Sic Semper Tyrannis

by Marcus Richardson

  “You gotta be kidding me, what is this an award ceremony?” said the second reporter.

  “Stressing the fact,” continued Daniel, some color finally rising in his cheeks. “That the United States faces unprecedented civil breakdown, financial obstacles, internal rebellion, and is in dire need of strong leadership, particularly in the maintenance of law and order…”

  Suthby closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, listening to the words. The next few lines were pure music to his ears and he didn’t want to miss a word. So few words, yet they would change his life, and alter the course of human history.

  “…this international body resolves to require all member nations and all Federal agencies of the United States—including State and local governments—to collaborate with and recognize former-Secretary of Homeland Security Henry Suthby as President Pro Tem of the United States…”

  Suthby sighed at Daniel’s flawless delivery. It was perfect. The gasps from the reporters were just icing on the cake. He opened his eyes and nearly laughed out loud at the apoplectic reactions of the two male reporters. The female was merely staring at Daniel with wide eyes and an open mouth.

  He impatiently rifled through his own paperwork as Daniel droned on in the background, reading the rest of the long-winded statement from the Secretary-General of the United Nations. When he was finally done, the reporters could no longer be contained.

  “What the hell is this?” one shouted.

  “You can’t possibly be serious—the implications of this…whatever it is—is it a resolution? Is it an order? Is it recognized as law in the United States?”

  “Mr. Jones, do you honestly expect average Americans to agree to this?” asked the woman in a measured voice.

  Daniel nodded at her and spoke calmly, “Janet, I’m not here to give you my opinion. Quite frankly, my opinion doesn’t matter. What matters is, like you said, the opinions of the average American out there who is suffering through this continuing crisis we all face. Look, it’s not like the United Nations wants to invade us or anything. Take a look at the rest of the world—things are falling apart out there because the U.S. government is no longer able to hold the world together. I mean, you’ve got riots in Germany and England—people are running out of food all across Europe and even Asia is starting to feel the crunch. We’re not importing anything. Where is China getting money to pay their workers? Something has to be done before the entire world enters a new Dark Age.”

  “Holy crap,” Suthby muttered at the monitor. “That was good, Daniel.”

  Daniel made a show of shuffling his papers and started reading from another letter: “This is from the leaders of what’s left of Congress—at least the ones we were able to find. I’ll give you each copies of this for distribution, but the gist of it is that Congress agrees with the United Nations. In this time of crisis, we must have continuous—and strong—leadership. Both the minority and majority leaders—of both the Senate and the House—have agreed to President Suthby’s continued leadership on a pro tem basis. President Suthby has stipulated in this document,” he said, holding up another piece of paper, this one on Presidential letterhead.

  Suthby nearly screamed for joy when the reporters simply wrote down notes instead of challenging Daniel’s use of the phrase “President Suthby”.

  “…which clearly states that he will only assume office until such time as Congress determines he is no longer needed, the next in line under the Continuity of Government protocol is found, or a special election is held—to be scheduled at the discretion of Congress.”

  Suthby slapped his hands together and stood up. His dream was finally realized. He was the legitimate President of the United States. He had achieved what no other man in American history had accomplished—to become the most powerful man in the country without ever needing a single vote, a single lobbyist, a single campaign stop. He was untouchable, incorruptible, and unstoppable.

  He walked to the side table and poured himself a scotch. “Hot damn,” he said to himself. After draining the glass and letting his throat recover, he poured another and glanced at the monitor. Daniel was wrapping up the press conference, fielding a few stunned questions from the pool reporters—it was clear they were completely shell-shocked.

  All the better, Suthby figured. The longer the Press was quietly confused, the longer it would be before people started to question his authority—the faster people would come to recognize the silence of the Press as acquiescence and acceptance.

  “Now it’s time to save this country,” he said, scotch held high in salute to Daniel’s image on the screen.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Battle of Orlando

  SERGEANT PINNER BROUGHT THE M-ATV to a stop in front of George Mason High School. There were three Guardsmen standing at the entrance monitoring radios and keeping a wary eye on the deserted parking lot.

  The radio in the console squawked to life: “—horn is in effect. Repeat, all units this net, Matterhorn, Matterhorn, Matterhorn. Break for cover and meet at your assigned rendezvous point.” The man’s nervous voice repeated the new instructions again. Pinner switched it off and turned in his seat to look at Ted.

  “Sergeant, you’re more than welcome to come with us. If not, I’ll need the keys,” said Ted.

  “I’ve seen you in action, sir,” said Pinner as he killed the engine to the M-ATV. “I like your style. I’ll stay with you.”

  Erik was the first to reach the school’s doors. “Move!” he shouted and barreled past the surprised soldiers who tried to salute.

  Ted’s voice rang out behind him as Erik entered the darkness of the school’s foyer. “Start the evacuation process—we gotta get the civvies north of town!”

  “But sir, we haven’t heard from HQ—”

  Erik came to a tripping halt in the main intersection inside the school and ignored Ted’s words about the command center being destroyed. He looked left towards the classroom wing where sleeping quarters for the civilians who had been traveling with the Guard were staying. To the right, he knew, was the gym—the hospital. That was where he’d find Brin and Susan.

  He burst through the doors to the gym with Ted on his heels. The doctors, nurses, and volunteers were busy—as usual—but there was a heightened sense of anxiety that was almost palpable in the cavernous gymnasium. Row upon row of cots with sheets for dividers had been set up. A large tent occupied the center of the basketball court—the operating room. The roar of the dozen or so military-grade generators out back was barely audible through the thick walls but the power lines that snaked across the hardwood floor in every direction were proof the surgeons had a lot of electricity at their disposal.

  Erik shouldered past a man on crutches and asked the first orderly he found, “Have you seen Brin Larsson? She’s a volunteer…”

  The woman thought for a moment, then nodded. “Oh yeah, she’s over there helping the new arrivals.”

  Erik sprinted to the far corner of the gym, where the bank of doors leading to locker rooms were propped open in an attempt to allow air to circulate. His boots squeaked to a stop when he saw her, bent over a man stretched out on a cot. His bloody clothes had been reduced to mere rags. A fresh puddle of blood pooled under his cot. Brin had tears in her eyes as she gently pulled a stained white sheet over his face. She sniffed and stood up, wiping a stray lock of hair from her face and blinked at the ceiling.

  Erik could stand it no longer. He took three quick strides and wrapped her in his arms. She yelped in surprise, then hugged him back when she realized who had grabbed her. “God, I’ve been so worried about you,” she whispered into his ear. “There’s a battle going on out there—the first casualties are starting to arrive…Are you and Ted okay?”

  “Ted and I are fine. But we’ve got to go.”

  “Go? Where?” asked Brin, stepping back from Erik yet holding his hands.

  “North. Orlando is about to fall—”

  “What?” she said, shock registering on her face. �
�What do you mean, ‘fall’? We can’t just run—we’ve got to help—”

  “Listen to me,” Erik said in a low voice. He pressed his face close to hers, his hands cupping her soft cheeks. “The Russians are attacking the outskirts of town right now—they’re setting fire to everything and pushing the civilians before them like a human tidal wave. We barely made it through. HQ is gone. They got jets doing bombing runs, missiles falling out of the sky—and a whole army approaching from the south. Orlando is doomed,” he said. “We will be too, if we don’t get the hell out of here, right now.”

  Brin’s face was a mask of shock. “But…Captain Williams…” She looked around. “The patients, the doctors—they need—”

  “Honey, if we don’t leave, right now—we’ll never get another chance. The Russians are…” he struggled for words. A few of the wounded soldiers were sitting on elbows trying to listen from nearby cots.

  “Hey, you got word from the front?” one asked weakly.

  Erik nodded at him and tried to smile. He turned back to Brin and the smile vanished. In a hushed voice, he said, “Babe, we’re running out of time. Ted’s getting Susan and the kids right now. We’ve got to go. Now.” He looked past his wife’s doubting face. “There they are.”

  Ted and his family rushed up to Erik, carrying backpacks and blankets and stuffed animals. “You ready?” he asked.

  “Ted—” began Brin.

  “Hey, I asked about the front? We holding?” demanded a voice behind them.

  Ted frowned as he looked past Erik. His gaze shifted to Brin, then Erik. “What’s up, man? You ready or what?”

  “She…” Erik was at a loss for words. All their hopes and dreams since the power went out had been tied up with surviving long enough to make their way north. And now they were staring at the best opportunity in months to come along and Brin was hesitating. He didn’t even know what to say.

  “Brin, dear, we need to go. Come along, now,” said Susan, reaching out to take Brin’s arm.

  “Yeah, Brin, we’re going on a road trip!” Ted’s youngest son said cheerfully.

  “Isn’t this desertion?” asked Brin quietly.

  “Jesus Christ,” muttered Ted. He shifted his daughter from one arm to the other. “We don’t have time for this. Come on kids, we’re going to go load up.” He shot Erik a look. “Erik and Brin will be right behind us.”

  Erik frowned at Brin. “You think Ted—a Marine—would go AWOL in the middle of a war? Our HQ is gone—”

  “Gone?” asked the soldier behind Brin, trying to sit up in his cot.

  Erik gave up. He leaned around Brin. “Yeah, Russians took it out with a missile strike. The whole line is collapsed, man. The reinforcements from Tampa never made it—”

  “Missiles?” asked another man. He moaned. “We’re fucked, man!” Others picked up the news and the word spread rapidly. The noise level around them began to increase. Nurses and doctors stopped their rounds to look up and see what was causing the commotion among the new arrivals.

  Erik grabbed Brin’s arm, harder than he had meant. “We’ve only got a few minutes before they start hitting us here and the civilians arrive. If that happens, we’ll be trapped and…” He swallowed. “Babe, this is our only chance.”

  She nodded and took his hand. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “What about us?” one of the wounded yelled, anger rising in his voice. “You can’t just run out like that!”

  “Come on,” he said to Brin, trying to ignore the shouted questions and accusations that were starting to be hurled in his direction. He focused on Ted’s family, making their way to the other side of the gym. “Just keep moving.”

  “Hey, Miss Brin, I could use some water,” someone said as they shuffled past a cot. Erik felt Brin slow down. He pulled on her hand.

  “I’m sorry, one of the others will get you some,” he heard her say in a choked voice.

  A shout from the other side of the gym took Erik’s focus away from Ted’s back. Two soldiers burst into the side doors and shouted something. A woman screamed. The ripple of panic worked its way across the gym floor in the blink of an eye and chaos erupted all around them. Some patients who were able to rise did so and began to stagger for the exits. Others just flailed helplessly and cried for assistance. Doctors and nurses tried to install a sense of calm an order, but Erik could see the time for that was past.

  “Come on!” he shouted to Brin. “We gotta move!” He gripped her hand tight. “Hold on!”

  “Erik!” she screamed. He felt her tug backward with surprising force.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw two men in cots trying to grab her legs as she moved past. “Don’t leave us!” one said. “For God’s sake, help me!”

  “Hey! He’s going AWOL!” someone shouted from another cot.

  “Stop them!”

  “Cowards!”

  The space around them began to close up as hands and arms tried to slow them down amid the shouts and jeers of the wounded. Erik felt horrible. These men were truly helpless and what’s worse—they were right. He could feel the shame in his soul. He could well understand their frustration at someone trying to steal away in the middle of the battle, but he had finally reached his breaking point.

  The same white hot fury that had slowed down time for him at the parking lot of the Freehold when the escaped convict had tried to assault Brin flared to life. Time seemed to slow down, his vision narrowed and he could feel every heartbeat coursing anger through his veins. He was so close to freedom, to fulfilling the promise he made to Brin when the power went out so many months ago: to get her to safety and protect her. He had suffered through life in the army for the past month, put his life on the line more than once, and escaped the Russians once already. Now today…enough was enough.

  Sympathy for his fellow wounded soldiers evaporated in his soul like a drop of water on the hood of a car on a hot day. He kicked—hard— at the man’s hand that had snaked around Brin’s calf in an attempt to keep her from running. The boot met flesh and bone with a crunch Erik could feel up his leg. The man cried out in pain and the hand fell away.

  Brin screamed. Erik spun around and saw another soldier stand up in front of them trying to block their path. He was bleeding from a head wound and hunched over in pain, but the look of determination on his face was frightening. “Can’t let you run, sir.”

  Erik’s vision darkened, everything took on a red tint. In one quick movement, he tossed Brin’s light form onto his left shoulder, lowered his right, and charged. The soldier was caught completely off-guard and took a half-step back when he realized Erik wasn’t about to stop.

  Can’t let you stop me…

  Erik roared his frustration, anger, grief, and all the torments of the summer and poured it all onto the soldier who had decided to try and prevent him from getting his wife to safety. The man was tossed aside like a rag doll as Erik threw every ounce of his 6’4” frame right into the man’s chest. He stepped over the crumpled soldier and picked up speed. Brin’s weight on his shoulder felt like nothing more than his day pack.

  Two more soldiers were knocked aside. Erik felt like a running back in the Superbowl. By God, nothing was going to stop him from reaching those doors on the other side of the gym. Ted’s face appeared in the distant doorway and urged him on. The crowd surged forward but momentarily paused as those nearest him saw how Erik was busting through anyone who stood in his way. It was just enough of a gap for him to topple a doctor and two orderlies to the floor.

  “Sorry!” Brin called out—upside down over Erik’s shoulder—as he kicked an empty cot aside.

  At last he reached the door and set Brin down on the ground. “You okay?” he breathed.

  “Wow,” she said, eyes wide, one trembling hand on Erik’s shoulder. “That was...different.”

  “Let’s go, you two!” bellowed Ted from down the hall by the main entrance.

  “Come on!” said Erik. He took Brin’s hand and they raced down the hallw
ay towards the blinding light at the entrance.

  Erik and Brin burst through the main doors to a scene that brought them to a halt. One of the Guardsmen was unconscious on the ground, the other two were glaring at Susan—who held an M-4 pointed at them. Erik glanced at her and his eyebrows rose.

  “He told me I can’t take my babies to safety,” she said simply. Erik noticed the red stain on her shirt.

  Brin gasped. “Susan, you’re bleeding—you must have reopened your wound.”

  “I’ll live,” Susan said, her face a mixture of grim determination and abject fear. Sweat beads rolled down her neck.

  “Fuckin’ traitors,” one of the Guards spat.

  Erik looked at him. “We’re overrun, man. Orlando’s toast.” A fighter jet roared overhead to put emphasis on his words. He glanced at the sky.

  “That’s Russian,” warned Ted from the driver’s door of a second M-ATV. The vehicle came to life with a throaty roar. “Pinner’ll take you and Brin. I got my family in this one.”

  Erik looked back at the two Guards, who didn’t look so sullen anymore. “It’s time to survive, not fight. The fighting’s over. They won.”

  “Matterhorn is in effect,” said Ted.

  The Guardsmen looked at each other. “That confirmed?” They lowered their hands in unison.

  Ted shrugged one shoulder. “Check with your comms guy if you don’t believe me. Either way, we’re out of here and I suggest you do the same…that’s what the order is all about, right?”

  Matterhorn: Captain William’s nuclear option. In the event the Russians over-take their position, all units were to scatter into the landscape and regroup when possible at pre-determined rendezvous points. Ted, as commander of a scout unit, had been ordered to link up with other survivors near Ocala. They would become guerrillas if necessary.

  Erik glanced up and saw neat rows of large planes gliding gracefully up from the south. They were trailing little black dots… “Oh shit…look, paratroopers!”