Chapt 18

Avery lay on a bed of thatched grasses with a high fever. He was dying. His shirt was ripped open and his chest exposed. It was covered in red welts and sores. They’d done the unthinkable. They’d defeated the Appalachian Air Force, but at such a high price. Almost all the men had succumbed to radiation poisoning after their return to the New Mexican airstrip and day’s ride out to the abandoned caves. Stewie had been the first to go. His old body had stopped working nearly a day afterward. They weren’t even sure it was the radiation that got him, just pure exhaustion. Too many G’s. He looked at rest when he passed. Now it was days later and all of them were showing signs: bleeding gums, blindness, dermatological nightmare’s, high fevers, vomiting, diarrhea, and aching joints and muscles. Avery knew he was dying.
It was during the night that a messenger arrived with the news. The Rockies had been attacked full force and there was nothing left. A strange neon green cloud hovered above the remaining rocks and ridges like a warning: radiation. So, they weren’t the only ones who’re going to be poisoned. It’ll be millions before it’s over. Maybe even more. A neon glow? That’s got to be so much more than normal, because he’d only heard of that as a penumbra directly around nuclear material and never a part of a nuclear blast. They must have loaded it with all they had, filthy. Oh, well, he’d done his part. He wouldn’t live to see the rest. That means his wife was dead too. Sarah. If she’d only come here where it was safe. She was always headstrong. Tears leaked out the sides of his eyes but the two young ladies tending him did not notice; it mixed in far too well with his sweat.
I can die now. He thought. I no reason to stay. No children. No wife. I’ve served my purpose and now I can die.
Within the hour Avery Pratt died.

Terra sat across from Sly Louie in his apartment’s office. The receptionist had been unsurprised by her request for a meeting and she’d swiftly admitted her after a brief intercom conversation subvocalized through throat mics. Interesting, thought Terra, I must get myself some of those. The receptionist waved her in with a comforting smile on her cold face. It almost looked unnatural, but she shed that thought. Smiling she strode in confidently. This was going to work.
The short, thick bald man waited momentarily behind his desk appraising her and then marched out from behind it and presented her his hand. She shook it vigorously and noticed that he, despite his obvious strength, did not overpower her with his grip nor did he limp-fish her. That was a good sign, a sign of respect. He smiled like a cat. Terra became conscious of her appearance at that moment for the first time in several years. Her hair was no longer in braids secured by piercings into her skull. It was thick and unruly: an unmanageable mess somewhere between nappy and frizzy (she’d never been able to decide which). She wore no makeup, no bra, only a man’s t-shirt, rubber wader overalls, and thick seal-top boots. He was looking her over. It was shocking but complimentary too. Terra fought back a blush in the first few moments of their encounter.
The period of silence stretched awkwardly for Terra, but Sly Louie soon filled it, “I should hug you, you know.”
Blinking in surprise and feeling off balance, Terra said, “Why?”
“Because you’ve solved so many of my problems so quickly and easily. The police, or the greater part of them, are gone. The government is in tatters. New New York is Old Chinatown now, and nothing else. The Europeans weren’t lying when they described their Erasure bomb. I have videotapes of what happened. All New New York disappeared down to the dirt, water and all within a milli-second and the surrounding water simply rushed in and filled the gap. I don’t know what this does to the scientific theory of matter. You know,” at Terra’s blank look, “Matter can neither be destroyed nor created. So they’ve either teleported it somewhere else or popped it out of existence I do not know, but you are the reason we survived and you hold the key to our continued survival.” He smiled again and released her hand. She hadn’t realized they’d been holding hands still. She did blush this time. What was wrong with her?!
Embarrassed, “Well Josh Brewer is the real reason we survived. That and Albert Strongold. Together they worked out the Anti-gravitational field. Well, Josh did the practical application of it and Albert supplied the Anti-gravity-“
“Eh.. Brewer? Nephew to the President?” asked Sly Louie with a shrewd look of infinite possibility on his face.
“Uh.. Yes, he’s been helping us for years. Albert Strongold even was under government protection or I should say incarceration for years before we freed him. Don’t think that just because he’s the nephew of the-“
Lifting his hands defensively with a wry smile of delight, Sly Louie said, “I wouldn’t dream of it. By the way, what is your name? I know where you are coming from because of my secretary, but she didn’t supply a name.”
“Terra.”
“Earth,” mused Sly Louie.
“What?”
“Your name it means earth, or home planet. Either way it is fitting that you are leader of Square One.”
Feeling it a ripe moment, she said, “That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Of course you did,” smiled Sly Louie unsurprised. “Who will rule the New New New York? Such a mouthful. I think I liked it better the original way: New York. Well not the original way, not Manahattanoes, but all the same: New York. How bout that? Easier isn’t it?”
“Y-Yes, but realistically, a democracy should remain in place and we should continue to be a part of the United States. That is once we assign a new government without NSC control and reinstate the election,” she hesitated at this point seeing that he watched her intently, waiting for something else, as if knowing her next words. “We will need law and order at some point, you know.”
“My dear Terra, I know all this and I’m expecting it. Anytime a criminal tries to rule overtly he gets killed, goes insane like our Mr. Brewer, or goes soft, and I desire none of these things. I understand you want to make a temporary partnership between my forces and Square One to reinstate the city power and structure, eradicate the remaining corrupt and loyal eunuch police officers, quietly yes, and bring order back to our fair city. Yes, is that right?”
Scrambling, Terra said, “Yes, but-“
“But what do I want? Yes… I want you,” he pointed a finger at her.
“Me?!” exclaimed Terra in shock. She took a step back.
“Yes, you for dinner tonight. I was all prepared to have myself exempt from all laws and regulations but that would defeat the fun of it. Right? Now let’s go out to dinner and celebrate. We’ll start fixing things in the morning, okay?” he held out his elbow for her to take.
“Okay,” mumbled Terra accepting his arm awkwardly. He was attractive in that bald, muscular sort of way.
As they went through the doors of his office, he said non-chalantly, “I really do think I’m not being too old fashion to want it back to New York. Simple. Easy. All this New New. Retro Retro. It’s all garbage. Repetition. You shouldn’t have to repeat New York. It’s New Friggin’ York for Chrissakes! See you later tonight Vera,” he waved to his secretary and then they stepped into the elevator and left.

“You’ll go,” the President of the United States said suddenly. His finger jabbed in Charles’ direction.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I am not sure that I am-“ began Charles.
“Nonsense! Modesty has no place here. You’re who I trust! Only you can convince this man of our supposed good will. You must get close enough to him. It’s the only way,” the President’s sunken eyes pierced him. He was no longer the vibrant and strong leader that he’d come to respect. He was a wasted husk of a man, aged before his time. His knuckles were knobby. Bags pouched under his eyes and spider webs of skin cracked around his lips and eyes. He was dying, and swiftly. There wasn’t much time left.
“I… I’ll do it, sir,” and then a warm, wave of confidence welled in his chest. “I can do it. You can count on me, sir.”
“Great,” he said with a pat on his back. Then he waved to his head physician as if he’d forgotten the whole encounter already. Charles waited a moment and then left to prepare for his journey.

The world undulated before her and the austere surroundings of her reception hall became a stinking morass of bog and sinkholes. Quickly sidestepping, Verithia screamed as she saw a hand protrude from depths she’d nearly missed. It was the pasty white color of death and it was contracted as if in pain. It was reaching, reaching for her. It swung blindly in her direction. She screamed again, and with it the hand gained strength and became an arm and an elbow. It gripped the mud around the lip of the sinkhole in fistfuls working its way towards her. Verithia stepped back against a tortured tree with a twisted blackened trunk like it’d been burned in a severe conflagration. Branches broke off at her touch and withered into ash before reaching the ground. She slipped and her ankle shot out within reach of the hand. Sensing the closeness of its prey, the hand whipped out and latched itself firmly to her ankle. She let out a shrill scream, the sound painfully ripping through her throat. The hand was icy cold and she felt frostbite creep around and up her leg. She struggled and kicked but the hand only gripped harder and she felt as if her bones would surely break. A head bobbed to the surface. Lank, black hair tangled over a hollowed out face with sightless fish belly white irises. She screamed in horror. She knew that face. It was her son’s face. Her dead son. The one she’d killed for money, for power, and in that moment she realized that she’d never wake from this nightmare, because it wasn’t a nightmare.
The figure stood before her now. Laughing with its head back. Its still sightless eyes staring towards the heavens because he knew. He knew her thoughts. Every realization, every pain, every fear, he knew and fed upon. He was the nightmare that she’d created.
“Yes, mother, that’s right. You’ve done this all to yourself,” the soft voice like slithering snakes uncoiled in her mind.
Unable to prevent herself, she screamed and screamed knowing that it was useless, completely useless.

Joseph sat watching the woman twitch, moan, cry and whimper on the floor in a heap for several minutes before he decided to leave. He chewed methodically at his bonds but found that he couldn’t even bite through the tiniest piece of the rubber. It was strange. His teeth felt loose from trying and he felt a moment of panic finally arise and he pulled and jerked against the bonds but couldn’t get further than an upright sitting position. He began to yell for help over and over. The twitching woman on the floor did not cease her convulsions. If anything they increased steadily. Her cries became louder into yelps of pain. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Just then the doors burst open and one of the guards that had captured and brought him here walked in. His eyes on Joseph he looked as if he didn’t notice the dark haired lady at all. She rolled over on her side into a tight ball, whimpering.
He spoke in a loud clear voice, “Joseph, I am not here to hurt you. My mother will not be able to hurt anyone ever again. I want to thank you for your help and set you free, but I first want to talk to you.” The man walked over in front of Joseph.
Joseph eyed the man suspiciously, “Why not free me first?”
“Well, I imagine you’d simply flee. I don’t think you’d listen as closely as you would now, unable to do or think of anything else. I don’t want to cloud your mind too much. I want to clearly communicate,” the man spoke in a fluid manner but did not have the body language to accompany his voice. It was as if his body was frozen rigid and couldn’t move. It gave Joseph the chills.
“Alright,” answered Joseph wearily.
“My name is John Makros. The woman on the floor is my mother. She started a religious order known as the Makros Order and used me, her only son, biological son, to further her own needs. She faked my death to make me a saint of a kind, a Buddha, and a martyr without a cause besides holiness. She is corrupt and I hope you know that what I do to her now is nothing compared to what she has done. She is behind almost every world conflict to date. She is responsible for more damage and suffering than anyone I have ever known. Know that she deserves what she gets and nothing more or less. But that aside I’d like to talk to you about your family and your home,” the numb face spoke these words tenderly but it was frightening coming from the emotionless zombie.
“My family?” asked Joseph skeptically.
“Yes, where are you from? You are not an ordinary American. Otherwise my mother would have had very little use of you and would not have taken the time to interview you herself. It was very fortunate that she did it herself indeed. Vicariously she is weaker and sometimes reverts to physical coercion which despite your amazing abilities, would have overcome you.”
“What abilities?”
“Hmm. You don’t even realize do you?”
“What abilities?” asked Joseph again, mildly annoyed. He tugged at his wrist bonds again with a jerk.
“I was not the one who forced my mother out of your mind nor the one who cut her off from the network. That was you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You gave me the chance to reorganize the reception and direction of our mental network so that I was in the position of power and so I could control her instead of her controlling me.”
“Are you controlling this body right now?”
“Yes I am. His name is Boyd Straight and he was a police officer until he joined the Order, under powerful suggestion. My mother forced many into her ranks but most she just tempted with power and money that they never saw and never will. Their minds are all wiped out. Gone. The only ones with a chance are the ones running around with chips in their heads. Everyone else is zombied out and dead in the head. It is a shame but right now, I am overthrowing the city officials and government in the name of the Makros Order. Soon I will rid this city of all that seek to control it. The corrupt will be punished and the law abiding preserved. The police state and the slavery of the Makros Order will end. The truth must win out.”
“Why are you taking over the city?”
“Because it must be that way. In order to reestablish order the old order must be broken. Only then when all components are revealed and destroyed will the occlusion of the common man end.”
“A clue shun?”
“Blindness. A fancy word for blindness.”
“Who are you fighting?”
 “The people that worked with the Makros Order, the NSC, the military, and the government.”
“I don’t know who or what those all are.”
“Open your mind to me and I’ll show you.”
“No. My mind is my own. It’s private. You have no right to-“
 “Yes yes. I understand Joseph. I wasn’t… I understand. I should have understood. Me most of all. Tell me of your home and your family. Where did you grow up?”
“In the Rocky Mountains, in our village. We didn’t have a name for it. It was ours. I don’t think we needed a name. There was no place to go other than home. It was the water. The cliffs. The mountains. The tents. The meeting halls. The boats and that’s it. We heard about other villages that had once been, long long ago, but none of us had every seen anyone else… Except for the Snake man from the tunnels but I don’t think he was a man like us. He was… different, sick in the head and the heart. He killed my grandfather. My father’s dead. I… I wonder how my family’s doing… I’m in charge of the fishing now and with Pa Jo gone it’s too much work for the little ones. I-“
“Did you drink the water growing up?”
“The water? Yeah, why? Sometimes it was too salty and we boiled it and caught the steam into whale bladders. That’s the best water. Oh, man. It’s a chore, but it’s worth it. I can remember-“
“You drank the water of the inland sea? Repeatedly?”
”Yeah, what’s with you. Yeah, I did. All day long. Okay? Anyway. What’s happening right now. In the fight?”
“It’s rather strange. Other people have arrived from the North. I have or I should say my mother had a contact with them whose now mine and I… Yes, we’re fighting together now. Now it will be easier.”
“Will you let me go?”
“Of course I will. I was just wondering if you needed any help getting home?”
“Umm…” Joseph stared at the impassive face, knowing that he did not want help from this man or the man controlling him but he did need some kind of help. “I just need a boat. That’s all, and someone to point me in the direction of my home.” 
 “Easily done. I will start to make preparations,” as he said this the man walked up to the large machines to Joseph’s left and pressed a few keys on a rainbow key pad. His rubbery bonds released and retreated into the table itself. He felt and heard a soft click as the cords that connected to the base of his skull on either side released their hold and snaked back and out of sight. Joseph felt gingerly at the back of his skull and felt hard, metal circular holes in the back of his head.
“I wouldn’t put your fingers in there. New inputs, very sensitive, easily infected. You must leave them be. I’m sorry I can’t remove them. It’s an irreversible procedure. I really wish I could meet you in person, but I am not in the greatest of health and I will need time to recover. I will guide you to your boat as soon as you are ready.”
“I’m ready,” Joseph said eager to get as far from this new creature as fast as possible. It was something to be addressed from within his own head, but another entirely to be addressed by someone through another someone. Besides that, he felt somewhere deep inside him that John Makros was most definitely not his friend.

Walton hated not knowing the current situation. This Strongold fellow may have saved their hides, but Kirri had a point. He was crazy. This whole toy car business had people making jokes all over the grounds. It was enough. He was responsible for all his people, but he was also responsible for their dignity and this time it had gone too far. His newest gadget was over the line. Sacrilegious in intent and downright ridiculous. American Angels, indeed. Gurney Warwick was even swayed against him. It was time. The shield must be lifted. The funding pulled. It was time to rely on good old-fashioned reconnaissance and man to man combat. The pilots down south couldn’t all be wiped out and he bet that if they lowered the shield, Hal would pop out of the rocks and tell them what’s up. Settled on this course of action, Walton stood up from his desk with full intent to send his secretary on assignment to tell everyone just that, when he heard a knock at the door.
“Yes?
“Sir, it’s me,” Rheynoald Grevneck poked his pumpkin shaped head in the door. He smiled his plastic teeth.
“Yes, Rheynoald, what is it?” relaxed, jut Rhey.
“We have a visitor, upstairs waiting,” he smiled knowingly as if at a private joke.
Tiredly, Walton asked, “Who’s outside waiting?”
“A government man. A general, judging by his outfit. Came in on a personal jet. Just set her down upstairs like no to do either way,” he wiggled his eyebrows at that. Walton sighed. A general. Well… a politician would’ve been worse.
“Lower the shield get him in and send our reconnaissance people out. We’ll reopen everyday for fifteen minutes on the hour once a day shifting the hour each day to the next hour, so tomorrow will be starting at,” he glanced at his watch, 5:34, “Six o’clock. Got all that.”
“Most certainly, sir. Right away. Oh and sir would you be caring for your coffee sir?”
“When the general, if that’s what he is, comes in, and… keep an eye on him, keep close I don’t feel all that comfortable. Military, you know, not like us. They’re different.”
“Of course sir,” he winked and was gone.
It seemed like no time passed at all before a sturdy man in his early prime stepped into his office and shook his hand vigorously. He seemed a touch nervous which was to be expected. His eyes took in everything. It was a sign of anxiety and caution. Walton was trying to be just as cautious. Would Brewer send someone valuable to assassinate him, or merely to appraise? Would he think it would lure him into a sense of confidence or respect? Walton had very little idea of the mind of President Brewer. He only knew him by his works and they were sloppy and prideful. A mistake would reveal itself sooner if not later, hopefully not too late.
“I’m President Walton of the Twelve Elders of Square One. I welcome you to our humble abode. I’m sorry our accommodations are not the greatest but they serve us well,” Walton smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way.
“I am Charles Fahey, High General of the United States Government, cabinet member of the President of the United States, and assigned negotiator for the United States in the matter of conflict between Square One and the United States Government,” the man spoke as if by rote. He must have rehearsed it all day. Walton watched the man flex and stretch his hands. Nervous. He looked at his eyes. They darted. This man was dangerous. Dangerous indeed.
“Well, General Fahey, what are your terms for surrender?”
“Surrender?” the man was momentarily stunned, he blinked and looked at Walton straight on and said, “We’ve devastated all your forces here in the Midwest and the coasts. You have no leg to stand on. You alone here in this complex are all that remains of your Square One organization. I suggest you consider your position, realistically.”
“Au contraire my friend, I believe it is you who are in the poor position,” just then Grevneck chose to enter the room with a tray table covered with coffee cups, spoons, sugar bowl, milk pot, and coffee pot, all family heirlooms, and the general jumped up on his feet like he was spring loaded. Suddenly a gun was in his hand an anti-personal laser gun with a wide gray, gold muzzle. He moved it from side to side between the two of them.
Grevneck watched the gun and the man gravely still holding the tray and walked slowly towards Walton as if to place the tray down on his desk. Charles fired but did not fire to kill he simply burned off Rhey’s leg off at the knee. Grevneck fell and dashed the tray and all its accoutrements to the floor. President Walton rose to his feet in horror. His most beloved assistant and friend flailed and swore on the floor. Strange, he’d never heard the man swear in his life. He’d thought him incapable, but great pain brings out the strangest in a man. He then looked at the man from the government, this Charles Fahey. His face was white and the hand holding the gun trembled. It was his left hand. It was funny the things one noticed at times like these. It had been a good life. He’d served his country and its people well. He could die with that knowledge.
“I don’t want to do this, but I must. I am all there is left between destruction and America,” he spoke through gasps and clenched teeth. He raised the laser and lowered it for a moment and said, “I am sorry.”
A blue laser shot from in front of his desk out of the frame of Walton’s sight and lanced across Fahey’s midsection. In reflex, the general pulled the trigger on his own laser and sliced the desk, the floor and Walton’s legs in half. Landing hard on the cold concrete floor, President Walton cried out weakly. He felt something break upon landing, probably his hip. He was old, too old for something like this. The intense heat of the laser had cauterized his wound. He would not be bleeding to death, only in severe pain once his nervous system recognized the full extent of the damage done to him. He heard someone around the other side of his desk struggle to breath. President vaguely wondered where everyone else was. They must have known that he was meeting with a representative of the government. They must have known. His brain felt fuzzy and he wondered why he was crawling. A voice from somewhere in his mind said he was in shock. He heard the gurgle, winded noise again and remembered: Grevneck, old friend. He’s hurt. He rounded the corner of his desk to see his old friend in pieces. The laser had slashed not only the desk in half, but Rhey in half. His heart had been sliced and cauterized. It had a hole in it and still pumped. He was running out of blood in gushes. The square, squat head swiveled toward the sound of Walton’s gasp of horror. His eyes were bloodshot and mad. This was not the friend he always looked forward to each day. A laser, an assassin’s pocket style was gripped in his disconnected hand a few feet away. He made to grab it with his stump but couldn’t. He was weakly gurgling and grunting something over and over. Walton watched in horror as Rheynoald ground his teeth making a squeaking noise and sending spittle down his chin, and then he realized what he was saying, “KillKillKillKillKillKill” over and over. Who was this man who’d posed as his secretary? Finally, he looked away feeling burned and drained by the image. He saw Charles Fahey with his hands over his abdomen. His lower torso and his legs were off to his right looking like a discarded toy. He was definitely in shock. He was gasping again and again pushing the exposed parts of himself upward, trying to keep himself inside. He was shaking and twitching as he worked. The image was too much for Walton who fainted in horror and disgust and didn’t wake until he was safely tucked into his own bed hours later sedated and his legs biopacked.

“So do you think I’ll get pregnant?” asked Susie mildly amused. She sat across from Josh in a Chinese restaurant on Canal St. known as Louie’s, named for its owner, Sly Louie. She fished around in her Dim Sum with her chopsticks for any more pieces of tofu. A soft red light emanated from paper lanterns strung across the ceiling. The table was black polished metal.
Josh rested his elbows on the table as he ate. He took a moment to consider, “I guess it would be likely if the causes for the pregnancy plague remain. I could look into it if you’d like.”
Susie shrugged, “I don’t know. I think it might be nice to be a mom, you know.”
Josh choked on his noodles and covered his mouth with his napkin. He managed a strangled, “What?”
“Yeah, but I’d need a husband. The whole family unit you know,” she was looking into her soup now with a cocked eyebrow and a smile quirked on her lips.
“Uh… What?” asked Josh again, completely at a loss.
“Will you marry me?” asked Susie. This time she looked at Josh directly with a naughty look of mischief on her face.
“Um… Okay,” Josh said, food falling out of his open mouth. His eyes wide in worry. Was she kidding?
Susie squealed and yelled, “We’re getting married!!!” And then the entire restaurant yelled and howled, banging utensils and cups on the table, stomping the floor, and lifting glasses.
Josh felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead and his back and all he could say under his breath was, “Oh balls.”