The Tsunami

by Marshall Miller

  “So, Madam President, let it be known from this day forward. We are here to take America back. Maybe the world back, God willing. Or, we die trying. Like my son George.”

  She struggled to hold back her tears. Somehow she did. She grabbed Jerome Washington’s hand with both of hers. She turned to face the crowd.

  “Thank you. Thank you all. I promise I will do everything to right as many wrongs as I can, to drive this…Infestation from our country. And your support, you coming here…is more than I ever hoped for. Thank you. Everything I do is for you. Please remember that.” She was shaking a bit, and not from the cold. One person began a solitary, slow clap. Then another person matched it. Then another. All in time.

  People put down their candles, or handed them to others. Soon, almost half of the crowd was involved with the timed, simultaneous applause. It reverberated around the surrounding governmental area. Each time they people clapped, Madam President felt an infusion of strength, energy. She now knew they had reached a turning point. There would be no going back to the days of fear produced apathy. Five abused young survivors, three slaughtered ones had seen to that.

  Finally, the clapping began to slow down. Then, almost as I it had been planned, one person was left clapping in that slow rhythmic style. Then, as the final clap sounded, a voice was heard.

  “Never again.”

  Then a chorus. “Never again.”

  Then silence, except for some sobbing.

  She continued down the steps to the crowd, began moving amongst them. She hugged, kissed, and shook hands, as everyone gave her words, looks, gestures of encouragement. Finally, she separated, went part way up the steps. She turned around, faced the crowd.

  “Thank you all. I will work to make sure I never betray the trust, the confidence, the support you have shown me tonight. I am your very humble employee. I thank you again.”

  She let out a large sigh. “Now. I suggest we all go home, get some rest. Have a hot toddy. I know I need one.” People began to laugh, gave a few more shouts of encouragement. Then the crowd began to disperse. But as they moved on, the people left behind all their candles and luminaries. A large soothing glow continued to bathe the front of the Capitol building as everyone went home. The President stood there, waiting until the last person had left. Soon it was just the two state troopers, Andy and her. She smiled, turned, and walked back up the steps.

  “Come on, Ranger Jackson. I’m going to grab my briefcase, then go home, get some sleep. You need to do the same. And apologize to your wife. I didn’t mean to keep you so late.”

  Andy looked at her. “Ma’am. Has anyone told you lately that you are one hell of a human being?”

  She stopped. Then, she hugged him. “Coming from you, that means a lot. Thank you.” She let go of her bodyguard. “Come on. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a busy day.

  The President of the United States did not even know the half of it. At first light, people began to line up at anything that even remotely looked like a recruiting or government office. Former hidden veterans came out of the shadows, confident now that there was a chance to begin the fight anew.

  Draft boards? Not even needed now. Everyone volunteered to help, somehow, somewhere. The dam had broken. A flood had been released, a huge wave created.

  On the receiving end would be the Tschaaa and their minions.

  CHAPTER 16

  GREAT FALLS, MONTANA

  Commissioner Paul Miller maneuvered the SUV up the semi-improved road toward the Munsen homestead and smithy. The Munsens were located some five miles outside of Great Falls, off an older county road. He glanced over at the person in the front passenger seat.

  Brynhildr Jorgensen, new Federal Law Enforcement Special Agent, was sitting confidently next to him. She did everything confidently. Nothing seemed to phase her. Throw a problem at her, and you had better watch out, she might just hit a line drive right back at you. Paul Miller thanked the gods of law enforcement that he had stumbled upon her and convinced her to come work for him.

  About two days after the Raid (everyone now knew the first one as The Raid, although the Director had hit a couple of similar sites already), Brynhildr had shown up at his office, an older, rather scruffy gentleman in tow.

  Paul had maybe five hours of sleep under his belt, as he and others sifted through all the information—files, samples, and papers—they had collected at the compound. His burning need to find any other sites of such depravity was at him like an ulcer. He worried even that he was developing one, based on his continual sour stomach.

  Brynhildr had shown up in what appeared to be a tailored business pants suit that fit her perfectly in all the right places. Just an inch under six feet, broad shoulders, walking with an air of confidence, people stepped aside as she neared the Commissioner’s office. The fact that she was built like the proverbial brick outhouse did much to impress the men in the office. Paul had told his people that someone of Brynhildr’s description might be by, to just send her in when she showed up. And here she was. With what was soon be identified as a present in tow.

  She knocked on his door, and stood, waiting for him to tell her to enter. “It has been two days, as you said, Commissioner. I’ve brought someone who may have information you might find interesting.”

  Paul came from around his desk, thrust his hand out for a shake. “You definitely don’t beat around the bush, Miss Jorgensen.” He shook her hand, then stuck it out to the older man. “Commissioner Paul Miller, at your service. Mister…”

  “Peters, sir. John Peters. Brynhildr came by, thought I would know something.”

  “Well, what about, Mr. Peters?” At this the older man hesitated, looked away. Then Brynhildr cleared her throat rather loudly, causing him to jerk and glance nervou at her. Paul could tell her look was one of “Don’t you dare back out now.”

  “I live…several miles outside of Great Falls. I have a small farm. The road that runs by my place continues on up to another farm. That one was vacant until….about a month ago.” He began to shake, then burst out. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just trying to support a family. Daughters with dead husbands, kids—they need a place to live, food to eat.”

  Paul went to his desk, pulled out a bottle of Scotch and three glasses. He quickly poured a drink into one, which he handed to Mr. Peters. “Here. Try this. And I can tell you that any information you give me will be worth some funds, money for your trouble. That is, if it is what I think it is.”

  Peters slugged the drink down. Paul refilled it, leaned back on his desk, and motioned the man to sit down.

  He looked at the farmer. “Scared, aren’t you? Someone threatened you.”

  Mr. Peters looked down. “If it were just me, I’d tell them to go fuck themselves. Excuse my language Ma’am. But I have young ones staying with me. Like the ones on the tv.” He drank some more scotch.

  “Please give me your hand, Mr. Peters.” The farmer complied. “I hereby give you my solemn word that you will be protected, even if I have to get General Reed to loan me a platoon of those Russians that we have bouncing around. But, I need to know. It’s a bunch of Krakens, with another compound. Right?”

  Peters nodded his head yes. “There’s been a bunch of large trucks the last week or so. And this note in my mailbox.” The man handed an envelope to the Commissioner. In it was a note that simple said “We are watching you.” A Kraken symbol was in the area a signature would be.

  Paul looked at Brynhildr. “They’re still there, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, Commissioner. Checked it myself.”

  “The same?”

  She sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately, the same.”

  Paul went back to his desk, unlocked a drawer with a combination lock, and pulled out a form and an envelope.

  “Here. Ten thousand bucks are in that envelope. Get you family out of there. Brynhildr, can a few of your people…”

  “Already taken care of. People will think his friends and family are visiting. Just
a bunch of square heads. No threat.” At that remark, Paul smiled. Yeah, right. No threat. Just some crazy Vikings.

  “Please sign this. Payment for information. The first of others, if this pans out. Now, please wait here. I’ll need someone to take a formal statement…” Brynhildr magically pulled some papers from a small briefcase that Paul noticed for the first time.

  “Already taken care of, Commissioner. And here is a draft for a Search Warrant.”

  Paul scanned the statement. He chuckled. “Well. Special Agent Brynhildr Jorgensen, I guess you work for me know.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes sir, I guess I do.”

  Paul went to his telephone, and called his information center.

  “Initiate a recall. All tactical teams. We have another pit.”

  The rest had been pretty quick. Paul Miller obtained an Emergency Presidential Warrant, something they had come up with for the duration of the next year with a strong sunset date. Until everything was set up and working like it used to in the old U.S.A, the Court System was too small to handle a lot of Emergency Search Warrants. So, for one year, starting about four months prior, a Special Executive Branch Warrant was created to handle situations like this, where the Tschaaa and Krakens were involved. The Commissioner had a Night Time Exigent Circumstances Warrant that he could serve this night. At the sunset date, it disappeared, with the law written to prevent another such law for a period of one year. No more expanding Patriot Acts or such, with no one really knowing the details.

  With the help of a General Reed provided A-10 and an attack chopper (courtesy of the Russians) as well as a Cadillac Gage Commando Armored Car with three men and a 50 Caliber, the Commissioner had more than enough fire support for his fifty armed personnel to serve the search warrant. Brynhildr went in after he had come up with some credentials and I.D. for her, including a brand new badge. He wanted someone with experienced eyes who knew what to look for when it came to the creatures and equipment. Paul stayed back, overseeing everything. Let the young people get the thrills. He had seen enough on the last Raid to last him for a lifetime.

  It went a lot faster and smoother. A large semi truck smashed through the main gate this time, followed by a bunch of gun carriers. It resulted in six dead tattooed Krakens, several captured hangers-on. Only one monster was released, a huge boar like creature that took about thirty rounds before it went down. Another dozen were found still locked up, including a huge cat-like creature that looked like it started out as a Bengal tiger. It took a while, but sufficient tranquilizers were found to sedate all the creatures. A section of the Bismarck Zoo, long empty, was used to secure the surviving creatures for study. Oddly, only a couple of the monsters had been “wired up”, which probably was the reason the agents hadn’t faced an onslaught similar to the original Raid. Now, there were enough specimens to keep a team of zoologists and biologists busy for months if not years.

  After that, it had been a crazy couple of weeks.

  Now, they were headed to the Munsen spread to check on the young Raid survivors as well as for the Commissioner to pay some penance. It was coming up on ten o’clock in the morning. This same evening, a formal memorial service was finally going to be held for the two agents and three young ones who had died. Following that, an awards ceremony, stretching all the way back to the original Eater attack on the Bender-Smirnov household.

  As they neared the residence, Paul asked Brynhildr a question.“You never did tell me where you obtained that hidden law enforcement training you sprung on me that first day you came in.”

  Brynhildr gave a small smile. “During the Long Winter, I read a lot. There wasn’t much else to do other than try to stay warm, and not eat much. My uncle had been a Federal Agent years back. He kept all his manuals, books. I read them, watched some discs when we had power available. I have a good memory.”

  Paul chuckled. “I was sandbagged. That hasn’t happened very often.”

  “Well, Commissioner, you’re the one that offered me a job, few questions asked.”

  Paul turned his head just enough to be heard easily by the person in the back seat of the SUV.

  “Emily, are the chicks and turkeys doing okay?”

  Doctor Anders, local vet extraordinaire, answered back, “Just fine, Paul. Bruno and I are keeping a good eye on them.”

  Emily had been working overtime, helping the Commissioner with the examinations of the mutant creatures developed from Earth species. She had been especially helpful in getting the old zoo back up and running, in order to have a place in which to store the creatures. Emily had said the large Bengal Tiger creature may have originally come from the zoo, as many zoo animals were cut loose by well-meaning handlers when the Squids began tearing things apart. One species released from captivity that had fared well in the Long Winter were the buffalos.American Bison were allowed to roam free on the Central Plains one again. Two large herds now moved back and forth from the Canadian border all the way down to Texas, and the Gulf of Mexico. Without man slaughtering them, they were making a huge comeback.

  Due to circumstance, Paul and Emily had been spending a lot of time together. Which was fine by Paul. She definitely brightened things up. So when Paul had mentioned he wanted to visit the five young survivors, as they were being called, Emily had asked if she could come along. Paul readily agreed. With Bruno, the pit bull fighter rescue, tagging along as requested by Emily. He had trouble leaving the vet’s side, ever since Abigail and Emily had taken him from Baker, the former scavenger, and now prisoner in maximum segregation.

  Brynhildr was the go-between, the Munsens being part of her Nordic community. Paul quickly discovered that, among all the others things the young woman had been doing, she had also been visiting, keeping track of how the five young girls/ladies were faring. So, here they all were, at the entrance gate to the Munsen Farm and smithy.

  The gate was open, so Paul slowly drove through. Some one hundred yards up, he stopped the SUV in the turnaround in front of the house. About fifty yards off to his left was the blacksmith shop and forge, where Johann Munsen—Uncle Johann—worked his metal magic. The Commissioner had done some checking after Johann had taken the five youngsters, just to be on the safe side. Years of law enforcement had made him a bit cautious about people who seemed too good to be true. But Johann and his wife Freda were definitely proverbial pillars of the community. And Johann, besides shoeing horses, could do wonders with a piece of steel or iron. Need a plow fixed? He was your man. A blade of some kind? Ditto. In fact, Johann had made some replacement barrels for some local’s hunting rifles that the owners claimed were better than the originals.

  He parked the SUV, and everyone exited the vehicle, Bruno the pit bull mix staying close to Emily. Immediately a strong looking but rather short woman came to the front porch. The visitors had kept their parka hoods back so that their faces could be seen, the outside temperature hovering below freezing necessitating warm clothes. Paul recognized the woman from some photos he had obtained as Freda, the matriarch of the Munsen clan.

  She broke into a wide smile when she saw Brynhildr, calling out a greeting in apparent Norwegian which Brynhildr answered with the same pleasure at meeting. Paul knew he would have to learn some Nordic language, as the push for the old ways meant that Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, German—you name it—were being used more and more on a daily basis with the increase of immigration from former Minnesota, Wisconsin, and parts of Canada. He had good information that small groups had made it all the way from Europe in the past couple of years. A Free America, even if abbreviated, had a strong pull.

  Freda was dressed in a long dress, belted, with long sleeves and warm leggings underneath. Good fur lined boots protected her feet from the snow, as she crouched down off the porch to hug Brynhildr. After her greeting of the fellow community member, she turned to greet the others with an equally big smile.

  “I recognize you, Commissioner Miller, from the news. And Brynhildr has told me all about you, Doctor Anders. Welcome. C
ome in. Can I offer you warm cider, some mead, orale?”

  Paul approached Freda and went to shake her hand, which turned into a hug and a kiss on his cheek. She did the same to Emily.

  “I hope whatever Brynhildr told you was nice. I can be a real pain sometimes,” Emily said.

  “Come now, doctor. You helped save my new little ones. What could possibly be bad about that?”

  Just then, four young girls, ages ten to fourteen, all came out on the porch to see the visitors. Paul had trouble believing they were the same girls that had been rescued some two weeks ago. Long dresses, leggings and boots like Freda, hair braided in long pigtails, washed and alert, they beamed good health. They came out giggling, in a rush, and were stopped in their tracks by Freda.

  “Young ladies, let’s not forget what I have taught you. How do we greet visitors?”

  Suddenly, all four lined up, then curtsied as one, saying in Norwegian a greeting that translated as, “Welcome, gentleman and ladies. May we offer you a warm fire, a warm drink, friendly conversation?”

  Paul stood quietly for a moment, a little stunned. They acted as if they had grown up here, that the horrible experiences of the past months had never happened. Well fed, well groomed, well cared for, they were bouncing back with a vigor which Paul had not thought possible. Not after seeing their dirty, bruised, scratched and naked bodies at the Compound that night.

  “Mrs. Munsen, please accept my wholehearted thanks and praise for the way you have taken care of these four young ladies. This is a hundred and eighty degree change from two weeks ago.”

  Freda stepped up, and grabbed his arm. “Come, Commissioner, I have not done anything special. Anyone here would have done the same. Come in and we will fix you all some warm drinks. Mead, heated ale, hot cider I can easily offer all of you. I may be able to find some tea and coffee. I am sure these young ladies can find some of the cookies and pastries we have been making for the memorial service.” With the last statement, the four girls began quietly talking to each other, then, one after another, went quickly into the homestead.