Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism

by DeCosmo, Anthony

  Evan calmed the gathered with a wave of his hand.

  "Our aggressive military campaign will end. We will live within the boundaries of the continental United States, and as long as we do so there will be no more attacks, no more war. In a manner similar to United Nations peacekeeping missions in the old world, Witiko observers will be positioned throughout our nation and government so as to monitor our good intent. We will demobilize three of our eight active army divisions and several of our combat air wings. The dreadnoughts will be restricted to flights within our borders and K9 breeding programs will be curtailed. With our defensive line on the east coast and the eventual construction of a similar line off California, we will know security and will not need such a large military force. Instead, demobilized troops will either transfer to Internal Security or…" Evan licked his lips, smiled, and in a fatherly voice told, "…or they can go home. They can go home to be with their families, to raise their children, to build farms or businesses. In short, they can go home and live again; live without war. In short, life will return to normal."

  Again, worried looks throughout the press corp.

  "My friends," Evan assured, "the truth is that we have won the war. Our soldiers and the workers at home have removed the organized alien armies from our lands. We can be proud of their sacrifice. Our choice now is either to risk losing all we've gained by continuing this fight to foreign lands or celebrating our victory and sheathing our swords. We will maintain a strong home defense to secure our borders and monitor the activities of the newcomers to our planet. Many details remain to be reconciled and much work must be done to transition from a war footing to a normal way of life. Nonetheless, this is a day for rejoicing. We have known a time of war; now this is our time of peace."

  ---

  Another flash bulb, another pose, this time Evan shaking D'Trayne's hand in the Oval office.

  "Okay, that will be enough for today, thank you ladies and gentlemen," the middle aged woman with the scar—Evan's Administrative Assistant—hustled the press away leaving the room to the President, D'Trayne, and Ray Roos.

  Evan slumped into the chair behind the big desk and D'Trayne paced. Roos watched from a position near the closed door.

  "Your media asks a lot of questions," D'Trayne said.

  "Yes, all good questions, Chancellor. Guarantees. What kind of verification do we get that you're keeping your end of the bargain? People are understandably wary."

  "You have received my word. I will work on getting something in—what did you call it?—'writing.' But you already appear hesitant in fulfilling your end of the bargain. We originally discussed a fifty-percent demobilization of the armed forces."

  Evan stood and jabbed a finger toward the silver alien. "Three divisions for now, Chancellor. No more until I feel comfortable that I have those assurances. I only jumped into this cease-fire announcement so quick because I want the military under control."

  "And have you succeeded? Are your internal enemies no longer a concern?"

  Roos interrupted the conversation, "Well, there, hold on for a sec, this is where I've got a little cold water to throw on this parade." Ray tapped his thumb on his thigh as he told them, "My folks have gone through the ashes for almost a week now and, well—"

  D'Trayne answered for Roos, "You have not yet found the body of this Knox person?"

  Evan's face turned to rock.

  Roos explained, "We pulled out our people and the Chancellor's officers, but—to put a fine point on it—no Knox."

  "Maybe," D'Trayne hoped, "he was vaporized in the explosion."

  "No," Evan grunted. "Ray is telling us that Gordon Knox got away."

  "Yeah, well, I figure that's about right."

  D'Trayne snarled at the President, "This vendetta of yours may upset our arrangement. If he is alive, why has he not come forward?"

  "That ain't his style," Roos explained. "He'll lay low and try to figure this out."

  "I will not have our newfound peace disrupted by a barbarian like Knox," Evan insisted and stared at Ray to make the point that the job must be finished, yet the expression on the Director's face gave Evan pause. "What? What more is there?"

  "Well, now, might be nothing but I got a little nugget from Tucker in New Jersey."

  "Tucker?"

  Evan answered D'Trayne, "The man in charge of security for the Stone family."

  "He thinks Ashley got a visit from someone, sort of covert-like the other day."

  Evan guessed, "Knox?"

  "No. No, that's not it," Roos' face twisted as he tried to piece together the puzzle. "Tucker thinks he heard a name. He thinks he heard the name 'Forest.' Sounds to me like that army-gal that did a lot of Stone's dirty work."

  "Captain Nina Forest," Evan said aloud. He recalled Nina and Trevor being close. He knew of their relationship. He knew it had ended but not given it much thought even though he had helped save her life during the Battle of Five Armies.

  "That's what I'm thinking," Roos agreed. "And here's the funny part. I did a little snooping and it seems Captain Forest just got sent down to Florida by General Jerry Shepherd."

  Evan snapped his fingers and said, "Ashley is suspicious. She has Nina looking into this. Maybe trying to hook up with Knox."

  "Of course she's suspicious," Roos said. "If her hubby's offing wasn't enough, then old Gordo dying in a house fire would be more then plenty to start her radar beeping."

  D'Trayne tried to keep pace with the conversation, "You said no one would miss Knox."

  Evan mumbled, "No one in the public. Knox kept a low profile and did not have many friends outside of his own agency."

  Roos told D'Trayne, "Ashley knew Knox rubbed the President here the wrong way. Got to figure she'd be asking questions. Another good reason to send her and the rug rat packing."

  Evan guessed, "She went to Miami, didn't she?"

  "Now how'd you know that?" Roos asked.

  "Gordon Knox was always pestering Shepherd and Brewer to get him autographed footballs and jerseys from Woody Ross. Ross played football at the University of Miami before turning pro. I remember Knox saying something in a meeting one time about Miami being his true home. I'll bet he's moved down there. I'll bet she's going to meet him."

  "What is football?" D'Trayne asked.

  Roos told his boss, "Maybe he's retired or something like that. Ain't that nice?"

  "No, no retirement," Evan strolled away from the desk in a daze. "You need to get down there, Ray, and take care of this."

  D'Trayne inquired, "Is it possible that this Mr. Knox will be scared into staying underground? Perhaps he is not such a threat."

  "Oh yeah, he's a threat," Roos figured.

  Evan's lips trembled as he told his subordinate, "Get going. Get down there. Chancellor, you coordinate with Ray here. I think we may need your assistance once again."

  "This is not going as smoothly as you had assured."

  Evan's face twitched—a little—and he countered, "Everything is on track. I told you we would have issues to address. The only real problem we could ever have is if your friends don't finish off the job. I don't like the games they play. It seems…it seems petty."

  Roos lamented, "Should have just finished it at the house. What is it they're doing with him again?"

  "That was not the deal," D'Trayne told Evan. "I did not set the parameters of this undertaking, but we all agreed that the final outcome will be the same, regardless."

  "Enough!" Evan shouted before continuing in a calmer voice. "We will not discuss this again. The only thing more I want to hear about Stone is the final word from Gannon when the time comes. For now, we have work to do. But know this, Chancellor, I'm watching very close. I told you once, my first priority is the safety and security of this nation. I will let loose the dogs of war without hesitation if I sense any threats on your end and I would not have agreed to de-mobilize a portion of our forces if I did not feel we were in a secure position. In other words, Chancellor, we still have teeth. S
harp teeth."

  The Chancellor's eyes flickered yellow as he reminded, "Our word is plain to see. No armies gather on your southern border or to your north. Your country is secure. The only problems you face appear to come from your own kind."

  That channeled Evan's attention toward Roos again. "We'll take care of that. Ray, what are you still doing here? Get to Miami."

  Roos offered a sarcastic salute and opened the door. Two Internal Security men—the Chancellor's escort—waited there.

  "It was good speaking with you, Chancellor," Evan's voice carried into the adjacent room where assistants and guards could hear. "Today was a historic day for mankind."

  "And for the Witiko as well, Mr. President."

  D'Trayne bowed respectfully and walked to his escort.

  "Senator Trimble to see you," Evan's assistant announced through the open door.

  "Give me a moment, will you? Yes, just close the door. I need two minutes to myself."

  She did just that, giving the new President sole occupancy of the Oval Office.

  Evan stood for a moment of relaxation, taking in not only his surroundings but the distance traveled to get there. Ironic, he thought, how in the old world he prepared for a life of politics by making contacts, networking, honing his speaking skills, and developing a sense for both manipulation and strategy. He had known—back then—that to become a leader in the United States would take patience, vision, and persistence.

  Then Armageddon came. Trevor Stone had seized power and lectured Evan—lectured me!—on how the world had changed so much; on how all Evan's connections and studies and planning had been for naught.

  But oh how Trevor had been wrong. The new world, it seemed, played even better to Evan's strengths while at the same time freeing his hand for more aggressive action. The chaos and lack of communication throughout the nation gave Evan an advantage he never would have had in a world with 24-hour news networks, video phones, and the internet.

  Evan chuckled. He had orchestrated the downfall of an absolute monarch without raising an eyebrow. Of course it was all for the best; he did it for the sake of the people. Nonetheless, Nixon failed to cover up a mere burglary and Clinton could not even keep a blow job secret.

  But in this new world of monsters and alien armies, the people concentrated on survival to the exclusion of almost everything else and communications remained limited to the extent that few people asked questions, even after the convenient death of Gordon Knox.

  No. That's not quite right. Knox isn't dead.

  Evan's good mood spoiled, replaced by a new feeling. Suddenly he did not want to be alone in the office. Suddenly he felt the phantom of Gordon's gun barrel pressed against the back of his head. He heard Knox's warning after that confrontation three years ago: "Good. Remember. Especially when you go to sleep at night…all safe in your bed. Just like that Hivvan governor in Richmond…"

  Evan's hand drifted to his skull and rubbed the spot where the cold steel had touched him. He quickly removed that hand and scowled.

  "No!"

  He froze, worried he spoke too loud, but no one rushed in from outside.

  Evan repeated, "No."

  He strolled to one of the windows and stared at the grass and grounds beyond. He grew acutely aware of the shadows out there, the sharp corners around the West Wing just beyond his view, the dark spots between shrubs and trees, security officers too far away to see clearly (is that one bald? Is that a bushy mustache on that one? Who is that man? I don't recognize him…).

  Evan forced his mind to cease babbling.

  I will not live in fear.

  He wondered…were the cross hairs of a sniper rifle focusing on him at that very moment? Did a bomb tick away its last few seconds just outside the window? Did an intruder creep across the floor behind him with a knife drawn?

  I will NOT BE AFRAID.

  Evan closed his eyes and felt the thump of his heart, the controlled gentle breathing in his chest, the light tremble in his arms.

  While standing at the window, he slowly raised both hands like Jesus on the cross.

  Evan whispered, "Here I am. Get it over with."

  He waited like that, eyes closed and arms stretched, for several seconds.

  No bullet came. No bombs exploded. No assassin pounced.

  Evan opened his eyes and lowered his arms.

  I refuse to live in fear.

  16. Miami

  On Thursday, June 25, two Amtrak F40PH diesel locomotives rolled into the train station in Hialeah a few minutes before noon. Passengers of all shapes, sizes, and intentions disembarked, most having spent nearly two full days onboard during the journey south. At least they were not covered in soot like passengers riding the steam locomotives that handled the majority of rail travel.

  A handful of the disembarking passengers wore shorts and wide-brimmed hats, hallmarks of northern tourists, a rare commodity in the post-Armageddon world.

  Others dressed in short-sleeve shirts with colorful ties and briefcases. That breed might be representatives from food service companies looking to procure citrus crops, or industrial headhunters combing the survivor ranks to find those with specialized skills, or maybe even government census workers sent to register refugees. Of course, many of the arrivals were military personnel wearing BDUs.

  Among the crowd walked Nina Forest in black tactical pants and a matching shirt with a duffle bag thrown over one shoulder, an M-4 assault rifle over the other, and a scabbard holding a sheathed sword tight to one leg.

  Unlike the business men and tourists, Nina appeared completely unprepared for the South Florida heat. The humidity soaked into her cloths before she reached the shaded platform. The ceiling fans and the cover inside the station helped a little but by the time she hailed a taxi her face had turned red and she felt short of breath.

  The driver provided her a complimentary bottle of water while Nina provided him with a destination: the Airport Hilton and Towers on Blue Lagoon drive. The rusting old Chevrolet Impala with a bobbing statue of Jesus on the dash and an older Hispanic male driver made its way south into the upper suburbs of Miami proper.

  The Mediterranean and Spanish-style ranch houses of Hialeah and Miami's north side sat in tightly grouped neighborhoods, belying the dearth of citizens in that part of town. Nina knew from her experience fighting in Florida a few summers ago that Miami had turned itself into a fortress after the onslaught of Armageddon, holding out against swamp things and other nightmares as well as the organized forces of the Hivvan Republic. That defense caused an evacuation of the outer-lying areas in order to form lines along the Airport Expressway on the north side and the Palmetto Expressway to the west.

  During those years of siege, the Miami population fed themselves with bounty from the sea and citrus while defending their city with a combination of police, National Guard, Cuban refugees, and armed citizens, until The Empire arrived and lifted the siege.

  While she had helped clear the surrounding territory, this served as Nina's first visit to the city proper. Despite the town's struggle—or maybe because of it—Miami felt different from the scores of cities and metropolis' liberated by Trevor Stone's armies. Most of those other places had abandoned their core; chased away by the monsters and extraterrestrial militia. Those who survived did so by hiding at the fringes or forming small pockets of resistance in the wild.

  Not Miami. The city's heart never stopped beating. As the car carried her deeper into town, she felt as if she traveled through time to the days before the gateways opened. The small family shops and barter centers, intact billboards advertising products long since run out of stock, and the new-world chain of "In and Out" convenience stores selling everything from bullets to bread: it seemed a page from yesterday except for the occasional bomb crater, the remains of sand bag and junk barricades, and hundreds of small crosses arranged in neat rows across Grapeland Heights Park in tribute to "those who stopped the breach."

  She arrived at her hotel, a beautiful building c
onstructed on a peninsula stretching into a small lagoon, all within sight of the airport to the north and downtown to the east. A large parrot sat on a perch outside the sliding doors of the entrance greeting each visitor—man or woman--with a boisterous, "Hello pretty lady, hello." Calming instrumental music piped over speakers in the large lobby decorated with ferns and wildflowers. Signs pointed to the 'lunch' buffet in one direction; to the 'lounge' in another.

  She approached a well-groomed female desk clerk who had a complexion of cocoa and shiny black hair pulled tight. Nina paid for the first night of her room with two hundred Continental Dollars, some of which came from her own savings and some from Shepherd. The clerk—noting the pale-skinned blonde-woman's sweat-soaked clothing—referred Nina to the gift shop where sun screen and shorts could be purchased alongside hand guns and marijuana.

  Nina followed that advice before lugging her bag to her tenth-floor room. There she showered, napped for half an hour, then changed into Khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, and a black baseball cap. She also rubbed on a generous portion of sun block before descending to the lobby and hailing yet another taxi.

  "The Orange Bowl."

  The driver—maybe all of fifteen years old—warned, "Only practice there today, lady."

  "The Orange Bowl."

  Nina sat in the rear of the car, eyed the ticket voucher, and reflected on her brief meeting with Ashley, on her covert mission, and on Trevor Stone's assassination.

  She was sure of only a few things. First, Trevor's murder made her ill to her stomach, despite the passing of more than a month since the deed. On several occasions in recent weeks she woke in her bed from some fading dream with a great pressure sitting on her chest.