Collapse (New America)

by Richard Stephenson

  “Sir, we have climate control, maintenance, sewage, water, and surveillance.”

  “Hal, gimme a break. Which one of those do you think I care about?”

  “Surveillance, sir.”

  “You could have said that and left out the rest.”

  “My apologies, sir.

  “Okay, so let me have it. What is Sterling up to?”

  “He is in the library looking at a map of North America, sir.”

  “Can’t stand that little prissy snob. He always talks to me like I’ve won a medal at the Special Olympics. Asshole. What’s everyone else doing?”

  “Chairman Moody and Director Jimenez are in one of the sitting rooms talking.”

  “Let’s see it.” The readouts on the giant monitor faded away to be replaced with an image of one of the dozen sitting rooms in the mansion. Since the control room Howard was sitting in was like a giant snow globe and the image was all around him, it appeared as though Howard was in the same room as the two men.

  “The nerve of those pricks. Smoking cigars in my house. Jimenez looks like he should be on life support, and he’s smoking a cigar.” Howard shook his head and listened to the two men speak.

  “How many people know?” asked Chairman Moody.

  “Besides the two of us and President Sterling?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I haven’t told anybody and unless you’re an idiot, I’m sure you haven’t told anybody. Unless Simon has told someone, it’s just the three of us.”

  “I damn sure haven’t told anyone. I’ll take it to my grave,” said the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “I thought about telling Weygandt, I know we can trust him and he’d support us, but the less people that know about this, the better.”

  Jimenez puffed on his cigar and began to hack and cough.

  “That a good idea, Roberto?” asked Carl.

  “Like I give a fuck,” said the old man in the wheelchair.

  “What about the blonde?”

  “Stacy Reid? Hell no, I didn’t tell her. Are you crazy?” barked Director Jimenez.

  “No, you crusty old son of a bitch, I know you didn’t tell her that we killed her boss. I’m asking you why in the name of Christ you brought her here. She’s a fine piece of ass, but I doubt your dick has worked for a decade.”

  “Watch it, asshole.” Carl had known Roberto long enough to know that he was just yanking his chain.

  Carl laughed and rolled his eyes. “I always had so much fun with you in the White House. Every single person in Washington who knew the two of us was convinced we were bitter enemies.”

  Roberto leaned back in his chair and frowned. “We may not be bitter enemies, but I do hate your stupid ass.”

  “Aren’t you sweet? That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

  “Shut up.”

  “Why’d you bring the blonde?”

  “I think she can be useful to us. She can provide valuable intelligence on what Powers was doing in his final days in office. Might be helpful for the transition.”

  “Bullshit. You felt sorry for her.”

  Roberto grunted, shifting in his wheelchair. “Kiss my crippled ass.”

  “You know it’s true. We both know she was in the dark about Florida, and you hated Malcolm even more for betraying her.”

  “I’m the fucking Director of the CIA! Betrayal comes with the job. We make our living getting foreign citizens to betray their governments.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. Malcolm had a nervous breakdown and made her cry. You see a pretty lady crying and want to rescue her. I’ve seen you do it before.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You know I’m right. Cuss me all you want.”

  Howard had seen enough. “Hal, turn it off. Now!” The screen faded to black and Howard ran out of the command center down the hall to the dormitory wing. He had never been so angry. His best friend had been murdered by members of his own administration. That level of betrayal and deceit had never been visited upon a president of the United States. Every assassinated president before Malcolm Powers could at least take with him the fact that he’d been murdered by an enemy who made no qualms about his hatred for the man he had killed. His closest friend would be remembered alongside Julius Caesar for his treacherous murder and little else. The legacy of Malcolm Powers would be that he was a terrible judge of character. Howard couldn’t save his friend, but he would avenge his death by bringing the traitors to justice.

  Howard had lost his home and was now living underground. Half the country was living in the Pre-Industrial Era without a working government. Major cities were crumbling to the ground. People would soon begin to kill each other over food and water. And worst of all, The Great Empire of Iran had won the war. President Sterling was always vocal about his opposition to meddling in foreign affairs. He was the poster boy for the Modern Isolationist Movement. He often quoted President George Washington’s farewell address to bolster public opinion for isolationism. Now that he was in office, it would no doubt be high on his priority list.

  Hal interrupted his creator’s depressing musings. “Sir, you need to come back to the command center. President Sterling is having a conversation that you need to hear.”

  “I assume you have the ability to record it for playback?”

  “Yes, sir. The White House A.I. was able to repair some of the damage to the surveillance system.”

  “I’m on my way, Old Man. By the way, Hal, I need you to do something for me.”

  “Of course, sir, anything.”

  “Malcolm never gave his digital assistant a name. It’s time we changed that, and I’d like you to do the honors.”

  “Thank you, sir, I would be happy to give my sister a name.”

  “I thought you might.” The spherical screen came to life, displaying the inside of Howard’s library. There, the president gathered with Carl Moody, Roberto Jimenez, and James Weygandt.

  “How soon can we make the broadcast?” asked President Sterling.

  “Tomorrow or the day after,” answered General Weygandt.

  “How many people can we expect will hear it?” asked the president.

  General Weygandt replied, “The West Coast and the Rockies were not affected by The Pulse, so they’re not really an issue. We’re setting up loud speakers in every state capital and every major city. We’ll broadcast it over AM and FM for all the people who had emergency radios shielded against EMPs. The news will then spread like wildfire by word of mouth.”

  “Outstanding! If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have to write my own Inaugural Address. Oh, wait, that reminds me. Did we get in touch with any of the other Supreme Court justices? Associate Justice Boyd is a bumbling fool. He’ll step all over his own words and ruin the occasion.”

  Director Jimenez turned his wheelchair around to face the president. “Mr. President, he’s the only one we’ve been able to locate. I have my men working around the clock to find the Chief Justice; I’m confident they’ll find him.”

  Sterling laughed. “Well, whomever we find, it will be the last act of the Supreme Court, strictly for show. They’ll no longer have a purpose. Thank you, Roberto. Gentlemen, that will be all. Thank you.”

  The three men extended the proper formalities to the president as they left the room. Howard thought that was the end of the playback but found the image following the three men as they walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. Work crews had already done an impressive job repairing the damage left by the missile.

  Roberto Jimenez looked up at Carl Moody. “What’s the status of our forces in the Iranian Theater?”

  “Our troops are retreating back to Gibraltar. All of our ships will rendezvous with the James Russell sometime tomorrow and withdraw back to the East Coast to close our borders.”

  Roberto stopped his wheelchair for dramatic effect. The two men had no choice but to pause and give him their full attention. “So
you mean to tell me that you’re going to gather the bulk of our military in one central location? You ever think that maybe the Empire will use that opportunity to strike?”

  General Weygandt exchanged a smirk with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “Roberto, we’re not going to create a traffic jam at Gibraltar. Our ships won’t be bumper to bumper like it’s rush hour; they’ll be spread out from the Port of Gibraltar over hundreds of miles. The Empire isn’t going to think we’re priming for attack. They’ll get the message plain and clear that we’re retreating.”

  Roberto hated to be upstaged by the military. “I’d be more worried about the European Army shoving a nuke up our ass for stabbing them in the back and leaving them behind. By the end of the year the Empire will be walking the streets of Paris and London.”

  Carl Moody was a closet member of the Modern Isolationist Movement. It was the entire reason he was behind Simon Sterling. He couldn’t very well be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and publicly advocate isolationism when his nation was trying to rid the world of the most horrific force since the Nazis. He’d had many long talks with Simon in the past year and agreed with him that the United States needed to worry about the United States and nothing else. He laughed at Roberto’s taunt. “Who gives a shit? They can have Europe. It’s time we stopped playing babysitter to the rest of the world and take care of our own backyard. We’ve managed to bankrupt our country and turn our kids into idiots at the expense of saving the world. Well, we can’t save the world, but we can save ourselves.”

  Roberto laughed at the Chairman. “Save it, Carl. You’re preaching to the choir.”

  The playback stopped, and the image faded away. Howard's mind was racing with mixed emotions. Malcolm was so close to ending the war, and these men pissed it all away in the span of a day. He didn't disagree that the United States had plenty of its own problems to deal with and could use its resources to rebuild its own broken homeland, but it wouldn't mean a thing if the Great Empire of Iran conquered the world. Once they absorbed the vast resources of Europe, Iran would be coming across the Atlantic to invade America. Their army would be unstoppable. China had been content to sit on the sidelines and do nothing to stop them. The Empire had been smart enough to leave the Chinese alone. China might be motivated to wake up and do something if America fell to the Empire.

  "Sir, a large number of vehicles are headed towards Beck Castle."

  “The military?”

  “No, sir, civilians.”

  The screen showed twenty-three vehicles driving in the direction of Beck Castle. They weren’t exactly on a direct course to the Castle, but they were heading in the general direction.

  “Well, it's to be expected. I'm sure a lot of people are evacuating the major cities and heading north to Wyoming and Montana to get away from all this madness. How far away are they?”

  "Just over three miles, sir."

  "That's odd. They're off road?"

  "They are indeed, sir."

  Howard watched the convoy drive carefully across the terrain. Not all the vehicles were suited for leaving the pavement, driving slowly around ditches and rocks.

  "Sir, they will be able to see Meredith's garden if they stay on the same heading."

  "I don't really care. They could build a town up there and would never be able to get down here. Hell, they could dig a tunnel down to us, and it wouldn't make the slightest difference."

  "Sir, we do have the means to take them in and provide them shelter. They would only take up a fraction of the dormitory wing."

  "Slow down, Old Man, let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm not going to open my door to strangers. God only knows what they would do down here."

  "Yes, sir."

  Howard watched the convoy close the distance to Meredith's garden. The lead vehicle stopped a few yards shy, and the driver got out. A man in his mid-thirties closed his truck door and walked over to the garden. He didn’t seem surprised by it in any way, as if a beautiful oasis in the middle of the rocky terrain was perfectly normal. He knelt by Meredith’s tombstone, gently placing his hand on it.

  "Sir, I assume you know who that is?" asked Hal.

  "Yes, Old Man, it's my son, and he brought a bunch of strangers to the front door."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Richard Dupree and Billy Bratchett were driving north along Interstate 25, approaching Fort Collins. The iPad belonging to Richard's ex-wife, Monique, was propped up on the dashboard, resting on the dials of the air-conditioning controls. His children were currently in the care of Monique's boyfriend, who was in his parent's RV. With the picture of the RV locked onto the screen of the iPad, both Richard and Billy were scanning everything in their line of sight trying to find it. They were having a hard time of it with the number of RVs on the road. People were fleeing the cities in droves. Much like the firearms market, The Second Great Depression didn’t hinder the recreational vehicle market; if anything, it only increased demand. Many people had downsized to RVs or were forced into them after the government foreclosed on their homes. As a result, RV-Towns sprang up along the interstates. Richard and Billy had stopped at several rest areas along the interstate to search among the dozens of RVs for the one with the telltale American flag and contrasting black quarter panel. Richard had to beg Tank to stay in the truck while he talked with the people in the rest stop. Tank knew he would terrify people with his demon eye and the dozens of tattoos decorating his skin.

  Richard knew how to talk to people and had no trouble striking up a conversation with strangers. The story was the same with everyone - it was time to get the hell out of Dodge and find a safe place to live.

  Richard made up a story of trying to reunite with his brother. Many people were in a similar situation trying to find their loved ones, so it wasn't difficult for Richard to blend in with them. Richard felt that the search was getting nowhere but didn’t give up hope. At the next rest stop, he found a large group of people gathered around a fire. A hunting party had killed some wildlife and returned with enough game to feed the crowd. Richard described the RV to the group.

  "I'm looking for my brother and his family. We got separated in Denver, and I'm trying to catch up with them. We're both headed up to Yellowstone, and I'm wondering if any of you saw his RV."

  A thin, gaunt woman who desperately needed the meal she was about to eat spoke up. "Wait a minute. Old tan colored RV with an American flag on the driver's side?"

  "Yes, ma'am, have you seen it? The panel above the back tire is black and sticks out like a sore thumb."

  "Yeah, sure. They were here this morning; I think they left about an hour ago."

  "Thank you so much. You've been a big help."

  The thin woman smiled. "I hope you find your brother. Don't suppose you have time to stay and eat? We'd love to have you."

  "Ma'am, I appreciate it very much, but I better get going if I'm gonna catch up with him. You folks have a good day."

  Richard ran back to the truck and climbed in. "We're getting close! They left here an hour ago."

  "Great news, brother. What're you gonna do to the asshole that's got your kids?"

  "Don't know. As long as doesn't try to stop me we won't have a problem."

  "Trouble has a way of finding you, Richard."

  "Don't I know it."

  Richard pulled back onto the interstate and decided that he needed to close the distance. He stuck to the feeder road and was able to get the truck up to sixty miles an hour. Twenty minutes later, the feeder road congested, so Richard drove onto the shoulder and pulled into the grass. He was able to maintain fifty miles per hour in the grass. Trading the Honda for this four-wheel drive pickup was an excellent decision.

  Richard soon found out why the traffic was coming to a standstill. An RV-Town was in front of them, and for some reason everyone was exiting into it. Richard had a good feeling that he would find the RV he was looking for there and took the exit. A very large crowd was
gathering around one particular RV. A man was standing on its roof and appeared to be some sort of religious nut spouting end of the world prophecies. He chuckled to himself. If the man was reciting the Book of Revelation, he probably wasn't too far off the mark.

  "Billy, I appreciate you staying in the truck as many times as you did. It means a lot to me that you understand. I'm certain my kids are here somewhere. You wanna get out and try to make friends, I won't stop you."

  "Fuck you mean 'try'? I'm one charming mother fucker!" Tank laughed.

  Richard smiled and got out of the truck. He wanted to get closer to the man atop his RV to hear what he was saying. He quietly pushed his way into the crowd to get closer to the show.