Executive Orders: Part 2 of the Homeland Series

by R. A. Mathis

  Valerie held his gaze a long moment, her lips curling into an enigmatic, sensuous grin.

  She finally said, “Take some time to get acquainted with your new home sweet home. I’ll be back at six to give you a tour of the studio.”

  Eduardo heard the door click shut as she exited. He contemplated the look Valerie gave him, wondering if he saw what he thought he did. Being sealed in a bunker with a beautiful woman like her could have its advantages. He allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to kiss her, how her skin would feel to his touch.

  A pang of guilt rang through him, knocking him from his fantasy. Angie. He wondered again how and where she was, wishing he had thought to keep something of her, a picture or trinket. Anything.

  Eduardo found a gym near his lodgings and decided some exercise would be a good thing. Several sets of workout clothes were in his dresser as Valerie promised. He noticed each was emblazoned with the new American flag and the words, ‘Obedience, Equity, Sustainability,’ which he guessed to be the new national motto. He donned some shorts, a teeshirt, and some cross-trainers from his closet.

  The fitness center was built on a scale as large as the rest of the facility. It was also empty, which was surprising for a place conducting twenty-four hour operations. Eduardo was thankful to have the place to himself. He grabbed a towel from the attendant and found a treadmill.

  He set the digital display for three miles and began to run, the machine automatically matching his pace. For the first time, he allowed himself to process the events of the last few weeks. The memories. The pain. His friends. His world. Gone forever.

  The display beeped. He looked down to see he had surpassed his goal by almost a mile. Sweat soaked his face and clothes. His heart hammered in his chest. His legs ached. His lungs were on fire. He slowed to a walk and realized he was weeping.

  He heard voices and saw that the gym was filling up. The new arrivals were young staffers coming off shift by the look of them.

  Eduardo grabbed the towel and held it over his face, trying to control the sobbing.

  “Get it together,” he snapped at himself. It was no use. He wiped his eyes and hurried for the door, his face flushed.

  “Tough workout?” a fit young man who was twenty years Eduardo’s junior said with a smile.

  “Pretty tough.” Eduardo rushed by him.

  “Hey! Aren’t you…”

  “Yeah. I am.”

  More people recognized him. He heard whispers as heads turned in his direction. It was as a true-life version of the nightmare of suddenly finding himself naked in a room full of jeering people. Eduardo marched from the room, feeling a hundred eyes burning into his back. Once clear, he ran to his apartment and slammed the door behind him. His celebrity status felt strange on him now, like an ill-fitting suit, drawing unwanted attention, making him feel vulnerable and pathetic.

  He punched the wall, then punched it again, angry with himself. Angry at his weakness.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  He spent twenty years jumping from one war zone to the next without so much as a whimper. Now he couldn’t even go to the gym without crying like a baby.

  He needed a drink. His apartment’s bar was fully stocked. It was also lonely. He couldn’t decide which was worse, shutting himself in like a hermit or going out to brave the gawking stares.

  I’m Eduardo Garcia, dammit. America’s Newsman.

  He showered and put on a fresh suit. There had to be a real bar down here somewhere. He set out to find it.

  It didn’t take long. The place had the feel of an upscale country club—antiqued brass, old paintings, soft music, and dark hardwood paneling. Classy.

  “Jack and Coke on the rocks,” Eduardo said as he sidled up to the bar.

  “Yes, sir.” The bartender did a double take. “Say, aren’t you…”

  “Yup.” Eduardo nodded. “In the flesh. Now how ‘bout that drink?”

  “Right away, Mr. Garcia.”

  A tumbler was soon placed atop a napkin on the polished marble bar top in front of him. He lifted the glass to his lips and took in the cool libation. He closed his eyes. “That feels good,” he said to no one in particular.

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” a voice said from the stool next to him.

  Eduardo looked over to see Valerie sitting there.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said as he took another swig.

  “You weren’t in your apartment. I figured this was the next best place to find you.”

  “Kudos.” He raised his glass. “Bonus points to you.”

  “Your drink, ma’am.” The bartender placed Valerie’s drink on the bar.

  Eduardo raised a finger to the man. “And another for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Careful,” she said, “You’re going on the air in a few hours.”

  “Today? I thought I’d have a few days to settle in.”

  “They thought it best for you to get back on the horse as soon as possible.”

  “They?”

  “The President and his staff.”

  Eduardo raised his eyebrows and gave Valerie a dubious look.

  “You don’t believe me?” Valerie asked.

  “Forgive me for doubting, but it’s a little hard to believe the leader of the free world has the time to decide when I should go back on the air.”

  “He does when you are the voice of his administration. You’re not reporting from foxholes anymore, Eddie. You are the voice of the Second Founding. Egg on your face gets on all of us.” She pointed to his glass of booze. “So go easy on that stuff until after work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Eduardo downed his drink and thumped his glass down onto the bar. “Now, where’s that TV camera.”

  *****

  The studio was impressive, as he’d come to expect. Lighting, hair, and makeup were top notch. Although, he still hated the idea of wearing guy-liner.

  A bespectacled twenty-something in a crisp pantsuit handed Eduardo his copy to review while the flamboyant makeup artist finished his work.

  When he was finished, the man turned Eduardo’s chair to face the mirror and said, “Sugar, you look good enough to eat. Damn, I’m good.”

  Eduardo nodded. “Good work.”

  “I know.” The artist put a hand on his hip. “You wanna get a drink later?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Your loss, sweetie. You’ll come around. This bunker can be a lonely place.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Eduardo gripped his copy and walked toward the set. He found Valerie waiting near one of the cameras. “I need a new make-up artist.”

  “Why? He does great work.”

  “He also just came on to me.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “It is for me, not to mention unprofessional and creepy.”

  “You have something against gay people?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “Be careful, Eddie. Talk like that can get you in a lot of trouble. We are required to report bigoted outbursts like the one you just made to the authorities, but I’ll let this one slide because it’s your first day.”

  “Hey, I didn’t do anything wrong. He came on to me.”

  “Don’t push it, Eddie. Not one more word. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” She nodded to the anchor’s desk. “Get to work.”

  Eduardo took his seat in ‘the big chair,’ reviewing his copy one more time while a technician hooked up his microphone and got a sound check. The wall behind him was fashioned with flashy graphics and designs in the motif of the new American flag. These dressings framed a large, blank display screen centered just behind and above his head.

  “Two minutes to air!” a voice called out.

  A strangely familiar hymn sounded over the studio speakers. It was a sweeping, dramatic orchestral arrangement. Everyone on t
he set stopped what they were doing and faced Eduardo. He realized they were looking past him. He turned to see an image of a the new national flag waving on a slow motion wind.

  Then the singing started.

  Unbreakable Union of freeborn peoples,

  The Party has welded forever to stand.

  Created in struggle by will of the people,

  United and mighty, our obedient land!

  Sing to the Homeland, home of the free,

  Bulwark of peoples in sustainability.

  O Party of equity, the strength of the people,

  To the collective triumph lead us on!

  He finally remembered where he heard the tune before. It was the old Soviet National Anthem, but in English and with some words changed. It was America’s anthem now. Everyone in the studio, including Valerie, belted the lyrics with gusto, obviously knowing them by heart. Eduardo rolled his chair out of their eye line, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The pang of his naked nightmare returned with the knowledge that he was the only one not singing along.

  Only after the last note died did the studio return to business. Eduardo rolled back to his place at the center of the anchor’s desk and located the prompter as the five-second signal flashed.

  “Good evening and welcome,” he began, “ to the People’s Patriotic News. I’m your anchor, Eduardo Garcia, America’s Newsman. We begin our maiden broadcast by informing our audience that in accordance with Executive Order number 10995, The People’s Patriotic News is the only State-approved news and information source. Any other outlets you may encounter are operating outside of government mandate. All unauthorized media operations are considered seditious. Purveyors of any such broadcast, print, or other communication medium are guilty of treason and subject to detainment and punishment to the fullest extent of the law. This penalty also applies to anyone aiding such activities or simply failing to report them.”

  The view switched to another camera.

  “President Tophet has also enacted several more executive orders due to the continuing state of emergency. Executive Orders 10990, 10998, 11003, and 11005, which mandate government control of all public and private land, sea, air, and rail transportation assets, are in immediate effect. Orders 10997, 10999, and 11001, which are also in effect, designate State control over all electrical power, gas, petroleum, fuels and minerals as well as all food, food production, farms, health and medical resources, as well as all educational and welfare functions. Control of these resources will allow the State to efficiently gather and distribute food, fuel and medicinal rations to the people according to their need.”

  Another camera switch.

  “All citizens are hereby ordered to register at their local post office in order to comply with Executive Order 11002. They are to do so by the end of the month. Upon registering, you will receive an RFID identification chip and vaccination.” Eduardo held up his left hand, pointing to the small lump between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve already been chipped and can tell you that it is relatively painless and completely harmless. You have nothing to fear.” He lowered his arm. “Citizens must present their chips as proof of registration in order to receive food and fuel rations, medical care, or any other product or service. Additionally, firearm records will be checked at the time of registration. All guns must be turned in to authorities at this time or registration will not be allowed. Amnesty stations will be set up at each registration center for this purpose. The amnesty period for firearm turn-in will end on November 30th. All citizens in possession of illegal weapons after that date will be considered armed and dangerous and dealt with accordingly.”

  Eduardo’s expression turned stern.

  “Remember, anyone could be a terrorist. Friends, neighbors, even family. These radicals will often reveal themselves to those they trust by criticizing the government or voicing discontentment with State policies. Remember, dissent equals treason and silence equals collusion. To hide a criminal is to become a criminal, so if you hear something, say something.”

  He switched cameras again.

  “Lastly, President Tophet and his administration wish to encourage all of us to have faith that America’s best days lie ahead and to remind us that we will emerge from this trying time a better, stronger country, but only if we work and sacrifice together to make it happen.”

  His flashed his signature smile.

  “This concludes today’s broadcast. For the People’s National News, I’m Eduardo Garcia.”

  “We’re clear!” the director yelled as techs and staff hurried to close out the broadcast. “Mr. Garcia, I need you back here first thing in the morning to do some radio spots.”

  “Sure thing.” Eduardo took off his microphone, walked over to Valerie and said, “What did you think?”

  “You improvised. That part with you showing your chip. It wasn’t in the script.”

  “But you liked it.”

  “It was a nice touch. Don’t ever do it again.”

  “C’mon, you know I’m better thinking on my feet. I’m spontaneous. It’s what I do.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “We’ll see.” He gave Valerie a mischievous smile.

  “There’s something else, Eddie.”

  “What now? Did I leave the toilet seat up?”

  Valerie didn’t laugh, though her face was no longer stern. Her brow softened, betraying something that truly frightened him. Sympathy.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure how to say this…”

  “Angie,” Eduardo said, nearly whispering, hoping he was wrong.

  Valerie nodded.

  “What is it? Is she okay?”

  Valerie shook her head. “No, Eddie. She’s not.”

  Eduardo’s legs went numb. “What wrong?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “How?”

  “Pneumonia. She needed a special medicine. It was supposed to arrive with a medical supply shipment a few days ago, but the convoy was hit by radicals en route. The extremists killed everyone in the unit and stole everything, including the vehicles. There was nothing the doctors could do without the medication. She passed away last night.”

  Eduardo sank to the floor.

  “Eddie. Are you okay?”

  Eduardo put his hands over his face.

  Valerie called out to some passing workers, “A little help here!”

  “No.” Eduardo got slowly to his feet. “I’m okay. I just need a minute.”

  Valerie took his arm. “Let me walk you home.”

  “No. I need to be alone right now.”

  Eduardo stumbled back to his apartment, drunk with grief. Once inside, he curled up on his bed, weeping until his eyes ached and his stomach heaved. He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but was thankful for the knocking at his door that awoke him from a dreamless abyss.

  “Coming!” he said as he said up, rubbing his puffy eyes. He cracked the door open to see Valerie standing outside.

  “May I come in?” she asked.

  “Sorry, this isn’t a good time.”

  He started to shut the door but she blocked it with her hand. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. You need a friend.”

  Eduardo wasn’t in the mood to resist. “Suit yourself.” He left the door open and retreated into his quarters, sitting on the corner of his bed.

  Valerie followed him, stopping at the living room bar to make them drinks. “Here.” She offered him one.

  “No thanks.” He waved her off.

  Valerie persisted. “You need it.”

  Eduardo took the cocktail. “You always get your way, don’t you?”

  She flashed a seductive smile. “Yes.”

  “The people who killed her.” He took a swig. “We have to make them pay.”

  “We will.”

  “I want them to hurt.”

  “They will.”

  “I mean it.”

  “We’ll take care of them tomorrow.” She unbuttone
d the top button of her blouse. “Tonight, we’re going to take care of you.”

  He began to protest, but acquiesced when she pressed her mouth to his, pushing him back onto the bed with the force of her kiss.

  “Let me take care of you,” she whispered as she took off his shirt, then hers.

  He kissed her back, glad to feel something other than the aching sorrow that gnawed at his soul ever since Angie got sick.

  She unfastened his pants. The rest came naturally.

  6

  COLE

  Location Unknown

  Cole opened his eyes, seeing nothing but more darkness. He wondered for a panicked moment if he’d gone blind. Then he felt his own ragged breath wash over his face, pushed back onto him by the hood over his head. He knew by the rhythmic rocking and hum of tires on asphalt that he lay in the back of a cargo truck, probably a five-ton. Icy air cut into him through the fluttering canvas that covered the cargo hold. He was shivering. The truck’s cold metal floor had leeched the warmth from his bones. He tried to get up, but his arms were still bound. He felt another body next to him. He nudged it.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, Sarge.” It was Private Hicks. “You?”

  “My head’s pounding like a drum, but I’ll live. What did I miss?”

  “They roughed us up some more, covered our heads, and threw us all into trucks. We’ve been on the move for about an hour, best I can tell.”

  The truck slowed, then conducted a series of turns.

  Cole struggled against his restraints. “We must be close to wherever we’re going.”

  The vehicle lurched to a halt. Unseen men climbed aboard, grabbing Cole and the other unwilling passengers and tossing them to the hard ground five feet below. The landing knocked the air from Cole’s lungs. By the sounds of the others, they were in the same shape.

  They were then dragged over rough gravel and put in line, side by side.

  Cole’s blood ran cold as he considered what his captors might have planned for them. Being lined up outdoors on the ground in a secret location was not a good sign. He was suddenly jerked onto his knees. The hood was then snatched from his head to reveal a blinding flood lights glaring at him from the night sky. They were mounted on what looked to be guard towers. Armed guards surrounded the kneeling prisoners. These were not the Homeland Security agents he expected. The guards were younger, college aged at most. They all wore thick black coats with bright green armbands around their left biceps. They kept one hand on their assault rifles. With the other, they grasped leashes. The business end of the tethers were attached to snarling German shepherds jerking against their masters’ grip, longing to rip the throats from Cole and his fellows.