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by Richard Stephenson

  Benjamin sent out scouting parties everyday to find more supplies and every night they returned with their booty. Crowds of people showed up at Benjamin’s fortress; the price of admission was to fill a shopping cart with useable supplies and hand them over. A five-gallon container of gasoline granted immediate entry. Benjamin welcomed new recruits into his growing militia and didn’t tolerate disorder, disobedience, or laziness. Those not willing to pull their weight got an ass kicking as the only warning. The next violation resulted in banishment from the community. After a few people were sent packing with a broken jaw or nose and told not to come back, the rest of the group got the message and dared not cross Benjamin.

  Benjamin had bigger plans for his growing enterprise. Once he amassed truckloads of supplies and his fortress became uncomfortably overcrowded, Benjamin set his sights on a much bigger piece of real estate. When the preparations were complete, every man, woman and child loaded up backpacks and rolling luggage with supplies. Every working vehicle was loaded to capacity and staged in a convoy. Benjamin was the last man out the door of the Kissimmee Super Wal-Mart. He pulled out his lighter and threw it into a pool of gasoline. The vapors ignited and followed a trail to the center of the store, where a bonfire soaked in lighter fluid erupted into flames. The center bonfire lit three more trails of gasoline, which led to three more bonfires. The Kissimmee Super Wal-Mart was quickly engulfed in flames and by morning, all that was left was smoldering ash. Benjamin Black had no intention of leaving a solid structure for another group to move right into. What was left of Orlando would soon belong to him. He would not permit another group to pose a threat.

  An hour later, Benjamin Black and his loyal community moved into their new home at Universal Studios. It would be a challenging task to secure the property and repel attacks. The one thing that Benjamin had going for him was that the property already had a decent perimeter in place. Theme parks didn’t make a lot of money if people could just sneak in. He could secure it with a dozen or so pairs of roving patrols. He came up with the brilliant idea of using a numbered password system that he’d learned from a movie. It was simple yet ingenious. Each day would have a random number assigned to it. For example, if the day was assigned a nine, all one had to do was challenge an unfamiliar face with a smaller number, and wait the other person to respond with the number that added up to nine. If the stranger couldn’t do the simple math, it was obvious that he was an intruder. For the first several weeks, the primary task for everyone, including Benjamin, was cleaning up the hurricane ravaged park. Within a month of their arrival, they had over five hundred people living there.

  Benjamin Black was proud of all he had accomplished. He was respected by all his residents, and they were loyal to him in exchange for food and shelter. Benjamin knew he could branch out and expand. His next destination would be the Magic Kingdom.

  *

  Lindsay Sanderson was being smacked over the head with a broom. She and her two children had been evicted from the Central Park Obama-Camp the day before, and she was dumpster diving to feed her hungry children. At first she thought the angry woman yielding the broom was an employee of the restaurant that owned the dumpster, but she soon realized it was only another mother defending her turf like a momma cat defending her kittens. Lindsay raised her arms to stop the blows but the woman kept swinging. As the broom smacked the top of her left hand, breaking one of her fingers, any sympathy Lindsay had for the woman immediately evaporated. The fact that they shared the bond of motherhood meant nothing to her if this woman was intent on doing her harm. Lindsay screamed at the top of her lungs and kicked the woman in the knee. She fell to the ground, giving Lindsay the chance for a quick escape. She quickly grabbed her children by the hand and hustled up the sidewalk. She doubted the woman would leave her own children unattended long enough to pursue her, but retaliation can make people forget a lot of things. She looked over her shoulder to the alleyway and was relieved to see no sign of the woman. Lindsay wasn’t afraid of the woman herself; what scared her was the possibility of landing in jail and losing her children to Child Protective Services.

  Lindsay carefully crossed the street and sat down on a park bench; setting about the task of distracting her children from what they’d just experienced. She was becoming a pro at helping her children disregard the miserable world around them. William would be proud. The day before when riot squads emptied out the Central Park Obama-Camp, Lindsay worried about her husband and the anguish he would feel upon learning their fate. She was going to fight hard to survive the two weeks until she could talk to him again. The night before William left to join the Army, she’d promised him that she would protect their children and that the three of them would survive without him. At first she’d worried that William would receive the news and leave boot camp to come rescue her. Lindsay remembered that after the war with the Great Empire of Iran started, the military made it clear to the public that desertion would lead to a court-martial and a minimum of five years in prison. She knew William would never jeopardize his family like that.

  She sat on the park bench and hugged her children. She loved them so very deeply but at the same time was angry with herself for letting an ugly thought continue to enter her mind. A very small part of her resented her children for the burden they caused her. Any time the thought came to her, she fought to free herself from it. She imagined what her life would be like without them, how much easier it would be to survive. All she had to do was hold her children close to chase the thought from her mind.

  Lindsay looked to her left and right, then turned around and scanned the rest of the park. She firmly believed there was safety in numbers. If other homeless people were scattered around the park, she felt much safer. She was less likely to be bothered by anyone or be the sole recipient of half concealed, judgmental glances. Too many homeless people in the park would attract the attention of the Unified National Guard, so she was careful to search for the right balance and try to blend in with the crowd.

  Lindsay had spent the previous twenty-four hours living one minute at a time. Before they moved into Central Park, she had depended on William’s judgment to keep them safe. Now she was without her husband and it was up to her to call the shots. She had to stop living moment by moment and start thinking of living day-by-day. Wandering around aimlessly wasn’t safe. She had to come up with a plan. Her children had barely had a scrap of food to eat since they left the Central Park Obama-Camp. When the Unified National Guard came marching in to evict them, Lindsay was not at her home. She’d asked her neighbor to look after her place so she could take the kids with her to the medical station at the north end of Central Park. She was standing in line when the riot squads began throwing tear gas into the makeshift streets. She tried desperately to run back to her home but was cut off at every turn. She fled into the streets surrounding Central Park and waited for the Unified National Guard to leave. Lindsay sat down outside a well lit drugstore and held her kids tight so they could sleep. She was able to doze off a few times and get enough rest so she could tackle the next day.

  When the sun came up, Lindsay walked toward the Central Park Obama-Camp to find exactly what she expected. Bulldozers and dump trucks were tearing down all the structures and hauling everything away. Evicting them would do little good if the residents could just return after the soldiers left. All around the park, the former residents watched and waited for the Unified National Guard to leave. Once they departed, the residents swarmed in to try and salvage anything they could.

  Lindsay sat on the park bench and let her children play on the ground in front of her. Anytime they took one step beyond arms reach, she quickly reigned them back in. She was determined to sit right there on that bench and not get up until she had some sort of plan. Lindsay thought of the different possibilities for shelter and weighed the risk. Thirty minutes later, she had a plan in mind. The first item on the agenda was to find a public restroom in a crowded place with lots of foot traffic. She and her children w
ould bathe as best they could and attempt to wash their clothes. The less ragged they looked, the better. It would increase their odds of survival and allow them to blend in with everyday people. The second item on the agenda was to loiter in large public places like airports, train stations, or shopping malls. She made it a point to look like she was in each place for a reason. She would only stay for three or four hours to avoid suspicion.

  After one week of thinking she was blending in perfectly, a TSA agent at LaGuardia Airport approached her. Lindsay trembled in fear and began to cry, certain that she was about to be arrested even though she hadn’t committed a crime. What she failed to realize was that with air travel being so expensive, only the very wealthy had the funds to afford it. Lindsay and her children stuck out like a sore thumb. The TSA agent knew what she was doing. He told her to stop crying and calm down. He took out a piece of paper and wrote down an address and his name. Lindsay was suspicious of the man but reluctantly took the slip of paper. He told her to go to the address and mention his name. The people there would provide Lindsay and her children with food and a warm bed. She looked confused and wanted to believe him, but she knew that when something seemed too good to be true, it often was. He assured her that it was a private, charitable organization for the homeless. Regrettably, they had to be selective and had to keep the location a secret because they didn’t have the funds or the means to cater to the waves of homeless people walking the streets of New York City. The man smiled warmly and shared with her that he and his family lived there years ago. The only price of admission was your word that you wouldn’t stay longer than two weeks.

  Two weeks was all Lindsay needed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The president of the United States was being hauled away by the Secret Service. His feet were about an inch off the floor as he was transported down the hallway from the Clinton Room to an elevator. He deduced that this was the standard procedure to prevent the president from protesting and refusing to evacuate with the Secret Service. Along the way he noticed that every entranceway was replaced by a massive steel door. The lights were out and all Malcolm could see was a faint, red light that barely illuminated the hallway. The president and his four protectors entered the elevator; and the door slammed shut. The elevator did not hesitate or require a button to push; it immediately descended.

  “Ad-Man secure.” One of the agents spoke the president’s call sign over the radio. Malcolm was not particularly fond of his call sign. The “Ad” was short for admiral. He understood the meaning and so did everyone else. He still didn’t like it because it sounded like he was an advertising executive and not the president of the United States.

  The elevator traveled ten stories under the White House and the door opened to reveal the presidential bunker. From the time the first explosion rocked the White House until the door of the elevator opened one hundred and twenty feet below, forty-seven seconds had elapsed.

  “Okay boys, that was fun. Someone mind telling me what’s going on?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. A dump truck filled with explosives crashed the barricade and collided with the north wall of the compound. It exploded on impact and took down a large section of the north wall.”

  “I heard more than one explosion.”

  “Yes, Mr. President, I heard them, too. Let me check.” The Secret Service agent pulled out his smartphone and tapped a few buttons. “Once the wall was down, suicide bombers started running across the lawn.”

  “What about my guests in the Clinton Room? Are they safe?”

  “Yes sir, they are fine. The White House A.I. secured the room and they are safe.”

  “Good, thank you, Mike.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Computer, give me a status update on what’s happening.” President Powers straightened his suit coat.

  “Yes, Mr. President.” The screen in front of the president displayed video footage of the attack. “Seven assailants have been killed on the White House lawn. Four explosions managed to cause minor damage to the north wall. One explosion was too far away to cause damage. The remaining two assailants’ vests failed to detonate.”

  The lead agent in charge of the presidential detail smiled when he saw the footage. “Excellent! My sniper teams on the roof did an outstanding job.” The footage showed the suicide bombers sprinting across the lawn; one by one they were struck by a bullet and fell to the ground. They had dead-man switches which caused the explosives to detonate when they hit the ground.

  “Yes, Mike, I’m very impressed. Your team did an outstanding job. Well done.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.”

  “Computer, I want you to grant full temporary access to Chief of Staff Reid. Tell her everything you just told me and inform her that I am alive and well. I’m sure my guests have a lot of questions. Once you’ve answered her questions, I want you to put her on vid-con. I’d like to speak with her as soon as possible.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Excuse me? And just why not?”

  “Security procedures must be adhered to, Mr. President. If you were allowed direct communication with anyone outside of this room, you might be pressured into surrendering yourself to enemy forces.”

  “Mike?”

  “She’s right, Mr. President. You still have full command and control down here. You just cannot have personal interaction with anyone. The office of the president must be protected.”

  “I understand, thank you. If someone had a gun to my wife’s head, I would no doubt give in to any demand to save her life. How much longer will I need to stay down here?”

  “Mr. President, we are going to get you out of here just as soon as possible.” Special Agent Mike Reese had been the lead agent on the president’s detail for the last four years. He knew the president could be fidgety about all of the protection and fuss.

  “What’s the hold-up? What are we waiting on?”

  “Sir, we are erecting a makeshift barricade to block off the hole in the north wall of the compound. We are also grounding all air traffic within two hundred miles. Any flight approaching DC is being diverted to another airport. Once that is done and we run a full sweep of the area and the airspace is secure, we can move you up top.”

  “So, I’m going to be down here for a while?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Computer, send word to Chief of Staff Reid that the guests in the Clinton Room will be joining me in the presidential bunker.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Mr. President, I’m not sure that is…”

  “Mike, don’t start. I will not hide out down here like some frightened child while they stay up top during a terrorist attack on the White House. They were all screened before they entered the White House, and they have my full trust. Make it happen.”

  “Yes, Mr. President, I’ll get it done.”

  “Thank you, Mike.”

  Special Agent Reese left the other three agents behind and rode the elevator to the top. A few minutes passed, and the elevator door opened. CIA Director Jimenez rolled his wheelchair into the room along with FBI Director Warren Gill and Secretary Laferriere.

  “Mr. President, do I still have access to Langley?” The director of the CIA was steering his wheelchair into the room and almost knocked over Secretary Laferriere.

  “Yes, Roberto. The link remains effective as long as you’re in the White House.”

  “Good. Computer, bring up a map of the Iranian Theater.”

  Warren Gill looked confused and exchanged glances with the other men in the room. “Mr. Jimenez, an attack on the White House just took place and we don’t know if something bigger is coming, and you’re looking at the Iranian Theater?”

  The crusty old man in the wheelchair scratched his face and didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Mr. Gill, I’m very well aware of what’s happening; if you recall I was in the same room.”

  The elevator door opened
, and the remaining guests of the Clinton Room poured into the room.

  “Why the hell are we looking at the Empire? We need to know what’s happening outside right now! More attacks could be coming!” Governor Prince was glaring at Jimenez and then looked at the president in desperation.

  “There won’t be any more attacks.” Jimenez said with confidence.

  Everyone in the room looked at the president. He was as confused as the rest of them; he calmly addressed the CIA Director. “Roberto, I think everyone in the room, especially me, deserves an explanation. What just happened?”

  “The attack we were just a part of was nothing but a diversion to draw our attention away from something else.”

  Governor Prince rolled her eyes. “Exactly, which is why we need to be figuring out what they are going to do next! This could be a part of a very large attack! We need to figure out what the next one will be before it happens and a lot of people die! Stop wasting time and do your job, Jimenez!”

  “Governor Prince, I am doing my job, if you would kindly calm down and let me speak.”

  The president silenced the governor with only a glance.

  “The Silent Warriors have never once coordinated multiple attacks. The Thanksgiving Day Massacre happened in several cities, but it was still one attack. They have also never hit a military or political target. They always focus on attacking the public to get people angry at us.”