Nation Divided

by Drew Avera

  67

  PETER DRAKE

  I watched David Calloway from my cot as he paced on the other side of the bars of my cell. The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable, but it was better than the metal stool they would have me sit on. Besides, without having shoes or socks on my feet, the concrete floors made the room feel unbearably cold. "You mean to tell me, there were more victims than the bartender?" David asked, his lips quivering as he spoke. I thought I noticed a tear streaming down his face, but it could have been the dim lighting playing tricks with my eyes.

  "Oh yeah," I replied, "I've had eight victims over the years, but until recently, I spaced them apart. Now, it was just something to pass the time after curfew."

  David stopped pacing outside my cell and turned to look at me. "I… I don't know if I can defend you, Mr. Drake," he said, tugging at his necktie as if it was choking him. "The things you are telling me are horrendous."

  I leaped from the bed and in only three steps made it across my cell. Reaching my hands through the bars, I grabbed the public defender, jerking him towards me so we could see eye to eye. His eyes bulged, tears already welling in them. His hot, stinky breath wafted in the air a mere ten-inches from my face. "Don't go getting any ideas about telling on me," I said, gripping him tight as he tried to back away from me.

  "No, sir, you have client confidentiality," David muttered. "I swear."

  I love talking with this man, I thought as he shifted uneasily, a part of me thinking I was the only thing holding him up. "Are you sure?" I asked, looking down my nose at him as he whimpered.

  He nodded his head, and it reminded me of an old cartoon where the nodding of the character’s head sounded like a rattle. I released my grip on him, straightening his jacket with my hands before slapping him on the shoulder. "Well, that's reassuring," I said as I stepped back from the iron bars. "I guess that leaves me with one last question."

  David tugged at his necktie again, and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. "And what's that, Mr. Drake?" His voice shook, on the verge of crying, I suspected.

  I chortled and ran my hand through my hair before answering. "Do you think I should plead insanity?"

  68

  GENERAL LETTUM

  Walking the grounds of the Presidential Mansion with President Fulton was surreal. After thirty-years behind prison bars, seeing the lush, green gardens of the American Union's Capital was amazing. One of his aides pushed his chair as he spoke about the decades’ worth of work he put into becoming president and building the Capital into something that would rival that of any other Empire in world history. I listened to him talk, with nothing to say as he expounded upon each point he was trying to make. I always knew Caleb was an egotistical man, one who often wanted to toot his own horn in front of other people in hopes they would marvel at what he had to say. I was just surprised he seemed to try so hard with me.

  "I appreciate the history lesson, Mr. President, but I'm not sure why you're going through such lengths to tell me about this on the eve of the biggest catastrophe in the history of humanity," I said with no indignation in my voice. My words seemed to get under his skin and I could tell he was uncomfortable speaking about it in front of his aide.

  "Montgomery, could you give us a few minutes, please?" Caleb said without looking up at the younger man.

  His aide looked shocked. “Are you sure, sir?” He asked, sounding exasperated when he spoke as if all the wind had left his sails.

  "Yes, I’m sure,” Caleb replied, waiting for the man to leave before speaking again. “Walk with me. I don't want prying ears to hear what I have to say," he said as he shoved off in his wheelchair quicker than I expected.

  It took me a few steps to catch up to him, as he was going downhill, but he used the palms of his hands to slow his descent before speaking again. "I think it’s important for you to know where we've come from and how much we've grown since last time you had your freedom. You see, the world has changed, grown from the destruction like a phoenix from the ashes. You may not believe this, but the last twenty-years has seen the biggest exponential growth in our nation’s history, and that includes the two-hundred-sixty-six-years when all fifty states were united. Tell me, General, what do we hope to learn from history?"

  A smile curled my lips at his question. I remembered asking him the same thing many years ago. "We learn from the mistakes our forefathers made so we don't make the same choices," I answered.

  "Exactly, and that's why I'm telling you where we've come from, because I don't plan on making the same mistakes those who've gone before us made. My plan will lead us to a more fruitful future as the American Union expands North, South, and West. Ultimately, we will be a global power, as is our destiny."

  My jaw tightened as I turned to face the sunset, thinking about his words as they hung in the air around me like bats. "You have a powerful vision of the future," I said, "but the future is not written and I don’t believe in destiny."

  He wheeled his chair closer to me and looked up, squinting as the orange sunlight glared in his face. "You don't have to believe in destiny, my friend. I have all the faith we need. Now, my faithful General, go and prepare to unleash hell on our enemies."

  69

  SYDNEY TYLER

  I was thankful that libraries were not affected by the curfew. After six-hours of trying to decrypt the device using a bare-bones computer, I discovered a single file that was untitled. Cautiously, I hovered the mouse over the icon, contemplating whether or not I wanted to click it. For all I knew, it was going to make the computer explode. "Stop being ridiculous, Sydney," I whispered under my breath. I double-clicked the icon, and watched as the screen popped up with a document. There wasn't much to read, most of it comprised of sequences of letters and numbers not seeming to make any sense, until the last line of the file which read “nuclear missile override codes”. Those four words suddenly made all the sense in the world.

  My heart raced at the realization of what I was looking at. Jeff, the man who led me to become one of Caleb Fulton's slaves, had uncovered information that could allow anyone with nuclear capability to take President Fulton's power away from him. I knew what President Fulton had planned, and I knew it was imminent. But if I could get these codes to the right person then I could wipe the terrible things I had done from my slate and at least feel like I did a positive thing instead of casting the world into hell.

  "Oh my God," I said, fumbling for my phone before realizing I had ditched it in case anyone was tracking me. "Dammit!"

  I grabbed a hard-cover dictionary sitting next to me and pulled the flyleaf from the back of it, and snatched a pen from the desk so I could jot down the codes. I didn't want to risk printing the document out on a public computer and someone seeing it. I scribbled the sequences as quickly and as legibly as I could, knowing that time was not on my side and I needed to hurry. With more than a dozen codes written on the flyleaf, I folded it and placed it in my pocket as I grabbed the electronic device from the computer. Not having time to shut it down properly, I yanked the power cord from the back of it and fled from the library.

  Outside, the streets were vacant because it was past curfew, but that didn't matter. I had to get these codes to the one person I knew could do something about it. Running as fast as I could, I made my way to the nearest police station. It was the only place I knew where international calls could be made. It was risky, but it was my only choice if I was going to make the call. I just hoped the cops didn’t harass me about the curfew.

  Running inside, the cops in uniform didn't even look at me as I shoved my way through the door. Instead, their faces looked down at computer screens, ignoring what was happening. "Good," I said, turning towards the waiting room and into the single phone booth that would allow me to have an outside call. I was thankful I committed Frank's number to memory, but I just hoped the call would go through and I would not be too late.

  70

  GENERAL LETTUM

  Sittin
g in the dark control room for five hours was torture. I hadn't slept in close to twenty-four-hours, and now that the time was nigh, my eyelids felt like weighted curtains. You can do this, I thought, slapping myself in the face to wake up. It was only a little while longer before my plan would come into play. Just take a breath and wait a while longer. I pinched myself each time my heavy eyes closed and I felt myself drifting off.

  How much longer?

  I looked at the clock—it was only a matter of minutes before hell would be unleashed.

  I watched the clock, the second hand ticking gracefully towards apocalypse. I counted each tick, charting the seconds until I, the lone survivor of my battalion, would release the final blow to my enemies. As the time approached, my weariness subsided, just as it always did before I thrust myself into battle. The body doesn’t forget, even after so many years.

  The computers hummed in the mostly silent room. Three monitors displayed nine missile silos, each containing a nuclear warhead, and each one targeted for either the Confederate States or the United Kingdom. It was my hope that my call to President Harrison would not go ignored and would allow one third of the armament to be returned to its sender.

  "God, if you're there, please let this happen," I said. I was never a religious man, spending most of my life believing that God was nothing more than a fairytale. But as I aged and saw the wickedness that is mankind, I hoped for the existence of God. But hope often wavers.

  The minutes collapsed into seconds, and before long it was time for me to do my bidding. President Fulton thought he was sending me to murder millions of people in his name, and I would follow through, but he had no idea that I was willing to take millions more with me by wiping both factions of this perversion of America off the map. I knew by doing this I would be called a murderer, but I no longer cared. The only thing I cared about was the mission.

  The countdown was over and it was time to get to work.

  My fingers tapped the keys, beginning the initiation of the launch sequence. The sound of the computer’s electric hum, the ticking of the clock, and the sound of my fingers collapsing the keys on the keyboard collided into music to my ears. With the final command everything changed, and a computerized voice began the countdown sequence for nine nuclear warheads to propel towards the sky before descending upon the earth in a cataclysmic explosion.

  Ten.

  Nine.

  Eight. My heart raced as I inhaled sharply, feeling a pain in my chest. My age was catching up with me, but I only needed the next ten minutes to do what I needed to do.

  Five.

  Four. I started to second-guess myself, but I knew it was nothing more than weakness. This was my destiny and to hell with whatever Caleb Fulton thought I was meant to do. It all came down to this and the few minutes I would have with Caleb in the final moments.

  Two.

  One.

  The missiles launched.

  71

  PRESIDENT HARRISON

  While sirens blared in the Command Center, my generals and I stood watching the screens as nine nuclear warheads launched from silos ranging from seven hundred forty-eight miles to one thousand three hundred fifty-one miles away from where we were standing. Our intelligence told us that all warheads launched would come in our direction, but we soon realized three of the warheads were targeted across the pond towards England. Time was of the essence, and I knew the right thing to do was to contact Prime Minister Leonard and alert him of what was happening, but we were minutes away from being annihilated from the face of the earth, and I had to do what was right by my people.

  "Where are we on seizing control of these missiles?" I asked as I paced in the background of the room. Our Command Center was buried beneath sixty feet of rock and was designed to withstand a nuclear blast, but I didn't want to put my faith in the construction of something built more than one hundred years ago. Besides, millions of my own people were about to die if we didn't do something to redirect these missiles.

  "The first four codes did not work, sir," a female officer said from her post. "I'm trying to seize control with the fifth code now."

  "I thought all these codes were viable," I said, hearing my voice crack with fear as I seemed to lose control of my emotions.

  "They were all viable, sir," General Mathis said, "but each code is specified for a certain missile and whichever code is assigned is the only one which can control it."

  I looked at the screen. With nine warheads in the air and three dozen codes, I realized it would be a matter of time before we were able to control and retarget the warheads. The problem was we didn't have enough time. "How long before impact?"

  General Mathis frowned before answering. "Four and a half minutes, sir," he answered.

  Holy fuck, I thought as I felt the weight of the world bear on my chest.

  "We have one, sir," the female officer shouted. "I'm retargeting now, using the coordinates you gave me, Mr. President."

  Her words acted to fill the room with excitement, but we still had eight more warheads to redirect before I was going to allow myself to feel better about the situation. "Excellent work, Captain, but please focus on controlling the others before we pause for cheering," I ordered.

  "Yes sir," she said as her fingers pressed against the keys in a flurry.

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and my vision blurred as my heart pounded in my chest. I wanted to sit down, but I knew I needed to keep standing, holding onto the rail of the balcony for support so I wouldn't fall over.

  "Are you all right, Mr. President," General Mathis said as he reached out towards me.

  I looked over to him and saw the concern on his face. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I didn’t want to distract anyone from the task at hand. I swallowed hard and said, "If she gets the other eight missiles under control, I will be."

  72

  PETER DRAKE

  The sky outside my prison cell lit up despite the darkness. It was three o'clock in the morning as best I could tell, and the sun should not have been rising for another three hours this time of year. But as the bright lights illuminated the cloudy sky, I realized it was not the sun and all, but something else.

  Sirens wailed and it was only a matter of moments before I realized they were the alarms for a nuclear attack. I remembered training for this exact situation as a child, when the threat of war from the South and the West was thought to be imminent. My grandfather told me his father had experienced similar drills during the Cold War in the mid-twentieth century. I didn't understand the irony then, but I did now.

  I stood on my bed, taking hold of the ledge so I could haul myself up to see completely out of the narrow, slit window above my bed. It took all my strength to hold myself there, but it was worth it to see the outside and what looked like meteors streaking across the sky. I didn't know if the missiles were coming or going, but they brought a smile to my face nonetheless. I imagined what it would be like to die from a nuclear explosion, the blast ripping through buildings and people and trees, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. The thought was magical and inspiring.

  "It's a death befitting a God," I said as the light from the missiles grew brighter. "It's a death befitting me."

  I kept my eyes to the sky, unblinking, and smiling until I could do so no more.

  73

  SYDNEY TYLER

  It took a few tries to get through, but he finally answered. "Prime Minister Leonard," he said. Hearing his voice was hard, especially knowing I betrayed him.

  "Frank, it's Sydney," I said. Silence greeted me on the other end. "Look, I know I betrayed you and you think little of me, but this important."

  "You mean end of the world important?" He asked, sounding bitter.

  "Actually, yes," I answered, "I have some very important information for you in regards to a nuclear attack."

  "Sydney, I don't have time for your shit," he said. "The person I knew no longer exists, and in her place as a habitual liar. You betrayed me a
nd I have nothing for you. Goodbye."

  "Frank, wait!" I shouted, drawing attention from the cops sitting at their desks.

  "I told you, I don't believe anything you have to say," he said.

  "I have codes that will allow you to seize control of the nuclear warheads once launched," I hissed. I didn't want prying ears to hear me, but I needed him to know the information I had.

  I heard him scoff on the other end of the phone call. "You expect me to believe you?"

  "I know what it sounds like, Frank, but I'm serious."

  "I'm serious too, Sydney, I don't care what you think you have and I'm not playing whatever game you're trying to play. I don’t trust you and I think any information you may or may not have is detrimental to my country, not something that will save my people. Don’t dare call here again." And with his words the call ended.

  I slammed my end of the phone down, feeling defeated. I knew I deserved every bit of what he said, but I knew that by his not trusting me and allowing me to help, millions of people were going to die. I didn't know what to do.

  Several sets of eyes watched as I stepped out of the booth and walked towards the door. "What the hell are you looking at?" I shouted, wiping tears from my eyes and feeling my heart beat rapidly in my chest as fear and anxiety to control of me. Nausea followed, and as I stepped out of the precinct, I threw up on the sidewalk. As if that wasn't enough, the sound of sirens filled the streets, but it wasn't the cops or emergency services. It was the sirens that sounded when we were under attack.