Collapse (New America)

by Richard Stephenson

  He had won. Howard had lost.

  "Top, get in there! I want him alive!"

  "Roger that, sir!" The First Sergeant sprinted through the hole in the kitchen wall.

  "Sir?"

  Butler turned to see his Executive Officer, Lieutenant Christopher, standing at attention holding a salute.

  Captain Butler returned the salute. "Lieutenant! Glad to see you up and around!"

  "Yes, sir. Thank you. Sir, the president's helicopter is approaching."

  "Thank you, XO. You're dismissed."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Captain Butler turned to see the president's helicopter in the distance. It approached the empty field and landed behind him, fifty yards away. Captain Butler straightened his uniform and prepared to meet the president.

  Once the helicopter was secured, the doors opened and the ladder descended. Vice President Simon Sterling exited, straightening his tie and holding on to his hat to keep it from blowing away. He slowly walked the distance between himself and the officer. With a stern look on his face, he surveyed the man who had carried out his bidding. Once he felt the man was sufficiently intimidated, he returned the salute and spoke.

  "Captain Butler, I presume?"

  "Yes, sir. It's an honor to meet you, sir."

  "Likewise. I see you had a difficult time securing my new home?"

  Their conversation was interrupted by a small craft emerging from the roof of the mansion. Once it was a hundred feet above the estate, it rocketed away to the north.

  "Hmph. I see Mr. Beck will not be joining us. Such a pity. My apologies; you were saying?"

  "Yes, sir. Mr. Beck did not give it up without a fight. His security measures were quite effective at repelling our advances. I had no choice but to secure an opening in the outer wall."

  "Excellent work, General Butler."

  "Yes, sir!" Jackson Butler couldn't help but smile at the news of his promotion.

  "General, it’s time the American people had a true leader unburdened by an ineffective, squabbling government powerless to do anything to help them. They deserve a leader who is willing to do whatever it takes to ensure our nation does not fall."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  President Malcolm Powers sat in his study at his residence in upstate New York. His five hundred acre horse ranch, "Serenity Hills," had been in his family for generations. Once he took office, the Secret Service made many upgrades to the property so the president could vacation there at his leisure. Malcolm never once felt like he had any kind of a vacation when he was there. He did just as much work at the ranch as he did at the White House. The residence was fortified with the same steel doors and shutters as the Oval Office. The air space over the ranch was a no-fly zone. Malcolm felt the need to apologize to each of his neighbors since they all had to undergo extensive background checks. They gladly complied since they were proud to tell their friends and family that the president of the United States was their neighbor.

  The First Lady had taken up permanent residence at Serenity Hills due to her failing health. The White House Press Secretary had maintained the white lie that she was recuperating from her latest battle with breast cancer. It was true; she had gone into remission three times in the past sixteen years. The cancer was not the reason she had left the White House - it was her mental state. Madeline Powers was bi-polar and not fond of taking her medication. She was a brilliant woman who had retired from practicing law when Malcolm began campaigning for the Oval Office. She had every intention of using her status as First Lady to champion her many causes; however, the press was not too kind to her. Someone had dug up her medical records and her mental health problems, starting a media circus that only got worse when she tried to defend herself. The White House press corps respected the president enough to never broach the subject, but other media outlets practiced their constitutional right to free speech and branded Madeline Powers as "crazy" and "a dangerous woman who could corrupt the leader of the free world." At the first White House Christmas party of the new administration, she had a manic episode and caused a scene. The President and the First Lady's sister were able to quietly whisk her away from the party. Malcolm begged her to take her medication. Madeline refused and instead went into exile at Serenity Hills. When the attacks on the White House began, Madeline was in such a state that her personal physician, along with her Secret Service detail, had to restrain and sedate her.

  When the White House was evacuated, all of President Powers' guests accompanied him to Serenity Hills via Air Force One. Everyone stayed at the ranch for the first night; however, the majority of the guests departed shortly thereafter. On the morning of the third day, the only ones that remained were Chief of Staff Reid, Director Jimenez, Fleet Admiral Mack, and Secretary of Defense Decker.

  As the group wrapped up their breakfast, the president lit a cigarette and said, "Computer, give me a status report on Washington."

  "Good morning, Mr. President. I am sorry to inform you that the situation did not improve during the night. Rioting and looting actually increased from the previous twenty-four hour period. Many of the rioters have organized into armed gangs numbering from fifty to one hundred. The Unified National Guard has been unsuccessful in taking back portions of the city. The gangs simply fell back to another portion of the city and take control there."

  "They're probably using the metro to move around," Secretary Decker observed.

  "The metro is still running?" asked Stacy Reid.

  "No, the metro was shut down when this all started. I'm betting they’re still using the tunnels to move around the city."

  "That just makes it harder. Computer, continue please." Stacy Reid continued drinking her coffee.

  "The most troubling news is that during the night, one of the gangs broke into three of the Smithsonian Museums, resulting in a great deal of vandalism."

  When the president heard this, the news crushed him. He never dreamed that American citizens would damage priceless artifacts from their nation's history.

  "Which museums?"

  "Natural History, Air and Space, and American History."

  The president didn't know if he could take anymore bad news. "What about the monuments?"

  "The Washington Monument has not sustained any structural damage, but the walls at the base have been spray-painted with various anti-government slogans and profanities."

  "Dear Lord, help us all. Do you have any images?" President Powers quickly lit up another cigarette.

  The wall opposite the president's desk lit up and displayed an image of the Washington Monument. The people in the room stood and walked to get a closer look. "Kill the crooked politicians!" "Fuck Powers!" "Burn the White House!" could all be discerned along with many other similar slogans. The only slogan that bore any intelligence was "Don't Tread On Me," dating back to the American Revolution.

  "Burn the White House?" Stacy read in anguish. She looked to everyone in the room and said, "Computer, bring up an image of the White House."

  An aerial view of the White House filled the screen; the image rotated three hundred and sixty degrees around the perimeter of the presidential residence. Steel shutters still adorned the windows and doors. While the interior of the White House was secure, the outside was another matter. The walls of the White House were covered in graffiti and scorch marks from Molotov cocktails. The building's fire resistant paint prevented the firebombs from doing any lasting damage.

  "Computer, continue please," said Stacy.

  "The Jefferson Memorial has suffered a fate similar to that of the Washington Monument. The only monument to suffer structural damage is the MLK memorial."

  An image of the structure built to honor the legacy of the pioneer for Civil Rights was displayed on the screen. The Stone of Hope had been toppled. Dr. King’s statue lay in three pieces, the head smashed to bits.

  "That's horrible! I can't believe it." Director Jimenez scowled.

  Malcolm debate
d on whether or not he wanted to see any more. Against his better judgment, he asked, "Computer, show me the Lincoln Memorial."

  An image of the Lincoln Memorial filled the wall. The outer structure was just as it was before Washington fell to the rioters. Malcolm felt a sense of relief, but, just to be sure, wanted to check on Honest Abe. “Computer, zoom in to the inside of the monument."

  The image zoomed in and focused on the statue of the sixteenth president. President Lincoln was sitting in his chair, hands on each arm. The man himself was unmolested, but something was in his lap.

  "Oh my God!” Is that what I think it is?" Secretary Decker said with terrified eyes.

  President Powers was speechless. He was no stranger to the gruesome acts of violence that accompanied war. He had seen things like this many times before, but never on American soil.

  Stacy Reid had tears streaming down her face. Director Jimenez was trying to scream in anger, but instead began a coughing fit that lasted for several minutes.

  Admiral Mack was the first to speak. "We have to take back the Capital. We can't allow this to go any further."

  President Lincoln's legs and feet were drenched in blood. In his lap was a pile of human heads, all wearing the Kevlar helmets of the Unified National Guard.

  "Computer, turn that damn screen off! Now!" President Powers took a few steps and fell into a chair. Stacy could tell the president was on the verge of losing control. His face was bright red and he was breathing in and out at an alarming rate. He raised his head from his hands and swung his head from side to side, repeating the word "no" over and over.

  Stacy leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. "Mr. President, please. Please try and remain calm. Malcolm, please listen to me. You're scaring us. Please calm down."

  Malcolm took in several troubled breaths and closed his eyes. Secretary Decker poured a glass of water and handed it to the president. Malcolm raised the shaking glass to his lips and drank.

  "Thank you, everyone. Thank you." The president paused for a moment to steady his voice. "I'm sorry if I’ve alarmed you. I'm fine. I just need a moment."

  "Mr. President, do you need to lie down? Should I call Dr. Miles?" Stacy turned and looked at Admiral Mack should the doctor be needed.

  "No, no. That won't be necessary. My wife's doctor has his hands full at the moment. Please, I'm fine, really."

  The president finally cleared his head and regained his composure. "I'm sorry for that. I'm actually quite embarrassed, and I'm sure I can count on everyone's discretion. The American people need to have complete faith in the office of the president, now more than ever." Everyone in the room looked to the president and nodded their heads in agreement.

  Admiral Mack quickly changed the subject so they could move forward. "Mr. President, with your permission, I'd like to report on the status of the Iranian blockade."

  "Yes, Admiral, please." The president was grateful for the chance to regain control.

  "Computer, bring up the status report from the Iranian Theater." A detailed map of the eastern edge of the Iranian Theater appeared on the wall. "As you can see, the Enterprise and the George Washington, along with their support craft, joined the blockade forty-two hours ago. They have set up a secure perimeter in the Indian Ocean and have closely monitored for any Iranian submarines. I can report definitively that no Iranian subs have entered the Indian Ocean."

  "Thank you, Admiral; we could all use a bit of good news."

  Director Jimenez sat forward in his wheelchair. "Admiral, I hate to be the naysayer and I assure you I mean no disrespect, but how can you be sure of that?"

  "A perfectly valid question to which I take no offense, Director Jimenez. We have our own submarines in the water and have set up a dragnet spanning the distance from Oman to Mumbai. Nothing passes the line without us knowing. If we wanted, we could pull up sensor reports and tell you how many fish have crossed over the line."

  Roberto Jimenez did not smile often, but upon hearing this, he did. "I'm impressed, Admiral. What about the radiation?"

  "It's getting worse. It’s continuing to fan outward from Bunker Five. The blockade is safe from the radiation for now, but the Iranians are continuing to dump radioactive waste into the air. I can't begin to imagine the death toll in the region."

  The president returned to his desk and sat down. "What happens when the radiation hits the blockade? Will we still be able to detect enemy movement?"

  "The blockade will be affected toward the surface. Depending on the level of radiation, our sensors will be ineffective from the surface down to about a hundred feet. However, if a sub tries to come to the surface, it will be easy to spot."

  The president was not happy with this development. "That's not comforting, Admiral. We are vulnerable if that happens. If we let a submarine get past the blockade and head to our shores, well, I think we all know what's at stake."

  "Yes, Mr. President, I understand your concern and I share it. We have hundreds of drones in the air watching the water."

  The president sat back in his chair and was silent for few moments. He thought about the blockade and once he decided he didn't have any further questions, he changed the subject. "How bad is Texas?"

  The president's Chief of Staff hesitated. She didn't know if the president could take any more bad news. The last thing she or anyone in the room wanted was a repeat of what happened a few minutes prior. Everyone in the room looked to her, reluctant to answer.

  "I'm waiting for an answer.” The president was becoming clearly agitated.

  "Mr. President, I think the best thing for us to do right now...”

  "The best thing for you to do right now is not to coddle me like a child and answer my question. Or do I have to find out for myself?"

  "Yes, Mr. President, of course. My apologies. Computer, show us the Gulf of Mexico."

  A map of the Gulf of Mexico and the Texas coastline spilled across the wall. The path of Hurricane Maxine was indicated by a series of lines cutting across Galveston Island and ending north of Houston. An overlay of the power grid indicated that the majority of the state was in the dark.

  "Computer, display the I-45 corridor from Galveston to Houston."

  The people in the room could only hope that the image was incorrect, because the only thing they saw on the screen was water.

  "This is a nightmare," Charles Decker lamented. "We have no idea how many people drowned in that, do we?

  "I'm afraid not. It's been over a month, and the death toll in Florida is continuing to rise. It will be some time before we know the final figures in both states," answered President Powers.

  "Computer, zoom in on downtown Houston." The president braced himself.

  Houston had been decimated. The city was underwater and many skyscrapers had either fallen or were leaning over, resting on their neighbors. The flood covering Houston was filled with debris. Cars, houses, trees, traffic lights, and raw sewage sloughed around. Admiral Mack took the initiative and walked over to the screen. He raised his hands to interact with the computer and with a series of gestures, zoomed and panned around the destruction. People could be seen floating on billboards and standing on rooftops. Admiral Mack chose a section and zoomed in even closer to see a large collection of corpses that had floated into what appeared to be a large parking lot and rested against the side of a building. After a few seconds passed and recognition kicked in, he quickly zoomed out of the image and left it as it had been before.

  The president had prepared for this; he knew the destruction in Texas would be as it had been in Florida. He struggled every minute of every day with the decision he had made. Malcolm stubbed out his cigarette and spoke. "I have sacrificed a great many American lives to stop The Great Empire of Iran. When this is all over, I will have to figure out a way to live with the decisions I have made. I will certainly have to answer to God for bringing so many innocent people to His gates. If we are successful in stopping the Empire, we will h
ave saved the world from complete destruction." The president stopped, and a look of complete shame and remorse erased every shred of proof that he had any confidence in what he had done. "Even if we do manage to save the world, I will never be able to reconcile the horrible things for which I am solely responsible. I am presiding over the destruction of our nation; that much is painfully clear. My only hope is that my successors will be able to pick up the pieces and repair the damage left in my wake."

  President Malcolm Powers turned his chair away from his guests and faced the window. No one in the room spoke a word. They simply sat in the painful silence, astonished over the sequence of events that brought such anguish to their friend and beloved president.