K9 teeth tore away fingers, severed a hand, and took chunks of flesh out of legs, but they were quickly run over and beaten with boards and planks and metal bars. Barks turned to squeals. Four-legged carcasses oozed red and lay still on the grass.
The Governor and his two personal bodyguards hurried the young children of the family upstairs and prepared to shoot any who trespassed into the home.
Windows smashed, door knobs rattled. The shouts and jeers and boisterous hollers of the attackers created one big churning ball of noise like a violent thunderstorm.
Then another noise came. One that sent a vibration through the walls of the mansion.
Thump-thump-thump.
A Blackhawk helicopter arrived overhead but failed to impress. Someone threw a rock at the chopper. The act of defiance elicited a response from a fifty-caliber machine gun that tore into the crowd below. Suddenly, the mob lost its stomach for violence and vandalism.
Bodies of rioters fell alongside beaten dogs. The machine gun fired with more than the goal of dispersing the crowd, it fired in anger. Anger as real as the anger that had propelled the mob in the first place.
After several moments the gun fell silent. The moans of the dead and dying could not be heard over the oppressive drone of the rotors.
– The man with the thick glasses zipped his wool coat over a plaid shirt, stepped out onto the dark stoop, then locked the building's door behind him, the one with the placard reading, The New American Press. Philadelphia Editorial Offices.
Not so long ago, Evan Godfrey's newspaper consisted of a small office in northeastern Pennsylvania and a handful of couriers. Since the massacre at New Winnabow, more people took an interest in The New American Press’ anti-Imperial, pro-democracy message.
Godfrey had graduated to a full-time politician and handed over the day-to-day operations to his staff, including Philadelphia branch Editor Jim Huffman, who locked up after a long day at the office. Of course, in recent weeks most days felt long. With the face of Trevor Stone off center stage, his staff no longer contended with a cult of personality. Instead, they focused on Imperialism, war-mongering, and a modern-day post-Apocalyptic military/industrial complex.
Huffman paced the wide sidewalk of Broad Street. He saw no cars but he did hear a distant clop-clop-clop from horse shoes. A few-not all-of the street lights shined but the brightest light came from a torch flickering outside a small restaurant a half-block ahead.
A much closer sound grabbed his attention, the sound of footsteps approaching at a fast clip. He turned to look and but before he could identify the newcomers, Huffman went flying backwards, his jaw rattled and something-teeth? — loose in his mouth. His arms flailed and his thick glasses tumbled away. His head hit the cold concrete. Before he could even fathom what was happening, boots and shoes slammed into his ribs and chest again and again.
"The sons of Trevor Stone, mother fucker! That’s right! He’ll be back! Watch what you write, or next time we’ll kill your traitor ass!"
Huffman fell unconscious.
– The morning sun was out there, somewhere, but far removed from the conference room in the basement of the estate where gloom prevailed.
Jon and Lori Brewer, Gordon Knox, General William Hoth, and Omar Nehru sat at the conference table. A handful of aids waited in the wings.
"And that is all I can be saying," Nehru finished his report. "Other than the radiation on which you have been told already, there is no evidence of any place to which the structure has gone or to whom it might have belonged."
"That’s just great," Jon's chair squeaked as he leaned back. "All this time and you’ve got nothing? Shit, we’ve got nothing."
General Hoth said, "Army Group North has temporarily pacified the surrounding countryside, and we’ve secured Cincinnati as a result of the…," Hoth, uncharacteristically, stumbled to describe the mass vanishing in that southwestern Ohio metropolis. "…the situation there. However, I require the return of the brigades you pulled from the lines last week."
Gordon jumped in, "We need those brigades for domestic security. You’ll just have to tough it out until we can free them up."
"Let me rephrase," Hoth paused, gathered his thoughts, and then did just that. "Short of additional mass disappearances, I can not take any more of the major cities with my current manpower. My forces are barely adequate for maintaining defensive positions."
"Why are we even talking about your army?" Lori Brewer shot. "We need to be focused on Trevor. It’s now or never."
Jon explained to his wife, "General Hoth either needs those brigades back or he needs to withdraw across Ohio. Maybe even abandon Cincy. Between Plats, Roachbots, and predatory hostiles, his position is becoming untenable."
"Withdrawing now would be a sign of weakness," Gordon said. "At the same time, I think we’re going to need those brigades back here."
"I do not understand why," Hoth spent most of his time at the front where he received little information on the degenerating situation on the home front. Further, could not understand the idea of neglect of duty, therefore he did not understand why Internal Security units failed to do their job, or could not be trusted to do so. He did, however, notice that the day's meeting did not include Dante Jones.
"You want to know why?" Lori turned in her chair and grabbed a newspaper from the top of what had once been a basement bar. She read from the headlines. "Riot at Governor’s mansion turns deadly…the ‘Sons of Trevor’ strike in Philadelphia…labor guild promises wild cat strikes if elections are not held…Senate refuses to allocate funds for the military…should I go on?"
Jon ran a hand across his forehead and closed his eyes.
Omar offered, "If I may be suggesting, perhaps it is time for us to admit to tell the people of what has happened."
"No," Gordon nearly shouted. "We need to assert military control and publicly recognize Jon Brewer as the acting head of state. We have to follow a military hierarchy."
"And why is that being?" Omar asked.
"Because this is a war," Knox answered "Now is not the time for politics. We have to be tough on this. If we’re tough I know we can assert control over the situation."
"It is a question of legitimacy," Hoth’s voice sounded soft but seemed more an explosion to the ears in the room. The man commanded an entire Army Group of loyal soldiers. If he broke from the rest of the military, things could actually get worse in a hurry.
However, before anyone could react to Hoth, the basement door opened and Dante Jones descended the stairs and stood next to the conference table.
Jones did not look at Brewer as he said, "Jon, there's a call for you on line one. You need to take it."
"Who is it?" Lori somehow beat Knox to the question.
"Evan Godfrey. I think you should talk to him."
Every eye in the room focused on a lonely phone sitting atop the conference table. On that phone blinked a solitary red light.
Lori placed a hand on her husband's shoulder as Jon reached for the receiver. His index finger extended and-trembling-pushed the blinking red button, activating the speaker.
Evan Godfrey's voice came across calm and self-assured. "Good morning, Jon. I assume the usual cast is present. You know why I am calling. Things have reached a critical juncture. Jon? Are you listening?"
Brewer licked his lips, swallowed, and answered, "I’m here."
"Good. As of this moment, Washington D.C. is an independent city. That is to say, the Senate has taken direct control of administering this city. Notice I did not say Imperial Senate. "
"You can’t do that, Evan," Jon protested in a stumbling voice.
"That’s where you are wrong. The D.C. garrison and the majority of senators support this position. However, this is a temporary move. One that will certainly be matched by more cities and voting districts across what used to be The Empire."