Authors: Phoenix Williams
“Look,”
he urged Andy. The former hitman already was.
The image on the
screen was terrifying. It was a wide spinning shot that a helicopter
had captured of a large and smoky mushroom cloud rising up from a
valley. The cloud retained its shape, the smoke and dust hanging up
in the sky in disobedience of physic's laws. The newsfeed at the
bottom of the image labeled the event as Andy had seen it. “Who
nuked us?” he asked in a hushed voice.
Davey looked over
at Andy on his right. He smiled. “We did,” he answered.
Andy stared at him in confusion.
“If you're
just joining us,” a man's voice overlapped the image of
destruction on the television, “we have confirmed that a
nuclear device has been detonated in northwestern Colorado late this
morning. The exact size of the explosion is unknown but it is
estimated to be nearly an entire megaton of explosive power. The
death toll is estimated to be just under one hundred, although the
intense environmental damage that the bomb will cause is another
story. Right now, reports are coming in that this attack was
orchestrated by the Knights of the Proletariat in response to Decree
and Federal troops attempting to take control of the facility away
from the terrorists. The entire facility has been destroyed, and as
we are currently reporting, there have been no survivors discovered.”
Davey clicked off
the television with the remote.
“What
happened?” Andy asked.
“That
terrorist group that blew up the tower?” Davey started
explaining, clarifying that Andy knew what he spoke about. “They
took ownership of one of America's old warheads and threatened to set
it off if they couldn't have their petty country back. When the boss
men sent guys to attack them, they said, 'Fuck it,' and blew the
place up.”
“Why?”
Andy asked.
Davey shrugged.
“Some people would rather die than see defeat,” he
replied. He turned to Andy. “Are you a man like that?”
Andy shook his
head. “I'm not afraid to lose.”
“Are you
sure?” Davey asked. He pulled back on the hammer of his gun and
rested the barrel against Andy's temple. “What are you afraid
of then? Death?”
Andy shook his
head. “I'm not afraid to die.”
Davey laughed.
“Then it seems like I'll be doing you a favor,” he said.
A crazy look glinted in his pupil.
“I'd rather
die than see you win,” Andy elaborated. Without any hesitation,
his muscles snapped into motion. With his left hand he batted away
the gun and locked his hand around the offending wrist. With his
right he struck Davey in the eyes with a fist. He turned into his
captor's body tugging down on Davey's wrist until he heaved the man
over his shoulder and onto his back. He pried the gun out of his
hands but sent it flying behind the receptionist's desk.
Groaning for a
moment, the murderer sprung up onto his feet as Andy reached inside
his jacket for his gun. He remembered that it was outside on the
sidewalk. He swore under his breath. With haste, he ran out the front
door as Davey scrambled for his own firearm. His extremities trembled
with adrenaline as he fumbled with picking up his three-eighty auto
off a small patch of grass.
Cocking the gun, he
took a deep breath and dived back into the clinic. Instead of waiting
for him to return, Davey was already halfway out of the back door to
the waiting room. His weight had thrown Andy off as he tried to
redirect his momentum back out of the front door. As he emerged, he
dropped down onto one knee and opened fire at the deranged man. Davey
rushed over to Andy's bike and fumbled around with something as Andy
fired. Davey hurled Andy's motorcycle keys as far as he could in the
opposite direction. At the same time he continued to duck and weave
away from Andy's line of fire.
The former hitman
wasted little ammo but still found it difficult to land a decent bead
on Davey. It was as if the psychopath had adapted to his way of
thinking and was able to predict where Andy would shoot. Dancing away
from the gunfire, Davey jolted to his own car. As he tried to throw
open the driver's door, Andy blew a small hole through the murderer's
already injured arm. Davey only stopped for a moment to groan in pain
before he tossed himself into the cab of the truck. Andy continued
shooting as Davey drove off until he knew that it would be impossible
to hit anywhere near him.
As the shakes of
adrenaline continued to grip Andy, he sighed, irritated. He went off
to the other side of the street to find his keys.
-Chapter Thirty-Six-
Intervention
People were
enraged; livid and barking with fury in large circles in so many
different places at once. These people were sick and tired of putting
their morals above their survival. They were fed up with the catering
and servitude that the weak ones around them threw themselves into.
That was the general atmosphere although the specific people and
discussions that were being had varied from faction to faction. There
were four gatherings taking place at the exact same time. And the
exact same thing happened.
As they always do,
Decree had shown up to where the mob fumed in front of the ruins of
the Decree Tower with guns. The mass of humans was disorganized but
passionate. The yells and taunts came out loud and heavy to the
paramilitaries. So few people ran and hid. Not a soul obeyed the
mercenaries when they ordered the people to disperse. They bore
through the tear gas, running only closer to the armed men who
watched in shock. The protestors didn't care. They were so tired of
being afraid. Instead, they passed on that quality to their
oppressors, who began opening fire. Their aim was terrible. Fear
burrowed tremors into their wrists and all they managed to do was
wound and flee. Some of them weren't able to escape to the vans with
their colleagues and were crushed to death as dozens and dozens of
furious protestors stomped on them repeatedly.
The people pulled
the weapons and ammunition off of a few merc-cop corpses. Windows
into cars and businesses, newspaper stands and kiosks were all
smashed with whatever the crowd could get their hands on. Someone
threw a few flares into a department store and started a fire blazing
on the street. They even fought each other. Their bodies shook with
an eagerness for violence. To make someone else suffer.
Denver was the
current capitol of the Federal States of America, and the scene there
resembled a large, outdoor town hall. Citizens gathered in quiet
assembly and demanded answers from their politicians. The lawmakers
themselves gathered together on the famous stage at Union Station and
invited discussion from their citizens. Instead of anger and unrest,
the gathering of folk were scared and worried. There was a large
plaque that covered the stage with the name of every person that had
been murdered at that station since the Standstill. The victims of
the American War.
“What about
the fallout?” someone shouted up from the street.
Dominic Fesgen
himself held onto a megaphone and stood foremost on the stage. “Right
now, all of our men and women in service are out west, evacuating
everyone from there,” he explained, his voice strong and
comforting. “Although the fallout should be nearly nonexistent
this far east, we are recommending everybody stay either in basements
and cellars in their own homes or to come to one of the city's many
emergency shelters. There we have beds. We have food and we have
medical services. We're going to take care of each and every person
that needs it and make sure that our families and friends are safe.”
Haley did not go to
the assembly that was took place in D.C. This surprised many of the
activists that did. She didn't leave her hotel room at all since the
bomb went off. Instead, she sat in the darkness on the edge of her
bed, weeping. Never before had she felt like such a failure. Defeat
seeped out of her lungs during the louder of her sobs. She had tried
so hard to promote peace and get the world on the right track in
terms of human decency. Her whole life had been devoted to civil duty
and taking care of those who couldn't do it for themselves. She had
so much faith in everyone. So much stock in the condition of standard
compassion. And they just slapped her right across the face.
God must be
laughing,
Haley thought.
Out on a rural
countryside, the Heaven's Crusade members gathered for a sermon.
Their church was large and composed of multiple structures. There was
a long, thin metallic fence that encircled the entire area,
resembling a stadium. In the northern side were four dormitories
where the residents could get in and out of their apartments from the
outside. They even had small grass lawns in front of each one. The
largest building was the cathedral that had once been an airplane
hanger nestling itself against the southern wall. In the middle of
the compound, surrounded by bleachers and where the worshipers
gathered, was a large metal crucifix.
A man in a hoodless
gray robe stepped in front of the communion with the cross in his
background. He wore small sunglasses and sported a long, silvery
beard and mane. He talked with a powerful tone as he quoted scripture
in the beginning. His tone became more dramatic as he continued.
“We're coming
upon some rather dark times in the world we have to share with so
many others, wouldn't you say?” he asked. “Now I'm sorry
to be going a little off script here, but I wrote a special sermon
that I feel fits no better in time than now, after this terrible
tragedy.”
He pushed the
glasses down on his nose so he could see everyone over them. “Sinners
would create a world in which the 'majority' has the say, has the
ability to change things, only in a world that is so majorly sinful,”
he began. “Democracy is a scam. This implication that everyone
can throw in their propaganda and filth for consideration and
practice among the masses. Even those unworthy of His love can chose
to lead? Those who even have their souls sealed away in hell for
eternity? Wicked people? And what have we got?”
The crowd erupted
with moans and yells that silenced quick. “This is enough! We
can't let fools and sinners destroy this planet that God has gifted
us with. In these dark times, what we need is an intervention –
”
At that moment, the
gigantic metal crucifix opened up. From inside poured out several
forms that none of the cultists were ready for.
Everywhere at once,
bright light flashed through the air and a crack knocked the sound
out of everyone's ears for several moments. The rioters and
mercenaries that fought in New York found that their firearms were
all disabled. Light bulbs from within every street light exploded and
ceased to illuminate. Televisions and electronic signs fluttered off.
In Denver, President Fesgen's megaphone squealed harshly before
cutting out forever. Every camera and cell phone went black. The air
was filled with silence as everyone's senses began returning to them.
In each city there
knelt a being that had never been seen by Americans before. It was
pale white with bright glowing skin. It looked as if a strange layer
of sparkling dust surrounded its body, softening up all of its edges
and blurring its features. The only features it seemed to have anyway
were small rises and indentations in its blank, human-like face.
There were no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just shimmering skin.
It stood up and
everyone around it moved back. It was a slender creature that towered
about twelve feet up into the air. Instead of standing straight like
a man would, this being was bent like a parenthesis. Its back stuck
out far behind its head and its two long legs. Bone could be seen
sticking out just above the skin, the ribs and spine defined through
the creature's smokey white epidermis. Once it had stood to its
fullest height, the most distinctive feature of this strange being
was its massive birdlike wings. The broad feathers stretched in the
new air as the creature stared up into the sky. A chill rushed over
everyone as it looked down at them all.
“You were
warned,” a voice buzzed from inside the chest of every man,
woman, and child on the planet. It was deep and sounded like glass
cracking. Along with it came fear that stabbed hard into everyone's
heart. “Now I must intervene.”
Several more of the
creatures flew through the sky from various directions and landed in
the streets. They caged around people as they tried to flee, keeping
them corralled like sheep. Their featureless faces stared deep into
the crowds. Soldiers, policemen, mercenaries and politicians alike
all huddled and quaked with terror. There was nothing they could do,
no chance that they could fight. The people clumped together and
waited.
“You are
afraid,” the voice stated from inside. “If only you had
this much fear earlier. Fear is good. It will save you.”