So that’s how we ended up in the largest organized army the US had seen in a long time. But that story will have to wait. For now, it’s time to catch up on some rest. It’s also time to see about some painkillers. If nothing else, I’d like to spend the next few days in a coma.
This is Machinist Mate Jackson Creed, and I am still alive.
The end
The saga will conclude with Z-Risen 6
Drums of War
Please enjoy a free sample of Drums of War. A Dystopian Techno Thriller that is now available.
Chapter One
It’s been another wild week for the white house. President Henderson has faced an unprecedented amount of negativity from the press, and now it has spilled over into the congressional house. Democrats have put up staunch defenses regarding any executive actions or bills the President has tried to pass.
In what is being called a civil win for liberals, the executive action to limit protesters from taking to the streets has been blocked by a federal judge in New Hampshire. Judge Forestal said in a statement. “The liberties that are protected by the first amendment shall not be infringed upon, and that includes the right to protest.”
President Henderson has vowed that he will work to pass his agenda no matter what it takes if it means ensuring the safety of the American people.”
Thursday morning started out with an overloaded trouble ticket queue, a pissed off customer, and a severe lack of caffeine.
Bradley Adams day only got worse from there.
Little Jenny had been up most of the night with a cough and the sniffles, and he and Monica had taken turns tending to their daughter. Consequently, Bradley only slept for three and a half hours. The alarm annoyed him with its insistent beep. Nine minutes after pressing snooze the damn thing chattered again. The next time it went off he cracked open an eye and cursed because he had exactly twenty-eight minutes to get to work.
His mad rush left little time to grab a cup of coffee, shave, or even shower. If he weren’t already on his boss’s shit list, Bradley would have simply called out. Instead, he hurried out the door, forgetting his id badge, and to retrieve his conceal and carry, a Smith and Wesson M&P 9 Shield, from the basement. He had intended to tuck it into his laptop bag before his wife got up. It was probably an offense that would get him fired, and his ass kicked by his wife, but Bradley felt like it was worth it, considering how badly things had degenerated in the country over the last few weeks.
Then the Bronco had given him trouble, acting like it was also planning to have a bad day. After cranking over the ignition five or six times, the engine finally fired up with a roar that was music to his ears. As the heater warmed up, the cabin filled with the smell of gas thanks to almost flooding the carburetor. He backed out of his driveway, slammed on his brakes to avoid getting his rear end sheared off by a fast-moving station wagon, and then set his sleep deprived eyes on the main road.
After arriving at the office, throwing his bag under his desk, and firing up his computer, he had less than a minute to spare. The next two hours had fled in a fog. He alternated between staring at the trouble ticket queue, closing his eyes for a few seconds in a vain attempt to snatch a respite, and then trying to appear busy anytime his manager wandered by Bradley’s cubicle.
He really needed to focus, and get back to work, but with the office buzzing about the unrest in Chicago, he had trouble concentrating on his job. That and staying awake.
More often than not, he found himself on a major news site, reading the ticker at the top of the page as well as news articles and opinion pieces. How was anyone supposed to get any damn work done with all the crazy stuff going over the last month? Immigration bans, a new war in Syria on the horizon, the North Korean dictator posturing, and making threats, not to mention the stock market in a nose dive thanks to Chinese banks talking about calling in their debts from the US.
Bradley tore his gaze away from the computer and got up to stretch his legs. It was after 10 AM, and if he hustled, he could probably make it to the corner coffee stand on the corner, and be back all within his fifteen-minute break.
Instead he got a call to head up to accounting. Great. Just fucking great. What fresh hell had Ed created this time?
His desk was covered in computer parts: hard drives, a power supply that was missing its cover, a broken motherboard, and a strip of RAM that was scorched. One of them had been extracted from a computer on the seventh floor because it kept throwing errors. Piece of crap was made in Taiwan, and Bradley was surprised it still worked. AlgerTech was low on money, and they had to cut back on the IT budget. That meant when a part went bad, a replacement had to be salvaged from an old PC. Ordering new stuff was out of the question.
Ed was an asshole, there was no way around it. He had been one of the most vocal anti-President Henderson employees in the office. Ed had even put a cutout of the president’s face on a five-inch dart board, but he’d driven a knife into the center. Something that pissed off Bradley every time he saw it.
Ed Reels had been a jerk from the moment Bradley arrived to look at the broken PC.
“Look who it is,” Ed had said. “The face of the right.”
“I don’t want to talk politics,” Bradley said.
“Of course not. It’s not like we have issues. Everything is just hunky dory in Rightville. You guys got your man, and now the country is in the dumpster,” Ed taunted.
“Same old broken record, eh, Ed?” Bradley said.
“Yeah a broken record by my favorite band Impeached. Ever heard of them?”
Bradley rolled his eyes, and bit his tongue.
Ed was a portly man with thick rimmed black glasses, and his forehead gleamed with a sheen of sweat. His clothes smelled like they hadn’t been washed in a month. Bradley had heard rumors that Ed’s spouse had left him for a younger man, but Ed still wore his wedding ring and kept his wife’s picture on the desk. She had a sweet smile and hair in tight curls that hung around her face.
“Whatever, Ed. I just need to crack open your case. Why don’t you go and take a break,” Bradley gritted his teeth.
“Don’t even think about looking at what’s on my hard drive. I keep important company finances, and you’re not the right pay grade, know what I mean there, Brad? Wouldn’t want all of those big numbers confusing you.”
Bradley shot him a tight smile and held down the lighted button on the front of the Dell until it powered off.
“Don’t! Oh man. That’s not cool. I don’t know if I saved.” Ed had panicked.
“Your computer’s been locked up for half an hour, Ed. Didn't you save your work? I should think that a smart accountant like you would back your work up every five minutes.”
“Damn, damn, damn!”
“Calm down, Ed. Don’t want you stroking out right in the middle of the floor,” Bradley poured mock concern into his voice.
“I’m going to make sure you lose your job if a single file isn't saved. I swear to God.” Ed rose to his feet, a blood vessel pulsing over his left temple.
“Like I said, Ed. Why don't you get some coffee, or better yet, a glass of water? You look stressed.”
Some of the other accountants prairie-dogged over their cubicle walls. A tall skinny guy, Bradley was pretty sure his name was Garry, put his glasses on as he rose. His lips tightened but then quirked up in a half-smile.
Garry was probably hoping for an incident, and ready to egg on the combatants.
“Yeah, Ed. Take a chill pill. Or better yet, are you up on your medical marijuana card? The liberal dream. Pot for everyone, story at eleven.” Garry said, his voice sonorous like he was narrating a PBS documentary.
Bradley wished he felt calm, hell, maybe he needed to get a pot card. It might help take the edge off because he could seriously use it right about now.
In fact, he’d like to punch Ed right in the face. But if he lost his cool, then he really would be looking at the unemployment line, and with job losses at a ten year high, he wasn'
t likely to find a new job any time soon.
He loved almost everything about brash President Henderson, but his promise of job growth had been stagnant. The issue wasn't his bills to increase job growth, it was his constant battles with Democrats in the house. They wouldn’t let him get a single thing done without an all out war in the media.
“Is Ed losing his mind again?” an attractive woman asked.
She had long blonde hair and looked like she should be in a fashion magazine rather than in an accountant’s office. Her name was Jessica Carpenter, and almost every man in the office was guilty of checking her out because she loved to strut around in short skirts.
Bradley was a happily married man, and he kept his eyes in their sockets.
“He's having another great day, yep. Got his big boy undies in a twist again,” Garry shot back.
“Screw you both.” Ed halted in his tracks and turned.
“You’re not my type,” Garry said.
“Not gonna happen,” Jessica said. “You probably have a micro-thingy anyway.”
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’ll tell HR,” Ed shot back.
“Tell them. I’ll tell them how you tried to take a picture down my shirt. You think I didn’t notice, but I did, Ed. I saw you.”
“That’s preposterous! I’d never do something like that. You think I’m some kind of pervert?” Ed yelled.
Other faces popped up from cubicle walls to take in the action.
“Just a perv, not some kind of perv,” Garry offered with a laugh.
“You’re so clean, right? Don’t you have someone to suck somewhere?” Ed’s face turned livid and bright red.
“Oh. Good one, Eddy. I may have one to suck later. I’ll text you the location if you want to watch,” Garry said.
A couple of women at the end of the row laughed.
Ed stalked past them, eyes burning into both until he took a left toward the elevators.
“Did he really do that?” Bradley asked Jessica.
“He did. He’s always staring at me. Watching my legs when I walk by his desk. Creeps me out,” she said.
“Every man in the office stares at you,” Garry had rolled his eyes.
“Except you, Garry. I don’t have the right equipment.”
“No, ma’am, you do not,” Garry winked.
Bradley wisely kept his mouth shut.
He cracked open Ed’s case and pulled both memory chips. He wanted to avoid any further confrontation, so he pocketed them, and then headed back downstairs to find a matching pair of modules. Bradley planned to get them as soon as possible and leave Ed to stew in his own crap.
Bradley was happy he wasn’t in this department. The men and women were vicious.
The IT department looked out over a parking lot. Rows of cars stretched to the street. If he squinted his eyes, he was able to make out his silver, 1996 four-wheel drive Ford Bronco. He wished he was in it now and going home.
AlgerTech shared the building with an internet marketing company and a radio station that played classical music. They piped the feed directly into the elevators, making it hard to stay awake whenever he had to travel more than a few flights.
The IT department’s walls were white. Just white. There was a big screen television that used to rotate channels on a daily basis. The company had the attitude that a minor distraction was good for productivity. It wasn’t like anyone had time to sit around and stare at the TV all day anyway. There was always work to complete. Computers to load, printers to fix, and network passwords to reset. His trouble ticket queue was so full he wouldn’t be caught up until tomorrow morning.
Once Paul had taken over, the new supervisor had demanded they leave the television off. He didn’t agree with the companies reasoning to have it on. Since it was his IT department now, no one argued. Paul was fast to write people up, and if you got three of those, it was adios, amigo.
There was a mission statement printed on a poster, corporate stuff Bradley had been asked to read and sign the damn thing. The words had been printed in an annoying large white font on a serene background of a waterfall.
The rest of the walls were dull and devoid of art. In his cubicle, he kept pictures of his kids and wife in a picture frame and often stared at them when a customer was difficult on the phone. There was one of Junior in a baseball outfit, his son held a bat, and he had a big goofy grin plastered on his face. The picture was five years old, but it still made Bradley smile.
In little Jenny’s picture, she held an Easter basket from when she was three, and in the other hand, a large pastel egg. The egg hadn’t survived the trip home, but Bradley’s memories had.
He also had a small American flag pinned to a cubicle wall and a wooden sign that said Proud American in red white and blue.
One of the techs, a guy named Vinay, was the most flamboyant of the bunch of IT nerds. His walls were covered in magazine cutouts of fast cars and Bollywood actors. Bradley liked Vinay. The man was slightly older than him, had a thick Pakistani accent, but he also had a killer sense of humor. Or he had, until President Henderson had come down hard on immigration.
Bradley had once asked Vinay if he was worried about the mass deportations.
“I don’t know, man. It seems so far away from us. I have a green card, you know, but sometimes it feels like that might even be temporary,” Vinay had said.
“I don’t think Henderson is going to go that far,” Bradley said. “He’s just doing what’s right for America.”
“Tell that to the Native American’s who used to live here,” Vinay chuckled.
Bradley’s phone rang. He lifted his headset and placed it over his head, then hit the answer button.
“Bradley Adams speaking.”
“Brad. Can you come home?” Monica asked.
“Honey? What’s wrong?” Bradley didn’t allow his voice to rise in panic.
“Everything is wrong, honey. It’s the news, they’re saying the fighting is spreading. The kids and I would feel safe if you were here,” Monica said. “I’ll make you meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”
“I appreciate the bribe, baby, but I have to finish my shift. I can’t take another early day for a few weeks. Jenny’s doctor appointment last Friday cost me.”
“Just tell that asshole to give you a break. Like his life is so incredible,” Monica said. “I’m worried about Bradley Jr. He’s been so weird, and he said he would be late after school. I said no way, no way he was going to walk home with all of this happening.”
“He’s a teenager, baby. He just needs to blow off steam with his friends,” Brad said.
Junior was a good kid, but he had ideological choices that didn’t mesh with the rest of the family. When other kids rebelled by turning to cigarettes, pot, or alcohol, Junior sneaked out to rallies in town. He had even joined a group of liberal-minded kids his age who seemed to think they were going to be able to change the world. Kirk was the worst of them. His father was a drunk, and his mother was dead. Kirk did whatever he wanted to with barely any adult guidance.
“It’s more than that, and you know it. You have to talk to him,” Monica said. Her voice cut out for a second as something buzzed loudly in the background.
“Grinding coffee beans?”
“I’m so tired, babe. I tossed and turned all night, and I need some caffeine. I didn’t want you to go to work today. Just please come home. Tell Paul to kiss your butt.”
“I can’t tell my boss off,” Bradley lowered his voice. “I need this job. We need this. I can’t let us down again.”
“You didn’t let us down, and you never have. When jobs go bad, there’s nothing you can do about it, but you always come back. You’ve had to get other jobs, and this won’t be any different. We can talk about it later, I just want you home,” Monica said, voice rising. “I’m very worried. The news, Brad, it’s all over the news. There was a mass shooting in New York and another one in Jacksonville a few minutes ago”
“I’m a long way from
those cities,” Bradley said.
“But there’s a big protest in Chicago today, the biggest yet,” Monica said.
“I’m a long way from Chicago, too.”
“You are. But what if it keeps spreading?”
Bradley refreshed his web browser to find the headlines in bright red.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“I don’t like that kind of language,” Monica said.
“I’ll put a quarter in the swear jar later,” he said.
“Bradley, are you wasting valuable company resources on the phone and the web?” A sharp voice asked.
No point in hiding it. He turned his head to find Paul McLaren standing directly behind him. Bradley’s stomach sank.
Paul was only a couple of years out of college, but he had risen rapidly in the company because he was a complete kiss ass. During Paul’s first year with the IT department, he had been an okay guy. Shared jokes and sent out the occasional funny email or internet MEME. But his attitude had changed when one of the other guys and he had nearly got fired for slacking off all of the time. He quit drinking and started to read books about succeeding in business.
After that, Paul had started to come in clean shaven and tended to wear slacks and pressed button down shirts and liked to cozy up to upper management. Then he began going to lunch with the department manager. Within a few months, the two were like best friends. It wasn’t long before Paul was made a lead over the help desk.
Bradley would give anyone a chance no matter what position they were in. All he wanted was for that person to earn his respect. Paul turned out to be the kind who demanded respect.
“It’s my wife, Paul. She’s worried about the stuff in Chicago,” he pled his case.
“That’s a long way from here. Get off the phone and get back to work or I’m going to write you up. This is your last warning,” Paul said.
Bradley gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles tightened.
“Tell Paul to go screw his buddy, Rob. Those two are homosexuals if I’ve ever seen them,” Monica said.
Z-Risen (Book 5): Barriers Page 16
