Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

"What is football?" D'Trayne asked.

Roos told his boss, "Maybe he's retired or something like that. Ain't that nice?"

"No, no retirement," Evan strolled away from the desk in a daze. "You need to get down there, Ray, and take care of this."

D'Trayne inquired, "Is it possible that this Mr. Knox will be scared into staying underground? Perhaps he is not such a threat."

"Oh yeah, he's a threat," Roos figured.

Evan's lips trembled as he told his subordinate, "Get going. Get down there. Chancellor, you coordinate with Ray here. I think we may need your assistance once again."

"This is not going as smoothly as you had assured."

Evan's face twitched-a little-and he countered, "Everything is on track. I told you we would have issues to address. The only real problem we could ever have is if your friends don't finish off the job. I don't like the games they play. It seems…it seems petty."

Roos lamented, "Should have just finished it at the house. What is it they're doing with him again?"

"That was not the deal," D'Trayne told Evan. "I did not set the parameters of this undertaking, but we all agreed that the final outcome will be the same, regardless."

"Enough!" Evan shouted before continuing in a calmer voice. "We will not discuss this again. The only thing more I want to hear about Stone is the final word from Gannon when the time comes. For now, we have work to do. But know this, Chancellor, I'm watching very close. I told you once, my first priority is the safety and security of this nation. I will let loose the dogs of war without hesitation if I sense any threats on your end and I would not have agreed to de-mobilize a portion of our forces if I did not feel we were in a secure position. In other words, Chancellor, we still have teeth. Sharp teeth."

The Chancellor's eyes flickered yellow as he reminded, "Our word is plain to see. No armies gather on your southern border or to your north. Your country is secure. The only problems you face appear to come from your own kind."

That channeled Evan's attention toward Roos again. "We'll take care of that. Ray, what are you still doing here? Get to Miami."

Roos offered a sarcastic salute and opened the door. Two Internal Security men-the Chancellor's escort-waited there.

"It was good speaking with you, Chancellor," Evan's voice carried into the adjacent room where assistants and guards could hear. "Today was a historic day for mankind." "And for the Witiko as well, Mr. President." D'Trayne bowed respectfully and walked to his escort. "Senator Trimble to see you," Evan's assistant announced through the open door. "Give me a moment, will you? Yes, just close the door. I need two minutes to myself." She did just that, giving the new President sole occupancy of the Oval Office.

Evan stood for a moment of relaxation, taking in not only his surroundings but the distance traveled to get there. Ironic, he thought, how in the old world he prepared for a life of politics by making contacts, networking, honing his speaking skills, and developing a sense for both manipulation and strategy. He had known-back then-that to become a leader in the United States would take patience, vision, and persistence.

Then Armageddon came. Trevor Stone had seized power and lectured Evan- lectured me! — on how the world had changed so much; on how all Evan's connections and studies and planning had been for naught.

But oh how Trevor had been wrong. The new world, it seemed, played even better to Evan's strengths while at the same time freeing his hand for more aggressive action. The chaos and lack of communication throughout the nation gave Evan an advantage he never would have had in a world with 24-hour news networks, video phones, and the internet.

Evan chuckled. He had orchestrated the downfall of an absolute monarch without raising an eyebrow. Of course it was all for the best; he did it for the sake of the people. Nonetheless, Nixon failed to cover up a mere burglary and Clinton could not even keep a blow job secret.

But in this new world of monsters and alien armies, the people concentrated on survival to the exclusion of almost everything else and communications remained limited to the extent that few people asked questions, even after the convenient death of Gordon Knox.

No. That's not quite right. Knox isn't dead.

Evan's good mood spoiled, replaced by a new feeling. Suddenly he did not want to be alone in the office. Suddenly he felt the phantom of Gordon's gun barrel pressed against the back of his head. He heard Knox's warning after that confrontation three years ago: "Good. Remember. Especially when you go to sleep at night…all safe in your bed. Just like that Hivvan governor in Richmond…"

Evan's hand drifted to his skull and rubbed the spot where the cold steel had touched him. He quickly removed that hand and scowled. "No!" He froze, worried he spoke too loud, but no one rushed in from outside. Evan repeated, "No."

He strolled to one of the windows and stared at the grass and grounds beyond. He grew acutely aware of the shadows out there, the sharp corners around the West Wing just beyond his view, the dark spots between shrubs and trees, security officers too far away to see clearly (is that one bald? Is that a bushy mustache on that one? Who is that man? I don't recognize him…).

Evan forced his mind to cease babbling.

I will not live in fear.

He wondered…were the cross hairs of a sniper rifle focusing on him at that very moment? Did a bomb tick away its last few seconds just outside the window? Did an intruder creep across the floor behind him with a knife drawn?

I will NOT BE AFRAID.

Evan closed his eyes and felt the thump of his heart, the controlled gentle breathing in his chest, the light tremble in his arms. While standing at the window, he slowly raised both hands like Jesus on the cross. Evan whispered, "Here I am. Get it over with." He waited like that, eyes closed and arms stretched, for several seconds. No bullet came. No bombs exploded. No assassin pounced. Evan opened his eyes and lowered his arms.

I refuse to live in fear.

On Thursday, June 25, two Amtrak F40PH diesel locomotives rolled into the train station in Hialeah a few minutes before noon. Passengers of all shapes, sizes, and intentions disembarked, most having spent nearly two full days onboard during the journey south. At least they were not covered in soot like passengers riding the steam locomotives that handled the majority of rail travel.

A handful of the disembarking passengers wore shorts and wide-brimmed hats, hallmarks of northern tourists, a rare commodity in the post-Armageddon world.

Others dressed in short-sleeve shirts with colorful ties and briefcases. That breed might be representatives from food service companies looking to procure citrus crops, or industrial headhunters combing the survivor ranks to find those with specialized skills, or maybe even government census workers sent to register refugees. Of course, many of the arrivals were military personnel wearing BDUs.

Among the crowd walked Nina Forest in black tactical pants and a matching shirt with a duffle bag thrown over one shoulder, an M-4 assault rifle over the other, and a scabbard holding a sheathed sword tight to one leg.

Unlike the business men and tourists, Nina appeared completely unprepared for the South Florida heat. The humidity soaked into her cloths before she reached the shaded platform. The ceiling fans and the cover inside the station helped a little but by the time she hailed a taxi her face had turned red and she felt short of breath.

The driver provided her a complimentary bottle of water while Nina provided him with a destination: the Airport Hilton and Towers on Blue Lagoon drive. The rusting old Chevrolet Impala with a bobbing statue of Jesus on the dash and an older Hispanic male driver made its way south into the upper suburbs of Miami proper.