by Chris Hechtl
The discourse was filmed but not fully aired. The reporters fought for airtime but found to their ire that they were edited. One managed to sneak in and get an interview with several disgruntled staff members. “This is radioactive stuff,” she told her editor, “the story of a lifetime. The president assured the public that all is well. It's not. It is far from it.”
Director Bree Shepard of the Male Health and Welfare Department displayed images of the club med facility. The editor was amused by that tactic. “You know there is a lot of arm twisting going on behind closed doors,” she commented to the reporter.
The reporter grimaced and shook her head. Her boss had a faraway look on her face, a clear sign she was checking the story to see what she could get out of it. “Come on, Chief, what the hell are we doing? This is the story of the decade!” She waved her hands to get her boss's attention. “They are being tortured! I got it on camera!” she held up the microcamera she'd gotten a woman to sneak in for her.
“You do?” the chief asked startled. Her eyes went wide. That was something else. She knew a guy in the facility. He was an okay guy; he didn't deserve to be tortured.
“Yeah, and the guy I interviewed told me the suicide rate is through the roof! He said they get drugged even if they aren't violent now. Just look at a guard funny and you get sedated and strapped up. It’s insane! Hunger strikes are common so of course they have to resort to force feeding! I cornered a nurse who admitted some of it last year, remember? We can use it to support this!”
The chief sighed. She recognized intransigence when she saw it. Her boss would not be moved from this course. She could only hope some other crisis would come up to distract her star reporter. But if it came between loosing Jess to another media outlet or the story …. “Let me make a few calls Jess, no promises.”
======+======
The story made the air a day later. The entire country stopped to watch it. Suddenly the story snowballed as more supporting stories surfaced. Many had been suppressed until now, but they were dug up. A records clerk reluctantly admitted the death toll in the prisons. Suicide was common. Strokes, murder, and heart attacks were the norm due to the stress and medications they were on. Depression was also normal for every inmate.
The most aggressive men were kept in a former supermax prison. They were on solitary confinement, not a good thing for their psychological well-being. Another worker came forward, a morgue truck driver. She admitted she was a regular at the prison, hauling off men's bodies weekly, sometimes daily. The bodies were taken to a lab to be dissected. Their genitals were put on ice to be milked and used. Lately they had done this as an organ harvesting method but with mixed results when they attempted to turn volunteer women into men. This shocking act enraged and inflamed viewers.
Within a day polls were coming back; public opinion, already not happy about the removal of loved ones, suddenly plummeted for the administration. Then it turned ugly. The president was informed that there was open insurrection in the military and marches in some of the cities. She was not happy.
The director tried to brush it off, but the other cabinet members were more somber. “Ma'am, this could undermine everything we've been working toward,” the chief of staff cautioned. “We've got one hell of a live hand grenade on our hands, ma'am. We're on a slippery slope holding it and the pin is off in ….”
“That's enough, Chief; we get it,” the president waves the analogy away. “I've got a date with Governor Bernell tomorrow; I'll feel her out.”
======+======
The next day the president called the director of male welfare personally as her motorcade moved out. The woman was startled and gibbered a bit as the president came straight to the point.
“I'm going to refute this myself, Director, a surprise visit. I'm on my way to the prison now,” the president said.
The director looked startled on the vid phone. “Ma'am, now? I, ah, I don't think they are ready. I'll arrange a tour, ma'am.”
“No need, I'm taking a camera crew. This will go out live to the public. Well put a stop to this nonsense. The stories of suicides, drugging. It's crap! Hogwash,” she snarled as she cut the connection.
“What do you mean I can't see my son? I'm the president!” the president said slapping the desk. “You bring him here now or so help me I'll tear this place down around your head! You'll be counting penguins in Antarctica in a week!” she growled.
“Um, ma'am. We can't, ah, that is …,” the agent squirmed and turned pale. It was obvious she was flustered and off balance.
“Why not?”
“He's in, ah … I regret to inform you,” she inhaled, now not sure she should be the one to say any more. The president froze. Her eyes narrowed to slits.
“Spit it out, Ellen,” her chief of staff said quietly.
The agent looks down and mumbled, but before she could say more, the warden came bursting in. “Ah! Madam President! An honor! Er, what is going on here, Madam President! An honor … ah … I was expecting you to tour with the camera crew.”
“Never mind that. I want my son. Now,” the president snarled, eying the other woman. The warden motioned to a door. “Madam President, perhaps in my office we can discuss this? Without the cameras?” she said desperately. Her eyes cut pleadingly to the chief of staff. A camera crew came in and set up behind them cutting off anything else she was about to say. She blinked at the crew then paled.
The president looked over her shoulder and then back to the chubby warden. “I want my son now. He's going to refute this crap on camera live now,” she ordered. She eyed the guards in the room. All of them were pale and clearly uncomfortable. One of them whispered into a microphone.
As the president fumed, Steve, the president's husband, shambled out into the corridor beyond the desk under escort. Her eyes light at seeing him but then she stopped with a small gasp as his presence registered fully. His eyes were dull; his hair is unkempt. He stank; she could smell him from where she was at. Her nose wrinkled. He knew better than that, she thought, planning to scold him. He was wearing an orange prison jumper with some sort of bulge around his hips. He was gaunt, and the jumper was baggy on him, clearly a size too large. He was wearing prison chains as well.
The president embraced him anyway, for the moment ignoring or not seeing the guards flinch. She grabbed his hands then looks down to see the leather manacles encircling his wrists. She looked up into his face. He hadn't shaven in a while; that was obvious. She touched his furry face. “Trying a new look, babe? I haven’t seen you like this since our vacation in Barbados twenty years ago,” she chuckled, forcing the humor. He mumbled, drooling a little. He was slow, shaking. She eyed him again, growing wary and very, very angry.
“What's wrong, Steve?” she asked softly. “Why is he chained?” She looked over to the warden.
“Um … for his protection, ma'am. I really think we need to discuss this off camera,” she said desperately. She motioned for the guards to block the camera crew.
“You're not going to drug me again, are you?” Steve asked, shaking like a leaf. His eyes finally lit, this time in desperation like a hunted animal. He rubbed at his elbow joints. “Please, I don't want more needles,” he whimpered in a small voice, shaking his head until he started to sob.
Shocked, the president stepped back to see her husband try to roll up his sleeves. She could see the needle scars and needle marks all over his arms. She gasped in outrage and concern. An IV was still taped to the crook of his elbow. “What the hell is this?” she stormed, rounding on the warden. She angrily pointed to the IV.
“He, ah, he grew despondent, ma’am.” the other woman mumbled, looking anywhere but at the president or her husband. “He attempted suicide after your son ….”
“My son? What about him?” The president demanded, paling into a statue. She knew it was bad, she could tell now.
“Um,” the other woman licked her lips and then took the plunge, knowing it was most likely the end of her lucrativ
e career. “Yes, ah, I regret to inform you your son committed suicide, ma'am. I am so very sorry for your loss,” the warden said and then looked away.
“When did this happen? Just now?” the chief asked as the president tried to recover.
The warden looked at her and gulped. She shook her head. “Um, ah, several months ago.”
“He … no, this can't be right. I talked with him in an e-mail this morning. Tell me this is a joke, a cruel twisted joke,” the president said as she looked up, eyes suddenly tearing. Tears dripped down her face. She clutched at her husband for support.
He whimpered. “Please don't milk me again. I can't have sex now. Please don't make me again. It's not my time yet. You're supposed to do this after dinner! I hurt,” he mumbled sobbing. That was the last straw. The president gaped at his face in revulsion and then she dropped to her knees on the floor sobbing holding his hand as he tried to get away from her.
“Oh Steve, oh my God, what have I done …,” she whispered just before the cameras cut out.
======+======
“Well, that was interesting,” Walker drawled. That sparked a series of comments and observations from the others in the room. He shook his head. He wasn't sure if it would pull the heat off them or not. Judging from Miss Shepard, probably not. With no clear chain of command, the woman might try something on her own. She looked like a spiteful bitch.
“Boss, we've got movement on the perimeter. It seems the ATF and Welfare are going now or never,” Kelly warned.
“Yeah, that sounds about right. I heard a bill just got submitted repealing the act in congress. Fat lot of good it will do us now,” Benny said, sounding disgusted. The other adults in the room laughed. A few cheered.
“Oh, they are serious aren't they? CIC reports that they are bringing up a tank, no, wait, it's an APC. We're seeing a full-court press, SWAT gear, hummers with some big honking cylinder thing on top too. They are crowding around a bridge layer vehicle. It looks like it's going to form a bridge head. Several others are waiting on the other flanks.”
“Think that is a big ass spotlight or some sort of sonic weapon?” Eric asked, studying the image.
Walker tapped his chin. “My money is on sonics. They want us alive after all. It might be a microwave. That would heat up any metal forcing us to drop our weapons or get cooked.”
“Ah, crap, I didn't think of that one,” Eric grunted then nodded grudgingly. “At least it's not EMP.”
“Yet.”
“You're just full of crap-good feelings today,” Eric said sourly eying him. “Wait, aren't they worried about what microwaves would do to us? You know, radiation?”
“Maybe it is just a threat?” Walker shrugged. “I'm not a mind reader,” he said shaking his head. They heard feet pounding their way. Both men turned to the open door.
“Choppers inbound, boss,” Kelly panted, coming into the room at a run.
“So, they’re pulling out all the stops. I should feel flattered,” Eric said, rising to his feet fatalistically. Kelly looked at him and then to Walker.
“Yeah, you should. The evac is in full swing. We've got most of our people and essential gear in the tunnels.”
“Thermopylae it is,” Walker sighed. “We'll run with it. God, I hate running out on a fight. And leaving in a hurry means we always forget something.” His face worked in disgust.
“We'd better not. This is going to be one expensive show,” Kelly said, shaking her head. “All that prep and drills and the classes in theater are hopefully about to pay off.”
“They'd better,” Eric said as he walked out. The others quickly followed.
======+======
They were scrambling the radios but he smiled. So was he, and he had more power than they did. He had a dedicated satellite link outside the jamming that bounced to other servers. He played it for all it was worth, broadcasting the attack on a time delay. Every station tuned in. He was careful to only give them the enemy's positions, not his own.
With the flag up in the background, he talked about what was going on. “Madam President, you have my deepest sympathy for the death of your son. Ma'am, you can stop this. You are the only one who can. I will not surrender.” He shook his head mournfully. He then went on to recite the preamble of the Deceleration of Independence and then Thomas Paine's “Give me liberty or give me death” speech.
He then turned from the podium and stood at attention. The entire world held its collective breath as he placed his right hand over his heart while the left held a 9mm.
“Oh, don't do it,” Casey murmured, tears streaking down her face as she watched the video. “Walker … please, God,” she looked up helplessly to the heavens, knowing if anything that there was nothing she or anyone could do to dissuade the man.
Walker smiled ever so gently and recited the pledge of allegiance. “I pledge allegiance to the flag, of the United States of America. To the republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all,” he said, finishing with a lift of his chin. He turned to the camera once more, tears flowing. “Words to live for and die for. For freedom, liberty, and justice for all.”
Tearfully, with a shaking hand he reached out and cut the feed. The image cut out, but the sound continued as a gunshot was heard then the sound too was cut.
“Oh my God,” a voice whispered softly.
The sheriff, watching the feed, flinched with the others. She looked out to the camera feed to hear the national anthem.
“Where? What? Where is that sound coming from?” A confused agent looked up to a hidden speaker. As the song played, explosives begin going off, keyed to the first mention of bombs bursting in air.
Each of them went off in sequence; a dreaded thunder growing as they tore the place apart. It was all choreographed to the music. Rockets flew into the air. The invading team ducked and covered as the air ripped around them with fire and brimstone.
Terrified animals, frightened beyond wit and reason stampeded for their lives. Fire raged through the compound and surrounding forest. The Ospreys and helicopters veered off from the sudden hot turbulent air, out of the hot zone. Hastily the ground element retreated in disorder, abandoning their weapons and vehicles as they pulled back in disgrace.
======+======
When it was over grim, forensics agents were flown in. They were filmed uncovering human remains. The president and cabinet had resigned the night before. The sheriff snorted in disgust as their supporters said they were against the act all along and called for open blue ribbon investigation committees to get to the bottom of the matter. Some of the men were released, battered and abused. They shook as they hugged their families. Some couldn't stand being touched however. The tearful moments were all caught on camera.
Every one of them confirmed the stories of abuse. They showed the indents where ident chips had been implanted in their bodies, the bruises and scars from straps, the needle marks. Stories poured out of them of rampant abuse by the guards, staff, and supporters. Director Shepard was brought up on charges by the new administration, but she disappeared before she could be arrested.
======+======
Two years later the country was slowly getting back to normal. The sheriff was disgusted. She had just lost her recent election to Trixie, the mealy mouthed bitch who had shot Walker and started the mess. “To her, of all people,” she muttered, walking the cratered fields of the family farm. There really was no justice in the world she thought. The farm was a wasteland. Its ashes were now overgrown with weeds and junk. She shivered in the spring chill, tucking her hands in her jacket pockets.
“I heard you needed a job, lady. Interested?” a familiar voice asked her from behind her
She turned startled at the male voice. He was there, under the shade of the tree smiling at her. He looked up, tweaking the bill of his hat. She walked over to him, hands in her rear pockets. She felt like strutting but she was crying. “Yeah,” she said roughly as she got to him.
He
dropped the nonchalant act and wrapped his arms around her as her own wrapped around the back of his neck. “Think you can handle being a small town sheriff again?”
She laughed a watery laugh. “Ayeup,” she replied with a nod, dashing tears. “Sure,” she stuttered out as she brushed tears from her eyes. “Lord, Walker, I thought you were dead,” she said huskily.
He chuckled, nuzzling her hair.
“That was the idea. It was best for everyone if we dropped off the map. Dead people tell no tales to NBC and CNN and wouldn't be chased all over the globe,” he said simply.
“Wait,” she said holding him at arm's length to look into his eyes. “What about the bodies they found?” she asked suddenly wary.
He smiled. “All a part of the plan. Graveyard, over that away,” he waved to the old cemetery. “They had to find bodies, or they would have been suspicious. Doc threw in some medical waste and of course other stuff. Obviously it worked.”
“Huh. It looks like you put a lot of thought into it,” she observed dryly. He chuckled and nodded, gently stroking his fingers through her hair. She liked the feeling. “Sharon, Mary, and a couple of the others went north, you know that?” she asked, suddenly suspicious. “All a year ago. The town's a ghost town now,” she sighed, which was true. Without the farm to support the town and surrounding area with power and material, the town had been doomed. She missed them.
He smiled to her. “Oh, don't worry about them. We picked them up ages ago,” he grinned down at her. “So, lady, are you ready to pick up the handcuffs again?” He leered at her, hands dropping to her hips. “It seems our small town is in need of a slightly used and rather kinky sheriff,” he teased.
She grinned up at him, wrapping her hands around his neck once more. “Gee, that depends on who's wearing them,” she teased right back, smiling brightly at him. He laughed until she kissed him to shut him up.
The End
