Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

…Gordon’s black BMW 540i sedan made its way through Coral Gables and turned north on Route 1. Nina fidgeted pensively in the passenger’s seat as Gordon pushed hard on the gas pedal, rocketing along the boulevard, switching and swerving between lanes as if purposely adding to her discomfort.

Scattered lights bounced off the windshield, mainly from isolated street lamps, some burning electricity, others from oil. Periodic splashes of pink, yellow, or blue came from neon lights outside trading posts and gathering spots. Of all the cities reborn after Armageddon, Miami felt the most unchanged yet it still seemed strange to her. Yes, mainly empty streets but pockets bursting with color and energy. She wondered, would the old Miami have been even more alien to her?

Prior to the end-of-the-world, the gold coast hosted an eclectic collection of ethnic groups, religions, traditions, and races. The invading aliens turned Miami into a fortress city, in which all those different groups came together for the common defense, joined in that defense by boatloads of Cuban refugees as well as a sizable portion of the Cuban coast guard. The sheer determination of the city’s well-armed residents held the invaders at bay for years until The Empire relieved the pressure.

The gallant fighters of Miami not only embraced The Empire with open arms, they turned their city into one of the largest and most productive in the nation.

Much to her chagrin, Miami also had the distinction of being one of the few metropolitan areas with lots of traffic, a fact emphasized as Gordon swerved along Route 1 at a rapid clip. Not nearly at pre-war levels, of course, but after all the emptiness she had seen around the country, it seemed surreal to pass seven cars in a row.

Truth was, Nina did not like sitting in a car's passenger seat. She could jump out of airplanes, ride in choppers, and fight monsters yet Nina Forest never felt comfortable in a ground vehicle, at least not as a passenger.

The 540i left behind Coral Gables and headed toward Miami proper. As had been the case before Armageddon, the Miami skyline glowed with color; its remaining skyscrapers shined like beacons of steel and light but instead of calling out to tourists and immigrants those lights called out in defiance. This city would not only survive; it refused to lose its identity. But the reminders of battles fought remained.

Nina spied the remains of what a partly shattered sign identified as the "American Airlines Center". While palm trees still lined the sidewalk in front of the modern arena, the circular structure had been torn in two, the front half peeled away like a child’s doll house. The debris from whatever calamity had shredded the facility had long since been hauled away, but squatters lived inside, probably figuring half a house better than none.

Gordon navigated the sedan through a concrete maze of ramps and merges, leaving behind the mainland and rocketing out across Biscayne Bay via the MacArthur Causeway. The lights from downtown shimmied off the water revealing silhouettes of cigarette boats, yachts, and military patrol craft cruising the calm seas.

The causeway ran parallel to the Port of Miami. Most of the port glowed with activity as ships both large and small either arrived from points north or departed from the port to trace the inter-coastal waterway up and down the eastern seaboard.

However, the part of the port that had once been the heart of the cruise industry lay dormant, like a graveyard. The stern of the Norwegian Sun stood in the waters there, its silent turbines pointing toward the stars. The rest of its 78,000 tonnage had long ago splintered and jammed into the harbor depths. The even-larger Royal Caribbean Navigator of the Seas listed to port further long, its windows and hull burnt black.

Nina gaped at the massive ships, once mighty symbols of man’s power to sail the seas, now sitting idle as symbols of the limits to that power.

The 540i followed the causeway as it swooped into Miami Beach…

…High above downtown, a white and gold LongRanger police helicopter flew amidst the skyscrapers unaware of the sedan below.

Ray Roos sat alongside the pilot holding a pen light. He lifted his eyes from a clipboard to survey the city. It felt good to be out on the streets. He had spent too much of his post-Armageddon time listening, snooping, playacting, and waiting. He wanted to be doing; getting things done more directly. And now he had the power to do things how he saw fit.

Being his first visit to Miami, Roos intended to get a feel of the city from above. It did not take him long to dislike the place. Too many people-more so than even post-Armageddon New York or Boston-and they were too laid back. Roos did not like laid back. Laid back people were harder to motivate, even with threats.

Too many lights, too. What were these people thinking? Why not put a big sign out front that said, "Come squash us!"

Roos shook his head disapprovingly.

This city needs an attitude adjustment. "Uh, Chopper 1 this is downtown, you copy?" Ray clicked the button on his transmitter. "Yeah, Hobbs, what you got for me?"

The helicopter banked right and headed east, following the same circle pattern for the last half hour. The entire bird vibrated with the running of the rotors. "I’ve got Ernie Cordera." Roos’ discomfort with the city surfaced as agitation in his voice. "Yeah? So what? What’s his connection to Forest?" "No connection to Forest." Ray shook his head in even greater agitation and tapped his thumb impatiently on his leg. "You know I don’t like to waste time. Yes, you know that." "The connection is to Gordon Knox. Cordera is an I.S. officer supervising a tambourine monitoring station down here."

Roos stiffened in his seat and growled into the microphone, "Knox has a connection to an I.S. officer and this is the first I’m hearing about it?"

"The connection goes back to before everything went to Hell. In the old world, Knox and Cordera worked CIA Cuban operations out of Miami."

"So what," Roos spat. "Half the folks in Dade County used to spook Castro back then."

"Yeah," Hobbs’ voice carried an edge of its own that came through over the crackles of the radio. "Well half of Dade County didn’t get a phone call tonight from an old friend then go running off without telling the wife where he was going. At least, that’s according to the misses. You’d like her, she talks a lot."

Roos chewed on that then transmitted, "Sounds like I would. Yes, I think I’d like to meet her, too. I think I’d like to be there when Ernie gets home tonight. What’s the address?" "Miami Shores." Roos turned to the pilot and waved his hand north. "Miami Shores." The LongRanger changed course, this time banking hard left and swooping lower as it gained speed…

…The black 540i inched along Ocean Drive carefully picking its way through the throngs of party goers and sight seers who crossed the street between the beach and the strip with drinks in hand and arms around waists. Had it not been for so many holsters and the occasional police officer with battle armor and automatic weapons, it might just be another pre-Armageddon night on Miami Beach.

Music drifted from the glitzy fascias of night clubs, playing an eclectic mix of Latin, Caribbean, Reggae, rock and pop, most from the old world but a few tunes composed in recent times.

Gordon responded to the wave of a young, white-dressed male attendant who wore gold chains that glimmered against his tanned chest. That attendant guarded a prime parking spot.

Knox eased the car into place and killed the engine. The attendant hurried to the passenger side and held the door open with one hand while offering the other to the lady inside. Nina ignored the assistance, swung her legs onto the pavement and stood. She further ignored the young attendant’s leers.