couldn’t handle the strain of food riots, gang violence, and the countless waves of people terrified of the slave trade.
Fort McClellan became a beacon of hope. The installation sat roughly fifty miles to the south of the southern boundary of The Pulse Zone. The electromagn etic pulse that plunged the Eastern Seaboard into darkness had no effect on Fort McClellan. The power grid had been knocked out but was easily repaired. President Simon Sterling knew the significance of the installation, and given its close proximity to Atlanta, it was the obvious choice to be the headquarters of the Unified American Empire’s military forces on the East Coast. Because of its importance, Fort McClellan enjoyed a limitless supply of resources, thanks in large part to the ongoing pillaging of the unaffected oasis that was California.
As Lance got closer to the checkpoint, it took every bit of concentration he had to keep from passing out. The lives of his wife and children were at stake; he had to do this for them. He had no doubt about the consequences of failure. If he botched this, they would be raped and murdered. He had no other options.
As the smartphone in his pocket began to vibrate, Lance let out an involuntary shriek and his shaking escalated, alarming those waiting nearby.
“Sir, are you okay?”
“Do you need help?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh… n-n-nothing. I’m sorry. J-j-just have a splitting headache.” Lance tried his best to smile at the people around him, but it didn’t lessen their alarm.
“Should we get a doctor? Honey, walk up to the front of the line and tell...”
“No! I said I was fine! Don’t do that!” Lance knew he needed to get a grip. He was drawing unwanted attention to himself when he could least afford to do so. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Please forgive me. It’s just so cold and my feet hurt.”
Lance turned his back on the meddlesome couple, hoping they wouldn’t cause a scene. As his phone continued to vibrate, Lance reached up to tap the Bluetooth device in his ear. Unable to utter a single word, Lance coughed, hoping that would be enough.
“Good, good, good. Mr. McGee, I’m so glad you’re still with us. I don’t really expect you to answer me, given that someone talking on a phone these days would definitely attract attention. We wouldn’t want to do that, now would we?”
Just the sound of the man’s voice sent Lance over the edge, gasping for air. His eerie, composed politeness brought forth images that were anything but tranquil, images of torture—not just his own, but the torture of his children as well.
“Now, now, Mr. McGee. W e can’t have you carrying on like this when we’re so close to being finished. Do calm down, sir. Please.”
Lance knew he had to get a grip – and fast!
“That’s much better, Mr. McGee. I really do wish we could have one of our pleasant talks, but I guess we’ll have to settle for a boring, one-sided conversation. Kind of funny, don’t you think? For decades every man, woman, and child walked around talking on a phone, fiddling their little fingers around on a mobile gadget doing all manner of silly things. It wasn’t long ago that you would be positively out of place if you didn’t have some sort of do-hickey in your hand. Oh, how the tables have turned! If you pulled that phone out of your pocket right this second, I bet people around you would start screaming and running from you like you were an alien with a ray gun. Anyway, I’ve gotten quite far from the topic at hand, haven’t I? You’re still with me aren’t you, Mr. McGee? Give me a little cough so we can get this party started.”
Lance cleared his throat angrily
“Excellent! That little phone i n your pocket is telling me you’re about twenty yards from the front gate. I just wanted to chat with you in case you were having some crazy thoughts about backing out on me and doing
Fort McClellan became a beacon of hope. The installation sat roughly fifty miles to the south of the southern boundary of The Pulse Zone. The electromagn etic pulse that plunged the Eastern Seaboard into darkness had no effect on Fort McClellan. The power grid had been knocked out but was easily repaired. President Simon Sterling knew the significance of the installation, and given its close proximity to Atlanta, it was the obvious choice to be the headquarters of the Unified American Empire’s military forces on the East Coast. Because of its importance, Fort McClellan enjoyed a limitless supply of resources, thanks in large part to the ongoing pillaging of the unaffected oasis that was California.
As Lance got closer to the checkpoint, it took every bit of concentration he had to keep from passing out. The lives of his wife and children were at stake; he had to do this for them. He had no doubt about the consequences of failure. If he botched this, they would be raped and murdered. He had no other options.
As the smartphone in his pocket began to vibrate, Lance let out an involuntary shriek and his shaking escalated, alarming those waiting nearby.
“Sir, are you okay?”
“Do you need help?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh… n-n-nothing. I’m sorry. J-j-just have a splitting headache.” Lance tried his best to smile at the people around him, but it didn’t lessen their alarm.
“Should we get a doctor? Honey, walk up to the front of the line and tell...”
“No! I said I was fine! Don’t do that!” Lance knew he needed to get a grip. He was drawing unwanted attention to himself when he could least afford to do so. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Please forgive me. It’s just so cold and my feet hurt.”
Lance turned his back on the meddlesome couple, hoping they wouldn’t cause a scene. As his phone continued to vibrate, Lance reached up to tap the Bluetooth device in his ear. Unable to utter a single word, Lance coughed, hoping that would be enough.
“Good, good, good. Mr. McGee, I’m so glad you’re still with us. I don’t really expect you to answer me, given that someone talking on a phone these days would definitely attract attention. We wouldn’t want to do that, now would we?”
Just the sound of the man’s voice sent Lance over the edge, gasping for air. His eerie, composed politeness brought forth images that were anything but tranquil, images of torture—not just his own, but the torture of his children as well.
“Now, now, Mr. McGee. W e can’t have you carrying on like this when we’re so close to being finished. Do calm down, sir. Please.”
Lance knew he had to get a grip – and fast!
“That’s much better, Mr. McGee. I really do wish we could have one of our pleasant talks, but I guess we’ll have to settle for a boring, one-sided conversation. Kind of funny, don’t you think? For decades every man, woman, and child walked around talking on a phone, fiddling their little fingers around on a mobile gadget doing all manner of silly things. It wasn’t long ago that you would be positively out of place if you didn’t have some sort of do-hickey in your hand. Oh, how the tables have turned! If you pulled that phone out of your pocket right this second, I bet people around you would start screaming and running from you like you were an alien with a ray gun. Anyway, I’ve gotten quite far from the topic at hand, haven’t I? You’re still with me aren’t you, Mr. McGee? Give me a little cough so we can get this party started.”
Lance cleared his throat angrily
“Excellent! That little phone i n your pocket is telling me you’re about twenty yards from the front gate. I just wanted to chat with you in case you were having some crazy thoughts about backing out on me and doing
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