta proper in the 2020 war, they managed to build a thriving society.
The island nation of Cuba had cast off its Communist government after the death of Raúl Castro in 2018, and the residents of Florida opted to become part of that nation, with the city of Miami its provincial capital.
Further up the coast, the long megalopolis from Virginia to Maine officially took on one of its longtime nicknames and became known as Boswash. This extended chain of cities, once home to over 60 million Americans, had been ravaged by the nuclear attacks of 2020, but still supported a population of about 11 million people.
Many of the world’s major foci of power had been located in this region, and most of those had been lost in the two attacks: the New York Stock Exchange and NASDAQ, the White House and Capitol of the United States along with most Federal offices, the headquarters of the United Nations, the offices of the major American broadcast networks, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and virtually every American financial institution.
To the west, the Oceti Sakowin — the Seven Council Fires of the Dakota, Lakota and Nakota nations — reclaimed their ancestral homelands, including North and South Dakota, northern Nebraska, portions of Montana and Wyoming, and a large swath of
southwestern Minnesota. Ironically, they decided to christen their reborn nation the United Siouan Alliance — the “U.S.A.” — thumbing their noses at their onetime oppressors.
Wisconsin and Michigan were annexed by Canada and christened the Province of New Quebec, over the objections of the Ojibwa, who had hoped for their own lands back like the Dakota had.
Conversely, British Columbia seceded from Canada and joined together with the states of Washington and Oregon to become New Columbia.
Most of Southern California, along with Arizona, New Mexico, the majority of Texas, and portions of Oklahoma and Arkansas were annexed by Mexico and dubbed Nuevo Mexico. The residents of Northern California, however, debated the pros and cons of finally taking on the name Jefferson that had been debated for so long; in the end, however, they opted for the name Pacifica, and established close ties with Japan. Hawaii also became an independent nation but kept close economic ties to both Pacifica and Japan.
Alaska simply declared its independence and continued doing what it had always done; providing oil and gas as well as seafood to other parts of the world.
The sun came up the next morning, and everyone did what they had to do to keep on living.
CHAPTER 51
2020 and Beyond
Over the next hundred years or so, life in the western world went through a sort of rebirth, as most facets of life seemed to revert back to the sort of low-tech, agrarian society that existed in the 19th century. There were, however, large swaths of land that were virtually useless as farmland because of the residual radioactive fallout that persisted after the 2020 attacks. The center of the former United States became a no-man’s land that most people referred to as the Wastelands. This took up a large portion of what was once known as the nation’s breadbasket, from what had once been Oklahoma through Kansas and Missouri into Nebraska and Iowa. Those who attempted to farm in those areas mostly found that their efforts produced nothing but twisted, stunted seedlings that never seemed to come to maturity. It was much the same with livestock, and soon it was rare to see any kind of efforts in those areas.
Nuclear weapons had been banned worldwide in 2481. For more than three hundred years, mankind had lived in relative peace, with only the occasional border dispute involving one of the Indo-Pak Hegemony or Federation of Islamic Democracy member states.
Then, in 2801, a message was broadcast worldwide over the system of broadcast satellites which ringed the planet; an anonymous threat warning that the major cities of the world would be destroyed in three days’ time unless all heads of state stepped down and a mysterious, unnamed Council of Five was accepted as the ruling body of the world.
Needless to say, after 300 years of peace, such a threat was not taken seriously, and precisely 72 hours after the initial broadcast, the entire population of the world stared in horror at their vidfeed screens as the city of Paris vanished in an intense white flash.
There was a brief period of chaos, but not simply from the news about the attack on Paris; there was an actual period of about ninety minutes following the attack on Paris when it seemed that there was a dark cloud of confusion and disorientation that spread around the world.
When it cleared, it seemed as though nothing was the same.
Gradually, the people of the world began to attempt to reconcile what they remembered to be true with what the history databases were now showing: that there had been, in addition to World War I which began in 1914 and World War II which began in 1939, a third World War which took place in 2020, lasting for just one day. It was said to have been an attack on virtually every Western city using nuclear weapons from a space-based platform.
Reports filtered back in time via time travelers who used the Gatespace technology to escape the war, and soon the Time Service, under Nigel’s leadership, took on the task of attempting to set things right.
CHAPTER 52
1960
Xue Ang-Mu sat at a small table in the main room of his apartment near the industrial district of Shanghai. His wife was cooking a simple dinner of rice and vegetables in their kitchen while their son slept on a mat in the bedroom.
There was a sharp knock on the door.
Xue went to the front door and opened it, surprised to discover five westerners standing there with his friend Chen.
“May we come in to your home?” asked Chen.
Xue welcomed them inside, introducing them to his wife, who bowed politely. He invited them to sit on the meager furniture that they had and poured them small cups of oolong tea.
“Now,” he asked simply when they had all gathered, “how may I be of help to you?”
Chen translated his question for the group.
Nigel smiled and began his presentation. He explained that there was expected to be an increasing need for aerospace engineers such as Xue in the West during the next ten to fifteen years. He told Xue that he had been identified as a prime candidate for such a position, and that the group that he and the others were affiliated with — which he conveniently failed to name — had made a decision to offer Xue a sponsorship to assist him in relocating to the United States. He displayed a stack of $100 bills, a passport in Xue’s name, and a trio of airline tickets to Los Angeles, and suggested that with the money he could certainly find the means to procure passports for his wife and son as well.
Xue’s eyes were wide as he stared at what was certainly more money than he had ever seen in his life. He looked back and forth at Chen and Nigel, seeming to waver between utter disbelief and being on the verge of breaking down in tears. Finally he burst out, “How did you know?”
Nigel and the other Time Team members glanced at each other.
“How did you know,” Xue said, “that I have desired to defect?”
CHAPTER 53
2020/2011
Brad and Thunder were near the front of the crowd and it was only minutes before someone recognized Brad.
“Hey,” a man said. “You’re that guy from that band… that, what’s it called…?”
“Brad Lord, from Gemini Genius,” said a blonde woman. “My daughter went to your show last night.”
The hubbub shifted from a sense of panic to something that struck Brad as being oddly similar to something he had seen years ago in Montana. He had a friend while he was growing up whose parents were extremely stereotypical Pentecostal, Holy Roller-types. Although his friend Aaron Smith was less than enthusiastic about going to church at the age of 13, he was required by his parents to attend services every time the doors were open — basically every Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday night. Aaron would frequently ask Brad to come to church with him, not so much in hopes of saving his soul, but so that he’d have a friend that wasn’t completely caught up in the cries of Hallelujah! and Praise Jesus! That rang out from the congregation during the extended sermons that the church’s pastor, the Reverend Scott Simmons, was fond of delivering. The church was very small — the total membership was less than fifty — and therefore there weren’t many other teenagers and no “youth services” provided. Without Bradley as his wingman, Aaron would often sit and squirm and dream of being somewhere — anywhere — else. At least with his friend seated next to him he didn’t have to go it alone. Bradley didn’t mind. Aaron was a good friend, and besides, his older sister Glory was cute as hell, and she sang in church a lot so he had the chance to look at her without her thinking it was creepy.
On one occasion when Bradley had spent the night with the Smiths on Saturday night and gone to church on Sunday morning, it turned out that they were having some kind of special service — they called it a “revival” — and there was a guest speaker, some preacher from Arkansas or Oklahoma or somewhere. His name was Fred MacLiesh. He was a preacher of the hellfire and damnation variety, and midway through his message, he came down from the pulpit and stood in front of the altar.
“Do yew buh-LEEVE?” he said in a strident voice.
“YES!” responded the congregation.
�
�Dewww yewww buh-LEEEEEVE?” he shouted.
“YES!” the people shouted back.
“Hallelujah! Jesus is here, the POWUH of the HO-LEE SPIRIT is here tonight. He’s here tonight, brothers and sisters. He’s here tonight and he wants to heal YOU. Whatever your infirmity, whatever it is that plagues you, you can be free tonight. DEW YEW WANT TO BE FREE?”
“YES! YES!”
“Then come to the altar. Come now, and let the Lord touch you. Let him touch yew now.”
One by one, members of the congregation began to come down and kneel at the front of the sanctuary, many of them bursting into tears.
MacLeish began praying for them, one by one, laying his hand on their foreheads or on their chests above the heart. Many times, as he prayed loudly and emphatically, they would shake and cry out loud. Several even fell backwards, always seeming to be gracefully caught by a man from the congregation and laid down on their backs, something that Aaron later told Brad was called being “slain in the Spirit.” The prayer service at the end of the sermon lasted every bit as long as the preacher’s message itself. Afterward, most of the congregation opted for lunch at the Perkins restaurant in Bozeman; there was time to unwind. Aaron described a lot of the congregation as being “regular people who sort of morph into these weird church people” who, on the trip down I-90 to Bozeman, would “get normal” on the 30-minute drive over there.
~~~~~
Now, years later, Bradley Lawrence had made a sort of morphology of his own; he had changed from the kid who used to dream of being a rock star into Brad Lord, the guy that was starting to get used to having pretty blonde strangers scream from the third row that they loved him.