Please find and read the enclosed samples of my writing. There are excerpts from my novels and short stories, too. I welcome any constructive feedback that you may have.

The Sun Sets on the West series – Read here

This is a story of life in the UK, Europe and America after a disputed American presidential election. While America falls into anarchy, BBC reporter Jane Clark has to contend with the erosion of democracy in the UK.

At first, her interest in the changes is entirely professional, but when her brother, Duncan, gets drawn in, she has decisions to make.

The three novels in this series cover the ramifications in the UK mainly, but I have included the USA backstory below as a free story. (I am adding more to the story regularly.)

The Sun Sets on the West

“I can’t let them take it away from me.” The suddenly irate former President of the USA went to slam his pitching wedge into the soft turf but stopped short. He stood upright and drawing in a long, slow breath; he allowed the cool Scottish breeze to wash the heat from his flushed face. On regaining his composure, he joined the General, and they stood side by side, watching the waitress depart.

“I’ll get her name this evening,” he muttered into the wind. Her tousled blond hair, outrageously tight orange blouse and slender legs, ending in snakeskin cowboy boots, certainly now captured his undivided attention. “Oh my, George, if I were twenty years younger.”

 “Ha, you would still be twenty years too old.” The general cracked a nervous smile. Donald’s face at first darkened to a scowl, but then a grin turned to a belly laugh. George McCluskey, relieved at the acceptance of his witticism, joined in.

Donald, slapping the general harder than necessary on the back, said, “I can’t let the Commie fuckers take it away from me all over again, George.” His grin gone now, a dark, shadow mask crossed the politician’s face. Years of battling the American legal system came flooding back to mind. It boiled his blood. “Those bastards tried everything to bring us to heal, but we kicked their asses every time.” Donald gave the general a rueful smile. He knew McCluskey considered him a friend, but to Donald, this relationship was more crocodile and plover. Yet the symbiosis would benefit if you didn’t always bite their heads off, he thought. Donald constantly fought instinct.

Donald looked over his windswept links course in northeast Scotland. The soft salt spray air and cut green grass aroma reminded him why the Tee was his boardroom. Yes, answers came quicker in a smoke-filled meeting or while berating someone over a phone, but this delicate plan called for some bonding, moulding and God forbid, nuance. Compromise? He would consider letting the general win a hole or two, but that is as far as he would go with that.

Several meetings were scheduled here over the next few days. Thorn was ramping up his candidacy, firstly as the Republican nominee, and then for President. This time, the pieces of the jigsaw would be in place.

Donald breathed in deeply and released it slowly through his nose. He took a sip of beer to clear the lump in his throat. “I’m going to need your help, George.”

“You know that I will help you anyway I can, Mr President, but they are forcing me to retire soon and so I do not know how much help I can be.” Three deep lines crossed the General’s brow.

 “Well I have a role in mind for you where you could do no end of good.” Thorn smiled. “How does Chief of the Joint Committee sound?”

The General’s face cracked a wide smile.

 “Sir,” he said, “you know that has been my dream for many years. With you in the Whitehouse and me running the forces, we could finally get this country back on its feet.”

With a quivering hand, Thorn laid his glass back on the small table. Stifling anger was not his strong suit. McCluskey won’t be working with me, He thought, he will be working for me. But for now, the 58^th President let it lie. He needed McCluskey like a plumber needed a plunger to get shit moving.

Washington – Monday 4th November 2024

An exhausted Christopher ‘Kit’ Simmons fell back into the driver’s seat of his car. It’d been a long day touring round identified support to ensure they all knew to vote. Personally, he believed that you would have to have been off the planet for the last year not to know there was an election tomorrow, but strangely enough, a few folks needed to be reminded.

Kit knocked on his first door 14 hours ago and could feel his poor, tired feet pulsating in his expensive but now ruined dress shoes. It was time to head back to his apartment in Beckert’s Park, maybe have one beer, catch up with the news and then have an early night. He would be out on the streets at 7am again tomorrow to get the voters out. It would take a miracle if his party, The Democrats, didn’t win the DC area, but he guessed the foot slogging still had to be done to ensure a big turnout. These days, most voters had postal votes and so a whole lot of tomorrow’s shoe rubber would be wasted, but what ya you gonna do?

Stop and go, stop, and go. Traffic wasn’t moving fast around the Capitol. It began to drizzle as his car shuffled between red lights. The buildings on “The Hill” were illuminated with architectural floodlighting and so the dedicated tourists, still milling about after dark, were silhouetted stick people going about their business.

Was his bad luck run of red lights some sort of omen toward tomorrow’s result? Red was the colour of the Republicans, but he consoled himself with the thought that there were no blue traffic signals and so it was not an even contest. Would tomorrow be an even contest? Rumours and allegations of voter fraud already abounded, and Thorn had been moaning about postal votes for weeks. Make that years.  It was probably because the average Thorn voter was incapable of filling in the form, he thought to himself with a smirk.

Finally traversing the gridlocked city, Kit swung the Audi into the parking lot at his apartment complex and found the piece of shit car owned by the son of his neighbour, parked in his spot as usual. He made the pointless gesture of banging both wrists on the steering wheel and uttered a few choice words, but he knew he would end up parking in one of the visitor spaces and doing nothing about the situation.

You had to be fairly well off to get a flat in this complex, but the parents of the car dumper were basically trailer-trash. Kit had no idea how they got here. The worst thing about them was they had a fucking Thorn poster in their window. Kit was getting ribbed about it every day at work. His workmates spotted it, and the rumour was going round that it was his window. Kit seriously worried that the joke got as far as Mayor Muriel Bowser, his ultimate boss. She had a serious humour bypass.

Finding a vacant visitor spot, the car locked automatically as he walked over to the lobby and elevators. The doorman, Chip, was nowhere to be seen at the moment and so Kit had to use his pin to get access to the building.

Although Kit worked in Local Government, Chip was one of those guys who always seemed to know more of what was going on in the Capitol. He was a great source of news and gossip. More than once, Kit headed to the office armed with a nugget of gold from Chip and used it to make out to his colleagues that he was “In the know.” Anytime he quizzed Chip on the source, Chip would tap the side of his nose and say, “That’s for me to know and you to find out, my friend.” Doing a work search into Chip’s background would have to be a priority after the election was over.

Looking through the rear windows, Kit noticed that there were still a few people around the covered swimming pool in the central resident’s area. In the three years he lived here, that pool had never once been empty, regardless of the hour.

With a soft beep, the elevator arrived, and the doors slid open. Kit was checking his messages but looked up from his phone to see Chip smiling at him from the mirrored elevator.

“Hey Chip.”

Kit raised an arm to wave, even though they stood six feet apart. “Ahoy there, Christopher,” Chip replied in a pirate accent. “Have you been out pounding the streets” He continued in his regular voice.

“Yes,” Kit replied as they passed each other and switched places. “Hopefully, we have done enough to hold on to the Whitehouse.”

As the doors slid closed, he heard Chip say, “You haven’t.”

The comment intrigued him. He considered heading back down to talk to Chip further. “Sod it man, I’m shot.” Kit decided to leave it until the morning. He lifted his finger away from the halt button and let the elevator continue up to the 4th floor.  The doors opened to his landing, and the overpowering smell of deep-fried chicken wafted in. It pushed him back against the wall. Another reason to hate his bloody neighbours.

“How the hell can you make fried food smell so bad?” He pinched his nose against the pungency. They must cook the thing, feathers, guts and all. And every bloody night!

With his breath held, Kit took a left down the corridor and through the door that separated his own lobby from the communal lift area. The lights came on as he unlocked the door and entered his hallway. Finally able to breathe chicken free oxygen once more, he dumped the pile of “Sorry you were out” leaflets left over from the day’s campaigning. Hanging his jacket, he headed to the kitchen for a beer. “Get your priorities right,” He thought. Passing the fridge, he opened the door to see if anything vaguely edible had magically appeared since this morning. ‘The fridge song’ began playing in his head. The fridge song had no relevance to fridges or food, it was in fact a song from the 70s, “Billy don’t be a hero” by Paper lace. For some inexplicable reason, he sang it in his head every time he opened the door. “I really should see a psychiatrist,” he chuckled to himself.

No, the contents of the fridge remained unchanged at a jar of chillies, one cheese slice and a tube of ginger paste that had resided there so long now, there was no way it could be touched. Not even to throw it in the bin. “Ah well, toast again,” was the final decision. “And one day soon, I will remember to by butter.” Beer and toast, supper of the lazy bastard, Kit sighed with resignation.

With a swig of beer and a mouthful of toast, the TV was turned on to CNN, and the iPhone recovered from the pocket to call Zoe. 

His girlfriend, Zoe, lived down in Falmouth and like all good Virginians, she would be voting for Donald tomorrow. Worse than that, she was more than likely out campaigning right now. She privately confided once that she wasn’t really a fan of the man himself, but she was a lifelong Republican, and Mr Thorn was the only show in town for the GOP these days. On pain of torture, Kit was sworn to secrecy about Zoe’s admission. Saying that you were not a Thorn fan in Virginia would get you exiled.

The phone went to messaging service but as usual, he didn’t leave one. Zoe and he were ships in the night often, and during this election, it was worse than normal. He hadn’t spoken to her in days. She’d left a couple of messages, but Zoe was a night owl. She called him at one or two in the morning. He normally tried calling back when he woke for work but by then, she was incommunicado.

On the occasions their worlds did collide, they made a point of avoiding the discussion of politics, other than relaying the travails of campaign life. Acceptable topics were music. Zoe was a musician and producer, and Kit played piano and guitar badly. Of course, they would also discuss friends, family, and life in general—anything but politics, really.

 Yet to meet her family, Kit guessed they lived in a shack in the woods and enjoyed a supper of roadkill most days. This may well be a biased vision, he accepted. Zoe had met his parents and extended family at a BBQ this summer and got on with them like a house on fire. His mum had already called Zoe more often than Kit had spoken with either of them. On the few occasions he did manage to get Zoe on the phone, he often led with… “and how are my parents?” To which she would giggle and tell him they were good.

Giving up on the attempted call, Kit wondered which greedy pig finished his toast while he was on the phone. He then noticed the crumbs down the front of his shirt and said, “Busted, fatty.”  Necking the beer, Kit put the plate and empty bottle on the kitchen worktop and slid back onto the sofa to catch up on the day’s news before hitting the sack.

USA, Falmouth VA, Monday 4th November 2024

Zoey Ludwig headed back to her desk in Falmouth GOP campaign HQ. She’d been in yet another meeting. Jeez, did Linda, her boss, like meetings. If Linda had her way, there would be no time for actual campaigning. Zoey looked first at the huge pile of papers that had magicked their way to her In-Tray and then noticed the missed call on her phone. It was probably Janet, Kit’s Mum.  Zoe wasn’t in the mood for a long call right now. She would call Janet tomorrow as election day could be surprisingly short of things to do. By election day, Zoe’s job was over. She ran the voter system, mainly updating the database with newly identified voters. If they hadn’t been identified by now, they never would be…. well for this campaign anyway.

Her area was solid for Thorn. She often thought it would be quicker to give the canvassers a copy of the phone Book. “Find a Democrat, win a prize.”

Zoe was 32. Her father was from Jamaica and her mother born and bred Virginia. That partnership had caused Zoe a whole mess of trouble at junior high, but by the time she was a senior, her pretty olive complexion made her popular amongst the guys, and so the girls had followed. Taught piano when young, she started writing her own songs in her early teens. Debuting at a school assembly at 14 greatly increased her popularity. She was never admitted into the cool kids circles but that was fine by Zoe. The cool girls were mainly bitches. “No bitterness there then,” She laughed.

After setting her hair in dreadlocks a few months ago, as if needing more attention, she’d now had to politely decline the advances of around half the guys in the campaign office. There was young Tom Parker beside the window now, looking at her with his puppy eyes. Unfortunately, he wasn’t Elvis’ manager but even if he had been, she wouldn’t be interested. Ah, he could look if he wished. Zoe had a boyfriend, but she couldn’t admit as much in this office as he was a devil worshipping commie. Or, in other words, a Democrat.

Kit first reached out to her after finding her music on the web. They talked for months before he’d come to a gig that the band did in DC. The two of them hit it off immediately and were on the third date before she discovered his political allegiances. Not that it mattered to Zoe. She joined and campaigned for the GOP because that is what you did in Virginia. Her grandfather on her mother’s side had once been a representative in the Virginia state house. Zoe was brought up to believe that being a Republican was indistinguishable from being American. She hadn’t even met a Democrat until she went to college. Well, that might not be true. Zoe’s father, Cled, NEVER talked politics. When the subject arose at family gatherings, he always found something that urgently needed his attention elsewhere.

Mum was republican through and through. It was hinted that she had been a bit of a wild child in her younger years. The family were well off and were prominent in Virginian society. Jackie, Zoe’s mum, attended finishing school in Switzerland but instead of returning as a lady, she had become a party animal, touring European cities with stories alleged of a rock guitarist and his heavy metal band.

You would hardly believe these rumours today, as Jackie Ludwig was now a model Southern mom. Once or twice, the veneer would slip, and Zoe would get a little peak at the girl her mother once was.

Perhaps unexpectedly, Mum’s relationship with Cled Ludwig was not a result of the wild years. They met on Jackie’s return to Virginian society. While attending a State function on the arm of her father, Ramsay Duncan III, Jackie’s mother having passed many years previously, her soon-to-be suitor, Cled Ludwig, was at the event, receiving a ‘Businessman of the Year’ or some such award. His chain of car franchises having grown from one outlet to stores in 6 states in less than ten years.

Jacqueline Duncan and Cledwyn Ludwig were married barely a year later. There were clearly some among Virginian society that disapproved of one of the daughters of Virginia (The Duncans could trace their lineage back to the foundation of the State) getting hitched to one of “less than pure blood.” Ramsay Duncan III was not as narrow-minded. RD3, as his friends called him, was as colourblind as any Southern gent could be. He loved his daughter unconditionally, and if she loved Cled, he did too. Anyway, he could buy the objectionable racist bastards ten times over if he wanted to.

Celebrating both sides of her lineage, Zoe obediently served the GOP by day, while playing her smooth, melodic, soft reggae compositions by night. And yes, there was a little bit of country in there somewhere, too. Zoe recently self-released her third album on Spotify. It was getting a lot of plays, and a few smaller record companies were talking to her about an official release. Playing it cool, she was a huge fan of Prince and had read extensively about his problems with recording companies, Zoe was not about to jump into a bad deal.

Her grandfather jokingly offered to buy Atlantic records for her. Well, she thought he was joking anyway! But no, Zoe was going to do this right. She knew people that don’t make it in the music industry often claim that they only ever did it for fun anyway…” It was never about fame or fortune, dude.” In Zoe’s case, this really was true. Sure, she would take success if it came, but Zoe was perfectly happy playing to tens, and occasionally hundreds of people on a Saturday night. Given the choice, she would much prefer to be a music producer than a gigging musician. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy playing live, but Zoe was a home girl. The thought of a six-month world tour carried no appeal whatsoever. No, if Zoe and the band could set up a recording studio, produce her music along with stuff from other bands and artists and then tour up and down the Eastern seaboard at weekends, she would be content.

New York City, Wednesday 6th November 2024

Karl and Maria Ramirez took the subway down to the stop on Broadway. Coming up onto ground level, they joined the burgeoning crowd that filled the streets in all directions for two blocks. Karl looked around at the multitude of Thorn posters. Many of the gathered were also wearing the Republican candidate’s T-shirts. This time around, it appeared a lot of New Yorkers supported Thorn for President. Karl had voted for Thorn for the first time. He thought Maria did too, but they seldom talked politics. Normally a Democrat, Karl was disillusioned with President Bowman. The man made too many bad decisions and his unequivocal support for Ukraine really pissed Karl off. It wasn’t that Karl agreed with what the Russians had done but everyone with a brain knew that Ukraine would never win that war. The USA threw billions at it. It was money that could have been better spent elsewhere.

Maria took his hand as they joined the crush outside the Subway. “Do you think this is safe, Karl?”

 Karl stood on his toes and tried to see over the crowd. There might be a clearer spot somewhere. He could see nothing but heads. “We are okay for now,” he said. “If it gets any worse, we can head back down the subway and get out of here.

Not being a political animal, Karl wasn’t sure why they came. The TV News said a big crowd was gathering and he had turned to Maria, “let’s go see.” So, here they were.

Down the road from them, someone spoke into a megaphone, but it was too far away to make anything out. The crowd nearer to the speaker gave a cheer at intermittent intervals.

As ever, Maria had met someone she knew. Karl believed they could land on the moon and Maria would know someone. He had no idea where she met all these people, but regardless of where they were, his wife fell into conversation with a long-lost friend. The rapidity of their conversation made him laugh. It sounded like a thousand words a minute, and both seemed to be talking simultaneously.

His eye fell on Maria’s unknown friend, and he realised she was gorgeous. Karl was about to smile at her before he remembered that he held his wife’s hand. Averting his gaze, he feigned indifference.

The crowd surged, and they were jostled. He sensed a building disturbance across the street. Many people were shouting at once, and he couldn’t make any of it out. Someone pushed. Karl stumbled but luckily, he was only a couple of feet from the wall and so caught himself before he went down. He’d let go of Maria’s hand, and she was now struggling to get back to him. There was a look of panic on her face. Righting himself, Karl pushed the man that got between them aside. He caught Maria’s outstretched hand and pulled her to him. “You okay?” he asked.

 “Yes, but let’s get out of here, please.” Her breathing was rapid.

 Karl looked round to see they were only a few short yards from the Subway entrance. He shouted, “Coming through,” and began pushing his way into the morass. It was then that the first shot rang out. People everywhere started screaming. Those nearest the unseen shooter were doing everything they could to put distance between themselves and the gunman. Thankfully, the surge was pushing Karl and Maria toward the Subway, but Karl was aware of the flight of steps, immediately inside the entrance. If the crowd kept moving that way, a lot of people were going to go down those stairs headfirst. A couple of yards short of the door, there was a small indent in the building wall. Karl pressed himself into it and held on grimly with one hand. He held Maria with the other.

“Please don’t let go,” she sobbed. It took all his strength to hold on. Karl sweated from the exertion, not being the fittest of individuals.

“The press is easing a little,” he said to Maria after a few short but tense moments. Let’s go. They joined the wave-like movement, heading for the subway. Karl grabbed the door pillar and swung them inside. Fortunately, most of the others were heading up Broadway, so the crush on the stairs was not as bad as he had feared. Another shot ran out and was immediately answered by five or six others. The Screaming headed back to fever pitch, and the panicked started heading for the stairs again.

“Run.” He led Maria down the flight as quickly as their legs could carry them. Behind, came howls and screams as some lost their footing and came tumbling. Karl reached the landing and looked back. Before any of the fallers could regain their feet, crowds of the upright were charging over them. Hands, feet and then legs were being crushed. There was a sickening “pop” as a skull was flattened under a dozen heals. He pulled Maria to him and buried her head in his shoulder. She wouldn’t have to see what was occurring, but she would hear it anyway. Regaining his wits, Karl pulled Maria away from the entrance to the platform. It was already obvious there were too many people heading through. They were going to end up on the track. The subterranean hall echoed with screams of pain and anguish as people searched for loved ones.

 “Karl.” He heard Maria shout. He looked down to see she was pointing along the corridor they had ducked into. About 10 yards along, there was a door marked “Cleaner”. Needing no second invitation, Karl and Maria ran down the hall, and he tried the door. It opened. They ducked inside and closed it behind them. Maria went round behind a small dark wood desk that sat near the far wall and faced the door. She began pushing. Seeing her intention, Karl joined in, and they blocked any further entrants to their shelter.

The sound of shooting from the street above was sporadic but increasing in rapidity. Karl wished he had his rifle, although the targets today would be different from the furry creatures he normally aimed at and missed. There was a key on their side of the door. Maria leaned over the desk and locked it. It wasn’t going to stop much, but it would help a bit.

They slumped behind the desk on the floor. Karl put his arm round Maria and said. “It will be alright.”

“You promise?” Maria asked.

 Karl crossed his fingers and said, “Yes.”

 Maria feared for their lives. She closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears. It was a fairly futile action. The sounds of slaughter played on regardless. But had she also seen the sailor?

It was nothing but curiosity that led Jon Collins to Broadway. He hadn’t voted Thorn. Hell, he hadn’t voted at all. Jon wasn’t really into politics. If something or someone stirred him, he would make an effort to vote, but neither Thorn nor Bowman had got him excited. Yet, his lack of interest in the political world served him well in the Navy. As the senior enlisted man on Carrier Strike Group 4, he acted as a liaison between the ordinary sailor and the officers. Overt political views were not popular in the armed forces, but everyone had them, of course. Jon could talk easily with either side of America’s current polarity and not be offended if they held strong opinions either way.

He took a deep breath of the New York air. After taking the Madison Square Garden tour last night, he’d fallen in with some guys in the bar, and now his head was a little woozy. Being keen to extricate himself from this throng, Jon made his way toward a side street. On passing a traditional New York Deli-type café, he ducked inside and decided to postpone the intended ferry trip.

Dark inside, the diner’s long corridor was lined by fifties-style booths, but these were not the tacky modern affectations; they looked like they had been here since Elvis was a GI. On his left, half a dozen men in greasy chef’s whites were frying up a feast of eggs, ham, waffles, and anything else that could be fried. Jon, deciding that his stomach could maybe retain some food, looked along the line for a free booth.

 “Can I help you sir?” Came a broad New York accent. He turned to see a small waitress behind, she looked like an extra from Happy Days. Greasy apron, hair tied in a bun, way too much makeup and a pencil behind the ear.

“God, I love this place,” Jon said to the woman.

 “Yeah, we get that a lot, Pal. You gunna eat?” She took the pencil and prepared to write.

 “Yes, Yes indeed.” She led him to the end of the corridor, where it turned, and there was even more seating.

 She pointed at an empty seat and said. “I’ll bring your juice and coffee,” before sauntering back to the front of the store.

 Lucky that I wanted juice and coffee, Jon thought, but then decided that no one would come to a New York Deli and not partake. Sliding over the worn red leather, he was pleased to see that the table was spotlessly clean. This was not standard in most roadside cafes. Your first job on arrival usually being to sanitize everything.

He picked up the laminated, dogeared menu and perused it. “Marsha!” Jon said aloud, as the waitress reappeared with a tall glass of orange juice and a steaming mug of coffee.

 Placing them in front of Him, she said, “Yeah, you’re a funny guy.

 Marsha was the waitress in Happy Days, Jon remembered. It Looked as if he wasn’t the first to make the link. “Sorry,” was all he could think to say.

 “So, whatya havin Fonzie?” she said with a smile.

 “I’ll have the morning special Marsha.” He continued the jest.

 “Cool!” Said the waitress as she turned on her heal and left.

 “Taking jokes too far. That’s my thing,” Jon admitted to himself and rounded the thought off with a Fonzie style, “Heeeeyyyy” complete with wiggling thumbs.

“Stealing condiments is also my thing.” Jon turned his attention to anything interesting on the table. He’d built up an extensive collection by now. He was delighted to find a mustard sachet not seen before and it disappeared into his inside pocket. The rest of the array was pretty standard fare and so he left it alone.

Pretend Marsha returned with a plate of food that could have kept the entire Carrier going for a week. She slid it in front of him and left with an “Enjoy!” The saliva started filling his mouth as he unwrapped the cutlery from the paper napkin. He would have to get his cholesterol checked after this feast.

The first shot rang out as Jon cut into a sausage. He was heading down the corridor between the chairs before he even realised. A lifetime of training left him with the fight instinct; Jon sometimes wished he’d been granted the flight option, the former having gotten him into trouble more than once. He knew too well that if someone was shooting than someone else needed help. Like most people, Jon wasn’t permitted to carry a gun in New York. He realised he was heading for a gun party with a knife and fork in hand. He threw the cutlery on the nearest table but then stopped, hell they were better than nothing. Picking them back up, he headed for the door. Another shot rang out before he got there. One of the chef’s came out from behind the grill and was about to bolt the door. “Hold,” Jon cried and rushed past the man into the street. He heard the door slam behind him and suddenly, wished he was on the other side.

He scanned the area. His eyes alighted on the vision of Anne. She was only yards away on the other side of Broadway. His last visit to New York came flooding back to memory. Temporarily forgetting about the gunfire, Jon wanted nothing more than to run over to her, but she wasn’t alone.

New York. Saturday 12^th August 2023

This was the last night of his three days of shore leave, and Jon Collins was sitting alone in a busy bar beside his hotel on 42nd Street. Holding a brandy and lemonade, he slowly rotated the glass and enjoyed the clink of the ice. He looked up at the TV miming in the corner. That insidious Thorn man was in court again today. With him being the front runner to be the Republican candidate, it appeared that the next election would be a choice of corruption or ineptitude. Jon shrugged.

Feeling a nudge as someone pushed past him, he turned indignantly. The ire diminished as he saw the pretty, olive-skinned woman. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating, coconut he decided. “Here, I will let you in,” he said and left the stool in motivated chivalry.

“Gracias.” She smiled at him and slid his stool aside to lean over the bar.

 Jon looked her up and down. The woman had beautiful dark, curly hair flowing down her back. Her fawn dress was short and almost exactly matched the colour of her skin. He squinted his eyes and could easily imagine she was naked. “You have been at sea way too long,” he said to himself and laughed.

 “Someone is checking you out, sis,” came a soft, Latin-accented voice from over his shoulder. Jon turned to see a near duplicate of the beauty in front, standing behind him, too.

“I was….I wasn’t…. I was only…” he stumbled in reply, but both women were laughing. Turning back to the bar, Jon saw the most beautiful brown eyes. He bathed in their warmth.

 She smiled, “He gave up his place at the bar to let me in Sis. He is a gentleman.”

 Her Sister replied, “if he were truly a gentleman, he would have offered to buy the drinks.” She giggled.

 “Yes, yes. Let me, please.” Jon was desperately trying to regain some composure. “What can I get you ladies?”

 “What is that you are drinking?” Sister one asked but before He could reply, Sister two said, “we will have two of those.”

Jon watched as the two walked over to a table a few yards from the bar and took the high stools that sat either side. As the girls, yes, he was calling them girls in his head already, as the girls sat, their matching short skirts rose to show a lot of leg.

Sister two shouted, “Hey Mr stares-a-lot, eyes on the bar please.” Both sisters broke into the sweetest chuckle Jon ever heard.

“Oh my god, I am in love,” he thought. It was his great flaw. Well greatest among many others. He fell in love with every woman he ever saw. It was probably why he was 38 and single.

It took way too long to get the drinks. He panicked the girls would have left by the time he was finally served, but as he walked back with three brandies, they were still there. The two of them were deep in conversation. Both seemed to be speaking at the same time. Sister two was clearly lecturing Sister one on something. As he approached, the conversation stopped. He placed all three drinks on the table. “Here you go girls.”

 Sister one laughed and said, “it’s been a long time since anyone called me a girl.”

 Sister two pointed to a vacant stool. “Hey Mister Stares-A-Lot, drag that over, you will get a better view of my sister’s ass from here.” She broke into hilarity.

Jon saw Sister one was blushing. She shouted, “Consquella, you evil bitch,” but she laughed as she said it.

He chipped in, “I really wasn’t….” but decided to give the protest up and pulled the chair over. He looked at both, his guess was that Sister two, Consquella he now knew, was the younger of the two, but Sister one was prettier.

 Consquella jumped right to the inquisition. “So, whatya called and whatya do Mr Pervy?”

 “I’m Jon, I am in the Navy. Have been these last eighteen years.”

 “Wow! That’s a long time. Are you married Jon?”

“No, I am not.” Jon shook his headfirst to Consquella and then her sister.

 Consquella turned to her sister and said, “there you go Sis.”

“Stop it!” came the reply. “Behave yourself.” She turned to Him. “Do you live in New York or just visiting?”

 Jon explained that he was here on a break and told the girls a bit about himself. Consquella seemed particularly happy at his answers. He’d clearly waded into something going on between the sisters.

 Sister one pointed at her and said, “stop it, please Consquella. It’s not funny anymore.”

“What’s your name?” Jon asked Sister one. There was a pregnant pause.

 “Anne…. I’m Anne,” she replied, and He saw that Consquella broke into a smile. He guessed the name was fake, but he didn’t much care. He was in the company of two beautiful woman. What was not to like?

Maria didn’t really lie. Her given name was Marianne. Why wasn’t she completely honest though? Before the man arrived, Maria and Consquella were out on the town. The men were away on a hunting trip and would be gone all weekend. Maria and Consquella discussed how their marriages had lost the sparkle.

Maria met her husband, Karl at 17. Her family left Mexico City when she was only a girl. They first moved to LA but then Maria’s dad got a job in New York, and they relocated here. Maria met Karl at High School and although they never dated at school, they moved in the same circles. They hooked up a year after leaving. Karl was good looking and had a bit of the bad boy thing going on. He ran with one of the local street gangs, but he gave that all up when maria fell pregnant with Karl Jr.

It wasn’t really a shot gun wedding, but little option was given to the young couple. Karl Jr was followed quickly by Gabriella. Soon after the birth of their daughter, Karl lost interest in Maria. They had sex infrequently and it always seemed more of a chore than a pleasure to Karl. In the early years, Maria was busy with the kids and so it was not a big issue, but the kids were now up and gone.

Still young in her head, Maria wasn’t ready to give up on life the way Karl seemed to have. He was happy watching sports, drinking beer and going hunting with his friend Georg every few weekends. He spent so much time with Georg that Maria thought there may be something going on there at first. However, copious rumours spread about how many of the women in the apartment block were being serviced by Georg. So, she put that thought aside. Anyway, she knew that her husband constantly eyed up other women. She didn’t ever complain, well not to anyone but Consquella. Maria told Consquella everything. It was because of that fact they were sitting here now with the sailor. Maria was talking about the lack of sparkle, not for the first time, Consquella reminded her. Maria’s little sister said, “You need to do something about it Sis.”

“What do you mean?” Maria asked the question, but she knew Consquella’s answer to everything.

“Get laid!” Consquella’s directness could be brutal.

“Wash your mouth out.” Maria mock slapped her little sister.

“I’m serious,” said Consquella. “If hubby won’t light your fire, you should find a man with a box of matches.”

It had never crossed Maria’s mind to cheat. She had only ever been with Karl. In Maria’s view, if your husband didn’t want sex with you, it was because you had lost your appeal. It was likely that every other man would feel the same. Anyway, she believed in the sanctity of marriage, and was a good Catholic. Well, maybe not that good but, like most, she bent the rules, you didn’t blow them open. Easy going and talkative, Maria had hundreds of friends, many of them men, but she could honestly say that she never even flirted with one of them.

Today though, her sister got into her head. Consquella owned up to a few affairs when her husband, Ben was not around, but her illicit liaisons started before Ben came on the scene. The first was when Consquella was only 15, and so completely illegal. Worse still, the man had been married. Maria admonished Consquella each time her sister owned up to the dalliances. But here Maria was now, giving a false name to a guy in a bar on a weekend her husband was away. “What the hell am I doing?

“Hey there Anne, Consquella. I am very glad to make your acquaintance.” Jon Hunted for something to replace the cliched, “what’s a nice girl like you…” line. All he could come up with was, “what brings you girls out tonight?”

Consquella answered, “My husband is away and so I thought I would hit the town with my extremely attractive and single sister.” Anne punched Consquella on the shoulder.

“Behave!” Anne said but Jon saw her blush. As time passed, Jon noticed Consquella became less active in the conversation. She was now more interested in talking to someone at the next table. He and Anne were really getting on. Their interactions remained polite, however. Despite Anne’s Sister, Jon didn’t think Anne was here looking for a man. He was content at the company. That said, he would drag this woman off to bed if he thought he had any chance. Jon wasn’t great at chatting women up in a bar. Oh, he could do the chatting, but he could never recognise the point at which he was supposed to suggest taking it further. Because of this, he had some great nights out with women but usually ended up going home alone.

Consquella stood and tapped Anne on the shoulder. “Excuse us lover boy. Little girls room,” she said and both sisters headed for the toilets. Jon went to the bar and got another three brandies. The girls were heading back to the table as he returned from the bar. “Why thank you kind sir,” Consquella smiled and picked up the drink. She gulped it down in one and said, “but I must go.” She turned to Anne, “you know I am in the normal hotel?”

“Yes,” said Anne, “across the road from the ferry?”

“That’s the one. I will see you there in the breakfast room, tomorrow at eight. Okay?” 

“You want me to come down there tomorrow?” Anne looked puzzled. Consquella was already heading for the door. The man that she was talking to from the next table stood and followed.

“I will meet you there,” Consquella shouted to Anne over the noise of the bar. “Take Jon down to see the Statue,” she added and exited.

The two of them sat back at the table. “Sorry about Consquella,” she said. “My sister can be a bit forward sometimes.”

“Not at all, she is really funny, I like her.”

 Anne giggled and said, “I will give you her number if you like?” It was his turn to blush.

“No, No, it was not her that I…” and stopped himself. Anne looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Hastily changing the subject, Jon said, “What statue was she talking about?”

“I don’t really know; Liberty I would guess but no idea why.”

Keen to keep Anne around a while, He said, “I have always wanted to see it at night.”

“You have never seen Liberty all lit up?”

“No,” he admitted. It was actually true. He’d sailed into New York a few times, but they always berthed upriver and for reasons he now did not know, He never made it to that side of the island at night. “Can we go?” he clasped his hands in prayer. Anne’s lovely face was contorted with anguish. There was a battle going on in there for some reason.

After a minute she answered. “What the hell, Ok.”

What was she doing? Maria was in a cab heading for the Battery with a man she met, barely two hours ago. Her cell beeped and she checked the screen. Remembering her company, she turned to the sailor and said, “Excuse me a sec.” and then held up the phone to show what she meant. He nodded and she went back to the screen. It was a text from Consquella. All it contained was the address of the hotel Consquella was staying in tonight and the room number for some reason. Maria typed “See you tomorrow.” The Yellow cab pulled up and the two of them got out onto the wide pavement.

They were across the street from Battery Park and although the night was mild, the small jacket she wore was no defence against the cold wind coming off the Atlantic.

 She tensed as he took her hand. He led her across the road. Maria was relieved when he let go at the other side. She put the gesture down to being a gentleman instead of anything more affectionate. We are only here to see the statue.

Her mind was buzzing but she took a deep breath. You are only showing a visitor the sights of the city. Despite what your evil sister was trying to set up, nothing is happening here. But the devil in her head said, “You are walking through a dark park with a man you picked up in a bar and your husband is out of town.”

 “Shut up,” she actually said out loud.

“What was that?” Jon asked.

 “Oh nothing, nothing, I was arguing with my sister in my head.”

“You do that a lot?”  he smiled over at her.

“More than I like to admit. You know people have a good angel and a devil in their brain? Well, Consquella has always been my devil.”

Jon laughed. “She is a force of nature. I could tell after five minutes in her company. Maybe you should listen to your devil.”

It could’ve been the sea breeze, but Maria felt herself shiver. The handsome sailor’s quip just moved this beyond two strangers on a sight-seeing trip. She wondered if Jon had any idea what was going on in her head.

They reached the barrier at the waterside and Maria said, “There you go sailor.” She pointed out over the bay to the Statue of Liberty. The two stood side by side, arms touching. The city traffic hum mixing with the sound of the water lapping below them and Maria’s teeth chattering.

Jon mentally patted himself on the back for the “listen to your devil” comment but then, of course, immediately thought, “did I go too far there?” The last thing he wanted to do was to scare Anne off. He really liked her, but he was heading back down to Norfolk tomorrow and so may never see her again. Jon was determined to kiss her at least and get her number. You are not going to politely say good night and walk away this time. What have you got to lose here? he asked himself silently. Jon broke from his internal mediation as Anne pointed over the bay to the lady with the torch.

“Isn’t she stunning?”  she said.

“You are,” he said, looking into her beautiful brown eyes. The breeze blew a strand of hair across her face. Jon slid it back behind her ear and let his hand linger there longer than was needed.

What the hell am I doing? Maria screamed internally. It was now beyond any doubt this man was attracted to her. Why would he be? she thought.

Stop it, stop it, stop this now, was running through her mind like a mantra. If she did not say anything soon this guy was going to kiss her. His head was already moving forward, almost imperceptively. I am going to kill my bloody sister; she thought as the man’s head picked up speed. Maria physically shook as their lips met. It only lasted a few seconds, and he broke the kiss.

“Was that alright?” his whisper was just louder than the rush of blood inside her head.

“No, we can’t, no….. yes,” she finally decided and stood on her toes to kiss him back. His arms went round her, and Maria stopped feeling that this was wrong. Breaking the kiss, the sailor led her over to a park bench. They sat together and Maria felt warm in the Man’s arms. Her head was still asking what she was doing but the rest of her wasn’t listening.

Uncontrollably, she laughed mid kiss. She moved her head back and he looked concerned, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she said. “It’s just that, here I am, the wrong side of 40, making out on a bench in Battery Park like a teenager.”

. “Do you want to take this somewhere else?” he asked.

She shook her head, “That’s not what I meant.”  Maria’s phone rang. Instinctively, she looked at the screen. It was Consquella. “Hey Sis.” She answered and stood up unthinkingly. She wandered over to the rail.

“Are you with Sailor boy?” her sister asked.

Maria looked back at Jon on the bench. He was covering his lap with his hands. She giggled. “Yes, we are down at the battery,” she replied.

“You know what goes on down there in the dark Sis?” Consquella laughed.

“We are just taking in the sights,” Maria lied.

Consquella chuckled and said, “well you will not need what I put in your right pocket then,” And she hung up.

Maria returned the phone to her bag and reached inside the right pocket. Having regained his composure, Jon walked over to her to see her bring out a note, a condom, and a hotel room key. Maria opened the note. It said.

“I have your apartment keys. I am staying there tonight. You will not be admitted if you come calling. You have the address of the hotel. Enjoy. I love you. C X”

Maria looked at Jon, he had a grin on his face wide enough to sail his Carrier through. Maria took his hand, pointed to the ferry terminal and she said, “Let’s go.”

While they walked, His mobile phone played the opening bars of the Village people song, ‘In the navy.’ Jon blushed and reached for it.

“Tonight, is not going to go the way I thought if you are gay,” Anne said to him and laughed.

 “Sorry,” he replied. I am a bit of a technophobe. My colleagues think it is hilarious to change my ringtone and then call me late at night. I have no idea how to change it back. He looked at the phone, expecting it to be a message from some of the guys on the ship. To his surprise, the message was from someone called “Your worst nightmare.” He showed the screen to Anne and then tapped to open the message. Before he started reading, a look of panic crossed Anne’s face. He turned to her, “Are you okay? You look unwell.”

Her only answer was, “who is texting?”

He looked at her a little puzzled but then returning to the phone, Jon pressed the screen to open the message. It read.

“Hey Loverboy. I am lending you my sister. Feel free to abuse her in any freaky way you sailor boys do but harm a hair on her head and I will hunt you down. Love and kisses, Consquella.” He laughed and showed the message to Anne. She looked relieved for some reason. Another message arrived and Jon opened it. It listed his home address in Green Bay and the vessel that he currently served on. Below it said. “Just in case you thought I was joking. Love Consquella.”

“Wow, your sister does not mess about,” he said to Anne.

“I am going to kill her tomorrow,” was the only reply.

Recovering the mood. Maria and Jon acted like lovesick teenagers on the ferry across to Staten Island. They kissed and laughed. More than maria had laughed in a long time. Consquella’s hotel room sat across from the terminal on the Staten Island side. Going through the lobby, Maria imagined that every eye was on her and that they all knew what was about to happen. She was on the verge of turning tail and heading back to the city. Locked out or no, it may be better than facing the judgement of these strangers. What did they know of her life anyway?

“We know that you are married and about to cheat on your husband,” she imagined that they replied in unison.  The elevator took a million years to arrive. Run, run run run away, the good angel said. Consquella’s mischievous smile filled her mind. “Enjoy,” the apparition whispered. She looked at Jon and smiled. As the elevator doors swung open, he ran his hand down her back to her ass and gently pushed her inside. They stood against the back wall, side by side but he didn’t remove his hand. “Run away, it is your last chance.” The angel in her head was fading into a mist. The voice of reason got quieter and then Maria could only hear Consquella. “Go for it sis.”

The sound of the sea and cool blue, early morning Light streaming through open curtains woke Maria. The sailor slept soundly beside her. She looked across at the clock on the bedside table. It was 6.15am. Quietly, she got up, picked up her clothes that were strewn over the hotel room floor, and ducked into the bathroom. Locking the door, she really wanted to dress and run but then remembered that Consquella would meet her in the hotel later. Maria really didn’t want to talk to the sailor today. He hadn’t done anything bad, well, not bad in that way, but she couldn’t face him as she would have to lie again, and she was not comfortable lying. Consquella had no problems there. “She must be adopted,” Maria said to herself with a soft laugh.

As quietly as she could, Maria washed at the sink. The shower would have woken Jon. She dressed and checked her bag to ensure that the phone and everything else was present. As she unlocked the door quietly, she took a peak at the bed. He was still sleeping. Jon snored but did so softly. Maria found it cute. She smiled at last night’s lover and blew him a kiss. Opening the room door, she left the scene of her joyous shame and closed it behind as quietly as possible. She would jump the ferry and then text Consquella to meet on the other side. Maria really didn’t want to be here when her lover came down. The elevator doors opened to the lobby. A smiling Consquella sat at a table opposite, tucking into a fried breakfast.

“Hey Sis,” Consquella said with the most evil grin on her face. “Come tell me all about it.” She pointed to the seat opposite with her egg smeared knife.

New York City, Wednesday 6th November 2024

A shot ricocheted off the door behind Jon, and he was back in the present day. He watched as Anne entered the subway across the street, with the stranger in hand. His heart went with her, but there was no way He could get over there through the crush of panicking people.

Looking left, Jon saw one of the shooters, crouched at the corner of the side street leading from Broadway. Regaining his purpose, he moved up the street about twenty yards on his own side. After bobbing up to check that the guy was still looking out the other way, He crossed and ducked behind a parked vehicle. Jon kept his head low and ran, street side, along the two cars between him and the man. He was now only about ten feet away and heard a loud crack as the shooter fired again. The sound spurred him on. He ran out of cover and approached his target as quickly and quietly as he could. Upon reaching the man, he plunged the fork into the back of his neck and rammed the knife into his spine. It was way too blunt to penetrate, but the pain caused the guy to squeal as he dropped his gun. Jon stooped and picked it up. He put the gun against the other’s head and pulled the trigger.

After the noises died down, Karl and Maria left their shelter and took the stairs back to the street with trepidation. “Stay behind me.” He waved his arm by his side. Maria did so gladly. She had her eyes closed and kept tripping, but she really didn’t want to see what lay under her feet. It felt as if it had been raining soup on the stairs, and she tried hard to hold on to that idea. She grabbed the back of Karl’s jacket, only letting go and risking a peak as she felt the cool air of the street enter her lungs. “They are gone,” Karl said.

“How long were we in there?” Sheltered in the utility office, Maria had fallen asleep. The nervous feeling that someone would burst through the door at any moment had eventually been too much for her.

“About three hours,” said Karl. “It must be around the middle of the afternoon.”

Maria heard her own phone reactivate in what sounded like a hundred text messages arriving. “They can wait,” she thought.

Across the street, on the opposite corner, two medics were lifting a stretcher into their ambulance. On it lay a body in a bag. Several other lifeless forms lay around, awaiting collection. Vehicles sat devastated, flames licking their previously pristine paintwork. Nothing made of glass had survived the turmoil. Faces of men in chef’s hats looked back at them from a diner on the far sidewalk. They were throwing debris from their missing window frontage, back into the street. But glass was not the only casualty of the day. Many injured lay in varying states of disrepair. It crossed Maria’s mind briefly that they should help, but there were already several police and other responder vehicles on the street. Karl took Maria’s hand and started up Broadway.

Marsha let Jon back into the diner. His breakfast was cold, but he was damned well going to eat it. The waitress did bring him fresh coffee. He was being treated as some sort of hero, but he doubted the hero worship would extend much above the free refill. Someone must have seen him kill…. Yes kill.

Jon had served in the Navy since leaving school. He had taken part in the launch of planes, the firing of missiles and even gunnery. He was fairly sure that, as a result of these actions, someone had died somewhere. But not directly at his hands. Hands that now shook, almost uncontrollably. It took several goes to get a piece of cold and greasy sausage from plate to mouth, but He feared, if he stopped eating… well, he didn’t really know what he feared but some loss of control. Whoever had viewed the incident from the diner had relayed the story and by now, he had single handedly stopped the rioting and killed all the bad guys. Patrons kept coming over, patting him on the back and thanking him. In return, he was polite but wished that they would all go away. Jon really wanted to scream, or cry, or celebrate. Something, anything, not this. “I have to get out of here,” he concluded. Abandoning half of the meal and coffee, he walked through several more congratulatory encounters to the front of the shop and offered to pay for his meal.

“Your money’s no good here Pal,” Came the reply from the greasy chef.

 Jon took a ten from his wallet and put it on the counter. He said, “Well give that to Marsha as a tip please.”

The chef looked back at him, puzzled. “Marsha?”

Jon didn’t elaborate but turned and left with a “Thanks, guys.” A cheer rose from the patrons as he exited. Now outside again, he watched an ambulance head up Broadway. His eye being led that way, it landed on Anne’s back. She was a couple of hundred yards away and had stranger in hand. Jon had just taken a gun from a guy and executed him but realised with an inward laugh that he was way too chickenshit to wade into whatever was happening there. He would text Consquella later.

Pocomoke, Maryland, Sunday 18^th November 2024

Officer Charlie Eldridge leaned forward as he pressed the cruiser’s accelerator to the floor and sped after the taillights of the Ford truck a few hundred yards ahead. Charlie and his partner Bo Langton had been called to a shooting incident, not the first of the evening, and were now speeding down US 13 toward the State border.

At 57, Charlie was now too old for police chases, and his eyesight was not all it could be. but since the election, it seemed like all of America had gone crazy, and life comprised a series of such actions for the last few days.

The long, dark Winter nights didn’t help. He probably should get his eyes tested again, but with only three years left until his pension from the Pocomoke City Police, he’d been expecting a quiet desk job. There really were not a lot of quiet jobs since the turmoil of the Presidential election.

It was late November now, and the result had yet to be called. Well, technically, that was not true. Groups with an interest had announced the outcome in around half a dozen different ways, but who was calling the correct one was yet to be decided. There were a least three different cases going through the courts and more Congressional hearings than anyone cared to count. Thorn had, of course, called the election his victory, but then he would have in any event. This time, it looked like he may have a case, though.

With the result even closer than last time out, and several states in recounts when legal proceedings stopped the verifications, Georgia, Michigan, and Nevada were among eight other States that looked as if the result had been too close to call. There were allegations and counter-allegations of vote rigging in these and many other states. There was a political vacuum, and, in this country, vacuums tended to be filled with violence. Watching the news last night, Charlie felt as if every major city in the USA was in turmoil. Washington was a real mess, and now it spread to his own little backwater.

Peering through his cataracts and windshield, he could just make out that the truck he pursued was emblazoned with Thorn stickers and posters. According to the police radio, the occupants of said truck had stopped at a small shopping complex in West Pocomoke, alighted and proceeded to shoot the place up. There had been many injuries, but he had no information on fatalities. Judging by the rhetoric of the assailants, the attack had been purely because the residents of their neighbouring county and State had voted for the other guy. This format of attack was being replicated throughout the country.

Both vehicles were now speeding down US13, heading in the direction of New Church. Charlie had radioed the office to advise of “hot Pursuit.”  He was going to have to cross the State border into Virginia. Hopefully, the police in that state would take over the chase soon. There seemed to be five heavily armed occupants in the truck, and Charlie had no idea what he and Bo would do if they did intercept.

North of New Church, Virginia, Monday 19th November, 2024

Charlie Eldridge and his long-time police partner, Bo Langton, ducked down behind the trade counter of an Auto Tyre Centre on Route 13. Bullets flew over their heads and smacked into the breeze block walls at irregular intervals. Their frantic high-speed chase abruptly ended here last night as three vehicles drove out in front of them. One truck blocked their way, another slammed into the rear door of the cruiser, and the third knocked them spinning toward the building they now occupied. Charlie and Bo got out of the vehicle, a little dazed and bruised but with no serious injury. Almost immediately, shots from the previously pursued truck started bouncing off the beat-up cop car. As one, Bo and Charlie ducked down, and then belly crawled through broken glass and oil stains to make their way into the perceived safety of the tyre shop.

Charlie had now figured that this whole incident was designed to get Maryland Police to cross the border into Virginia. They were ambushed less than a hundred yards after the shopping mall that straddled both sides of the crossing. Their wrecked cruiser sat outside the building, and while it gave a little cover from the shooters over the road, it would be of little use for anything else in future. Early in the ambush, the gas tank was hit, the car exploded, and the vehicle was burnt out. Charlie wasn’t too concerned about the vehicle, but his stomach rumbled, and his sandwich had been in the glove compartment. There was a vending machine not 6ft away, and he was hungry. However, he wasn’t planning on dying for a pack of chips.

Last night, Bo succeeded in getting a radio message sent to HQ before the vehicle was totalled. Why, after many hours, backup had yet to arrive was a mystery. Daylight came and went again, but here the two men stayed. The floor-to-ceiling window of the building was completely gone, but luckily for both men, the other three sides of the unit were breeze blocks and could stop a shell. There was a door to their rear, but it went through to the workshop, and Charlie checked all the doors last night to find the place well locked up. The downside was they couldn’t get out. The upside was no one was getting in any time soon.

In addition to the random potshots, their adversaries across the street howled abuse and threats occasionally, but Charlie didn’t think they intended to storm the building. This situation seemed to be more of a siege than a lynching, but he certainly wasn’t going to test that theory. Bo had suggested taking a break for it about an hour into the siege, but Charlie argued that help was on the way and that they were better off staying put. Once the light broke and no help had arrived,  he wasn’t going to try to get out of there as they would be on foot. No, the best plan was to hunker down and figure a way to purloin the contents of that vending machine.

A new flurry of shots rang out from across the road, but nothing hit the building. Charlie risked looking up to see what was going on. It appeared that the assailants were firing back up Route 13 toward the shopping area at the State border.

“Help has finally arrived.” He turned to Bo, who jumped up and ran over behind what had started the day as a perfectly good filing cabinet. From there, he had a better view of the road.

“Wow, it’s the National Guard. The Maryland Guard, by the looks of things.”

Richmond, VA, Monday 19^th November 2024

General George McCluskey was on the phone—not the perfectly good landline on his desk or the top-of-the-range cell supplied by the US Army, but his own iPhone. When it rang, the display read Paul Revere, yet he knew well who called. Neither participant on the call would do anything to identify each other, although they were old friends.

“Are your guys ready?” the voice on the other end said.

“Yes, indeed,” the General replied. The brief call ended, and the general scrolled his screen, stopping on the name “Sonny,” which he tapped. There was a click as it was answered, and without waiting for any sort of greeting, the General said, “I need you to go now,” but then added, “Call me on the secure radio link.”

Maryland – Virginia border. Route 13. Monday 19th November 2024

Major Danny Gaskin peered through the view slot of the armoured car. Situated just on the Maryland side of the border, he sussed there were maybe 20 armed assailants hidden behind vehicles and walls on the Virginia side. He was in charge of a small force that was requested to rescue police officers in distress. The Maryland Guard had been called out in force yesterday evening. It was above Danny’s pay grade to be consulted, but deducing from the radio traffic, he believed the General was ignoring the request by Donald Thorn to implement military control. Instead, the guards were instructed to assist the police and civilian authorities.

The small Company numbered four armoured cars and two trucks a mile up the road. The trucks held forty guys who were waiting for his call to advance. Hearing the shots on the way down, Danny ordered the lightly armoured trucks to pull over while he reconnoitred using the armoured cars only.

His local headquarters was back on the south side of DC. At Danny’s request, the radio officer had sent a situation report along with a suggestion the company be permitted to cross the border to see if the missing officers were in the building ringed by the assailants ahead. His guess was that Virginia HQ would be contacted for permission. They sat here waiting for the “Go.”

The odd bullet rang as it bounced from the vehicle. Nothing that those guys ahead carried in the way of small arms was going to trouble Danny, but he kept the lid closed and stuck to the viewports just to be safe. Unless the threat to his company was serious, he’d been told not to fire back., but the vehicle was now old, and the crew were more at threat of asphyxiation from the fumes that threatened to fill the cabin.

A 17-year veteran, Danny served in the regular army and saw action in Afghanistan before leaving and joining his local National Guard. There was never going to be ample remuneration for the shit that had gone down in Afghanistan, but Danny liked the way people today tended to thank him for his service.

The guys down the road had adorned their vehicles with the Stars and Stripes; and they occasionally burst into chants of “U.S.A. U.S.A.! But none of them seemed to see the irony that they were currently firing on the armed forces of the country they claimed to support. The last thing he wanted to do was return fire. Fire on US citizens! This was a complete shit show.

Danny was in a huge minority in DC, his hometown. He had voted for Thorn. Thorn was right to get the troops out of Afghanistan, even though the evacuation was a shambles. He was also right about Ukraine and many other things. The man had a lot of support in the military. Danny disliked that the deep state kept trying to lock the man up. There was no way he had organised or even condoned the storming of Capitol Hill after the 2020 election. In the crowd himself that day, he well knew there were people present with all sorts of weird agendas. It’d been a complete cluster.

Yet, here they were again; dark forces were trying to steal the 2024 election from Thorn, and the guys down the road from Danny were pissed off about it. So here they were, Thorn supporter facing Thorn supporter. Danny knew these guys couldn’t get away with abducting Local law enforcement officers, however. He crossed his fingers and whispered a prayer he wouldn’t have to shoot the idiots.

From his vantage, Major Danny could not know that one of the “idiots” was no guy at all. Katrina Miller was all girl.  Katrina wanted her erstwhile accomplices to believe so anyway. Unknown to the pack she ran with, being female was certainly no disadvantage. She was fairly sure she could take any of them one-on-one. Hell,” she thought, I could take two or three of them at the same time if needs be.

The Red Neck Pond life she shared her world with for this last year didn’t know her as Katrina Miller but as Kat Weiss. Keeping the Kat part, meant she reacted more naturally when called. The “Weiss” was chosen ironically as she was joining this group of white supremacists, but Kat sincerely doubted any of them knew what irony was. Okay, that wasn’t really fair. A couple of these guys were really quite intelligent, and so were far more dangerous.

Worried about how this was all going to play out today, Kat looked back toward the armoured vehicles and instinctively scoped out a retreat. Being undercover, she had no intention of ending up in a fight with the good guys. Kat had played the girly girl role with this team since hooking up with one of them in a biker bar down in Georgia. Modern training advice was to avoid “intimate” relations with the suspects, but whoever thought of this had no idea of the real world. Kat began a one-sided relationship with “Fozzy.” The relationship was so one-sided that she hadn’t even bothered to find out his real name. Still, he wasn’t a complete pig, and so the infrequent sex was tolerable. All the same, she looked forward to the end of this mission.

An FBI handler had recruited her near the end of her stint in Afghanistan while Kat was Over there with Northbridge PMC, serving as a security intelligence officer. Her company assisted US forces in Kandahar with aerial drone systems. Kat sometimes operated the drones, but her main job was to interpret the data that they collected. She’d joined the PMC after graduating from MIT in electronics and data systems. In the last month of her tour, a guy that she’d seen around the base since day 1 bought her a drink at the bar, and they ended up chatting. Long story short, he was FBI, and Kat was asked to attend an interview a few weeks after getting home. That was three years ago, and after working in the DC office for six months, Kat shifted to field operations. Until the recent turmoil, these jobs had been fairly low level with the targets little more than troublesome protestors.

Right from the start, the current operation looked like a step up. These guys all Carried guns already, but Kat’s task was to provide the guys with some serious funding and see what they tried to do with it. The FBI believed they were getting their arms from Central American drug gangs, and the aim was to close the suppliers down rather than just stopping the gang themselves.

Kat, dropping her fictional rich father into conversation wherever possible, had eventually been asked if daddy ever gave his baby girl any greenbacks. Giggling, Kat told them she didn’t need Daddy’s money anymore. Her allowance paid for anything she wanted. A poverty-laden sob story was then relayed by one of their team, and according to plan, Kat started funding the operation. Small stuff first. Food, combat clothing, and a car, but one day, she was approached about a “stellar deal” that could set the crew up with arms and ammo for the coming apocalypse. Nutters, she thought at the time, but it didn’t seem such a crazy idea now.

At first, Kat said no, but privately, knowing it wouldn’t remain so, she told Fozzy that she could get her hands on 100K, but that was all. Completely coincidently, she was sure, the next day, the gang leader, Sonny, came to her asking for that exact amount. Kat “reluctantly” agreed and left the team for a couple of days, returning with the money in a gym bag. Telling her he loved her, Sonny had offered sexual liaisons to show his appreciation, but Kat said, “Shhh, Sonny, Fozzy might hear you,” and she pulled a convincing blush from somewhere. Sonny laughed as if the offer had been in jest, and he headed out of the safe house, bag in hand.

Kat had yet to see what the money purchased. The shit hit the fan a week ago, and the crew were now in full action. Last night, Sonny and a few guys went up into Maryland and shot up a shopping mall. The idea was to get a response from the police. Kat was not in the loop as to why this was a good thing. The plan had worked. They now had a couple of officers pinned down and had wrecked their squad car.

Sonny went around everyone, telling them to wreck the place but to be sure no one shot the officers. Kat was getting concerned. Someone was pulling Sonny’s strings, and the mission became a lot more complicated.

Major Gaskin heard the radio burst to life. The complete details alluded him, but the gist was clear before the radio controller spoke. Permission to cross the border was declined.

“What now?” the driver sitting in front and below asked.

“I have no clue,” Danny admitted. “I guess we just stay here and hope the Virginia guard is on the way.”

Sonny was on the radio a lot, but he was doing a whole lotta listening and little talking. Kat needed to find out more. Wandering over in his direction, she hoped the volume of the earpiece that Sonny wore might be leaking a bit of volume, but no luck. Assuming her girly girl demeanour, she walked in front of him, smiled, and said,

“What ya doing? He looked up but didn’t reply. Pointing to the radio, he held up a finger to tell her to wait a minute. There was little to be deduced from the limited sound that could be heard, but she thought the voice on the other end was Southern. No new intel there, unfortunately. Kat did notice that Sonny looked down the road toward New Church each time he replied. Whoever he was talking to was down there, she was sure.

Her attention went back to Sonny as he dropped the headphones. She hated that he treated the technology without care, but quickly realised that Katrina Miller was bothered, Kat Weiss would not give a hoot.

 Sonny stood and smiled at Kat. At first, it was more of a leer, but then his attention returned to the situation, and concern lined his forehead. Turning to Gary, one of the crew standing in cover against the wall, Sonny said,

“We have to get those guys to cross the border.” He pointed at the Guard vehicles 100 yards North.

“Shooting at them hasn’t worked,” Sonny stated the obvious. “Doesn’t look like they are in any hurry to rescue the Pigs either.”

“What if we storm the place and take the cops hostage?” said Gary.

 “No, I doubt they would cross for that. We would have to be about to blow their heads off, but I have been ordered not to harm them, and if the guard faced down our bluff, we would be busted.” Sonny was contemplating his shoes, but then looked up and said, “Guys, take cover on either side of the road. Two of you keep the pigs pinned down, but the rest of you, keep your guns trained on the armoured cars.”

Before Kat could react, he moved her way, and she felt the butt of his pistol come down on the side of her head. The lights went out fast, her knees buckled and before losing consciousness, Kat was sure she heard Sonny whisper, “Sorry Kat”.

Sonny turned to a couple of the guys and said, “Strip her.” Gary, not usually the first to volunteer for anything, jumped up and darted over.

“Fuck man, yes,” he cried. In no time at all, Gary and the helper had ripped Kat’s clothes off. Gary had a joyous leer on his face. This was a high point for him. Sonny grabbed the hair of the now-naked Kat and began dragging her onto the road in full view of the armoured cars. She moaned quietly as he drew her twenty yards up the white lines in the middle before dumping her back down. The guys in the gang whooped and hollered approval. Fozzy didn’t look pleased, but he stayed quiet. There was no way he was going to challenge Sonny.

Sonny made a show of laying his rifle against the wall at the side of the road and then slowly strolled back toward the girl. All the while, he grinned at the Guard vehicles. When Sonny was back standing over Kat. He took his leather jacket off, laid it down, and, ever so slowly, started unbuckling his belt.

Richmond, VA. Monday 19th November 2024

General McCluskey picked up his personal mobile phone after ending the radio conversation. Things were finally happening. Now 61 years old, McCluskey joined the US Army straight from school at 18. Working his way through the ranks, he then went back to officer training and started on a whole new path. Wherever the US Army went in the last forty years, George was with them. It was his life, and he was well pissed off to be shunted out the door on his 60th birthday. Sure, he was handed the reigns of the Virginia National Guard, but he knew that was done only to soften the blow of his sacking. George, much like his friend, “Mr Revere,” was a victim of the lefty liberal state. “Mac,” as Mister Revere would have called him, had they been chatting normally, had mouthed off one time too many.

There was a real big chip on his shoulder about the billions being spent on aeroplanes and carriers while the grunts in the infantry got cut after cut. His guys in Afghanistan had been driving around in vehicles that were 40 years old. Men had died for the lack of a properly armoured truck, while the fly boys spent billions building a vertical take-off plane that the Limeys had given up on thirty years previously. What a piece of shit.

 During Mr Revere’s all too brief time in the Whitehouse, the army finally began to get the equipment they needed so badly. But once that fucking commie Bowman had cheated his way into the house, the infantry went back to being the poor cousin. The General knew that if something needed to be done right, America always ended up calling on the grunts. Look at the shit show in Libya and Syria, the flyboys had spent a fortune bombing, and the places were in a worse state now than before they began. Iraq was beaten in a few weeks by the army, only for the politicians to find a way to mess the place up again. He thumped the desk with his fist.

General McClusky would be back in charge soon, though, and things would be different. Mr Revere promised to reinstate and then promote him to Chief of the General Staff. Those pricks in the Air Force and nancy boys in the Navy wouldn’t know what hit them. In return, Mr Revere needed a favour. George tapped the screen of his cell phone. He had no problem with identities this time; it was a personal call.

“Georgie,”

“Yes, Dad,” the reply came.

“Go!” was all McClusky Senior said to his son.

Georgie hung up and then ordered the driver of his vehicle to round the bend that hid them from the fracas at the State border.

Maryland – Virginia border. Route 13. Monday 19th November 2024

“Fuuuuccckk,” Major Danny screamed. The men in his car came close to shitting themselves. “Go, go, go,” he added, kicking the back of his driver’s seat.

As dusk fell, he hadn’t been able to see much of what was going on, as it was pretty dark down the road from them. Only a few lights still operated at the tyre centre, but the sodium road lighting around the border shopping malls was still on. Danny saw a figure approach and thought the man was dragging something, but only as the man reached the limit of the border lights could Danny see what it was.

Sonny looked up at the sound of revving engines and whispered, “Got you.” He raised his arm in signal and ran for the weapon propped nearby.

Major Gaskin picked up his own headset, which allowed him to talk to the other vehicles. “Car 2, when I stop, flank me on the right and pull up 10 yards further down the road. Car 3, same on my left.” The vehicles roared into life and quickly covered the distance to the body in the road. “Fire over their heads to keep them down. Car4, get to the building and extract the Police officers.

Before it even stopped, Danny jumped from the vehicle. As ordered, cars two and three flew by and blocked the road, nose to nose ahead of his position. He ran to the stricken girl just as she was trying to sit up. She held the side of her head. A stream of blood ran down her face. “You’re okay” he cried. Both vehicles ahead were firing now, and he doubted she heard him. He took her arms and sat her up. In one swift movement, she was over his shoulder, and he was on the way back to cover. Danny made a note to promote his driver. As he entered the door of the vehicle, the young man stood ready to wrap his jacket around the naked girl. A few sizes too large, on her, it looked more like a stylish camouflage dress.

Further down the Interstate, car four swerved to avoid a couple of blocking vehicles between it and the police officers who were still trapped in the building. A third vehicle was sideswiped, and the driver expertly did a 180 turn to ensure his vehicle gave cover to the tyre shop exit.

As the commander put his hand on the release button and the door clunked open, a missile slammed into the vehicle, and it joined the police cruiser as a wreck almost instantly. Its burning shell slammed sideways into the tyre Center. The filing cabinet that Bo hid behind was engulfed in flame. Bo’s screams got Charlie jumping up from his cover to try and get to his flailing partner. The heat was too intense.

Running back into the workshop, Charlie, only just controlling his panic, picked up the extinguisher that he spied earlier. Back in the shop, Charlie sprayed foam over his writhing friend, and with the flames finally dowsed, he pulled Bo back behind the counter. After checking the heavily burned Bo for a pulse, Charlie briefly left his partner and emptied the remaining foam into the flaming upturned car that ley against their refuge. It had little effect. Still hungry, he thought he smelled bacon. A second after recognition of what really assailed his nostrils, he lost the few contents of his stomach.

Major Danny Gaskin looked South down 13. An armoured vehicle sat in the middle of the road about a mile South. In this light, there was no way to identify it positively. The thing must have launched the rocket that took out Car four. Danny clenched his fists tight, and fingernails dug into his palms. The adage, don’t get mad, get even, crossed his mind, but training reminded him that, in this situation, he was permitted to do neither. Picking up his headset, he shouted orders.

“Back to the border and then take cover on either side of the road. That thing out ranges us. We need backup.” The cars pulled out. Two and three drove back as fast as possible, but Danny’s driver was instructed to reverse slowly. Danny didn’t take his eyes off the assailant. For the whole world, and in this poor light, the thing looked to him like an M1 kitted out with a rocket launcher. Why the hell would one of these vehicles be here, and why would it have fired on them? Could it have been an error? These questions would go unanswered tonight.

Kat blinked a few times and then opened her eyes. Oh my, her head hurt, and there was a horrible metallic taste in her mouth. She felt a bit woozy and wished to hell it was after a night in the town. The acrid, fumy smell that filled the place really didn’t help. A grumbling came from her stomach, along with the realisation that sickness was not far away.

Where the hell was she? There was a confined space and three guys in military fatigues, dancing about in an agitated manner. The one in the seat near the front of the vehicle was wearing a shirt and bracers. Who the hell wore braces these days? she asked herself, but then decided that someone’s fashion sense may not be her priority at the moment. With the realisation that she was moving backwards slowly, it dawned on Kat that they were in a vehicle. Probably one of the armoured cars that had been up the road from the gang. A flash of an image of Sonny belting her over the head came to memory. “Bastard,” she whispered, and the soldier who stepped over her said,

“Sorry.”

 “No, No, not you. The guy that belted me. How did I get here?”

 He looked down at her, smiled a half smile and said, “That story will have to wait awhile. Are you okay?”

 “Yes, I will be fine,” Kat replied and then quickly put her hand over her eyes as if she was in some pain. Although her head hurt, the reason for the gesture was that she recognised the guy as a Danny something. She’d been assigned to his division in Helmand province briefly. They were down there helping out the Brits who had been getting it hard. “Gatlin”, Gatling, she thought his name was. Kat was normally good at names and faces; it was pretty much her job, after all. As he turned, she saw his name badge, Major Gaskin. I was close, she thought. What to do? She was supposed to stay undercover, but then this guy Danny didn’t know she was undercover. At some point, he would probably want to know why she was here. Did she stick to the “Fozzy Girlfriend” story or come clean? Deciding to delay the issue, she moaned loudly and lay back on the floor, face down.

NYC – Thorn Tower, Monday 19^th November 2024

The myriad of TV cameras turned on to a vacant scene. In the resplendent main hall of New York’s Thorn Tower stood a podium sporting the official Presidential seal. Behind that, a Whitehouse plaque mounted between the Stars and Stripes adorned the background.

Seconds after the feed went live, a broadly smiling Donald Thorn entered the press briefing room and took his position behind the lectern. The collected press began shouting questions, but the man looked back at them with disdain and said nothing. After fully a minute, he held up a hand, and although the hubbub subsided a little, he was clearly still dissatisfied with the Press’s adherence to his signal for silence.

Thorn, in a whisper, said, “Steve.” He looked off-camera to his right. The millions watching on TV could see nothing, but they heard the sounds of men running, chairs toppling and howls of derision. Another two or three minutes passed, and the camera, still concentrated on Mr Thorn, caught a smug smile from the man as he witnessed whatever was going on in front. Eventually, the volume subsided, and a seemingly placated Thorn took a step forward.

“Ladies, gentlemen, my fellow Americans, by now you will all be aware of the passing of former Vice President Joe Bowman. We wish to take this opportunity to give our commiserations to His wife and family. Joe and us seldom saw eye to eye, but the man served his country in various roles, some more legitimate than others. Regardless, the man carried out these tasks to the best of his limited abilities.” Thorn’s words were meant to be kind, yet his face told another story.

“His passing, combined with the vacancy of the Vice President seat, would normally result in the Majority leader filling the President’s shoes until our inauguration. However, we’ve been advised today by Majority Leader Scanlon that he will stand aside to allow us to take the position a few weeks earlier. We have accepted this and will assume the role of President immediately to avoid further turmoil in the economy and markets.” Thorn shrugged his shoulders as if accepting this burden was little more than duty.

 He exhaled and then continued. “This being understood, we have come to address you today and convey our thanks for our third victory as President of our great land. You will all know the circumstances by which those in Washington stole the 2020 election from us. We hold no bitterness, as we expected little else, but the crime was the election was stolen from you, the great people of America.”

“As it is plain for all to see, the powers in the Washington cesspit are yet trying to manipulate this new election result. We are here today to assure you that we will not let this happen. Our rightful victory has been thwarted for weeks now by the deep state. Our airwaves are polluted by fake news. Fake allegations abound against us and, more importantly, against the hard-working, law-abiding, blue-collar people of this great country. This situation ends today.” An irate Thorn thumped his fist on the lectern, and silently, he stood staring down the camera lens.

After a short while, the crimson flush left his face, and his features calmed. “America has languished for too long now. It is time for our country to take its place back at the top table. To this end, our first actions as your President are to shut down the institutions that have held this country back for far too long.” His arm extended, and a finger swept across the room.

“The press corps arrayed in front of us today will be encouraged to drop their propensity toward negative lies and instead take up the torch for America. Should they choose not to, we will be suspending the licenses they require to broadcast by the end of this week. We expect to hear compliance from all networks by close of business tomorrow. This arrangement is not open to negotiation.” His arm dropped back to his side, but he continued shaking his head.

Thorn looked back into the lens. “Errant State-controlled courts can no longer block the will of the American people. Although we fully support the rights of the States over the Federal Government, we are forced to order a temporary cessation of corrupt bodies judging on Federal matters. The Supreme Court has verified the result of the election, and there is no need for further legislation. The result is final, people.” Returning his attention to the room, a black cloud crossed his face.

“Last night, an illegal military force acting at the behest of the Washington cesspit, invaded the peaceful state of Virginia. Luckily, some units of the Virginia National Guard were on hand to curb the rebellious coup.” Thorn stood shaking his head.

“We cannot permit Democrat Party city mayors and state senators to deny the result of this election simply because the choice of America didn’t suit them. Due to their illegal and unconstitutional armed incursion, alongside other instances of civil unrest in some areas, we are suspending all powers of the city mayors. National Guard commanders will take over until the civil unrest has been brought under control and the rightful rule of law has been reinstated. “

The cloud lifted, and a wry smile lit his features. “Soon, we will announce a date for the election of new mayors. Some that are in post today may register to stand, but only those that pledge their allegiance will be accepted.” As if fulfilling an unwanted obligation, Thorn exhaled deeply.

“In this dangerous interim period for America, we must reluctantly advise that all police departments will temporarily come under the control of state national guard. Those rebellious citizens that have taken to the streets to defy democracy, hear it now. Cease your activities immediately or you will be dealt with in the harshest terms.” Thorn smiled and ran a finger across his throat.

To those patriots that took to our streets to ensure this election result was honoured, we thank you with all our heart. Please now take instruction from the National Guard commander in your local area. If he asks you to leave the streets, be encouraged that he has the situation in hand. In some areas however, you may be asked to assist local law enforcement. Should this be the case, please do as requested.

We have only one other piece of news for now, so keep your TV tuned to Fox, as there will be further bulletins in the days to come. We have been advised by the majority leader in the house that the Democrat Party has decided to close all offices, suspend all campaigning, and withdraw their representatives from both houses for a period of one month to mark the death of Joe. The Republican leadership have decided to honour this decision and have agreed to keep the US Government running during this difficult period.

We wish to thank you all, and God bless America”.

Donald Thorn walked slowly from the hall. Turbulence broke out behind him, with the press in open battle with a series of black-suited and burly gentlemen that were in attendance. This was a battle the press wouldn’t win.

Atlanta, Georgia, Tuesday 20^th November 2024

Another stinging bead of sweat ran down his forehead and into his now reddening eye. Wiping it with a shaking hand, Senator Hoskins looked out through the gap in the net drapes. The Police car with his security went off shift last night, and no one had replaced them. Worryingly, the TV news was full of stories about the trouble in the centre of Atlanta, but thankfully, it hadn’t spread out here to the suburbs yet.

 Maybe the cop security was pulled to help out with the unrest in the city, he thought.

 “What’s happening?” his wife called from the top of the stairs.

 “Not much, dear,” Hoskins replied, trying to hide the waver in his voice.

 “Have you called Franklyn yet?” his wife asked.

 Franklyn Cole, the Atlanta Police chief, was also a friend of the family, but Hoskins didn’t want to abuse that friendship and bother the man when there was little more going on than a couple of officers missing a shift. “No, dear. Let’s wait and see if the day guys turn up. If they are not here soon, I will give him a buzz.”

He still boiled after watching Thorn on TV last night. The announcement that the Democrats were suspending all activities was the first he, or any colleague that he managed to contact, had heard.

Just about to let the curtain go, he noticed movement from the right. Leaning forward to get a better view, he saw an armoured car move slowly along the magnolia lined road until it reached his gate. A Tannoy voice came from the vehicle.

“Can you open the gate, please, Senator?”

Hoskins spotted the Georgia National Guard badge on the side of the vehicle. Thirty years ago, he was a sergeant in the guard himself, but then he decided politics was his life. Feeling a little reassured, he dropped the curtain and shuffled over to press the gate switch beside the front door. He mopped the sweat from his forehead with a cotton handkerchief as he went out into the warm morning sun.

Blue smoke belched from the aging vehicle’s tailpipe as it sputtered slowly up the driveway. He stood on the front step, waiting to welcome them.

 “What’s going on?” came his wife’s voice from inside.

 “It’s the local guard,” he replied as the vehicle pulled up and a young-looking Captain got out. “Morning Captain,” Hoskins said.

 “Good morning to you, Senator,” the man replied in a strong Georgia accent. “We are here to replace the PD as your guard. They have a lot on their hands at the moment, and Police Chief Stevens has asked the Guard to help out.”

 “Stevens? You mean Chief Cole?” Hoskins asked.

 The captain shook his head. “No, the traitor Cole was relieved of his post last night as he wouldn’t comply with President Thorn’s orders. One of his deputies, Stevens, has taken over. During the unrest, we will be here to protect you, but I must ask that you and your wife stay inside at all times.” The captain broke eye contact as the buzz of a drone passed overhead. He looked skyward and raised his sunglasses for a better look.

Hoskins hadn’t heard of a Stevens at the Atlanta PD, which meant the man was not that senior in the force. So, they must have had to remove more than Franklyn, he thought.

Hoskins’ mind turned to his daughter. She was on the university campus on the other side of the city. While calling her last night, she had assured him that the Uni grounds were quiet and that there was a lot of security about anyway. “Captain, would it be okay for me to go over and pick my daughter up from the University? I would like her to be here with us,” he said…

 “Tammy is fine,” the captain replied, and immediately, alarm bells went off in Hoskins’ head. He hadn’t mentioned his daughter’s name to the man.

 “What do you mean, Captain?” he asked.

 With sunglasses back in place, the young captain lifted his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “Tammy was taken to safety earlier this morning. There was some issue with University lecturers who were unwilling to comply with the President’s wishes, and we thought it best to get her out of there. I can assure you that she is safe,” the soldier replied, but before Hoskins could enquire further, the captain said, “Now please get inside, Sir. If you need anything, come to the window you were at earlier and get Elijah here’s attention.” The captain pointed to the soldier standing behind him. “Elijah will look after you.”

 “But…” Hoskins went to say.

 “The captain raised his voice. “No buts, Senator. Please get inside now and stay in, or I will have Elijah escort you.”

Hoskins stood looking at the captain for a while and then decided the man was serious. Shaking his head, he turned and headed into the house.

His wife stood behind the door. “What’s happening?”

 “I think we are under house arrest, dear,” he replied while pulling his cell phone out of his pants pocket. On dialing Tammy’s number, a cold shiver ran down his back as her all too familiar ringtone sounded from just outside. He walked back through the door to see the captain standing with his daughter’s pink cell phone in hand.

 “She leant it to me for safekeeping, Senator,” The man smiled. “I will keep both of them safe if you stay in the house, Sir.” Hoskin’s felt bile rise from his stomach.

 Wordlessly, he turned and went inside. Closing the door, he looked to his wife and said, “They’ve got Tammy.”

 “Who has?” She asked. “Who are they?” Shaking his head, he punched in Chief Cole’s number, but it rang, unanswered. He then tried the mayor but there was no reply either. The Democrat Party office, his own office and the University admin department were all, likewise unanswered.

 He looked to his wife and said, Tammy’s friend Candy. You have her number?” She nodded and retrieved her cell. There were tears in his wife’s eyes. “It will be alright,” he said, not at all sure himself. Mercifully, Candy’s phone rang and was quickly answered. “Candy,” he said, “It’s Tammy’s Dad. Is she with you by any chance?”

“No,” Candy said with a shake in her voice. They have us all locked in our dorms, but they took what they called the prominent students down to the gymnasium, and they are being held there. I am scared, Mr Hoskins. I can’t get an answer from any of my family. What is going on, sir?” she asked through sobs.

 “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “Has anyone been hurt?”

 “They shot him,” she replied with a tremor in her voice.

 “Shot who?” Hoskins asked, more anxious than ever.

“Bradly, the security guard. Bradley tried to stop them from coming into the dorms, but they overpowered him. He was lying bleeding on the ground, no threat at all and a Guard Captain walked up and shot Bradley in the back of the head. It was an execution, sir.” She was in full tears now.

 “Oh my god,” was all Hoskins could say as the line clicked dead.

Washington. Friday 23^rd November. 2024

In a scurrilous wind that mixed ice cold rain and soggy Autumn leaves, Kit Simmons stood with shoulders hunched in his best black suit and tie. Like the others around him lining the sidewalks of the Capitol, he bowed his head solemnly as the horse-drawn carriage passed.

The man inside the coffin should have been sitting in the Oval Office, but here he was, parading along a sodden, wind-swept city street for the last time.

 It felt disrespectful to shelter as the carriage passed, and so he shut his umbrella, allowing cold droplets to sting his scowling face.

 As the sombre black cortège slipped out of view, the umbrella was raised once more. Kit turned and made his way through the crowd, heading back to the office. Officially, the place was closed today, but in reality, the mayor’s office business never ceased. Anyway, he didn’t feel like being alone. Misery liked company.

Around him, snippets of the same conversation emanated from each group that he passed. The sum of the debate was, what happens now? Everyone was asking, no one answering.

Thorn had, of course, claimed victory. Now there’s a surprise, Donald, He thought with a rueful smile. That man was an idiot, but a dangerous idiot. Would the Government and, more worryingly, the military fall in behind him?

Like most Americans, Kit had no appetite for another election. Constitutionally, VP Carmella should have stepped up, but the scandal that came to light during the campaign had led to her dismissal from the Democratic ticket. Had Bowman been here today, he would have been entitled to appoint another VP, but..  but..

It was the word on everyone’s lips. The majority leader was technically in charge, but the man stood aside, and he’d instead ratified Thorn’s victory. With Democrats currently absent from Congress, no one outside the legal system could stop Thorn from taking office. Everyone knew Thorn controlled the court that counted. Sure, this constitutional morass would drag on in various State parliaments around America, but the Supreme Court would hold sway in the end.

It came as no surprise to Kit that many of the Southern states slavishly implemented Thorn’s military control interdict. Thankfully, the National Guard in DC and Maryland ignored it and were acting at the behest of the mayor’s office. News abounded of skirmishes between Guard units that supported Thorn and those that chose not to. There was no hard news of the intentions among the regular Army, Navy, or air forces. We could be on the verge of a second civil war, he thought. What would a modern-day civil war look like? A shiver ran the length of his spine. Even thinking that thought was chilling.

As he walked back to work, he pulled the collar of his overcoat a little tighter around his neck. Rippling puddles began to form on the windswept Washington pavements. These bloody shoes leaked. The threat of nuclear civil conflict now seemed less significant than wet socks. Being interested in appearance, Kit spent a lot of money on clothes, shoes in particular. Somewhat ironically, the dearer they were, the less the things seemed to function as footwear. Life was one puddle after blister.

 “Oh to be a slob in Sketchers,” he thought. Thinking about Sketchers, he brought Zoe and her comfy footwear to mind, and he smiled internally, the rain-soaked frown never actually leaving his face. As soon as the thought entered his head, the cell phone in his pocket rang. He knew exactly who was calling. It was so spooky how often that happened. Retrieving the phone, he answered,

“Hey Zoe.”

 “Hey, Stud,” she replied with a cute giggle. “How did it go today? ” Her tone instantly changed to a sympathetic one.

“It is all pretty shit.” An uneven paving slab nearly turned his ankle. That is all I need, He thought.

“I’m really sorry, babe,” Zoe said.

“Not your fault, Hun.” They moved to pet names pretty soon after the relationship started. Kit was never one for them previously. Somehow, it seemed right this time. Conversely, Zoe used them all the time. A random hot dog seller was equally likely to get a “Hun” or “darling,” but “Babe” was just for him. In another time and from another person, it might have been twee, but with Zoe, it felt good. She had a unique ability to make him feel like the only person on the planet. Her attentions ignited a warm glow inside the man who sported a cool demeanour to the rest of humankind. The country may be going to shit, but when Kit spoke with Zoe, none of that mattered.

“There was some gunfire round here last night,” Zoe continued. “I’m really scared about what is happening.”

“Me too,” Kit admitted.

 Her voice caught a little, “They have closed the State Parliament and my office too. Not just for the funeral. Until further notice is all that we’ve been told. On the streets, Soldiers have replaced the police. There are some in the grounds of our house. Dad and I have been told to stay inside. I’m scared, Kit.”

 Her admission cut deep into his problem-solving psyche. “Do you want me to come down there?” he offered.

“No, no,” she said while stifling a sob. Zoe wasn’t a weeper, Kit knew. She was as strong as many and stronger than most. She was compassionate to a fault but seldom, hell never, had he heard her cry about anything.

She interrupted his train of thought. “Granda called this morning, he tried to come over here, but the soldiers have closed all the roads. Apparently, there was some sort of incident up your way last night, and nothing or no one is being allowed to travel. What is happening, Babe?”

“I don’t know,” Kit admitted. “I am heading back to the office now. I will give you a buzz from there. Hopefully, someone will know what is going on.” He went to disconnect with a “Talk soon” and heard Zoe say,

“Okay, love you, babe,” before the line went dead. They had never yet used the “L” word with each other. In another scenario, it would have been a big step, but he decided to put this one down to the current situation. As he climbed the steps to City Hall, a smile crossed his face unbidden, and to no one who could hear, he said, “I love you too.”

NYC, Tuesday 27^th November 2024

Another bullet pinged off of their apartment wall, and Karl’s stubble-covered face grinned at Maria as she ducked down low. It seemed to her like things were getting worse in the city. Ever since the election, there had been trouble of one kind or another. Just lately, going to the shops made her feel she was putting her life on the line.

“If it bothers you,” said a chuckling Karl, “You should head out and stay with your sister until it all calms down.”

“What about you?” Maria said, knowing full well that he would already have some excuse in place to avoid the trip. For some reason, Karl didn’t like visiting Consquella, and it appeared the feeling was mutual.

“I better stay here and look after the apartment,” he said, trying to sound disappointed. “Anyway, I will have to go back to work, as soon as the place reopens. I hear that it may be next week.”

Like many New York businesses, Karl’s workshop had been closed these last few weeks as the power supply fluctuated. The engineering machines were useless without electricity.

Maria got up from the kitchen linoleum. “We should get out of this city, Karl. Let’s go stay with the kids/”

There was annoyance on his face. Maria saw that more and more. She wasn’t sure what she had done to upset Karl. Maybe he was constantly sullen due to all the crap that was going down outside, but in any case, whatever she tried, it seemed only to piss him off further.

Ever since her night with the sailor, Maria redoubled her effort to make the marriage work. She’d given up on the sullen Karl way too soon. Okay, he’d clearly lost interest in her as a woman, but he was still a good dad to the kids and provided for the family well enough. What she did was reprehensible, but it couldn’t be undone now. Maybe some time apart was what they needed. Yes, she would stay with Consquella for a few weeks and clear her head.

Her wavering mind was made up as the sound of a large explosion rattled their apartment windows and shook the entire building.  This time, Karl joined her under the kitchen table.

Falmouth VA. Wednesday 28^th November 2024

As if it wasn’t bad enough that the world outside her window was usually swathed in an eerie silence, infrequent explosions and staccato gunfire were the only sounds that broke the gloom of her housebound incarceration. Zoe started as the latest blast sounded not two streets away.

Getting up from her bed, she peeked out from behind her patterned curtain. Aside from a pall of white smoke rising between the buildings down the hill, there was little to be seen. The empty sidewalks were disconcerting, but after a while, the appearance of people running quickly between cover also became unsettling.

Zoe sighed and then returned to stretching out on her duvet. She raised her eyebrows. While selecting a new song to play from her mobile phone library, she noticed that her cell had a signal.  It happened less and less often. Smiling, she scrolled to Kit’s name on the screen and pressed.

 “Zoe.” Her smile widened at the sound of his voice.

 “Hey, stud,” she replied. How are things in DC? The signal wasn’t the greatest, but she didn’t care.

 “It’s bad,” he replied. “The mayor’s office is closed most of the time. I tried heading up there yesterday, but a curfew is in place here now. They wouldn’t let me leave the apartment. I told them I was an important cog in the Government, but they were not having it,” he chuckled. “How are things with you?”

 “Things have been a little quieter lately, but we still hear gunshots and explosions every so often. I don’t know what is happening to us.” Zoe’s voice tremored.

 “Me neither,” Kit said. “A disputed election, and the whole country has gone to hell.”

 “Yeah,” Zoe agreed. “Do you think you could get out of the city, Kit?”

 “I don’t know Hun. If I could, I would, but they are warning that people on the streets may be shot,” he said.  “I would be down there in a minute if I could. I really want to see you.”

 “I miss you terribly,” Zoe admitted. “Maybe this will all blow over and we can have Christmas together.” She looked skyward beseechingly.

 “Fingers crossed.” He didn’t really hold any hope. “Have you heard from my mum lately?”

 “Not for a few weeks,” she replied. “She’s not happy using the cell, and as the landlines are often down, she won’t get an answer if calling the house. I will try and reach her later if the service stays up.” Zoe made a mental note.

“I’ll give her a call in a mo.” Kit said.

 “Dad thinks that we should maybe head over to Granddad’s,” Zoe said. “You can try calling me there if you cannot get my cell. If you do get out of the city, go there, Kit. Grandad has connections, and it should be safer.”

 “I’m torn Zoe, I would love to see you, but I feel guilty that I cannot get to my parents. I worry about how they are coping with this madness.”

 “Of course,” Zoey replied. “I’m being so selfish.”

“Not at all. It is all academic until the curfew is lifted. Anyway, my folks were fine last time I spoke to them.”

 “Fingers crossed they are still well,” Zoey said. “Your Mum is sweet.”

 “She likes you a lot. Just the other day, Mum called you the daughter she never had. It really pissed my sister off!” They both laughed. Kit’s younger sister Angie lived up in Canada. Kit was thankful she was there.

Zoe heard him suck in a deep breath, and he changed the conversation. “Zoe?” he said.

“Yes, Kit?”

 “You said you loved me as you hung up last time.”

 “I know,” Zoe replied. She tried to sound as if it was no big thing, but then worried that she’d scared him. “Did it bother you?”.

 “Sort of,” he admitted.

 She started to apologize, “Sorry, are we not there yet?”

 “No, Zoe, you don’t understand,” he added. “It only bothered me as I didn’t say it first.”

She giggled. “You haven’t said it second either, Christopher,” she added. Only Kit’s Mum ever called him by his proper name.

 He gulped and said, “I love you…..” and the line disconnected.

Washington Thursday 2^nd January 2025

“They’ve made a mistake,” Eleanor Wilson said.

Anthony Blinken sat at his oak desk. The shelves behind him use to be full of books but they’d been cleared over the Christmas break. with head in hands, he watched the wet, slushy snow fall outside his Capitol Hill office. He turned back to face her, “I would love to believe you, but I just can’t see it. With the President and VP gone, the Speaker is next in line.”

Eleanor slapped her hand on the desk. “Yes, he is. The speaker WAS next in line, but he resigned in favour of Thorn. He has no legal right to appoint a successor. He could have moved into the Whitehouse, but we don’t have kingmakers here in the USA. The moment he stood down, Patti was the president.”

Blinken rubbed his forehead. “I think you are clutching at straws, Eleanor. Patti’s position is ceremonial at best. No one voted for her to be President. Thorn would take over at the end of the month anyway.”

Eleanor Wilson clenched her fists. “But the Election result hasn’t been officially ratified. I get it, he got his stooges on the Supreme Court onside, but we have a process in this country. It’s not just last man standing.” She stood and began circling the office.

Blinken watched her stride about. His first thought was that her heels would be ruining his carpet with the way she stomped, but then he remembered it wouldn’t be his office much longer.

“Eleanor, sit down, for God’s sake.” There was venom in her eyes, but they softened as she sighed and then sat. “Eleanor, he has all the cards. It looks like the Election was tied, but that hardly matters when our candidate lies out there in the cemetery. Patti would have to stand for re-election as President Pro Temp in a few weeks, and she has no chance of winning that now. Hell, I don’t want that man back in power, but the road you are heading down doesn’t end well for anybody.”

Standing again, she leaned over his desk. “I will not let that man bully his way to power. If you don’t have the balls for a fight, Anthony, I will find someone that does.” She turned and walked out of his office. The Secretary of State drummed his fingers on the desktop for a while and then picked up the phone. “

Yes, Mr Revere. As you feared sir, she’s coming for you.”

New York, Saturday 15th Feb 2025

HMS Queen Elizabeth slowed her forward progress and dropped anchor in the frothy green waters of Hudson Bay. The massive UK carrier loomed over the watching Statue of Liberty.  A crew contingent, including Marine Sergeant Sharon Douglas, stood near the edge of the flight deck. After much debate among the senior ranks, the usual ceremonial display went ahead, but each sailor now wore armour under their uniform. New York Harbour was not the safest place to be right now.

  Sharon had made this trip once before, but the imposing site of New York’s buildings reaching far into the sky never failed to impress. Although, she didn’t remember seeing so many smoke plumes across the city on her last visit.

 Everyone aboard was aware of the turmoil in America. Sharon doubted if this mission would have gone ahead had the arrangements not been so far advanced before Donald Thorn’s recent controversial speech to the nation. Then again, Sharon was too far down the pecking order to be kept in that loop.  It was no surprise to anyone that all shore leave was cancelled.

The carrier was in town as part of a NATO fleet exercise. Sharon always enjoyed the social side of these encounters. Last time, she and some other girls aboard the vessel hit town with sailors from the Dutch frigate, Evertsen, and currently, it was berthed a couple of miles upriver. She hoped that the turmoil may abate by the time the exercise was over. The vessels would congregate back here then, and maybe the girls could catch up.

New York, HMS Queen Elizabeth, Saturday 15th Feb 2025

From somewhere across the harbour, amidst the growing conflagration that was New York, another bullet pinged off the superstructure of the British Carrier.  Along with the blaze that now backlit the city’s giant columns, the sporadic shooting had increased in intensity after nightfall. What headed their way was mostly small-arms fire, but to avoid tragedy, the Crew were confined to lower decks, with only Lieutenant Peter Edwards and his security team keeping watch above.

With his team in full body armour, the shooters were more an inconvenience than a danger, but what he wouldn’t give to be able to fire up the Phalanx system and answer them back with interest.

 No point in starting WW3 he thought to himself.

At twenty-nine, Peter was in his 11^th year in the Navy. Fascinated with all things marine since he was a kid, young Peter made Airfix models of the classic battleships while his friends built planes. Of course, he got to play with both types here on the Carrier.

 No one had shot at Peter in his long naval service. Well, not for real. In the modern world, Royal Navy sailors tend not to be in anyone’s gunsights. Had Peter taken a bet where the first bullet aimed his way would come from, New York City wouldn’t have been high on the list.

Raising his head, he peered landward. From where the ship had dropped anchor, about half a mile out, he could just make out the stick figures running from dark shadows and crossing the fire-lit streets. Every so often, a bright light would pulse, and a second later, the sound of the firing would reach his ears.  A tall skyscraper was ablaze top to bottom a few streets back from the shore. As far as he could see from here, no emergency services were in attendance.

 Peter watched the news and was well aware of the ongoing situation in America, but he never thought it would be this bad. He was surprised the carrier didn’t turn around and leave.

As a sharp crack sounded above him, he swivelled to see that one of the floor-to-roof glass windows on the deck above had been hit. Thankfully, it held firm. No handgun had done this. It was likely a high-powered rifle. He seriously hoped the shooter was not aiming at him, but it hit only a few feet above his head.

While whispering a prayer of thanks, his radio beeped, and a call came in asking him to make his way to the forward bridge. There were two bridges on the ship but the second one, nearer the rear of the vessel, was normally dedicated to flight control and would have only a skeleton crew now.

Peter ducked low and ran forward. He took the elevator and found Captain Feasey on duty on the bridge. They saluted each other, and the Captain immediately took on a less formal demeanour.

 “Hey Peter, you managing to dodge the bullets so far?” The Captain pointed out to the troubled shoreline.

“Yes, Captain, but that last one was a bit close for comfort. It was a high-powered rifle and it has badly cracked one of the windows on upper deck one.”

The captain turned to an aid that stood against the back wall and said, “Riggins, can you go down there and get the chief’s crew to get that fixed sharpish, please?” Nodding, Riggins set off on his errand.

“I have a wee job for you, Peter,” The Captain turned his attention back to his Lieutenant. “I want you to put together a team of marines to go ashore at first light.” Feasey walked to the window and pointed upriver. “The US Navy vessels and the Dutch are getting it worse than us. They have decided to set up a perimeter around their dock and extend it one block into the city. An officer from the USS Cole will command the operation. I want your team to go help. The US Marines will move into the city, but your guys will secure the dock immediately around the Dutch frigate. I’m not sure if the Dutch have any marines on board, but as far as we are concerned, this is no longer a NATO exercise; it is a live mission. Your team will be armed and fully equipped, and you will have full authorisation to defend yourselves and the vessels, but please, Peter, for God’s sake, this is America, one of our closest allies. Try not to shoot anyone.”

New York. West 48th Street, Saturday 15th February, 2025

Karl Ramirez looked both ways before exiting the block of flats on the North side of the street. He ran across to the far side as fast as his unfit legs would carry and then ducked below the low wall to get some cover. Georg Hernandez was secreted there already, furtively rising to look Westward along the street before ducking back down as another bullet ripped into the wall behind.

“Hell, this is crazy,” Karl said, already sweating through the red bandana he wore.

“True man,” was all the reply he got from an agitated Georg.

 Georg Hernandez cursed and slammed a magazine into his rifle. His beloved car sat in the lot behind where the two of them now sheltered. Pockmarked with bullet holes and smashed windows, last night’s rain had ruined the upholstery he lovingly restored. Five years of his life and about the same in wages were exhausted on his 1974 Ford Mustang. Karl knew that Georg felt the loss as strongly as he would a family member. The smell of the leaking gas may as well be blood. Now, someone, anyone was going to pay. Georg, stalking back and forth, crunching in glass, looked intently through the site of his hunting rifle.

In better times, the two men regularly went hunting upstate. Unlike Karl, Georg was a crack shot.  Their friendship spawned in the engineering shop where both still work today. Well, if it still stood. It had been a few weeks since anyone in New York went to their work.

The two friends were the least likely vigilantes. In their late forties, an unfit Karl was a little nearsighted, and Georg was a bit overweight. Both were married, and Karl had two grown-up kids. Thankfully, neither of his offspring lived in Manhattan.

Georg began tracking a target’s head a couple of hundred yards away on the raised level of the Expressway. The guy, Karl assumed it was male, was popping up over the parapet and firing off a couple of rounds from a handgun at unseen targets further up the quayside. Fourteen seconds. Quietly counting the interval between shots, Georg had sussed the target raised up every fourteen seconds, fired two or three shots and then ducked down again. Karl knew well that Georg could hit the guy from here, and Georg was furious about his car, but was he seriously going to do this?  It wouldn’t be his first kill; more than one deer and rabbit had fallen to his marksmanship. In addition, he must have killed a couple of thousand guys too, but only on the PlayStation. As Georg whispered thirteen, instead of loosing off a bullet, he lowered the rifle and mouthed a silent prayer for forgiveness. Karl remembered to breathe.

Karl loved their hunting trips and spent a fortune on the top-of-the-range rifle, but if truth be told, he had yet to hit anything. This didn’t bother him in the slightest. The whole process of skinning and gutting prey was disgusting. He was content if his supper came out of a supermarket freezer.  Hunting was more about camaraderie, beer, and burgers, but not necessarily in that order.

They were only out on the street now at the behest of their apartment block defence committee. The committee was hastily formed a week ago when the mobile phone and internet services went down. The power followed soon after, and although it came and went since, it was off more than on.

When one of the downstairs neighbours knocked on the door and asked Karl to attend the meeting; he’d thought the guy was overreacting. But less than half an hour after the power went out, shots were ringing out up and down 48th Street. It seemed that the situation was replicated across the city, and certainly, as far as he could see, Manhattan was now a warzone.

So here they were. For tonight, Karl and Georg were allocated the 10PM to 2AM guard shift. While the two friends were posted outside, two other apartment block neighbours were out the rear of the building, two were on the roof, and two patrolled the corridors. This was America, they were all armed, but Karl doubted many would know what to do if the situation arose and they had to use their guns. He would be the first to admit that it applied to him, too.

 A couple of the other blocks on the street had similar arrangements in place. Yet this only made it harder to decide who was a friend and who construed a threat. Thus far, each group had kept to their patch, but the overabundance of armed New Yorkers running around left a pall of tension hanging over the entire area.

Georg cried out, and Karl raised up to see a vehicle stalk into 48^th from 18^th Avenue. It moved slowly like a silent predator toward them. When it was fifty yards away, it stopped and a spotlight ignited on the vehicle roof, quickly picking out their position behind the wall. Both men ducked instinctively. A voice came from the vehicle through an unseen Tannoy, though neither man could decipher what had been said.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Karl continued quietly and realised how close he was to shitting himself. The voice came again from the vehicle, but it was a little easier to decipher this time.

“We are no threat to you. Raise your hands and leave your guns on the ground. We will continue down the street, and you will not be harmed.” The tinny voice was heavily accented.

Karl looked to Georg, and they nodded to each other simultaneously. They set the guns down in front.  Staying kneeling, they raised their hands. Through patches of light thrown into the street from buildings with generators, The vehicle slowly made its way toward them and then passed close by.

“Bedankt” or something similar came from one of the side windows that was cracked open a little. The men inside were in full battledress and wore the blue UN helmets that Karl saw on telly in war zones. The huge vehicle had, what he was sure was an Australian flag painted above one of the covered wheel arches. The men inside wore blue, white, and red flags on their uniform sleeves. Karl knew it was France or Holland, but he could never remember which was vertical or which was horizontal. Either way, he wondered why these guys were driving down a street in New York, armed to the teeth.

After sweating from places that he didn’t realise he had places, Karl felt a distinct cool breeze. It now looked like he may live another day. The vehicle was a hundred yards down the street, but the spotlight remained steadily on the two workmates. Finally, it clicked off, and Karl heard the engine roar as it picked up speed.

 “Phew,” said Georg and Karl’s eloquent reply was another, “Fuck!”

The men picked their guns up. So much for the idea of guarding the building. If these Frenchies had been a threat, Karl and Georg surrendered before a shot was fired.

“What heroes we are, my friend.” Karl laughed loudly. Georg joined in, and as he did, a huge thump came from down the street. Both men turned to see a truck had collided with the military vehicle and was now pushing it at speed up 17th Ave. The military vehicle hit the kerb and began to roll repeatedly as the ramming truck exploded in a ball of flame. Its burning carcass continued along the avenue for a hundred yards.

When the military vehicle finally stopped rolling, it landed up on its roof. Almost instantly, a hatch opened near the rear, and several soldiers spilt onto the street. They fanned out into cover around the wreckage in what looked like a preplanned movement. Within twenty seconds of the collision, all hell broke loose, and the stricken soldiers came under fire from buildings around the crash. A command was barked in some foreign tongue, and a couple of the soldiers began returning fire on the windows. As they did, a further soldier exited the vehicle, dragging a man who was clearly injured. The casualty was helped to the first shop doorway on West 48th. Here they were covered from all windows accept those directly over the street. As the rescuer and the injured man ducked into the doorway, one of the other soldiers took up a position nearby and began checking the windows above through the scope of his rifle. Seemingly happy his colleagues were in no immediate danger; he resumed his vigil over the other buildings at the intersection.

Further instructions were issued from an unseen officer, and one of the soldiers ran back over to the inverted military vehicle. He jumped up to the hatch, did something quickly and made his way back into cover. With a huge explosion, the military vehicle was utterly wrecked.

The Avenue and Street were temporarily bathed in the blast’s bright white light before returning to the now-familiar half-dark. The explosion shattered windows around the junction. Glass rained down around the sheltering soldiers.

 Karl watched as the injured man and his assisting colleague stood and left their cover to shuffle back along 48th to where he and Georg were sheltering. As the two soldiers drew level, one shouted in a foreign language across the street. Sussing the intention, Karl ran across to the apartment door.  Nervously fumbling for his keys, he opened it, and the two men brushed past him into the lobby, the injured man falling to the floor with a stifled yelp. Georg followed. He took up a guarding position at the open door.

Karl turned to the soldier who assisted the injured man. 

“Will he be all right?”.

 In heavily accented English, the soldier replied, “he will live.” He then knelt and injected the patient with what Karl assumed was some form of painkiller. The erstwhile medic looked up at Karl, “Thanks for your help; we were exposed out there.” Karl nodded in reply and spotted Georg leaning out the door for a better view down the street. He must have heard the approaching soldier’s boots that ran past him and dived through the door. Another shot bounced off the wall above the doorframe as the new arrival slid to a stop on the polished hallway floor. The officer spoke rapidly to his two colleagues in their own tongue. No sooner had he arrived, but he was gone again, out of the door and down the street. “We are to stay here with you,” the medic explained. “The men must continue their mission.”

As Karl headed upstairs with what he now knew were the two Dutch sailors from a vessel berthed along at the end of the street, Georg was back outside the building, undoubtedly somewhere near the carcass of his beloved Mustang.

The Dutch vessel and its crew were in New York as part of a NATO exercise. Their frigate was docked next to the Intrepid Museum. The sailors had been heading to UN HQ in a Bushmaster armoured vehicle that they had borrowed from one of the Australian vessels in the harbour. When the Dutch captain was called to the UN, he and his guard team got pinned down, and this new squad was trying to extract them and get everyone back to their ship, the Evertsen, or at least it sounded something like that to Karl.

The Dutch medic spoke his accented English well enough, but it was sometimes hard to understand, especially when he gave Dutch names.

Much to Karl’s relief, the acting medic had the understandable name of Robin. He hadn’t yet got his head around the name of the injured soldier. Not that it mattered as the man now lay sleeping on Karl’s sofa. The name was mentioned several times, and if Karl had to put his life on it, he would go with “Soup.” Maybe it was a nickname; what did he know? It was all double Dutch to him.

 Amsterdam! Yes, if anyone had asked him to list the things he knew about Holland before today, that would have been the extent of his knowledge. He only knew Amsterdam as he remembered a little of the history of his own city from his school days. He also knew there was another name for Holland somewhere, but Robin, the stand-in medic, seemed happy enough with Holland.

Karl learned that the rescue team intended to pick Robin and Soup up on the way back from their mission. Robin carried a mobile phone-size radio that seemed to work, even though the civilian cell service had been down for days. Every so often, a garbled voice would burst from the Dutchman’s pocket, but Karl assumed none of the calls were for Robin as, thus far, the radio had gone unanswered.  He watched the young Dutchman check the screen a few times. Robin was supposed to be able to track the team’s progress, but the scowl on his face told Karl that this was not working.

“Do you want a coffee?” Karl asked. “Is there anything that your friend needs?” Robin looked up from his medical tasks.

 “No, he is fine. I have sedated him, and he will be quiet for a while.” The soldier didn’t answer the coffee question, but Karl didn’t push it. His little gas stove meant he could still do hot drinks, but how long the gas would last and whether there would be replacement cylinders were concerns.

Karl currently lived on his own. Maria, his wife, took the car and headed to her sister’s house in Buffalo when all this mess started. While he was thankful that she was safe and out of the city, he was no good in the kitchen. So now he reverted to a bachelor lifestyle and lived out of tins. Fortunately, the deli at the end of the street stayed open until two days ago, and so there was enough food to keep him going for weeks, should the turmoil continue.

Maria said that Karl should come with her.  He claimed he wanted to stay and keep the apartment safe. At the time, he thought this whole thing would blow over in a few days. NYC Police were still on the streets back then.  God, it seemed an eternity already. There were few cops to be seen now. The last news reports he heard said they lost dozens of officers in the first night of rioting alone. The days that followed were brutal for law enforcement. They were quickly replaced by the National Guard but for reasons that were unknown to Karl, the Guard had mostly disappeared too. Every so often, a patrol would head up or down 17th, but with a tendency to fire at anything that moved, they were almost as dangerous as the other armed gangs that now ruled the city… if anyone ruled this city.

At first, he doubted the trouble would ever get this bad, and although it was true the security of their home was important to him, the main reason that he didn’t go with Maria was that he couldn’t abide being in his sister-in-law’s house. He hated visiting. In recent years, he’d made more and more excuses and made fewer and fewer trips.

Were he being honest, it wasn’t Connie, or Consquella, as he once knew her, that was the problem. Although he found it awkward to be in her company, Karl loathed Ben, Connie’s husband and their two absolutely pricks of kids. Connie and Ben had a younger family, with Connie being three or four years younger than Maria.

Karl certainly did find being in Connie’s presence awkward.  God, he hated that she started using that name; Consquella was so much nicer.  He and Connie had a brief “thing” a year after he married Maria. Of course, he regretted it, but if truth be told, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. As far as he knew, Maria never found out. He certainly wasn’t going to mention it. Being dismembered in his sleep would not be a good outcome. Karl could only assume Connie kept the news from her sister also.

The soldier Robin, or sailor, as Karl reminded himself, was looking his way in puzzlement.  Robin said,

“Penny for your thoughts.”

 You really don’t want to know.” Karl realised he’d been lost inside his own head. “What was the decision on that coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Robin raised a halting palm, “I am fine. I could murder a beer if you have one?”

 Karl grinned, sure have, but you will realise they are not cold? No working fridge.”

“Warm beer, what’s not to like.” Robin grinned.

 Karl made his way through to the darkened fridge. The force of habit alone made him store the beers there. He extricated two bottles and cracked the cap off each at the novelty opener mounted on the wall.  He remembered it had been a present from Connie before he pushed that thought back into the dark realms. Karl left the kitchen and handed the beer to the Dutchman. “Cheers”.

“Prost,” Robin replied, and they clinked bottles together. “I shouldn’t be drinking on duty, but I think the Captain will forgive me this one. Not that he will ever find out about it,” he smiled a broad, toothy grin.

A familiar rapport emanated from the street below. Even among the never-ending rattle in the city, Karl recognised the sound of his hunting compatriots’ rifle. Before he made it to the window, the gun sounded again. Karl pulled the curtain open as far as he dared; there were still some lights in the city and the glow illuminated the room a little more than the scented candle that sat atop the table. Maria only ever bought coconut-scented candles, and she loved nothing more than to dim the lights of an evening and get the place smelling like a Caribbean brothel. Normally annoying, Karl found the scent strangely pleasing in these uncertain times.

Why some places still had working streetlights eluded Karl. He assumed generators or other backup systems powered the illuminated buildings, and of course, more and more blocks now had solar. His biggest fear and realisation were that one day soon, the entire city might be in total darkness, and that would be like something out of a classic horror movie.

 48th was not blessed with working road lamps, but some buildings maintained external lighting. In the meagre glow, Georg knelt, shooting at something unseen. Whatever it was, it came from the city and, by the look of the walls around Georg below, had his friend seriously out gunned. Bullets flew everywhere. Georg stopped returning fire and took cover behind a wall.

Karl and Robin needed no order or instruction. Springing into action, they headed down the hall and out of the apartment. Robin was ahead now, rifle in hand. He jumped down each flight of stairs as Karl took them one at a time. The younger Dutchman was clearly the fitter of the two. His heavy boots marked the well-waxed floor as he slid to a halt on each landing. They got to the block lobby and Robin raised an outstretched arm to tell Karl to stay back. He quickly bobbed his head out of cover and looked down the street. The assailant or assailants, as Karl found out, were two black and white painted armoured cars. In the dim light, no markings were visible. They had stopped firing, although both vehicles were taking small arms fire from the windows and rooves around the area. A spotlight ignited from the lead vehicle, and 48th was bathed in a cold white light. The light strobed slightly, blinding anyone looking in the vehicle’s direction. The bright light washed all colour from the surroundings and turned the world into a black-and-white movie.  The second vehicle now set a similar strobe working, and the entire area appeared like a Harold Lloyd flick. The actors jerked around as the world was rendered in low FPS. A Tannoy sounded from the lead vehicle.

“This is the NYPD. By authorisation of the Mayor’s Department, a city-wide curfew is now in place from 6pm to 6am until further notice. All citizens should leave the streets. Ignoring this order could lead to severe punishment, and we are authorised to shoot on sight. You have 60 seconds to leave the area and go indoors. If you are unable to leave the street, throw down any weapon and lie on the sidewalk face down. You will be collected by a Police team that will follow us. From tomorrow, Sunday 15th February, anyone on the streets during curfew will be shot without further warning.”.

“Georg!”  Karl shouted over the street to his friend. Needing no second invitation, Georg raised his hands and ran to the open block door. Robin stood back and allowed him to enter unimpeded. A few shots still rang out on the steel of the armoured cars, but shooting had diminished noticeably. The second the two men were through the door, the Dutchman slammed it closed. There was a wooden bench facing the elevator doors on the opposite wall. Karl and Georg dragged it over and pushed it up against the door. No one present thought it would make the slightest difference if an assailant wanted through, but they all felt better for the action.

The two armoured cars set off up the street toward the Expressway. A Hundred Yards behind them, a large prison van followed slowly. The van stopped, and two cops in full body armour got out and ran over to the sidewalk where a prone man lay, hands on his head. His wrists were bound, and they dragged him roughly back to the vehicle. This process was repeated twice more. The three vehicles were now halfway along the block.

As the prison van halted again, another vehicle stopped at the 17th and 48th Street junction. The newcomer sat, unseen to the police column, in a menacing shadow. Their spotlights only lit the street ahead.  Karl recognised it as an armoured Humvee. It had a large machine gun on top, a 50cal he seemed to remember from his PlayStation adventures. 

With rapid orange flashes and staccato percussion, the vehicle’s machine gun fired on the unsuspecting police. Amid the sound of punctured steel, the lightly armoured prison van disintegrated almost immediately.  Two officers, stranded in the open street, were reduced to blood and bone.  The armoured cars fared little better. Designed for crowd control, they could withstand bottles, rocks, and maybe small arms fire. The heavy 50cal machine gun ripped through them easier than the proverbial butter knife. The nearest vehicle slumped down on the tarmac onto its rims. Its tyres ceased to exist. One of the armour-piercing bullets entered the gas tank of the second car, and it exploded. The turret landed fifty feet from the decimated car body.

Its job done; the predatory Humvee skulked along the dark street. The vehicle showed no light, but Karl was sure he saw ‘New York National Guard’ marked on the side.

 “Why would the Guard fire on the Police?” he asked, but no one had an answer. Briefly reflecting orange as it passed through the flames of the victims, the vehicle skulked back into the dark at the end of the street.

New York. Sunday 16^th Feb 2025

After a bullet-dodging night, the relatively peaceful morning was welcoming. The sound of staccato shots continued unabated; it was true, yet it now seemed distant.

Crisp, cool air filled Lieutenant Peter Edward’s lungs as he breathed heavily. The exertion from shimmying up the harbour wall told him he wasn’t working out enough while on board the Carrier. It wasn’t good. The ship housed countless gymnasiums, but Peter had let his regime lapse for reasons unknown. Luckily, his team was in better shape and already in defensive positions around the Dutch frigate. Taking off his tin helmet, he ran his fingers through curly locks. His dark hair and brown eyes came from his mother. She hailed originally from New Delhi.

Peter replaced the hat and looked over to the Dutch vessel that was docked nearby.  He shook his head at the sight of its pock-marked superstructure. Last night’s hail of bullets hadn’t only been targeted at the British carrier.

 Suffering likewise, dumpy three and four floor residential buildings faced the harbour on the other side of the raised expressway. Half a mile South, more familiar New York skyscrapers reached up to the glorious blue winter sky. Among the entire vista, there was not one window left intact. A memory of his humanitarian mission to the harbour area of Beirut, after the fertiliser blast came to his mind.

 While no cloud tainted the blue sky, billowing smoke rose in countless plumes and hung everywhere above the city. Like smoke signals, each plume relayed a story of tragedy and loss from the evening just gone.

Through the rubble and broken glass detritus, his team continued to spread out. They reached the buildings on the other side of the Expressway and were scoping the situation down 47^th to his right and up to 50^th on the left of their position.  Sergeant Sharon Douglas waved down to him from the Expressway above. She indicated they had also secured the upper level.

The admiral was unable to get in touch with the American command this morning. After some debate, he decided to go ahead as originally agreed but increase the force to fifty marines. Peter hoped to hook up with the Americans when they landed, but now that his squad was here, there was no US military presence to be seen at all.

 From where he stood, the Cole could be seen berthed over in Jersey. It looked a mess. The area around the vessel burned in countless small fires. Buildings overlooking its dock were wrecked. There was nothing Peter could do about that now. He was here to secure the Area between USS Intrepid, a museum these days, and the Dutch Frigate. Until told otherwise, that was exactly what he intended to do.

After setting Peter’s team onto the river this morning, the Captain of the UK Carrier moved the vessel to a safer position, outside New York Bay harbour. Small arms fire continued all night, but that wasn’t the issue. Larger ordinances started to join the turkey shoot. Around 3am, a ship-wide alert sounded as some sort of artillery shell struck the vessel. Joining the carrier, other NATO craft upped anchor, and moved to a safer distance. Only Cole and Evertsen remained. Peter would have happily left this ravaged city too, but apparently, the Dutch vessel couldn’t leave until a stray shore party could be located. The plan was for a US force to look for them, but the Americans hadn’t shown.  Peter needed instruction and so he returned to the landing zone where the radio was set up.

Sergeant Sharon Douglas commanded a 6-man company. Well, five men and her, were she to be pedantic, but she never lost any sleep by being considered “one of the guys”. The fewer concessions anyone made for her sex, the better.

Around eighteen months ago, Sharon qualified as a Commando on her second try.  She was the first female to pass after fifty others tried and failed. The modern Navy was happy to allow women into all roles, but they wouldn’t make it easy, and Sharon agreed with that entirely, at least when it came to the marine commandos.

She looked forward to the day that more females joined her, but for now, she was in a sub-group of one. Born in Milngavie, Glasgow, people who knew nothing of Scottish cities had images of young Sharon running with razor gangs, but Milngavie was a leafy suburb and quite well-to-do.  That being said, she could look after herself.

For the most part, the guys in the Marines were respectful. Yeah, sexism was never going away, and the inevitable jokes and innuendo were part of life for females in a male-dominated world, she guessed.   Had she been the type, Sharon could have had half a dozen of the pricks thrown out of the service already, but that was not her aim. She just wanted to be recognised for what she was, a damned good soldier. In the main, folks treated her as such, so she would put up with the rest. It wasn’t that the guys didn’t give each other a hard time anyway, and she was well able to give as good as she got.

Looking around the scene of destruction, she gave a mirthless chuckle, this was not the visit she envisaged when they’d found out the “Lizzie”, as the guys called the Carrier, was headed back to the Big Apple. In no scenario dreamed up was she carrying her SA80 A2 rifle. And this was no war game, the weapon was loaded and ready. The lieutenant made it plain he sincerely hoped to get all five magazines back from the team on their return, but they had been permitted to defend themselves and fire at anyone that threatened their perimeter.

 “I thought I would be partying with the locals, but I might end up shooting them”, she whispered as she checked the vicinity through her gun sight. At 1M8cm with short boyish brown hair, Sharon didn’t stand out in a crowd of uniformed male marines, but when she put on the party frock and hit the town, she liked to let her hair down. At least metaphorically.

Manhattan was unusually quiet without the horn blaring and log-jammed snakes of traffic. The only sound was the distant gunfire that made Sharon think of a giant walking over bubble wrap. Somewhere, but thankfully not here, the battle raged unabated.

As her boots crunched on something, she looked down to see that a pile of empty shell casings littered the ground around her. Tactically scanning the area, she tried to suss what the previous night’s shooter had been aiming at. Having the centre zone allocated to her squad, she had a good view along 48^th Street. It was a real mess along there; burnt-out armoured cars and other vehicles were strewn as far as she could see, but there was no way that mire of devastation was caused by the contents of the light calibre, empty casings that surrounded her. No, something heavier had come through here. Sharon hoped it wouldn’t return.

Lieutenant Edwards walked back toward his team after talking to control on the radio. Things had changed.  No one had heard from the Cole. After taking his report, it was decided not to send a team over there. That would be left to the Americans.

Apparently, Admiral Feasey had been contacted by five different bodies, all claiming to be in charge in New York. There was the mayor’s office, NYPD, the National Guard, a major from the Regular US Army and an FBI office. All purported to be the official authority, but none were really in control. No one was. Feasey came close to pulling the team out altogether, but after speaking with the Dutch, it’d been decided to send out a force to try to locate their missing squad.

They would head along 48^th and take the most appropriate Avenue down to 45^{th Street}. The instruction was to go along there as far as UN HQ but no further. If the Dutch team were not to be seen, Peter should return to the boats and get out of Dodge. The Evertsen was going to leave, too. She would stick around for one hour max, then sail after that, whether Peter’s team had returned, or not.

The UK Carrier sent a couple of recon drones over the city, and as far as anyone could see, there was no major obstacle. A Bushmaster was parked quayside. The recovery squad would use the Aussie-made armoured personal carrier for the mission. He’d heard these were pretty well indestructible, but apparently, the team they were searching for had left in one last night, and it was now nowhere to be seen. The Dutch hadn’t thought to ask the Aussies for the transponder codes when they borrowed the vehicles, so now the missing car would have to be found manually.

Peter ducked as he climbed aboard. The driver and eight selected commandos followed. One took the radio operator seat and immediately put the headset on. He pressed a few buttons and said, “Yes,” as the radio came to life. Another sat beside the driver, operating the navigational equipment on the vehicle’s dash. One man started fiddling with the roof-mounted gun, but he didn’t yet open the hatch. The rest of the men took the bench seats that lined the walls inside the rear door.

As the engine fired into life, the truck moved slowly along the quay. Drawing out under the Expressway, the driver headed down 48^th and slowly zigzagged around damaged vehicles that partially blocked the road. They came to the junction of 17^th Avenue, and to everyone’s surprise, here was the wreck of their sister vehicle, lying on her roof, across the street. After telling the driver to pull up, Peter moved to the rear and pointed to one of the Marines.

 “You, with me.” He opened the hatch, tentatively looking out while ready to duck back down at a second’s notice. Happy that the coast was clear, the two exited. The hatch was pulled closed behind them, but it wasn’t latched in case a quick entrance was needed.

 Stray shots rang out from the buildings around them as the two navy men zig-zagged toward the stricken vehicle, but luckily for both, nothing came close. There was an emergency hatch on the floor of the destroyed Bushmaster, and it stood open. His colleague ducked down and scoped out the area around them while Peter jumped up on the wrecked car and confirmed what he suspected. Nothing was left alive inside. Thankfully, as far as he could tell, there was nothing dead in there either. Peter dismounted, and the two of them stole back to the team in the truck. “No one in there,” Peter said to anyone listening as he re-entered the vehicle.

“Now what?” the driver asked.

“On with the mission,” Peter decided. The driver just nodded as the vehicle moved off again.

First Seaman Robin Van De Veen descended the stairs and ran out onto the sidewalk in time to see the Bushmaster pull away from the junction. Rifle in hand, his first thought was to fire a shot in the air and attract the attention of the vehicle’s occupants, but after last night’s drama, he decided to play it safe and let them go unhindered. Who knew what their intentions were?

One of the sentries in the building had watched as the truck went slowly by their now fortified apartment block, but it was already past by the time he called it in on the radio. Robin was too slow off the mark. With a sigh of resignation, He started back, but then stopped as he saw the figure on the expressway pointing a rifle at him. Little detail could be discerned at the long range, but Robin believed that they were dressed in army uniform.

“Doesn’t mean much here,” He mouthed to no one in particular. The distant rifleman raised his arm and then slowly lowered it to the horizontal. Robin, still around three metres from the doorway, took the hint, laid his rifle down and lay flat on his stomach. Looking along the street, two guys approached, one either side of the road, hugging the wall side of the pavement while covering the building above their colleague on the opposite side. Soldiers, He thought.  Robin lowered his head and awaited his fate. They covered the distance to him in no time. He heard his rifle being pushed a little further away as he was roughly lifted to his feet and pushed against the wall. His legs were kicked open and the man behind him searched him up and down for concealed weapons.

 “He’s clean,” Robin heard the searcher say in English, but knew it was not a local accent.

“Who the fuck are you?” the other soldier said in an aggressive tone.

“First Seaman Robin Van De Veen.” He replied, and then, “I am from the Evertsen. We were ambushed last night. I am here with a wounded colleague.”

Neither man answered him, but one of them spoke into his radio. “We have found one of the Cloggies, Sarge”.

“Two of our strays have turned up back at the port,” the Bushmaster radio operator reported.

 “Roger that,” Peter replied. Thankfully, two of the Dutchmen were safe, although one was injured. The rescued men were reportedly on their way back to the vessel.

Still, eight to find, though, he reminded himself. At least he now knew the others had proceeded on foot and so could not have got too far. Yet, this also meant they could be behind any door between here and the UN. The Dutch had been on a rescue mission for their Captain, but as they headed out, unknown to the rescuers, their target arrived back by another route. The captain was safely aboard while his rescuers were now lost.

While Peter received the radio message and processed his options, the Aussie armoured vehicle slowly turned into 8^th Avenue. On another day, the place would have been crowded with shoppers and tourists alike, but today, few people brave the streets.

The now looted shop windows were blackened mouths with razor teeth, waiting to consume the unwary. As the vehicle passed, Peter noticed the odd head bob out to look before quickly ducking back inside. The lawbreakers would’ve faced strict discipline if they’d encountered the authorities. Luckily for the ran sackers, Peter and his squad had other business and no mandate to intervene. Thinking about it, he had no authority to be here at all. The promised US Forces had yet to materialise. If any did, they were as likely to attack as to help.

He gave thanks that the slow trip to 42nd was largely uneventful, but as the truck turned into the street, they found a scene from Armageddon. It looked as if there had been a running battle. Buildings on either side of the road lay in ruins. Many were burnt out, a couple completely so, but most were only damaged up to floor five or six. He guessed the residents of the lower floors were gone, dead or maybe visiting upstairs. In places, the conflict continued unabated, and Shots still rang out sporadically as each apartment building seemed to fight their neighbours. They were like massive, vertical battleships that fought over a concrete sea.

Regarded as a nice part of the city, Peter wondered what must be going on in the dodgier areas. “Carnage” He mouthed.

 “Take us back up 8^{th Avenue},” he told the driver. “Find a quieter street and then take it along to 2^nd. I’m not prepared to fight my way to the UN building if I can avoid it.

After checking the adjacent streets, the driver shouted that 45^th looked the best bet. Peter agreed before telling him to put his foot down. They cruised with only the familiar ring of bullets regularly hitting the vehicle. It seemed that New Yorkers had fallen back in love with their guns. Manhattan had one of the lower figures for gun ownership before this crisis, but now everyone appeared to have one and seemed prepared to shoot at almost anything. He wondered how this city would ever function again unless the guns could be removed. With another little prayer, he hoped London had not gone the same way. America’s problems seemed to be opening wounds all around the world. At least, that was the sobering news in this morning’s briefing.

 “Stop!” one of the marines shouted. His view was out of the right side of the vehicle. They were passing 3^rd Avenue at the time. “Go back,” he shouted to the driver, who promptly engaged reverse and took the truck back to the junction. “Look!” said the marine. Peter moved to the side view slot.

Propped against a shop window was a figure in army fatigues. A dried bloodstream leading to the gutter didn’t bode well for his chances. Shaking his head, the driver turned the vehicle onto the avenue and drew up alongside the body.  From the victim’s uniform, they could tell that he was clearly one of the missing squad.  In the immediate area, no gun or helmet could be seen. The assailant had probably taken them, or perhaps they’d become treasure trove for one of the many looters.

 “I don’t think there is anything we can do for him now, sir,” One of the squad said.

Peter reasoned his colleagues wouldn’t have departed had the man still been alive. Anyway, getting out of the vehicle would likely lead to joining the Dutchman, dead on the sidewalk, rather than any succour that could now be provided.

“Take us down to 44^th,” Peter said to the driver, and the vehicle pulled back into the centre of the empty New York Street. A loud clang sounded as they came under heavier fire before even being fully round the next corner. Ramming the gearbox into reverse, the driver backed into 3^rd Avenue instinctively.

 “Did anyone see what was targeting us?” Peter asked.

One of the soldiers looking out of the left side said, “There are vehicles and a group of men down 44^th, around the UN building.”

Peter swivelled to the radio man. “Any chatter from them that might tell us who they are?”

Shaking his head, the radio man said, “Nothing yet, Sir. I will keep trying”.

The Bushmaster was a great defensive vehicle. It could withstand all the small arms fire that these crazy bastard New Yorkers could send their way. It could withstand a lot of heavier stuff, too. The men inside were also very capable of firing back. In normal circumstances, they could give as good as they got, but NYC was different. The vehicle roof needed to be opened to operate the heavy machine gun, and doing so would expose them to the gun-happy residents in tower blocks on either side of the road.

 Peter donned the radio headset. He wasn’t going to order anyone to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. Moving behind the driver, he got up on the firing platform and opened the roof. The hatch itself formed an armoured shield behind his head, and there were screens on the other three sides, but looking up, his head felt exposed.

“Pull forward,” He instructed the driver. As the vehicle turned the corner for the second time, shots immediately came from the guys down by the UN building. Peter, not wanting to make the situation worse, fired the heavy machine gun over their heads.

After only a second, when his assailants ducked down, their firing resumed, and he realised a stronger show was needed. Down near their position, a bus lay on its side. It looked like they had been blocking one of the other streets. Peter targeted the bus and fired. The machine gun ripped through the civilian vehicle, leaving little but an engine and steel frame intact. A lull ensued; he had their attention.

 “Try radioing them and identify ourselves,” he called. Messages went back and forth before the radio operator talked to him.

 “They are a National Guard unit, sir,” the operator said. “Someone called General McCluskey has ordered them to secure the UN building, but they are facing resistance from the security forces inside.  The guy in charge, Major Steinberg, says we will be treated as hostile if we come any closer.”

“Did you tell him why we are here?” Peter asked.

“Yes, but the major repeated his message in more fruity language, Sir,” was the reply.

Peter thought for a second. “Ask the major if we can meet. Tell him if he is still bothered thereafter, we will leave the area immediately.” More radio traffic ensued before the operator said, “We have five minutes.”

Some type of jeep moved up the street. Peter’s driver pulled slowly along the road until the two vehicles were side by side. Peter left the roof-mounted gun and sat on the seat to the driver’s left. The window was lowered slightly, and the other vehicle did likewise.

“Major Aubrey Steinberg, NYC guard. What the fuck are you doing on my street?” Came through the lowered window.

 Pronouncing his rank in the American fashion, Peter identified himself and brought the man up to speed with their predicament.

 “I haven’t encountered any Dutchmen around here,” Steinberg said. “You need to go back to your vessel and get off these streets. I have orders to shoot anyone that does not obey the curfew. That includes Limeys, Dutchmen, or any other sailor homos we find.”

The futility of further parley was obvious. He would get nothing but abuse from this ignorant man. “Okay, thanks for your help, Major,” He answered in his politest voice. “If you come across them, would you shout on the radio please?” But he hadn’t finished, and the other vehicle was already reversing away.

Peter asked the driver to reverse back into 3^rd Avenue while considering options. From the back of the vehicle, the unmistakable voice of Tomkins, the company joker, came in faux BBC English,

 “What a frightfully unpleasant gentleman, don’t you think?” Peter laughed. The British penchant for understatement was alive and well.

 “Sir!” was the shout from the radio man. “You have to hear this.” He pressed a button, and the radio went to speaker. …

”… Understood, Hawk 1 heading into acquire target now, over.” Before Peter could ask, the radio man said, “I think he may have called in an air strike on us.” All eyes in the van immediately started scanning what little of the sky that could be seen from their positions.

“Get us out of here,” Peter cried.

Sergeant Sharon Douglas kept watch from her post on the New York Expressway. Things had been quiet since she spotted the Dutch Sailor about an hour ago. People were scouring the entire city, and yet two of the missing men were a couple of doors down the street all along.

Something felt wrong about this mission. Maybe it was because she viewed New York as something akin to an adult-friendly Disneyland. People came here for fun, not to fight. She wondered about the fate of the tens of thousands of tourists that the conflict must have trapped.

Training kept her mind alert, even while pontificating an unlucky holidaymaker’s lot. “Movement,” she called into her radio. “Three aircraft heading down the river, fairly low.” Eyes and weapons switched to the river and followed the three helicopters that flew at about five hundred metres.

All of a sudden, the radio was filled with the agitated chatter of disembodied voices. “They’re heading Southwest, about 100kph,” … “Over my position now” … “Patrol believes they have called in an air strike,” “I have them targeted, sir.” ,

Sharon watched two of the Apache helicopters turn and head over New Jersey while the third banked and came right toward her.

“No response to hails.” The coms between her colleagues continued. She found the helicopter in the sight of her rifle but knew it would take a miracle shot to do any damage to a moving target like this. Anyway, no one knew if the thing was hostile, it had American markings, after all. Being dark green, it was probably an army bird.

It went right over her head and disappeared over the buildings on the other side of the road. Seconds later, she heard the unmistakable sound of a missile launch. Scanning her surroundings, she knew nothing was coming her way. The radio voices resumed.

 “Sir, we have lost contact with the patrol,”

 “Anyone got eyes on them?”

 “Negative.” Sharon answered as did all other groups.

About twenty seconds of silence ensued and then, “Evans, Douglas, Corbyn, Mathers, get your squads back to the boats and set sail,” Came the group leader’s call.

“We are not going to leave them, sir?” said Sharon.

“You have your orders, sergeant,” was all the reply that she got.

Still angry at the order to pull out while colleagues were missing, Sharon held fast until her squad were in cover between her and the boats. They then covered her until she was quayside, and the process continued until everyone was safely back aboard. The two recovered Dutchmen were on Sharon’s boat. One was injured, but she could see no external wounds on the man.

Her eyes were on the city side of the riverbank while others watched the Jersey shore. The boat zipped over the choppy waves, and that familiar salty taste lay on her lips. Her mind turned back to the guys that were out on patrol. She feared the worst for them, but she really hoped that they got out of there. None were close friends, although she knew them all to varying degrees. The Lieutenant seemed like a nice enough guy.

Buffalo, Sunday 16^th February 2025

Sighing, Maria ended the call. Today was Gabriella’s birthday, and Maria was delighted that there was a cell service that allowed her to call her daughter. She looked at the flashing one-bar signal and decided to postpone dialling her husband, Karl, until later.

She knew things were bad back in the city now, but at least the block residents had teamed together to keep each other safe, so she felt a bit easier for Karl. Despite her pleading, he wouldn’t come out here with her. Although she disagreed with his decision at the time, she was glad someone was looking after the apartment, and in moments of honesty with herself, she felt that she needed a break from him. She loved Karl. He was a good provider and a good father. They hardly ever had a cross word between them. It was just…

Oh my god, you are such a selfish bitch. Maria chided herself. You have a good life; why do you always want more?

The self-criticism was unduly harsh, but the undeniable fact was that she did want more. She yearned to go places, see things, and meet people. Unfortunately, Karl didn’t want any of those. His world ended at beer, sports, Georg, and that fucking car. If Karl spent as much time playing with Maria as he and Georg had spent on that car, she wouldn’t have been having this conversation with herself.

Reality nudged back into her thoughts as she saw her niece, nephew and Sister playing by the lakeside. Maria loved that Connie had a younger family. Her own kids were up and away, thankfully, safe out of the city during this current madness, but Maria didn’t see enough of them. Being Auntie to Connie’s kids was a good second-best. She loved being Aunt Maria. Upholding custom, she taught both how to swear, although with them living with Connie, Maria was surprised that Fuck hadn’t been her offspring’s first word.

That being said, Connie was different when around husband Ben and the kids. Whilst in their company, she almost never swore, playing the dutiful soccer mom and loving wife. The moment that Connie stepped away from the blissful family life, she reverted to being the ‘evil twin’ that Maria remembered. Okay, evil was a stretch, but the two personas were polar opposites.

it was Ben who gave her the name Connie. Maria always knew her sister as Consquella. When away from her family, Consquella returned to being cheeky (others said downright rude) and mischievous. Maria came to see Connie and Consquella in the same light as Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

In some fashion, Maria envied Consquella’s free approach to the world. Ben was never going to be enough for her, and so she conducted another life in the city that filled the gaps. Refreshed, Consquella became Connie again on returning to Buffalo. Everyone seemed blissful in their ignorance.

“I couldn’t do that to Karl, though”, said Maria before remembering that she already had. Her illicit downfall, Jon, lurked in her thoughts more than ever now.  She silently prayed for his safety and added one for Karl and the kids, just in case god was listening. He really didn’t seem to be listening too often these days.

Connie made her way over to where Maria sat, pondering. Maria could see Connie’s face morph into Consquella’s as her Sis drew close. I need her to teach me that, she thought.

“Hey Sis, whatcha doing?” Consquella asked.

 “Just relaxing and watching. You are fabulous with the kids. I so miss mine,” Maria said.

“You can have one of ours,” said a shrugging Consquella. “Hell, take them both.” She laughed. Yes, this was Consquella speaking. Maria wondered where Connie went when Mr Hyde was in charge. Probably sitting back reading Cosmopolitan until it was time to take the reins back.

Consquella pointed over the weathered picnic table. “You seemed lost in your thoughts.”

 “I was thinking about Jon,” Maria said while wishing she could lie to her sister. Life would be so much easier. “I hope he is safe with all this trouble going on.”

 A strange expression floated over Consquella’s face, and there was a notable pause before she said anything more. “Err, I am sure he is fine.”

Maria stared back hard. Unfortunately, her sister didn’t suffer from the inability to lie to her sibling. There was more to this story. “I can read you like a book,” said Maria.” What are you not telling me?”

“It’s better that you don’t know,” said her sister, breaking eye contact to look over her shoulder and check on the kids as they continued playing beside the water’s edge.

 “Tell me,” Maria said, loud enough for the kids to turn and look. She waved to them and smiled before moving closer to her sister and whispering, “Tell me.” Consquella rose from the bench and turned her back.

Maria’s jaw dropped when Consquella mumbled into the wind, “He was fine the last time we spoke.”

Maria put a hand on her sister’s shoulder and swivelled her back so their eyes met again. “You are in touch with Jon? she stammered in disbelief.

 They both sat back down. Consquella took her hand. “Remember when the three of us met? Well, when he went to the bar, I used his phone to call my own. I then saved his number. I checked into him on Google, and after I left the two of you, I texted to tell him to look after you.”

 “God, I remember that.” Maria’s face flushed.

 “Well, a couple of days after your… meeting, he texted me asking after you,” Consquella explained.

 “And you never thought to tell me?” Maria clenched both fists and shook them. Sometimes, Consquella was maddening.

 “Would it have helped you?” her sister said, pointing with a now chipped but once beautifully manicured nail.

First staring at her sister angrily, Maria relented, then lowered her gaze. “No.” She dug the toe of her shoe into the soft grass. “But you should have let me know.”

 “Maybe,” Consquella conceded. “He wanted to get in touch. How would that have played out?” She held up a hand to show she didn’t expect an answer before going on,. “When I wouldn’t give him your number, he called. Long story short, we have kept in touch every so often.” Consquella broke eye contact and looked over at the kids once more.

“Tell me you haven’t?” Maria didn’t need to finish the question.

 Consquella spun back quickly, “God no!” she shook her head, “I would never…… I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“When did you last hear from him? How is he? What did you tell him about me?” Maria launched into a tirade.

 “Woooaah there, sis.” Consquella mimicked pulling a horse up. “One at a time. “Okay, I heard from him three, maybe four weeks ago. His ship sailed into Norfolk, and he was talking about coming up to town to get a break.”

 “And what did you tell him about me?” Maria realised that she was acting like a love-sick kid.

“Well, he still thinks you are called Anne. I told him you were in a relationship, but the guy was a prick and didn’t deserve you. He keeps asking after you. He is in love,” Consquella said and laughed.

 Maria pictured Jon lying on the hotel bed. That night had been everything she wanted… and needed, but it was also more. He’d made her laugh like she hadn’t done in years. After the initial passion of the moment, the two lay together and talked like old friends, like old lovers even. Among a thousand other things he wanted to know about her, Jon asked what she wanted most in the world. With a mischievous smile, she’d said ice cream. Without another word, he got up, dressed, went down the street, and returned with a tub from an all-night store. She hadn’t specified a flavour, but he produced Rocky Road, her favourite. She showed her gratitude… more than once. After that, the two lay in blissful unconsciousness.

The memory gave Maria a warm glow before Consquella’s words fully sunk in. “Karl isn’t a prick.”

NYC, Monday 17^{th February 2025}

Under a pale, betraying moon, Lieutenant Peter Edwards ran faster than he had before as randomly sprayed machine gun bullets ripped into the cinder-coated car lot behind him. Where the shooter was, he didn’t know. Why they shot at him was another mystery, but all over New York, people seemed to be shooting at each other for no good reason. On reaching the shelter of a low wall, he ducked down in the gap between it and a battered and burnt-out dumpster. A cloud, or maybe smoke, drew across the moon and returned the area to the bliss of darkness. He sat there, straining to get oxygen back into his lungs.

Since coming round and finding himself lying next to the destroyed Bushmaster, Peter had spent the next four hours dodging bullets. As far as he knew, he was the sole survivor of the helicopter missile attack. On waking, the many bodies of his squad lay around him in the blackened carcass of the armoured vehicle, but hearing potshots ring off the burnt metal chassis, Peter hadn’t waited around to count the dead. He intended to head for Battery Point and see if a vessel could be borrowed or stolen to make his way back to the carrier.

The buildings that now surrounded him were a mess. Not one had escaped at least some destruction. A few to the North were raging conflagrations.

“Jesus, this went downhill fast,” he whispered.  The battered buildings that loomed over his hiding position stood like tombstones under the starlit dome. Guns chattered, glass broke, and like some hell-bound soundscape, people screamed both far and near.

Easing out of his pungent refuge while trying his best to stay low, he nervously skulked to the next corner. To the left, a small grassy area was edged by high railings. In the smoke laden dark of this city in turmoil, the fence could only be made out in the silhouette of the burning eight-story building behind. Using the cover of some bushes, he went across to the rail and saw a sign for Worth Street through them. Even with his limited geographical knowledge of the city, Peter knew the named streets were mostly near the island’s South. Thankfully, it appeared that he was heading in the correct direction.

The burning sandstone building opposite was probably a department store. It looked like it had been ablaze a while, and the heat from the fire was now more pleasant than dangerous. Reaching up, he pulled himself atop and then over the shiny black bars that made up the fence, only to feel them move as he dropped. He had just scaled a gate that now swung open.

About a mile East from where he now stood, rose a tall building with the top few floors in flames. Like a beckoning five-hundred foot match, Peter headed toward it, only to come across Broadway before travelling half way.

“Broadway leads most of the way South,” he said, congratulating himself for the local knowledge.

This road could take him most of the way to the Battery. The problem was that the Southbound artery appeared to be walled by flame as far along as he could make out. While the light would be helpful, he’d stand out as a target for the now copious New York sniper brigade.

Intermittently, Peter could also see people running out of a side street or building and either shooting or being shot at. No, it looked as if he would have to continue his zig-zag path South. He could take the first block on Broadway though. The two buildings to his left were fiercely ablaze, so it appeared that nobody was about here. Sticking as hard to the buildings on the right, Peter headed South as quickly as his stooped and still battered frame could manage. A short distance ahead, he saw what looked like a church spire loom high above the right of the street. He’d chance one more block to reach the universal place of refuge. It was a risk; it would mean crossing the intersection that was well-illuminated by multiple fires. Generally, darkness reigned halfway up a side street and this was his normal traversing place, but the draw of somewhere safe to sit and rest was too compelling. Quickly scanning right and left, he inhaled deeply, then raised to his full height and ran. A couple of feet behind, bullets ricocheted from concrete, but the partial safety of the opposite sidewalk was gained uninjured. Breathless, Peter ducked into a store doorway and sank to the cold tiled ground. Opposite was a small, tree bordered park. Should any gun-toting local be there, he was an open target, but for now, his legs, nor his lungs would allow the journey to continue. No shot sounded, and he relaxed as much as anyone could tonight, in the Big Apocalypse.

As his heavy breathing began to subside, Peter pressed his weight against the wooden door behind him to help him stand. All at once, the door clicked, and instead of rising, falling backward, he slid into the now open shop. Another click sounded, and, out of the darkness, a rifle butt pressed against his nose.

“Don’t move, buddy.”

Buffalo. Monday 17^th February 2025

The gentle lapping of the waves, the warming post-winter sun, and the morning’s burgeoning birdcalls should all have calmed Maria, but for some unknown reason, they unsettled her.

 “I think I need to head home.”

 Life was somehow too simple out here. Sure, Buffalo now had its share of black outs and the inevitable rioting and looting, but right at this moment, with Consquella, Ben and the kids, 5 miles outside the city, most things seemed pretty normal. That was not the case back home. The little news that reached them was bad. The Rockefeller Centre had been burned to the ground, and latest reports said that Fighting spread across New York.

“Why would you put yourself in that danger?” asked Connie.

She didn’t immediately reply, but Maria’s red rimmed eyes scanned the tree-lined hills just over the lake from the house. It was a scene of serene beauty. One that, on any other day, would have calmed her soul. But not today.

“When Karl and I agreed that I should get out of the city for safety, we thought it would be for a few days. He’s my husband. I should be with him,” Maria said.

Connie shook her head and pleaded with her sister, “The troubles in New York are worse now than when you left. It is madness to go back there. Karl should come here. Try calling him again.”

 They sat together outside the wooden family home. Even though it was still February, the recent days had warmed unseasonally, but today, with the house shading the early morning sun, a cool breeze came off the lake at the end of the garden. Maria pulled her cardigan closed and looked over her sister’s shoulder at Ben and the kids, who were skimming stones from the end of the small, slatted jetty. It may be madness to leave this suburban bliss for the war-torn city, but she loved Karl and still felt a duty to be by his side. The crack of a rifle shot in the distance woke her from reverie.

Pointing in the general direction of the echoing shot, Maria said, “It’s not safe anywhere now.” Her curly brown hair blew into her eyes, and she pushed it back with a finger stroke. Connie’s longer but almost identically styled hair sat unmoving. Connie is so much better at life than me, Maria thought. She handles all this turmoil as if it were normal. She’s fine with her dalliances away from Ben, she loses no sleep over her tenuous links with the truth, and damn it, now she has even figured a way to hold her hairstyle in a gale. Maria realised she was exaggerating, but the basics were true. She lived in awe of her little sister.

Consquella, of course, felt much the same way about her big sister. Maria maintained the beacon that kept her stupid little sister off the rocks. If not for her grounded sis, Consquella believed that she would be lying in a gutter somewhere, a bottle of vodka in hand and no idea where she had been for the last week. Briefly, a resentment rose, but she knew her magnetic attraction to that sort of life needed to be tempered. Maria was always the one to bring her back to reality and save Consquella from herself.

Connie watched her sister brush the hair back out of her eyes. There was torment on Maria’s face. Being hopelessly bound to Karl, the only time she’d… strayed was largely at Consquella’s instigation, but she didn’t feel any guilt. Maria deserved more than a man who would jump into bed with his fifteen-year-old sister-in-law while his wife lay in hospital, having their first child.

Would it help to confess all to Maria? Could the sordid revelation break the bond her sister had with the despicable cheat? Connie lowered her eyes to the grass blowing in the breeze around their feet. Truth was, There were none of them innocents. The night with Jon was meant to punish Karl for his deed many years before. Yet, in pushing them together, had Consquella inadvertently compromised the last honest person she knew?

 Is it me that’s the problem? Connie was, after all, the common denominator. She didn’t know if Karl had ever strayed again, but who the hell knew what went on with those hunting trips?

 She would never tell her sister about the time with Karl. That wasn’t to protect him, nor even to protect Maria. Consquella could never lose her sister. Ben, the kids, and house would follow. Consquella would do almost anything for her sister. Just not be honest.

“If you are going to New York, then I am coming with you sis,” she said finally.

Buffalo. Tuesday 18th February 2025

Maria tried her phone one last time. There appeared to be a signal, but she got no answer from Karl. It didn’t even ring. She had Connie and Ben try the number and dial anyone else they knew in New York, but nothing. None of them could get an answer from anyone. Reluctantly giving the attempts at communication up, she put the food box into the car trunk. Connie stood behind her, kissing and saying farewell to Ben and the kids. No matter how much they pleaded with her not to go, no one was changing Connie’s mind once it was made up.

“If you’re going, I’m going,” Was all she repeated last night and again this morning. The kids were crying. They didn’t really know what was happening, but they knew it wasn’t good. Ben took them into the house, and Connie turned to Maria.

“Let’s roll sis,” she said. Connie wore one of Ben’s check shirts, a pair of jeans, boots, and a baseball hat. Maria laughed a little, she had never seen her sister like this. Connie was one of those people that looked a million dollars, even dressed casually. Maria admitted that she cut a fine image herself, but she always seemed to have to work hard to get there. Connie put on a sweatsuit and looked like the Queen of Sheba.

Handing a baseball cap to Maria, Connie said, “There you go, sis. We are a normal couple of fellas out for a road trip.” It’d been Ben’s idea to try and hide the fact that the car contained two lone women. With it being the best part of five hundred miles from Buffalo to New York, who knew what trouble lay between?

“You can drive first shift,” said Connie, who headed for the passenger door. Maria watched her stoic sister look long and hard at the house before ducking down into the seat.

About to get into the driver’s side, Maria noticed the kids waving from the window. She smiled, waved, and blew two kisses. They did so back. It wrenched her heartstrings, nearly causing her to give up this crazy idea. Every fibre in her body wanted to run back inside and hug them. A guilty tear rolled down her cheek as the house door opened. Ben descended the five stairs from the porch and jogged along the pink gravel path.

 “Hold,” he cried. “Take these.” He carried a rifle and a pistol. He stopped in front of Maria, holding the guns out. She didn’t move.

“I don’t even know how to work a gun,” Maria said, shaking her head.

 “Connie will show you,” Ben replied.

“Ben, thanks, but we are more likely to kill ourselves with those than be saved by them. Anyway, I couldn’t shoot anyone,” Maria said, taking a step back as if the guns were contagious.

 His face hardened as he pointed to the car. “Maria, I love you, but the woman over there is my world. If someone threatens her, you will fucking well shoot them, or I will be coming for you.”

He moved past her, opened the rear door, and put the guns on the back seat. Lingering for only a second, he said, “Love you, come back to me,” and blew a kiss to Connie. Before she could say anything in return, he was gone, up the path and into the house.

 Maria stood dumbfounded. In all these years, she had never heard Ben swear. Didn’t even know he owned a gun. She hated guns, but a new respect for her brother-in-law blossomed inside her.  His face appeared at the window, between the kids.

“I will bring her home, Ben. I promise.” She mouthed.

Maria started the engine. She looked at her sister and said, “ready?” Connie sat, face covered in tears, sobbing uncontrollably. About to ask her what was up, Maria instead sighed. She didn’t need to know the answer. Her attention went to the road ahead. She pressed the accelerator.

This trip was one she’d made a hundred times before, but today, Maria decided to take another route and avoid as many built-up areas as possible. News on the radio said that some towns and cities were operating curfews, but which and when, they wouldn’t know until they got there, so best to avoid them all. She drove South until they picked up the Interstate, then started heading West. They were 45 minutes into the journey before Connie uttered a word.

 “I don’t deserve him.” Maria didn’t respond. The early morning sun crept low over the horizon, so she fumbled in the cluttered door compartment and put her shades on. They helped against the light flashing between buildings and trees, but they also prevented Connie seeing the conflict in her sister’s eyes. “I guess you agree,” Connie added and looked at the side of her sister’s head. “Say something sis,” Connie pleaded.

 “He worships the ground you walk on. He has everything he ever wanted in life. He’s happy. Doesn’t he deserve that?” Maria never took her eyes off the road. It would have been easier to tell Connie she did deserve Ben, but that was a judgment beyond Maria’s comprehension. Maria couldn’t lie to Connie, and at least this answer was true.

 “I hate you,” said Connie, but she chuckled a little.

 “Hey!” Said Maria. “What did I do?” Feigning indignance.

 “You always know the right answer,” said Connie now looking at Maria with genuine awe.

 Maria laughed, “Your life is simple. Please don’t ask me any questions about my own. I may shatter your new respect.”

“There is nothing new about my respect for you,” said Connie in all seriousness. The two sisters returned to silence as they drove. That in itself was unusual. In all the years they were together, there had been few pauses in communication.

Maria smirked, thinking back on the fights, the younger girls tearing lumps of hair out of each other. The moments of comfort, when one or either sister had been dumped or mistreated by a boy, and by the terrible times when she was apart from her sister, as mum and dad moved around for work. Yet she realised that, even while sitting on top of her baby sister, scratching at each other, she had never once stopped loving Consquella.

It was as if her sister had read her thoughts: “I love you too,” Connie said, reaching over and taking Maria’s hand.

“Oh hell,” said Connie, pointing over her shoulder  a while later.

 “What is it?” Maria asked.

 “We should have taken the I90 back there. This one will take us through Rochester.”

“It will be fine,” said Maria, waving away any concern. “No matter which way we head, we will hit the suburbs of New York soon.”

 Connie smiled in resignation and closed the map. “There is a rest stop in 2 miles. Can we stop please?”

“Sure,” said Maria.

The car slowed as they drove up the off-ramp. Both its edgy inhabitants scanned the area for any potential trouble.  The service area shops were all closed. Well, as closed as shops with no windows or doors could be. The site had been looted.

“What is it with this country?” Maria shook her head and pointed out at the destruction.

“What do you mean?” Connie asked.

“The lights go out, and the first thing anyone thinks about is which shop they will trash and rob,” Maria said. “It’s not as if most of us would perish if we missed a meal or two.” She patted her stomach.

“True,” said Connie, “Especially a meal of slushies.” She indicated toward a sign for the iced water on the wall of the shop, but the machine was gone. The two of them laughed at the thought of a family at home with their own slushie machine, but no power.

“Warm coloured water for tea again tonight, dear?” said Connie in a mock man’s voice, and then laughed again.

After Maria pulled the car into a space, Connie got out and opened the rear door. Collecting the guns from the rear seat, she said, “Come.”

 “We won’t need those,” said Maria. “There is no one around.”

“I’m going to teach you to shoot,” said Connie. Shaking her head, Maria followed her gun-toting sister around the back of the shopping area. At the rear lay an overgrown field that separated the rest area from the Interstate. Connie searched around and found an empty Coke can. She set it on a low wall behind the toilets. They had also been trashed for some reason. She walked twenty paces back. Maria came up beside her. Connie cracked open the pistol and said,

“Right.” Expertly, she slipped bullets into the chamber.” This is the safety.” Connie pointed to a small lever on the side of the grip. “Slide it forward, point and shoot.” She handed the gun to Maria.

“You expect me to fire this?” Maria held up the pistol.

“Woah there,” said Connie, ducking. “Never point that at anyone you don’t intend to hurt.” Maria lowered the pistol.

 “Sorry, But I can’t shoot anyone,” she said.

Connie looked her in the eye.  “Maria, if someone comes at you or I in the next few hours, that gun is going to be the difference between life and death for us.” Maria was ready with the statistic that most Americans were shot with their own gun, and so, had they not Carried one, they wouldn’t have been shot. She decided now wasn’t the time. Sighing, a look of resignation crossed her face.

Connie pointed to the wall. “Now shoot the can.”

 Maria took a step away from her sister. She raised the gun and pointed. She had watched enough cop dramas to take a deep breath, hold it and squeeze softly. Sweat formed on her trigger finger as if her body were doing everything possible to make this harder. Slowly, she squeezed and held her breath…….. CLICK! Maria’s brow furrowed.

“The safety,” Connie said, smirking.

 Maria blushed while fumbling with the lever until it moved. Her hands shook, and she heard crows in a nearby tree cackling at her efforts. With trepidation, she began the process again.

“You realise the guy has killed and eaten us both by now.” Connie laughed.

“No, sis, he is choking on your wit, I still have time,” Maria replied and pulled the trigger. …..BANG! The targeted can flew high into the air, and a divot appeared in the shop’s rear wall.

“Fucking hell!” said Connie.

 “What?” asked Maria.

“You shop the can,” Connie said with amazement.

 “You told me to.” Maria shrugged.

“Yes, but I didn’t think you would hit the wall, let alone the can. That was some shooting, sis.”

 A smile broke out on Maria’s face, and it pleased her that she had also scared the shit out of the mocking crows that now scattered in all directions. Connie had a few goes with the rifle and hit the can once. Maria repeated her feet twice more out of the magazine of six bullets.

When the practice was over, Connie reloaded the guns, and they headed back to the car. “We are a couple of mean banditos,” said Connie.

“Shouldn’t it be Banditas?” Maria said.

 “Really? Grammar lessons, sis? You know I have a gun in my hand,” Connie chuckled.

“Yeah, but you can’t shoot for shit,” Maria giggled as she ducked out of range of Connie’s back hand swipe.

 Back in the car, Connie stowed the rifle under the driver’s seat. She would take driving over a while. The younger sister grinned as Maria slid the gun into the waistband of her jeans.

“I like the new bad-ass Maria,” she said. Maria smiled and jumped in the passenger seat.

About half an hour on from the rest area, Connie braked and slowed the car to a halt on the side of the interstate. There were cars blocking the road ahead. The girls hadn’t seen more than twenty other vehicles since their last stop. All have been on the other carriageway, heading West.

“What do we do?” Connie asked.

“I don’t know,” Maria replied. From where they pulled over, no one was to be seen at the blockage, but that didn’t mean much.

“It could be an accident,” Connie offered, though it didn’t look like any of the vehicles were damaged.

The warming sun hung directly overhead now, and Maria guessed it was close to midday. The clock in the car said 3.10pm, but she had never figured out how to change it, so it wasn’t right. On the very few occasions that Karl got in her car, it bugged him that Maria wouldn’t let him fix it. “It’ll be right if we go to California,” she would tell him as steam shot from his mansplaining ears.

Exhaling through closed teeth, she saw a tree line atop the bank at the roadside.

 “Come,” Maria said, opening the door. She crouched down and ran up the grassy slope. Connie followed. Reaching the tree line, they were more like bushes, Maria led the way along and toward the roadblock.

A car sat, stopped in front of the barricade. Ominously, the engine was running, and the front doors stood open. It was empty. After checking the area for the inhabitants, the sisters Carried on until they were adjacent to the roadblock. Maria moved to the edge of the tree line and pulled the prickly shrubbery open. From down on the highway, there came stifled yells and muffled screams. Around the disturbance, three men stood watching a fourth that struggled with something. They laughed at his toil. He shouted at them to assist, but this only increased their laughter. None made a move to help. Two of the watching men wore highway patrol uniforms.

“Stay low, stay quiet. Move up another twenty yards,” Maria whispered to Connie. Connie had the rifle over her shoulder but unslung it and slid off the safety. Maria moved slowly forward. Now directly above the men that stood in the middle of the carriageway, she again parted the bushes. “Oh no,” she said.

Connie got into position and looked for herself. “Shit.”.

 From an overhead road sign, two ropes hung. At the end of the first was a young man in an ill fitting suit. Round his neck, a noose hung loosely. He stood precariously on what looked like a camp chair, constantly wriggling his feet to stay balanced. The second noose hung empty over another chair, and one of the assailants fought with a woman, seemingly to get her up off the ground and onto it. His three accomplices thought it more entertaining to watch instead of helping.

“Come on, you bastards, help me get this bitch in the noose,” the struggling man shouted. The woman fought him and tried to scream for help, but he covered her mouth with a hand. His pleas were ignored, and losing interest in the contest, the other three turned their attention to the suited man on the chair. They collected pebbles and roadside debris. A small rock was thrown and hit the man on the chest. He wobbled but just managed to retain balance.  The inevitable outcome of this situation was obvious to Connie. She first put a hand over her eyes, but perversely drawn to the tragedy about to unfold in front of her, she opened a slit in her fingers.

The fight between the fourth man and the woman continued. He stood and lifted her onto his shoulder, but her wriggling made him fall back. Seemingly hurt, both lay writhing on the tarmac.

Ashamed of her morbid voyeurism, Connie relented and let the bushes block her view. “We should get out of here,” she said. “Get back to the car and turn around.” She looked at Maria with terror in her eyes.

 Connie was right, but Maria couldn’t move. Right at this second, she was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. A scream came again from the road.

 “Help me, please, someone.” It was stifled. Something in Maria knew that she had to overcome her terror and act. There was unlikely anyone else within earshot of the poor woman’s cries. She braved another look. With interest renewed in the two flailing on the tarmac, the three bystanders now stood in hysterics. The woman’s forlorn plea was repeated in mock voices.

At the near side of the road, Maria’s darting eyes alighted on a parked truck with what seemed like auto parts in the rear. She turned to Connie.

 “Go back to the car. Stay low, stay quiet. When you get there, drive the car toward the road noisily. Stop about fifty yards out and use the horn. Shout for help.”

 “There is no one around to help,” said Connie. “

“Shoosh sis. Listen. Put the car in reverse, if any of them gets within ten yards of you, reverse out of here.”

“But…” Connie started.

“Consquella. For once in your fucking life, do as I ask,” Maria barked, more to hide her fear.

 Connie’s eyes went wide with shock. Maria continued, now more softly. “Go, sis. Go now.” Connie paused, looking set to protest, but she thought better of it after a few moments of indecision.

She whispered, “Don’t do anything stupid,” before half standing and returning along the tree line. Maria resumed her watch on the poor woman suffering below.

“Help me, someone.”

“I’m coming,” a suddenly stoic Maria said softly as she lowered her body to her hands to stop them from shaking. One of the three spectators returned his interest to the male prisoner. He threw something and struck the victim on the forehead. The hanging man yelled in pain before losing his footing. The camp chair collapsed below him, and he dropped a few inches. The other two spectating men turned, now more interested in the lynching than the assault on the woman. On the end of the rope, the suspended man writhed and fought, but all his efforts only tightened the noose. One of the men in uniform raised a gun to the head of the struggling victim, but another dragged his arm down. He didn’t want the entertainment cut short. Instead, he pulled the victim’s legs down and laughed loudly as he garrotted his captive further.

In horror, Maria looked away. Blood thundered through her veins. She shook and stifled the need to scream. Back up on her haunches, she bit her formerly manicured nails and looked along the highway. It seemed to have taken an eternity for Consquella to return to their car. A wave of relief flowed over her as she finally spied her sister descending the embankment to get into the driver’s seat.

 Maria took a deep breath while clenching a fist in the futile hope of calming the shake that raked her every fibre. After twice checking that the pistol was still in the waistband of her jeans, she pushed through the brush to slowly creep down the hill, hoping the three hangmen remained distracted while she was covered by the truck that sat between her and the woman’s assailant. Though she shook like a leaf, her jelly legs somehow carried her behind the white Dodge pickup as the sound of their car engine approached. The horn sounded, and Connie shouted. Maria couldn’t see the men but had to trust they responded.

The plan was to spirit the woman away while the men were distracted. She’d then retreat along the treeline until she found Connie. Maria popped above the truck and saw the three men walking toward the barricade. Unfortunately, the fourth had chosen to continue the assault. Maria looked down and saw a tyre wrench in the flatbed of the vehicle. Slowly, quietly, her sweat-soaked hand picked it up, and she crept toward the man on top of the struggling woman.

“No, no, no, please don’t.” The victim cried between hyperventilated breaths.

“Stop struggling bitch.  It will do ya no good. You’re going to hang like hubby over there.” He gripped her chin and forced her to look toward the man who hung, now lifeless, nearby. As if he hadn’t degraded and injured her enough, the assailant spat on his victim. Although Maria already hated him and his intentions, she now detested this animal more than anything before in her life. She sucked in a deep breath and cross the last few yards. Finally, only feet behind him, she raised the metal bar high, bringing it down with all the force she could. The pig’s skull split open like an egg, and, after a short delay, gurgling, he toppled sideways to the concrete. The assaulted woman looked up terrified at Maria, but Maria put her fingers to her lips and leant forward.

 “Stay quiet. You will be all right now. Come with me.” She pulled the girl to her feet, put her arm around her and started guiding her up the grassy bank. A shot was fired. Maria turned to see their car windscreen shatter and heard Connie scream. Connie must have floored the car but then lost control, and it swerved backwards into the central barrier, causing a huge crash. The three men laughed and walked slowly toward the stricken vehicle. Without a second’s thought, Maria dropped the girl to the grass and ran. She ran faster than she knew possible. Her sister screamed, and Maria joined in. The three men turned in unison to see a banshee flying their way, wrestling with something behind her back.

 The gun was freed. Without breaking her stride, she slid the safety off and raised it to point at the closest police officer. No deep breath, no slow squeeze, she had no time to think of such. She pulled the trigger. The campaign cover on his head flew off like some bad comedy western, but his knees buckled quickly, as the top of his skull was still inside the hat.

The, now alarmed second man reached for a pocket but died with a bullet through his face before he ever got there.

Now only six feet from the third man, she went to swing her still smoking pistol his way, but he must have been the one who shot the car windshield, as his rifle was already pointed back. Seeing his finger twitch against the trigger, she let her knees buckle before hearing the blast.  She hit the ground painfully, rolling to his feet. He looked down at her with fury in his bloodshot eyes, but before he could act, something caused his legs to give, and he fell on her with all his weight. Nearly crushed, she struggled to push him away. As she did, his rough and sweaty hand closed around her throat. Unable to breathe, Maria started to panic before She saw there was a bullet wound in his shoulder and violently jabbed a finger deep inside. He yelled, jerking his head back in pain. A hand grabbed his hair and pulled. The man fell back, lying on the road, he dropped his gun. Standing over his prone figure was a sweating Consquella, with her rifle now jammed in his face.

 “I surrender,” he said with yellow eyes darting between the sisters. “It wasn’t me that done it.  it was all Sonny’s idea.” The man clasped his hands together as if in prayer.

Maria rubbed her already bruising elbow; it had hit the concrete hard. “Thanks, sis,” she said, now standing and wiping blood from her finger onto her jeans. She looked at the terrified man on the ground and then up at Conni’s hate-filled face. “Connie,” Maria said in warning. “Don’t.”

 “He was going to kill you, sis,” Connie replied. “If I hadn’t winged him, he would be standing over your body now.” The rifle shook in Connie’s hands.

“You can’t kill a man in cold blood,” Maria said. She watched Connie blink rapidly. A battle went on behind her eyes. “I won’t let you do it,” said Maria, walking over to her sister and the man who lay helplessly with jacket open, revealing a Fozzy Bear T-shirt.

“I’m not sure you can stop….” BANG!

Connie never got to finish her sentence as her mouth fell open.

BANG! Maria fired a second shot into the man’s face. He no longer moved. She took the gun from Connie and said, “That’s what big sisters are for.”

When the gunfight was over, Maria slowly walked back round the prone assailants. Connie started when Maria fired another bullet into one that still breathed. She knew her sister wasn’t a killer, but without emotion, Maria said that she wasn’t going to leave any threat behind.

The two of them then cut the hung man down with secateurs found in the pickup. As they dragged him over to the verge, Maria said she recognised him. He was Sergio, he’d been at school with Maria’s daughter, Gabriella. That made him about twenty-one. They assumed he’d been in the car with the assaulted woman, but presumably in shock, she wasn’t saying much for now.

The sisters, being exhausted and worried also that the four assailants may have accomplices nearby, made the decision that they had neither the strength nor the time to bury Sergio, and so soon after, they departed from the gruesome scene.

Maria, the cool killing machine from only ten minutes before, now sat crying and shaking uncontrollably in the passenger seat, while Connie slowly manoeuvred the car up the bank and around the blockade. Their rescuee, Linda, lay in the back seat sobbing quietly. All Connie managed to get out of the woman was her name. She looked maybe in her mid-twenties and, despite her ordeal, showed no major injury.

After Maria helped Linda to the car, she crumbled. Although concerned, Connie was a little relieved. Yes, Maria had saved all their lives, but the woman Connie witnessed out on that road was terrifying.

“Stop the car,” Maria said through tears. They hadn’t driven far, but Connie immediately obeyed and pulled over. Maria got out and walked to a fence that ran along the roadside. Over the fence sat a wind chopped, man-made lake; its indigo hue mirrored the ominous sky above. Connie watched Maria take the pistol and throw it far into the water before leaning forward and clutching the fence. She stood there, unmoving and looked towards the hills on the horizon for some minutes. Finally, her hands fell back to her sides, and she turned and slowly walked back. When she sat, Maria took a tiny perfume bottle out of her pocket and sprayed coconut scent onto her neck. She did the same on one wrist and then rubbed both together. She returned the bottle to her pocket and looked over to Connie with a smile.

“Do you need me to drive?” It was as if none of the last few hours had happened.

“No thanks,” said Connie, beaming. Her sister was back.

The afternoon turned to evening, and a blinding, blood-red sun brushed the hills in the West while it cast the rearview mirror unusable. Their stop-go journey inevitably took longer than normal, but they were now on the city’s outskirts. Linda was finally talking… and talking. After the flood of tears broke her silent dam, a deluge of words began. It had yet to desist.  She lived in Middletown, and the women were heading there. Maria drove. They just looked like three friends out for a day trip.

 Much like Linda’s babbling, Maria was really trying to block the day out. It was the only way she was holding it all together. A memory came to her, and she laughed. Connie looked at her sister, puzzled.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

 “I clean forgot,” said Maria, “it’s my birthday.”

As Maria drove, Linda shouted, “Left here, ” “Next right,” from the back seat, but the salient directions were interspersed with all sorts of general chit-chat, forcing Maria to pay more attention than desired. Connie sat nodding in the passenger seat, feigning interest, but all the while, she was surreptitiously trying to call Ben. Sighing, she gave up. Reception in the city was poor.

 “A hundred yards on the left, and we are there,” Linda said. Maria pulled the car to a stop outside a picture-perfect suburban house, picket fence and all.

“This is me,” said Linda, smiling broadly to be home. “You have to come in a while.” After the turbulent events of the day, alongside the arduous drive through the disrupted highways of America, Maria and Connie were both tired, so they agreed. As they walked up the path, they could smell smoke. Trouble wasn’t far away. Would it ever be again?  It seemed incongruous for Maria to believe that the country had collapsed just because no one could decide who had won an election.

 As Linda and Connie went inside, Maria stood on the porch and looked up and down the street. There was little destruction here, but hardly anyone moved. Three doors down, a small black kid threw a huge basketball at a hoop. He saw Maria looking, stopped, and waved. Maria returned the gesture as Connie’s kids wormed back into her thoughts.

“Love you,” she said to her absent niece and nephew.  The kid down the street resumed his futile attempts at a basket. He wasn’t getting the ball anywhere near high enough. Maria really wanted to go help but thought better of it. People everywhere were jumpy with all that was going down.  Instead, she pulled out her cell phone and looked at the screen. No service. They were less than 10 miles from Gabriella’s house here and probably ten from Karl. It was a real dilemma deciding which way to head.  Before any decision was arrived at, Maria heard giggling from inside, and she turned and went through the door. Connie and Linda stood with an apple pie on the table in front. It had a candle lit on top. They broke out into Happy Birthday. Maria burst into tears.

“Please stay the night,” said Linda. It was beginning to get dark outside. Maria looked at Connie. They nodded in unison.

“We would love to,” said Maria. Linda smiled and said:

 “I don’t want you heading in there in the dark. The untensing of her frame and spreading smile told Maria that Linda also didn’t want to be alone.

A couple of hours later, and the apple pie tray lay empty except for crumbs. Connie sat, legs crossed, next to the table, licking her fingers, then mopping up each one before depositing them in her mouth.  The conversation ranged from the situation in the world to the TV series they were missing. None of the three mentioned the events of the day. Linda hadn’t even spoken Sergio’s name.

Maria didn’t know if they were married, but the evidence said no. Now having looked around the house, there was no obvious sign of male occupation. Everything was where it was meant to be. No clutter, no Xbox, no music collection, no football memorabilia. No, this was a female’s lair. The wooden floors, woodwork and skirting aside, everything in the house was white. Walls, roof, furnishings, and drapes. White. Linda was dressed head to toe in white. Yes, there was blood on her trousers, but Maria wasn’t going to mention that.

All three women flinched and then jumpily looked to the door as a distant gunshot sounded. After a held breath pause, conversation and crumb acquisition nervously resumed. Staying busy kept the outside world at bay. 

The neighbourhood had no power. Quickly, the external darkness invited itself in, and the three of them agreed on a retreat upstairs. Linda did a round of doors and windows. Returning, she raised a thumb, but Maria knew the futility. In the new world, if someone wanted in, they were coming in.

Their hostess went into a dresser and returned with a silver cigarette lighter. It ignited on the third rake of her thumb. She lit a tea light. Maria and Connie exhaled in unison. Linda put the candle inside a porcelain statue of a monk holding a glass globe. A meagre glow omitted.

 “It’s best not to show much light,” Linda said.

The thin bedroom pane started to rattle before the distant approaching engine sound drew all three heads to the window. An unlit car sped from the distant city and roared right past the house. The three eased back and resumed their mini campfire vigil as the sound of combustion faded down the street. The rifle sat in the corner. It would have been better to have more guns, but Maria had no regrets about disposing of the pistol. She never wanted to see it again.

“Linda, do you have any weapons?” Maria asked.

“Kitchen knives?” she offered.

“Better than nothing, go get them,” Maria said.

 Linda snuck down to the forsaken kitchen and quickly returned with a fancy presentation box, white of course. Seeing it, Maria laughed, “The knives would have done.”

Linda blushed and opened the box.  Maria picked three of the biggest and handed them round. “Keep one near,” she said. “We will be fine, I’m sure, but better safe…”

 With a reluctant scraping and screeching, the three used all their strength to move the heavy oak dresser to a position in front of the bedroom door.

“You two get some sleep. I will take the first watch,” said Maria, ducking down at the window and laying the rifle and bread knife beside her. Neither girl objected. They lay on the double bed, back-to-back and were asleep in minutes.

She gave up watching out of the window. The unlit night was so dark that there was nothing to be seen. Lifting the window an inch, she wedged it open and resolved to rely on her ears. A cool draft fell over the windowsill, diluting the body warm atmosphere in the small bedroom. 

The distant, sporadic bangs and pops made her think of 4^th of July fireworks. She smiled as she remembered a young Consquella riding a carousel so often that it made her sick all over her Sunday dress. The two girls missed church that week as mum couldn’t get the pink, candy floss sick stain out.

 I really want a shower, Maria thought…..   A noise.

Instantly, she was alert. It sounded like a dustbin being overturned. She rose onto her knees to get a better view, but nothing could be seen.

It might just be a cat, she thought, hopefully, but then the clear sound of someone vaulting the garden fence reached her ears.  There was a tinkle of glass before the now quaking Maria heard a door open. “Oh shit,” she whispered.

“What to do?”  Did she move the dresser and, rifle in hand, challenge the intruders? Was it better to stay here, stay quiet and forfeit the ground floor? She looked at the bed, but Connie and Linda still slept soundly. Moving the dresser would start them, but three were better than one in a fight.

Just then, something caught her eye. A reflection moved rapidly on the wall above the bed. Maria inched back to the window. In the distance, the blue lights of a police car flashed.

Should she fire the gun in the hope of attracting their attention? Would the shot just be lost among the myriad others? Then she remembered today’s assailants; two were police, or they certainly appeared to be so.

A thump sounded on the stairs, and Maria’s attention returned to the bedroom door. Forsaking the police car, she stood and crept to the dresser. With the rifle aimed at the door, she listened intently. A creek, another, a shuffle, and then she heard panting close on the other side. Out of ideas, she fired, and three people screamed. Connie and Linda jumped to their feet, shaking. A bang came on the door, and a terrified young voice cried,

“Please… please don’t shoot. I’m hungry. I saw you were home.” Connie and Maria shifted the dresser. Linda held the rifle, although she had no idea how to fire it. Maria opened the door a crack and peered through the gap. The small basketball player from this afternoon stood in the hall.

“I’m hungry,” he repeated.

The women, the candle and the housebreaker, returned to the kitchen. After Linda swept up the glass, they pushed a kitchen unit to block the door. Linda put the brush away and scolded, “Gary, why are you here? Where is your Mum?”

“Mum and Delia went to town last week and haven’t come home,” he said.

“You have been alone all week? she asked.  He nodded. Linda went to a cupboard and came back with the making of a sandwich. The young boy had it down his throat in record time, and she made another.

“You should have come over earlier. Why did you wait and break in instead,” Linda asked.

“Mum told me not to leave the house, but I was hungry, and saw you come home. I climbed over to your back garden but saw no movement in the house, so I was about to go home and maybe come back in the morning. However, I heard someone knock over the bins next door. I got scared,” he explained.

Maria sat up straight. If it wasn’t Gary who made the noises, who did? She took the rifle from Linda and went to the front door. “Help me move this,” Maria said to Connie. The two of them shifted the blockage from the front door. “Close the door behind me.”

“Where are you going?” asked Connie.

“There is someone out there,” Maria replied.

“Just stay here and we will lock the doors again.” Connie took hold of her arm.

Maria looked at her sister. “I need to sleep. None of us will sleep if there is someone outside the door. This is the only way I get to bed tonight.”

“I must be mad,” Maria said as the front door closed, and the ominous darkness consumed her. She didn’t move. A minute. Two. She stood like a statue, listening to the blood rush through her own veins. About a mile up the road, the blue lights still flashed. They would be no help now.

 A rustle, and before she had even thought, she was moving. Heading blindly toward the sound. Maria rounded a bush, heard a shuffle, pointed the rifle.

MEOW! The shadow cat spat at her and fled. Maria laughed hysterically. She realised that she was more scared now than she’d ever been running at three armed men.

NYC Tuesday 18^th February 2025

Had the gunfire abated slightly? It was hard to tell, but the night was quieter in the rubble strewn streets around the building. A few blocks south, an office complex burned vigorously and, thankfully, threw some illumination on proceedings.

Karl and Georg finished their guard shift at 11pm, but the two still stood atop the apartment block, lit only by the distant blaze. As usual, their replacements were late. “At least we got the roof tonight,” Karl said.

“I’m freezing my nuts off up here,” said Georg, “I would rather be down on the street.”

 They should’ve watched the street on opposite sides of the building, but they were ready to leave, and now they stood together. With their collars upturned, they repeatedly checked the roof door for their replacement.

“Garth is always shittin’ late,” said a tired looking Georg. His grumpy friend was correct, but Karl just shrugged, having nowhere else to be. 

Being cut from the same cloth, Georg and the absent Garth didn’t get along much. As committed philanderers, the two of them had worked their way through almost all the single females in the block. Karl suspected quite a few of the non-single ones, too.  The similarity of the adversaries didn’t include Skin tone. Like Karl, Georg’s heritage lay south of the border, while the stetson wearing Garth was a good-time, all-American boy. Racial tension was never far away in their fiery encounters.

Not one to keep secrets, Georg loved to replay his conquests in infinite detail to Karl, and although Karl kept pretending that he didn’t want to hear any more, if being honest, he envied Georg’s apparent freedom and got a thrill at the extremely graphic tales. Karl lived vicariously through his friend.

 Georg and wife, Donna, resided on the floor above, but being married didn’t appear to clip his wings. Everyone in the building seemed to know of Georg and Garth’s exploits, so Karl just assumed Donna was okay with it. He secretly wished Maria was similarly open-minded.

The lecherous Georg brazenly lusted after Maria and made no secret of the fact. A year or- so ago, he suggested he and Donna could visit with a bottle or three of wine. They’d ply the girls with a couple of glasses, “Then we’ll just see where things go,” he’d said, gyrating his hips.

 After taking a couple of days to pluck up the courage, Karl hinted of the idea to Maria, but seeing the expression on her face, he quickly made a joke about it. What followed was an excruciatingly long stare from her as she tried to read his intentions.

 In looks, Donna was all right, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Maria. It took a while for Karl to realise that he was more excited about the prospect of watching Georg with Maria than plugging his friend’s wife. What that epiphany said about him, he had yet to figure. Maybe after all this shit was over, he’d try get Maria drunk one night and revisit the plan. How much drink would it take for her to agree Consquella could come too?

Agitatedly, Georg jumped up and down and clapped his hands as if they stood on an ice shelf in the Arctic rather than the apartment roof.

“It’s not that cold,” said Karl, returning his thoughts to reality.

“I told you, I am bloody freezing,” said Georg, but then he smiled. “Hey, remember that trip we took, and that bitch that threw me out of her caravan bollock naked.” They both laughed. “I had to walk about a mile back to our tent in the middle of Winter, while you stayed and serviced her friend, you lucky bastard.” Georg patted Karl on the back.

Karl broke into a wider grin.  “I serviced yours, too.” Georg looked at him in mock anger. They laughed loudly.

Someone was coming up the stairs. Georg walked over and said, “Garth, you dick, you are late again.” But he pulled up when Rita and her daughter, Bea, exited onto the roof. Both carried rifles slung over their shoulder.

“Garth is AWOL again,” said Rita. In her late thirties, Rita was one of Georg’s and Garth’s regular visits. Karl heard that the alcoholic Rita would do almost anything if you knocked on her door with a bottle of Vodka in hand. Rumour alleged that Bea resulted from one such bottle visit, sixteen years ago.

 Karl saw Rita around, and, okay, he’d looked, but he wasn’t as brazen as Georg. Anyway, she wasn’t really his type. Bea however….

He wasn’t sure what it was that was so alluring about Bea. Other residents talked about Garth or Georg as daddy, but presumably, that was no more than idle gossip. It was true, she had more colouring than her mother, and the pretty girl had Latin brown eyes while Mum’s were green.

Over against the wall to the exit, Georg and Rita hugged a greeting that very quickly turned into something more. Bea tutted. She turned her back and stomped over to the far edge of the building.

The cute punk rocker thing that Bea had going on looked hot, and Karl noticed that her former chocolate brown curly hair was currently straight and bright purple. His eyes travelled over her pristine biker’s leather jacket to a short tartan skirt with thick black tights. The outfit was rounded off with knee-length leather boots.

“How you doing, Bea?” Karl said. He guessed she didn’t hear him and so he walked over. He put a hand on her shoulder. “How are you tonight, Bea?”

 The short plump girl turned and flashed a perfect white smile. She had earplugs in and was listening to music. She pointed to them before slipping them out and stowing them in a side pocket.

 “Sorry, Karl, didn’t hear you.” She looked over at her mum and Georg. “Ewww, gross. Get a room you two,” she said.

Something in the way she purred his name shot an electric bolt up his spine. He tried hard not to shiver. To avert the stare that verged on becoming a leer, he looked over at the carousing couple. Wasting little time, Georg had Rita unzipped already. “You on shift now?” He said to the young girl.

“Yeah, Mum and I are standing in for garth until two.”

“Sorry,” said Karl.

“I don’t mind.” She looked at her mother. “I didn’t mind. Thought it would be good to get mum away from booze and….. that for a while.” She pointed to the increasingly heated encounter on the other side of the roof. 

“Sorry,” Karl repeated and realised he’d become the usual stuck record around women. Involuntarily, e yawned. “Well… sorry,” he said for a third time and headed for the door. As he walked past Georg and Rita, whose jeans were now at her knees, Georg took a brief second to give Karl a thumbs up. Karl laughed and started down the stair. “Not so cold now.” He said descending.

As best he could, Karl washed in the freezing tap water. New York water needed to be pumped from the reservoir, so the pressure dropped after the electricity went off. His guess was that it would go all together in a few days. The thought of a city in the dark with no heat and no water was not a pleasant one.

With now being down to only one candle for the whole apartment, he moved it to whichever room he inhabited. Despite Georg’s protestations, the night was warm enough, and Karl was heading for bed. He picked up the candle and didn’t bother dressing.

Along with some liquid soap, he ran a small amount of water into the bath.  The clothes he’d worn today were tossed in and stirred around.  He would leave them to soak and put them on again tomorrow.

With the essential chores now done, he stretched and got into bed. About to blow out the candle, he cursed as a knock sounded at the door. After exhaling loudly, Karl stood. Almost certainly, Georg would be pleading for Karl to cover the shift so he and Rita could get busy. While a few hours alone with pretty little Bea up on the roof did sound like something he would enjoy, tonight, he was tired.

“No fucking way Georg,” he shouted as he stomped down the hallway and opened the door. Standing outside in the dark, lit only by the candle in Karl’s hand was not Georg. It was Bea.  She was repocketing the ear buds.

Still looking down, she said, “Sorry, Karl. Mum and Georg are…. Well, you know.” She zipped the leather jacket pocket closed and turned her attention to him.  “Georg said he would cover my shift but that you needed me for som……..” she stopped speaking.  Her eyes ran down his chubby figure. Karl was pleased that she didn’t scream. Nor run.

“Yes, Bea dear. Come in.”

NYC Tuesday 18^th February 2025

The Castellano’s heavily shuttered furniture store was one of the few on Broadway that avoided a ransacking. With the family being Both respected and a little feared, few locals would tempt fate by breaking through the armoured window covering just to get a new sofa. Should this mayhem ever end, everyone who lived here knew that the price the family would extract would be far higher than the cost of 36 interest free monthly payments.

His wrists and ankles bound by plastic cable ties, Lieutenant Peter Edwards, lay on an otherwise comfortable showroom divan and chewed the lump of a cheese sandwich that Anne-Marie Castellano deposited in his mouth. The bread was a little stale, but he didn’t complain. In an apocalypse, lying on a comfy bed, being fed by the small but pretty girl with her long blonde hair, was hardly the worst way to end your days.

As she went to break up a second sandwich, Peter swallowed,

“No more for now. Thanks.”

With a slight nod, she said nothing. Still, she blinked an acknowledgement before standing, plate in hand, and walked over to the fifth-floor window that gave a view over the interchange below. Her eyes tracked northward up the burning and devastated Broadway. At maybe five foot two, the rifle on Anne Marie’s back almost trailed on the floor. Releasing a soft sigh, she gave up her vigil, sat, and bit into the remaining sandwich.

Peter circled his head and asked, “How long have you been here?” Still chewing, she looked over her square, thick-rimmed glasses at him for a few seconds, maybe considering if she would reply. A nearby shot sounded, and temporarily returned her attention to the street.

“I was born here,” she finally said.

He nodded but queried, “I meant, have you been locked in here on your own since the beginning of the trouble?”

“What makes you think that I’m alone?” she replied. The rapid movement of her eyes told Peter the truth.

Not wanting to be perceived as any sort of threat, he said, “Sorry, it is just that I haven’t seen anyone else around these last couple of days.”

She put the sandwich back on the plate and slung the gun toward him. “Don’t get any funny ideas, man. I’ll shoot you if I must.”

Smiling, Peter shook his head. “I will give you no trouble, but I doubt you have it in you to shoot me either way. How come you ended up here?……. If you don’t mind me asking?”

She giggled. “Only a Brit would ask if it is okay to ask. Shouldn’t you now apologise for asking? You and the Canucks, I don’t know how you ever get anything done.” She lowered the gun and walked back over to the bed. “What are you doing in New York anyway, sailor boy?”

Peter gave her a short version of his adventure so far. “I’m trying to get back to my ship.”

Anne-Marie lowered her eyes. “I can let you go once darkness falls.” She ran a hand through her long, straight hair. Peter guessed it normally shone bright, but with the lack of water and power, her hair was currently lanking on her scalp.

“Where are your family, Anne?” Peter asked.

She looked up. “Anne-Marie,” was his only reply. He waited a while more for her to answer but realised that she was waiting for him to address her properly.

“Where is everyone, Anne Marie?”

Carelessly leaving the rifle beside him on the bed, she stood and walked toward the window. “I dunno. Been here for ten days, and no one has shown up. I was tidying the place up and about to leave when all of this,” she pointed to the mayhem outside, “broke out. Someone should have come looking for me by now.” She lowered her head into her hands and sniffed.

Was she crying? Peter rolled off the bed, stooped, picked the rifle up by the barrel and then waddled over. When Anne-Marie looked up, he stood in front of her, arms outstretched, offering her the gun. Inhaling sharply, she grabbed it, flipped it round and pointed it at him.

He raised his hands as far as he could. “Easy now. I told you; you have nothing to fear from me.” Backing away, he sat on the edge of the bed. Anne-Marie lowered the gun and shook her head. She walked over to a cash desk on the far wall and returned with scissors.

“I will shoot you if I have to,” she said, unconvincingly looking up into his eyes as she cut the ties. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to argue at this outcome. The band on his wrist fell to the floor, and he rubbed the circulation back into his arms.

“Thanks,” he said as she freed his legs.

She looked into his eyes. “Do you know how to load and fire this thing?” Sardonically, she smiled and handed the weapon over.

“I didn’t peg you as a killer,” he said, checking the magazine to see it was full. He drew back the bolt to load the chamber but then clicked the safety on. He made to hand the rifle to her.

A shake of her head. “Keep it. It’s true. I couldn’t shoot anyone anyway.” She walked slowly back to the window. “I can only think that they are all dead,” she said, the last word fading to a sob.

Peter walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s crazy out there. Your family will be bunkered down somewhere safe. You will see.”

She inhaled deeply and wiped her eyes with her green canvas jacket sleeve. “You’re right,” she said in what he guessed was an effort to console herself.  “They would be mad to try getting here from Staten Island with all this going on.”

“Last I knew, the ferry wasn’t running anyway,” Peter explained. “Could they get here by road?”

She brightened a little, “Yeah, but it would be a long, and I guess dangerous route through Brooklyn with this madness going on. You are right. They will be safe on the island.” Peter wasn’t exactly sure anyone was safe these days but decided not to elucidate this thought.

“I’m heading down to find a boat. If you want to come along, I could drop you off on the island. ! Peter scratched his head as the idea of going out there again sounded crazy, even as he suggested it.

“I’m not sure,” said Anne-Marie. “We might be better sticking it out here. This place is secure for now.”

He went to the window. There was little but devastation to be seen. Fires raged uncontrolled in many buildings. Most lower floors were ransacked, possibly by straying looters or the upstairs residents looking for supplies. Yes, this shop remained intact for now, but how long could that possibly last?

“I have a duty to return to my ship. You are right that you may be better off staying here, but I have little choice.” Anguish crossed the woman’s face. He was right about his duty to the Royal Navy, but didn’t he also have a duty to her as a human being? She wouldn’t survive here for long. Maybe a few days, maybe a week, but sooner rather than later, someone would break in or start a fire that would consume the building.

Alone on the streets, he rated his chances at about fifty-fifty. With Anne-Marie in tow… well, the odds were not worth considering. Staying or going, there was no good option. He looked around as if the top floor of this five-story furniture shop contained some answer to the conundrum. This floor sold mainly beds. Along one wall, curtains hung where there was no window. Peter corrected himself as he saw the sign, instead offering ‘drapes’. At the end of that wall was an emergency exit.

“Does that go to the roof? he asked, pointing.

“Yes, but not directly,” she replied. “There are two floors of apartments above us. They are owned by the family but rented out.” Noticing Peter’s concern by this information, she added, “They won’t cause any trouble here. My family has a bit of a reputation.” Anne-Marie tilted her head and smiled at him as if in apology.

“How many people live up there?” he asked while pointing roofward.

She seemed to be calculating in her head. “Twenty, maybe. There are six families, but I have no idea how many stuck around when the trouble started.”

“Can we get up there?” he asked. Without answering, she went to the cash desk and returned jingling a set of keys. She nodded over, and he followed.

At the top of the flight of stairs, she unlocked a door that opened out into a corridor with three doors spread equidistantly along the length.

“What’s the plan?” Anne-Marie asked as the two stood in the hallway’s diminishing light. At one end, a patterned glass window filtered the last rays of the February day. Looking down at the bespectacled woman, Peter guessed she was in her late twenties or early thirties. Showered and dressed, he thought she would be pretty, but the ravages of more than a week unwashed in the same clothes were showing on her. Blushing, she seemed to read his thoughts.

“If we can get the residents involved and work together, you will all have a better chance of getting through this. I’m worried you won’t cope on your own.” Peter made to knock on the first door, but she stayed his hand.

“I’ve made it ten days alone. What makes you think I can’t manage? She asked.

He held his hands up. “I’m not saying that. You know it’s hell out there, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but at some point, out there is coming in here, and you will have to be ready. It’s security in numbers.” After a few seconds of contemplating the situation, she nodded.

“Their name is Ascolese,” she said, motioning toward the door.

Peter knocked and waited. There was no sound. He knocked again and shouted, “Mr Ascolese, are you in there?” ….. silence.

Anne-Marie eased him aside and knocked softly. “Angie, it’s me, Anne-Marie.” Inside, there was a shuffling, and the door opened. With the security chain still in place, a man’s face appeared. He first looked at Peter, and the door began to close again before he noticed Anne-Marie.

“Ah, Miss Castellano, it is you. Thank god you are safe.” He closed the door, but they heard the chain fall, and it opened wide. The man stepped into the hall. Peter thought he bowed a little while greeting his landlord. His wife appeared round the door.

“Anne-Marie, how good it is to see you safe.” The older woman hugged Anne-Marie while looking warily at Peter. Peter did his best to smile back reassuringly. “And who is this fine gentleman that you have in tow, Miss Castellano?” 

Anne-Marie stood back from the embrace and made the introductions. Peter shook hands with Toni and then his wife Angie.

“What can we do for you?” Toni turned his attention back to Anne-Marie.

She pointed at Peter. “Peter here’s a sailor from England. He was out on the streets but has been sheltering downstairs in the store for the last couple of days. He believes that we gotta form some sort of defence of the building before things get any worse.”

Peter butted in. “This building is one of the few left to be ransacked. It won’t stay that way. We need to get all the residents together, pool our weapons and set up some sort of guard rota.

“Not before time,” Angie said, taking Peter by the hand and leading him into the apartment. After a few short steps in the darkened hall, she opened a door to the lounge and pulled him in. The place was a mess. The windows held no glass. Cold February air flooded through. Bullet holes pock-marked the ceiling and tops of their walls. Having tipped a bed up, the couple used it as a shelter below the windows. The mattress from the bed lay inside their little refuge. As the two stood and took in the scene, another bullet struck the sill above the window, and the shell thumped onto the laminate floor, rolling to Peter’s feet.

Belatedly, Angie ducked before pointing to the bullet. “It’s non-stop. They fire at everything that moves. What in God’s name’s got into everyone?”

Kicking the spent shell away, Peter said, “It might be best to get everyone down to the store. Most of the windows are shuttered. Toni entered the room behind them, muttering in agreement.

Angie and Tonie collected what they needed and headed downstairs while Anne-Marie and Peter rounded up the other residents. As it turned out, there were only four men, Peter and Toni included, and a total of eight women still in the building. It seemed that no one had any children living with them. Sensibly, most families with kids vacated the city early in the troubles.

Anne-Marie set about getting everyone a space in the store that permitted a little privacy. Shuffling furniture between floors, Toni and Peter equipped the new residents with what they needed to be as comfortable as the situation would permit. After that, they barricaded the two entrances and then used furniture to create a fort at the top of the first set of stairs, should anyone enter the building.

Once all were settled, Peter and Toni went up to the roof and ducked bullets while they checked the scene nearby.  Unfortunately, the apartment block that stood two doors down the Avenue had ten floors and a good overview of this building’s roof area. It was too dangerous to stay up here long. Reluctantly, they retreated and blocked the roof door too.

At 6 PM, Anne-Marie called everyone to a meeting. “Friends, we’ve come together here for security reasons. You’re all aware that the city is in complete turmoil. We have no power, and I have no idea how long the water will keep flowing, but I believe we are safest working as a group in the store now. Peter here,” she pointed at him. He made a small waving gesture, “Peter is a British sailor from a ship in the harbour. He was travelling in a military armoured car and still got blown up. It would be madness for any of the rest of us to go outside.” As if addressing a junior class, she wagged a warning finger.

“After taking inventory of our food and weapons, we’ve two rifles, six handguns and enough provisions to last two weeks, maybe three if we are careful. There are enough candles to get us to doomsday, and please God, it’s not here already, but be careful only to use light away from the windows. You have all suffered from random shootings, so, let’s draw as little attention to the building as we can. I’m going to hand it over to Peter now. He will speak a little about the security arrangements.” She took a step back and waved him forward.

“Thanks.” He nodded to Annemarie.   “I’m sorry if this alarms anyone, but I’m convinced this situation will worsen before getting better. If you had seen what I saw on my journey down here from 48th Street, you would know this place has got off very lightly. Most of the buildings on Broadway are now almost completely uninhabitable. Large areas of your city resemble a war zone. The Rockefeller Center is gone.” There were a few sharp intakes of breath from the residents.

“I truly hope the trouble will pass us by, but it is better to prepare for the worst now than to cobble together some sort of defence once the building is aflame, or invaders are rampaging through. I suggest you choose a leader to set up guard rotas and rationing of provisions. Those who can shoot should carry a weapon. Those that can’t, instead keep ammunition supplied, ensure everyone is fed and, should it be necessary, provide medical attention. Are we lucky enough to have anyone skilled in medicine?” Peter looked around the faces. A middle-aged woman stepped forward.

“I was a nurse for twenty years.”

He smiled. “Brilliant……..” he pointed at her. Realising his unspoken question, she said,

“Debbie”

“Brilliant, Debbie. Please inventory all the medical supplies you can find in the building. Can we have our first vote? Is it okay to break into the vacant apartments upstairs to check for more supplies?” Peter looked at Anne-Marie. She nodded. There was a general murmuring of agreement.

“Great, Toni, Angie and Debbie, can you search, please?” All three nodded. “Perfect.”

“Next, has anyone got military or firearms experience?” A black couple that stood at the back, holding hands, now stepped forward.

“Denny and Linda. We were both in Iraq. Logistics mainly, but we are trained in firearms.”

Peter nodded to both. “Anyone object to Denny and Linda taking charge of house security?” Again, he looked round the company to nodding heads. “Right, the last thing from me, I would suggest that you appoint an overall leader. Democracy is great, but you can’t sit around and debate whether to fight a fire in an emergency. So, is there any natural candidate, or will we put this one to a ballot?”

“What about you, man?” someone said from the back of the darkening room.

Peter held a hand up. “No, I already have orders. As soon as practicable, I must return to my ship that is in harbour. You need to choose someone else.”

“You mean, was in harbour.” Linda, the ex-soldier, said.

He turned to her. “It’s gone?”

“Yeah, sorry, man. I was down at Quayside yesterday looking for provisions. The NATO fleet’s gone. USS Cole is sunk and lying bow up in the Hudson. The ships came under heavy fire for the last two days. My guess is that they didn’t have permission to fire back. So, they got outta there.”

Peter hung his head. “Well, it looks as if I will be sticking around a while if you will have me, but I still think your leader should come from one of your own.”

“Will you do it, Miss Castellano,” Toni asked and immediately, murmurs of agreement came from all around.

Scratching her head, Anne-Marie stepped forward. “I can’t fire a gun. I get squeamish at the sight of blood, and my only leadership experience has been running a furniture store. I’m just not qualified.”

“Nonsense,” said Toni. “You run this building already. We have shooters and a medic. We just need someone to organise the rotas and supplies. You are perfect.” He turned to the crowd. “Is that agreed then?” There was a unanimous “Yeah!” Toni did his little bow thing again and stepped back into the increasing gloam.

Peter finally agreed to be co-opted onto the four-person house committee. They’d convene daily to discuss their situation. Anne-Marie, Peter, Debbie, and either Denny or Linda would make up the group. Peter’s role would now be to organise finding provisions, once their current stock began to run low. He and one of the shooters would start external provision collection missions in a week or so. He wasn’t looking forward to that. Nor did he fancy being locked up in this building for weeks on end.

NYC Wednesday 19^th February 2025

Carefully dodging the broken-down, burned-out vehicles littering the road, Maria and Connie navigated the car across the Brooklyn Bridge. The plan had worked. Leaving Linda and her new housemate at first light, they drove the last ten miles in relative isolation. It looked as if looters, rapists, and murderers tended to keep late hours. They avoided the early shift. There was one nervous encounter as a lone Cop stopped them, but he turned out to be legit and even escorted them through a dodgy area.

“We are turning round and all heading back to Buffalo, sis,” said Connie, looking about at the desolation of a city ablaze. Once iconic skyscrapers stood like familiar old friends, now many were missing. Replaced by spectres of acrid, yellow-black smoke.

“I agree,” said Maria, but we must see what Karl says. He’s reluctant to go to Buffalo nowadays.”

“He sure is,” said Connie, and I know why. But she kept that to herself. “He’s a prick,” she added.

“Stop that,” Maria barked back sharply. “Karl is not a prick. He loves me, and he loves the kids.” She thought for a while, then, softening her expression, she laughed. “Okay, he can be a prick sometimes, but I love him, sis.”

 “I know,” said Connie. “Sorry.” She’d ushered the word, but regret was not apparent as Maria looked over at her sister’s expression. Something had passed between her sister and husband. It was very clear to Maria that they loathed each other.  She sighed; there was enough going on right now without probing Connie for information that she didn’t want to relay.

The car pulled into West 48^th, and in unison, the women gasped. The scene of carnage was even worse here. Charred vehicles were strewn across bullet ridden streets. Hardly a window still had glass in it. Fires must have raged as the apartment block walls were blackened to the fourth or fifth floors in places. Worse still, barbequed corpses lay around, attended only by feasting crows.

“Oh God, he’s dead,” said Maria. She covered her mouth with her hand.

“You don’t know that,” Connie said, yet the lack of conviction in her tone was noticeable.

After taking a minute, Maria pulled the car over. They got out. The two of them ran up the stairs. Breathlessly reaching the apartment, Maria pushed the partially open door.

“Oh God, please, no. Let him be alive,” she prayed. Tentatively opening the living room door, she scanned the scene. Her beautiful room was a mess, but thankfully, it contained no body or blood. She stepped back to the hallway and put her head into the kitchen. As she did so, Connie passed and made for the bedrooms.

The power had to be out. Once, twice, three times, she fruitlessly flicked the light switch. Next, she checked the fridge; it was warm and stank. In the half-dark, a hand landed on her shoulder, and Maria near died of the fright before realising that Connie had snuck up unheard.

“Sis, let’s get out of here.” Maria turned to see the horror on her sister’s face,

 “Oh God, please, no. No, please. Where is he?” Maria tried to pass Connie, doing all she could to stop her shaking knees from folding, but her sister played a blocking move.

“Maria, let’s just get out of here now.” Connie’s eyes were two shades darker than Maria had seen before. Pushing Connie aside, Maria ran into the bedroom. Karl lay unclothed on the bed. A purple-haired girl lay naked on top, naked except for boots, Maria corrected herself. And yes, she was a girl, not anything near a woman.

Connie followed her sister back into the lurid bedroom scene. Wordlessly, she took the rifle from the shocked Maria and went out into the hallway. Her beautiful sister stood, silhouetted by the light through the window behind her, crying her eyes out silently, seemingly unable to look away. With each sob, Maria’s shoulders rose and fell.

With fury rising, Connie raised the rifle while unsnapping the safety. Walking purposefully up the hall and back into the room, every inch of her shook. She pointed the gun as Maria raised a hand to lay it on the barrel. “Don’t………. you might hurt the girl.”

Conni gasped. She didn’t think it was possible to respect her big sister more than she already did, but with admiration anew, she looked over, lowered the rifle, snapped the safety back, and slung it over a shoulder. Reaching across, she took Maria’s hand. “Come on, sis, let’s go home.”

Karl woke after the strangest dream. Maria and Connie watched him having sex with Bea and they didn’t seem to mind. The thought excited him like never before. He reached up and pulled the slumbering Bea into position.

Bea was surprised at how ready Karl seemed as she woke. If being honest, he’d been disappointing last night. Nothing like as good as Georg. But now! “Wow! You really ARE a morning person,” she purred.

Buffalo Wednesday 19^th February 2025

Maria took the direct route back to Buffalo to avoid yesterday’s roadblock. The trip was conducted in near silence despite Connie’s sporadic attempts to initiate conversation.

In the suburbs, some stopped, or maybe stranded travellers had tried waving them over, but Maria only put her foot down and sped by. When a loud thump sounded soon after one such encounter, Consquella believed that someone had taken a potshot at their car. Luckily, both were unscathed, and the car didn’t seem to have suffered mechanically. If Maria had even noticed the assault, it didn’t alter her silent, determined demeanour a bit.

 Between fires and widespread looting, operating gas stations were few and far between as the car traversed the troubled urban sprawl. The unappealing couple of outlets that were open, each snaked mile-long queues of frustrated drivers, all of them waiting hours to pay fifty bucks a gallon. Even as they cruised past, Connie saw their gauge and knew the tank was nearly empty, but nervous about the idea of stopping; she had said nothing to Maria until they were far from the hostile city environs.

Once they were away from the city, the smaller rural towns appeared largely untroubled. In their little laconic, upstate bubble, most carried on as if nothing was going wrong with the world. Connie feared that would change as looters ran out of targets in the city. She mouthed a prayer for their temporary hosts, the residents of East Aurora.

It wasn’t until they spotted an open service station that Maria finally broke her silence.

“Gas.”

Although the forecourt stood open for business, the cautious owners apparently took the situation seriously. The closed shop remained shuttered, and what little that Connie could see of the place, anything of value that could be removed, had been. Dressed against the cold, and sheltering under the canopy, six men with guns stood by the pumps. Likely press-ganged locals, the sentries tried their best to look menacing.

They shouted, “Five gallons only,” to the queue of drivers, but when it came their turn, Maria ignored the instruction and filled the tank.

 She slowly walked over to the guy who admonished her for breaking the rule and looked him straight in the eye. He topped six feet and carried a hunting rifle. Unarmed, Maria’s slight frame was half a foot shorter. His rant ignored, her hand went out with one hundred Dollars in it. Something in her stare must have told him not to mess here, for he took the money and aimed his ire at another driver, hoping to regain his air of authority. Maria turned away, got back in the car and drove.

On resuming their journey, Connie again tried striking up a conversation once or twice. Maria didn’t appear to hear. Her mind was somewhere else.

After five hours of driving, they stopped at the end of the road, in sight of Consquella’s place. In the diminishing light of the late afternoon, Maria shut off the ignition, unsnapped her seat belt, and slowly swivelled to face Connie with that hard look in her eyes. A shiver went up Connie’s back. Under her sister’s wordless gaze, each eternal second dragged, as the car’s cooling engine clicked like a half-hearted watch.

Connie resumed breathing when her sister finally spoke. “We do not mention…. That.” Connie knew well what “That” was. Knowing Maria, it would be a long, long time before the discovered scene in the bedroom would ever become a subject for consideration. With fingers crossed, Connie hoped it never would. Should Karl’s infidelities ever be unravelled, she may not come out of it too well.

 Maria continued calmly, “… and we do not discuss what happened at the barricade. Okay?”

Connie said, “Agreed.”

Maria checked, “You promise?” After the briefest delay, Connie nodded.

 It was as if a lightbulb went on inside Maria. Her dark eyes lightened three shades. Her formerly usual smile cracked her troubled face, and she said, “Then let’s go home.”

As a waning moon rose above the conifers on the hill behind the house, and nocturnal owls replaced the day-shift crows, an overexcited Ben flew out of the porch-lit door, intercepting the bedraggled sisters before they were halfway up the garden path. He picked Connie up, twirling her round and round while covering her face in kisses. Maria laughed. She had a screaming kid attached to each leg yet still managed to walk to the door. Ben turned and blew her a kiss before resuming the soppy assault on his half-protesting wife.

When they finally entered the kitchen, and the reunion excitement had abated, Maria said, “I stink.” Tell me you have hot water.

“Stinky Aunt, Stinky Aunt.” The kids broke into song in unison.

Maria chased them round the room. “The stink monster will get you.” Connie was amazed at the miracle transformation in her sister.

“Yeah, loads of hot water,” Ben said as he stood smiling broadly, his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

After co-opting the kids to untie and remove the stink monster’s boots, Maria left the kitchen love-in and padded through to the bathroom. With the last of her energy, she closed the door and sat on the loo. Hanging her head in her hands, she cried.

No.  It wasn’t just about Karl. Although she had been, in the main, devoted to the man for most of her adult life, her pig of a husband’s cheating image was already shrinking in the rearview mirror. Anyway, to castigate Karl for his sordid deed would be nothing less than hypocrisy, she well knew. Tears flowed because she killed four men getting to him. Had she known that he wanted to…. Do that to young girls. She would have stayed in Buffalo and made a wish that his dick fell off.

“That’s good.” With the back of her clenched fist, she wiped her eyes. “Get angry,” she lectured, “Don’t let the prick see you cry.” Resolutely standing, she turned on the shower. Undressed, she threw her clothes in the bath.

“Will burn them tomorrow.” She opened the shower door and put her hand under the searing water flow. It was too hot, but in penance, she was going anyway.

The punishment was a little too severe. She increased the cold flow until it scalded just the right amount for a mass murderer.

With what she hoped was Connie’s shampoo, foaming suds were kneaded into her grease matted scalp. “I saved her life; she owes me this,” Maria decided. Taking the sponge and coating it in soap, she washed away the blood, the grime, and then preyed that the lucid memories would folow them down the drain.

It was then that the door burst open. Ben came running across the bathroom and opened the shower. Fully clothed, he jumped in, lifted the stunned Maria off the ground and twirled her the way he had done to Connie earlier.

“I fucking love you. I fucking love my brilliant sister, I fucking love you,” he said over and over, kissing her face as they danced. On each turn, Maria noticed Connie standing in the doorway, smiling.

“So, we are not going to tell him,” Maria said on one of the passes, but she smiled at her sister.

Connie laughed, “That was never going to work for me. I have a big mouth, sis. You know that better than anyone.”

 “I fucking love you.” Ben repeated and kissed her again.

“Oh, Ben, I love you too, but what if your wife finds out?” Maria said and laughed.

The kids stood behind their mum singing. “ I ucking love you, I ucking love you.”

Bahrain, Tuesday 25^th February 2025

Gerhardt Sturm, Gerry to friends and colleagues, gripped the small Arab man’s throat and squeezed with all his might. Had you asked Gerry if he could ever kill a man five minutes ago, while he hid in the back garden of the Swedish consulate, he would have laughed in your face. Well, maybe not laughed in the current circumstances.

Gerry, without a square meal for four days (or was it five now?), had been robbed at gunpoint by a couple of small children, got beaten by locals on two occasions, and had slept under bushes that crawled with disgusting and quite possibly dangerous insects. All the while, he’d dodged the bullets of Iranians who shot at anything they fancied. No, maybe he’d not be laughing today, but Gerry wouldn’t ever kill anyone…  couldn’t.

Only, now, that was exactly his intention.

After witnessing the Iranian force landing on the Bahrain beach, Gerry, the German valve salesman, had made his way to the refinery, seeking those who knew him, hoping for refuge. Arriving there on night two, he found the place destroyed and littered with the bodies of the workers. Leaving the sordid scene, risking ingress to the city, he’d witnessed scenes of debauchery and torture that would never leave him, should he ever survive this mayhem. The invaders were not here to conquer or claim the wealth of Bahrain. No, aided by sympathetic locals that shared their particular branch of Islam, scores, centuries in the making were being settled all around.

Soaked in sweat, and stinking from the long, terrifying nights on the run, Gerry came across the consulate late yesterday evening but decided not to enter until morning.

He sneaked into the ransacked building on first light, tiptoeing through the carpet of broken glass. As quiet as possible, his surreptitious search took him from room to futile room. What was he looking for? When he first got to the consulate, he foolishly expected to find the place open and operational. Now, in little more than desperation, Gerry fruitlessly tried each phone for a working line. No? okay, perhaps there might be some diplomatic paperwork that would grant safe passage off the island.

His hope fading of finding anything of use, Gerry crossed the hallway into a dimly lit and rather unpleasantly pungent back office. Outside, the searing sun was rising over the city of horrors. With a hand clasped over his nose and mouth, he opened the Venetian blinds a touch to allow more light on his search. There was no point in opening the window, like most in the city, it no longer had any glass.

 On turning back to survey the room, he was stunned to see his assailant from a few days ago. The man that beat him for no reason known to Gerry.

He was against the wall, behind the door, but the man was in no condition to be assaulting anyone now. The small but muscular figure had been crucified.  Judging by the smell and cloud of fat flies that circled his corpse, he been like this for two or three days. The body was naked, and appendages were missing. There was a hope that these were removed after death, but that was unlikely. Gerry believed that his assailant had probably been horrifically tortured before his misery was finally ended. Not for the first time, the man caused Gerry to be violently sick.

As he wretched, an inquisitive-sounding voice came from a side office, and a small Arab man opened the door. The diminutive owner of the voice stood tanned and largely naked but for tiny shorts.

Fixed to the spot, sickness and drool ran down Gerry’s face, landing on his already sweat soaked shirt. The two looked each other in the eye. The small man broke the stare, pointed at the crucifixion and spoke.

Although Gerry knew a few words of both Farsi and Arabic, he didn’t understand what was being said. However, from the glint in the man’s eye, Gerry decided he was not denying responsibility for the atrocity. His best guess was the man seemed to gloat about his achievement rather.

 The smiling perpetrator kept talking as he reached to an unseen shelf and lifted a blood-stained knife. He raised it to his face and ran his tongue over the blade. Then, lowering it, he threw the knife into the air and caught it expertly by the handle. Still speaking, the man again raised the knife to his lips. Gerry watched as he made to repeat his knife-throwing feat but decided not to wait for the outcome.

At 115KG, Gerry was no lightweight. Over a long distance, his size would have slowed him to a crawl, but years of lifting his own bulk gave his legs enormous strength, and over the short distance between the two men, his acceleration surprised his enemy. Before gravity returned the knife to the man’s hand, Gerry’s bulk battered into the small Arab, and the two men fell to the litter-strewn floor.

An anger rose in the German like no anger he had ever felt before. This wasn’t just self-preservation; Gerry detested the sweating worm that now tried to wriggle out from beneath his bulk. Disgusting even himself, drool slid down his chin and landed on the murderer’s face. Raising his torso up, Gerry pinned the man’s arms with his knees and wrapped sweating fingers around the murdering rat’ throat.

“This will shut you up, you little shit.” He squeezed, and squeezed some more.

After three long minutes of unrelenting pressure, he was sure he saw the soul pass out from the man’s fetid and now bulbous yellow eyes. Even then, he held on. Pushed a little harder still. On feeling the warmth of his victim’s bladder voiding, Gerry finally loosed his death grip, and stood after what seemed like an eternity. He watched as the puddle formed around the body. At first, Gerry felt nothing. No rage, no guilt, no remorse for the passing of a life. As a Christian, Gerry knew “thou shall not kill.” It was pretty much rule number one, but for some reason, his sincerely held conviction was that God would let him off with this one. His almost empty stomach had other ideas, however. Suddenly contorted by pain, the German bent double and threw up over his victim.

Buffalo – Tuesday 25^th February 2025

There was movement near the lake, and Maria fired once more.

After the events on their road trip, she’d sworn she would never hold a gun again, but looking through the sights of a rifle wasn’t really a choice when your family were threatened.

Strangely, it appeared that her earlier success with weapons was no fluke. She was good at this for no reason anyone could explain. It reminded Maria of the time that Karl decided to teach her golf. “Don’t aim for the hole, he said. You will end up in the water. See that tree over there?”

“Yes, “

“Aim for it.”

 With her first swing, the ball flew and struck the tree. “What the..” Karl said. He decided golf wasn’t for her. They’d packed up the clubs, there and then, and headed home.

Well, here she was. Hitting trees as they ran between cover. Only this time, the trees screamed and fell in a pool of blood. Not every shot hit home, though. One in three, she guessed. Regardless, her accurate shooting so far prevented any ingress of the house by the assailants that appeared from nowhere, about an hour ago.

Consquella and Ben shot from downstairs windows. Maria finally found something in life she did better than her little sister. Consquella couldn’t hit a barn door. Actually, she’d hit the barn door more than once, but that wasn’t what she aimed at. On the positive side, her erratic barrage kept the assailants guessing. Ben was a decent shot, but he had two children hanging off his neck and so was handicapped. The house siege entered its second hour.

After a few relatively quiet weeks, things in Buffalo slid into the same anarchy as elsewhere. They completely disintegrated two days ago as a Southern force set up outside the city and started shelling. Any hope the citizens may have rallied to tackle the invaders faded quickly. Instead, they turned on their own. Looting and murder ramped up everywhere. People would kill for a gallon of gas. Just as to why their house was now targeted, Maria knew not.

Movement to the right. Instinctively, she swivelled the gun. Breathe in. Squeeze slowly. Someone else’s son fell on his face in the grass. Maria hadn’t even been 100% certain the movement was real before she fired. Maybe that was the trick? A bullet buried into the wall above her head and splinters rained down into her hair. Something akin to a white thread appeared in her vision, it jumped back and forth a brief second but fell on a picnic table at the lakeshore. The thread connected to the end of her nose. Maria lined the rifle along the thread and fired. A scream. She didn’t think she hit the man, but he was forced to move into some other cover. Before he got there, a bullet from a downstairs window cut him down.

“I still fucking love you,” Ben shouted from downstairs. Maria lowered her rifle. Something told her this was over. All that could be heard outside was the lapping of waves and the dance of the trees in the breeze.

Moscow. Wednesday 26^th February

Unmarked and with flight tracker disabled, the small jet appeared from darkened, snow-laden skies, before touching down on Chkalovsky military airfield.  Since departing Thule airbase, Greenland, the few passengers aboard saw nothing but sea and ice as they cruised high above the Pole. Now near their destination, the lands below the controlled descent were gripped by the long Northern Winter, yet the heated runway stood out like a black marker swipe on the massive whiteboard that was Russia.  After a smooth landing, the Canadian built, Bombardier Global 8000 pulled up slowly to hanger five, and the powerful engines died as it drifted inside. Behind the craft, the massive hangar doors slid silently shut.

Wet tyres squeaked while the aircraft made final manoeuvres on the grey-painted floor. As soon as the business jet halted, a boarding stair was slid into position. The plane door silently slid open, and the tall figure of peter Thorn stepped out onto the mobile stair landing.

Cocooned in a full-length fur coat and winter hat, Russian foreign minister Sergey Lavrov stood hunched at the foot of the steps and clapped gloved hands to stop his blood coagulating.  The hanger door stood open for only two minutes, yet the -41degC outside temperature sucked the heat from the once warm aircraft bay. The frigid cold reared tears in his usually emotionless eyes.  Duty was duty, and he would greet Thorn warmly, although Sergey had little time for the American. This encounter should mercifully be short. Sergey would play no part in the upcoming meeting between his President and this man who would be king.

“Peter, it has been too long. How good to see you. How is your good wife?”

With a gloved hand already outstretched, Donald Thorn smiled broadly as he descended.

“Sergey you old commie bastard. How are you? How is your lovely wife, Elena? Milanya sends her regards and apologies for not making it this trip.” Donald Thorn winked and looked over his shoulder at the glamourous twenty-something woman who followed him. “This is my new Finnish …. Eh, secretary. Her name is Renka. She will be filling in for Milanya on the trip.” Beaming, Thorn put his arm round the young woman’s waist. The tall and slim blonde beamed a sweet smile at Sergey.

“Ah, Donald, you still have an eye for beauty.” Sergey’s stare moved from the girl to the aircraft. “With such a sleek figure, I bet she’s fast. Seems that you have a new one every time we meet.

Continuing the barely concealed joke, Donald Thorn patted the woman’s rear. “Fast she may be but she just keeps going and going.” The two men laughed, and the subject of their lewd conversation stood mutely as if she believed they truly were discussing the plane.

Sergey faced Renka. “My dear, could I possibly steal your boss from you for a while?” He turned and pointed to a young man in a dark suit who stood by the wall. “If you go with Josef over there, he will take you shopping in Moscow. Okay?”

Renka turned and looked at Donald Thorn. He nodded and kissed her cheek. “I will see you at supper.” The girl nodded and left.

While Donald Thorn and the Russian foreign minister made their way to the meeting rooms in the main building, Renka was ushered through another door.

“Commander Chekov,” said Josef as they exited. “Welcome home.” Renka, or Commander Ludmilla Chekov of the FSB, to give her correct name and rank, saluted the young security officer.

“Lead me to the briefing room, Lieutenant. We have so little time before I need to be photographed shopping in the city.

Commander Ludmilla Chekov stood under a spotlight in an otherwise darkened room. A disembodied voice spoke from an unseen speaker.

“Commander, thank you for being here today. I am General Brusilov. For ongoing security in this mission, I cannot see you, and you will not see me or my colleagues. We understand that our time here is limited. Please provide a mission status update.”

Ludmilla stood to attention. “General, the mission continues as scheduled. I estimate the American political system is no more than twelve weeks from collapse.  As much as I have followed orders, and attempted to influence their demise, I can take little to no credit for the haste they appear to be in to ruin themselves. Our plans to disrupt, bribe, blackmail and coerce have gone largely unneeded. It is as if the right in their country actively seeks Armageddon. My team and I have, so far, sat back and done little more than spectate. All that being said, I am now fully ensconced in the Thorn camp. So, should you need to alter the path that they are on, I await instruction.”

The voice of Brusilov now emanated from behind her. Ludmilla did not turn. “Thank you, Commander. Has Thorn had any contact with the European powers?”

“He speaks often with a female contact in the UK. I hear her only identified as Elizabeth. Thorn has plans to visit that country in the near future. I will have a date for this meeting shortly. To my knowledge, his contact is not a high-ranking elected official, yet she seems to be controlling the political situation. So far, Thorn’s and her aims are in sync, but I am unsure if this is a coincidence or design. I am unaware of any control Thorn has over her. My guess would be that the UK is simply continuing its role as an American lapdog.

“Has Thorn been in contact with any other European leaders?”

“No sir.”

“Thank you, Commander. That will be all for now. We will be in touch through the regular channels. Please resume your mission.”

Ludmilla saluted but then hesitated. “General, should I dig further into this Elizabeth figure, or will our UK contacts handle that?”

There came a low chuckle. “Continue your surveillance of Thorn’s interactions with any foreign leaders, but Elizabeth is well known to us. She does not need special attention.” The speaker clicked, and to her right, a door opened. Josef beckoned for her to exit.

Now back aboard their jet that cut through the dark Northern skies, Donald Thorn watched Renka try on the outfits she had bought during her shopping trip. She seemed happy with her purchases and Donald was delighted with the outcome of his meeting.

Viktor Putenov remained a wise and strong leader. Their agreement to divide the world into spheres of influence and to cooperate wherever possible was exactly as Donald wanted. With Europe now fully in the Russian sphere, the American president would be free to rid North America of the troublesome lefties and liberals. He would then extend his influence South into mineral-rich and largely unexploited South America. The intended boom in oil production, alongside an upturn in logging and mining, would finally stop the immigrant lemming train from flowing ever northwards.  The troops freed from guarding Europe may come in handy should the locals object to his plans.

The Russian president had agreed to supply regular arms shipments in return for free reign in Ukraine and Eastern Europe.  Changes were coming, and the world would soon be a simpler place.

Renka, now unpacking a large bag of lacy underwear, suddenly regained his attention.

Buffalo, Thursday 6th March

“Supper’s ready,” Connie shouted up to Maria and the Kids. The three of them were playing some mixed-up game of soldiers, dolls, trains and tea sets that clearly made sense to the kids but eluded Maria.

“You’re doing it wrong, Auntie.” It wasn’t her first admonishment.

“Sorry but let’s go down and have a real tea party. Go wash your hands first.”

Young Jason started licking his hands. “See,” he held them out to Maria. “Clean now”

She picked him up. It felt like he was heavier every day. Taking Virginia (or Vinnie as the girl had taken to calling herself) with her free hand, she led both through to the bathroom sink. “There is hardly any water.” Vinnie wriggled her fingers under the few drips. The three of them did their best with what water and the little soap that was left.

They took their seats at the dining room table. Connie laid a plate with a burger, some potatoes, and peas in front of both kids. “Mmm,” Maria said, “Looks lovely.” Connie came back through and laid a plate in front of Maria, one for Ben and kept one heself. On each, was three small potatoes. Maria looked up at her and Connie just shrugged and pointed toward the kitchen. Maria stood and walked through.

“It’s all we have left.” Connie opened each cupboard in turn. The shelves were empty. “Nothing in the fridge either. Whatever was left in there spoiled last time the power went out.”

“We can go into town tomorrow.” Maria started closing the cavernous cupboards.

Connie put a hand on her shoulder and spoke quietly. “Ben tried today. He says it’s mayhem there. Everything has been looted.”

Maria saw an egg box with five eggs sitting beside the redundant toaster. Following her gaze, Connie said, “Tomorrow’s breakfast. After that, we’re out completely.”

Maria nodded. “What then Connie? Canada?”

A shake of the head. “We have no gas left.” Connie ran fingers through her now dull and greasy hair. They’d all been washing in hand soap for a week now.

“Your neighbours left yesterday. I spoke with Joni as they were packing. She said the Southerners were feeding anyone that surrendered to them. Maybe we try that?”

Connie hung her head. “I’m scared about what they might do to the kids.” Neither of them needed a reminder of that day on the road.

“What if we head over there? Two of us could surrender and one stay back with the kids until we know everything is okay.” Connie sucked her cheeks in and pondered. Then she nodded.

“We will decide tomorrow sis. Come eat your feast before it gets cold.” Connie took her hand and the two went back to the table. Ben sat chewing and there were now only two potatoes on each of their plates.

“Sorry,” he said but he didn’t look sorry at all. After the curtailed meal, he recovered his reputation by producing a Christmas candy box from somewhere.

Buffalo, Friday 7^th March, 2025

Ben already carried Jason on his shoulders, and they were barely a mile from the house. Vinnie stoically strode along with Connie and Maria. A shimmering sun broke through the clouded horizon, topped the hills and set about warming the chill morning air. On any other day, the peaceful scene would have calmed the soul, yet agitation hung like a cloud above the small group.

After consuming the breakfast eggs this morning, the adults agreed to head South in the hope the rumours of succour from the invading Southerners were true. Maria, Connie, and Ben carried rifles, as did each person they saw on the road.

Being wary of each other, people tended to walk on opposite sides of the street as they met. Some headed North, some South, but no one seemed to really know where they were going. With life disrupted, normal gone, they all just headed somewhere else.

Ben’s vote was to go for Canada, but Connie pointed out it was 100 miles away and they didn’t have a morsel to eat. The kids would never make it. The Southern force camped only five miles South now. If the rumours of good treatment were not true, they would have to think of something else. It was worth the risk.

At point of their little expedition, Ben and Jason were about fifty yards ahead.

 “Ben is doing his hero thing.” Connie pointed to him striding out. She put on a fake Ben voice. “If I get shot, you will have time to get into cover.” She gave a half-hearted laugh, but her face held no real humour.

In this early morning’s half-light, Maria and Connie had watched from the house window as Ben cleared away the bodies from their garden, before the kids rose. It wasn’t a pleasant task for him, as scavenging animals of the night had taken the first turn at the booty.

“I’ll trade you for my dick of a husband.” Maria smiled at her sister but saw a look of mortification appear on her face. “What’s up?” Maria asked, laying a hand on Connie’s shoulder

Connie forced a smile. “Oh, nothing. Just a horrible thought.”

“I know. Sorry.” Maria squeezed Connie’s arm.

“I have to tell you something,” Connie said, suddenly stopping. She turned to Virginia. “Go catch up with Dad, dearest.” Obediently, the girl ran off.

“What is it?” Maria was worried now. Connie’s furtive eyes scanned the horizon. To Maria, it looked like she was chewing something, but none of them had any food.

“Don’t grate your teeth,” she scolded.

“Shut up. Mum.” Connie playfully slapped her nagging sister.

“What is it? Consquella Helena Rena Lopez. What’s the matter?” Maria stepped closer. Connie lowered her gaze and ran a hand through her hair. She looked down at the hand in disgust, as if it had applied the grease to her scalp.

Something akin to remorse writ itself over Connie’s face. “I am usually in big trouble when you use my maiden name.” She clasped hands in a preying motion below her chin. As she did, a crack sounded from the hillside to their left. Fifty yards away, the running Virginia fell with a scream. Connie was moving before the girl hit the ground.

Her rifle instantly unslung, Maria brought the scope to her eye. With her spooky sense, she already knew from where the shot emanated. About two hundred yards away stood a low wall. Behind it a leafy bush. The magic white thread in her mind cut straight through the thick, concealing foliage. Another shot. Something was wrong. Not the location; the shot came from that bush 100%, but it didn’t sound like they were firing this way at all.

“She’s okay,” Connie shouted. “It was just a trip. She’s not shot.” Maria could see her sister struggling to breathe. Ben and Jason lay behind a stone wall in cover. “Can you see him?” Ben shouted.

“I know where he is, but something is not right,” Maria replied.

Once more, crack!. This time, she saw the telling wisp of smoke coming from the bush.  The shooter’s target was to the south, not in their direction. She lowered her gun. “He’s not firing at us.”

Further up the gorse-covered hill, her eyes tracked to two soldiers sheltered behind a large boulder. The gunman in the bush fired another wayward bullet in their direction. He was clearly no marksman, but worry seemed enough to keep his pursuers in cover.

Maria ran along and joined the others. “He’s shooting at soldiers up the hill, ” she pointed in their direction.

“Stay below this wall. We can get out of here,” Ben said, swivelling his rifle to point down the road. The moss topped wall would shelter them from the hill for the next few hundred yards. Ben and Jason led the way. The rest followed, stooped low until the road curved, and they were safely out of sight of the combatants.

“We’ll be okay now,” said ben, lifting Jason onto his back again. They’d walked for five minutes when Maria remembered,

“Oh, Sis, what did you want to tell me back there?” Connie looked up. Her face was flushed. Maria guessed it was still from the earlier alarm.

“Oh, it was nothing. Nothing at all.” Connie took Virginia’s hand and stepped up the pace. Maria looked at her sister, a little puzzled, but then shook her head and went to catch up.

By the time the group reached the line on which the Southern advance had halted, the sun was near its zenith. Maria, Connie, and the kids sheltered in the woods as Ben made his way along Lake Shore Road toward a battery of Southern artillery. Firing sounded further along Lake Erie, but these guns did not seem to be in action yet.

 Men in grey camouflage bustled about the guns. One was atop a telegraph pole, seemingly about to cut the wires. Ben walked slowly down the centre of the street with his hands in the air. The man up the pole noticed him first and shouted down to his colleagues. Maria watched as one picked a rifle up and walked toward Ben. The two men met about 100 yards from the guns. They were too far for Maria to hear anything that was being said. She held her fingers crossed that Ben would be okay. After a couple of minutes of discussion, Ben walked back a few yards and waved for them to come.

Connie said, “Come on, kids. Let’s go see Dad.”. They set off at pace. “Don’t run!” They reluctantly slowed to a fast walk.

“There’s a place about a mile down the shore. Hamburg Beach Park. The soldier says they are holding civilians there. We should get fed and somewhere to stay.” Ben smiled assuredly at the women as they approached. On either side, he held the kids by the hand.

Other than a wolf whistle from one of the soldiers, they passed the guns unmolested.

“He wouldn’t be whistling if we were upwind,” Connie waved to the men as she passed. “I haven’t had a bath in a week now.”

Maria held her nose, “Here’s me thinking the smell was that farm over there.” Connie flung a backhand swipe. It wasn’t designed to hit. Just then, three of the guns went off, sending shells into the city, and causing both women to jump out of their skin. Maria’s ears rang.

 “I wonder if they know what they are shooting at?” Connie just shook her head. Virginia stood with her hands over her ears, but Jason was jumping for joy.

“Yeah, do it again,” He yelled to the soldiers. Connie took his hand and led him away.

About ten minutes later, they came upon the bustling beach resort. Tents were being erected on either side of the freeway. They were clearly expecting an influx of refugees.

“Good day to you free Americans,” said the guard sat at the side of the road in a store bought, or pilfered gazebo. It was white and had beach balls, buckets and spades printed on each side. Almost certainly not military issue.

“Can I take your details please?” They gave their names and Connie’s address as their home. “Well, welcome to free America. I think I can get you a beach chalet rather than a tent. You will all have to share one though. Is that okay?” Ben agreed for all. The polite, welcoming man called an armed guard over.

After apologetically confiscating their weapons, their hosts guided the family to a sun baked, wood-slatted chalet overlooking the Lake. Maria remembered the Lopez clan holidaying in one similar to this when she was a child. Little renovation seemed to have taken place in the intervening years.

The day’s bright spring sunshine fought a chill wind racing off the glistening lake. Closing the splinter-dry door against the breeze, a shiver current ascended her spine. Maria doubted this place would ever be warm.

 Although small, the chalet boasted two bedrooms, one with bunk beds. Guests would even benefit from its compact toilet and tiny iron bath, which needed a good cleaning before anyone could put it to use.

“The power is off, but we have running water,” Ben said after a brief tour of inspection.  There came a knock on the door. Connie answered.

“Good day Americans. I am Lieutenant Hodge. Camp Commander. Welcome.” He smiled with little enthusiasm. They returned his greeting. Without further ceremony, their visitor launched into his speech. From the disinterested look on his face, he’d done this many times before.

 “You are relatively free to move around but we do have a few essential restrictions. There will be no gatherings of more than four adults unless specifically organised and approved by the camp command. You can’t leave unless accompanied or approved by me. You must turn over any electronic equipment. Once a day, there will be a roll call, all must attend.” He held up a hand. “I know, it sounds a bit like Stalag 14 but as long as everyone complies, you will be fed and well-treated. We are all on the same side here, of course. Any questions?”

 “Are the kids restricted from gathering?” Connie asked.

“They are not.” The Lieutenant broadened his smile as if waiting for the flash in a photo booth.”

Maria rubbed her stomach. “You mentioned food?”

He reached down at the side of the door and picked up a sack. Handing it to her, he said, “This isn’t a lot, but it should keep you going tonight. We have a mess hall just over the freeway. It’s open from 7am to 7pm. You can eat there anytime.”

Smiling, Maria, Connie and Ben looked at each other. “Thank you, Lieutenant. That all sounds great.” Maria walked over to shake his hand. “Do you have a first name, Lieutenant Hodge?”

“Yes, for my sins, I do, Mam. It’s Zebedee, but I would be mighty glad if you stuck to Lieutenant Hodge. Should the men get wind, I won’t hear the end of it.” He looked about nervously.

“Well, thank you very much, Lieutenant Hodge.” Maria shook his hand again, and the young man left.

“Yay, we are on holiday,” said Jason. “Can I go play on the beach?” He grasped Connie’s jacket and looked up  with beseeching eyes.

“Maybe later, Jace,” said Connie. “Let me check things out first, love. Okay?” She patted his wayward brown hair.

He stuck out his bottom lip, but the disappointment faded quickly, and he turned his attention to the food sack. “Yay, biscuits.”

Connie thought about steering him to healthier options but relented and let him bust into the biscuit bag. “Let your sister have some, Jace.”

After searching the gift bag, gas station cheese sandwiches were handed around. ” It is not the most exciting food, but it IS food,” said Connie, her eyes darting heavenward, “And so we will be thankful. This is better than I expected, to be honest.

“It all seems too good to be true,” said Ben, “but you know the problems with things that seem that way?

With the feast over, Maria tidied away the cellophane wrappers and then yawned. “Well, we’ll see what the morning brings. I could sleep for a week.” She let the kids have one bedroom, Ben, and Connie the other. Maria curled up on the worn and battered sofa. She guessed it would normally be quite uncomfortable, but tonight, she could have slept on a crocodile.

Occupied New York State. Saturday 8^th March 2025

Maria woke with a start as a loud buzzer pulsed. In her half-wakened state, she took a while to realise the sound was from outside. With bones aching and neck currently stuck at 45 degrees, she climbed off the sofa and walked to the window. On the beach in front of their chalet, people were gathering.

A dishevelled, partially clothed Ben appeared from the room behind her. “What’s the noise?”

Maria massaged her aching neck as she replied. “I think it is the roll call. Mr Zebedee failed to mention it is held in the middle of the night.”

“Connie, kids, time to get up,” Ben called out as he knocked on the kid’s door.

From outside, came the sergeant Major type voice. “Come on, people. Get your lousy backsides out of bed. Reverie is at zero seven thirty sharp. Don’t make me come in and get you.”

To Maria, it felt as if she’d just shut her eyes. “Is it 7.30 already?” Ben was the only one with a wind-up watch, and phone batteries had long since expired. He looked at his wrist, but the watch wasn’t there.

“Five past fucking seven,” Connie said, handing the watch he’d left beside the bed to her husband. The alarm was swamped by the sounds of the artillery beginning their day.

* * *

“Jesus, that wind is cold. Connie hunched her shoulders and pulled her sleeves over her hands.

Maria’s eyes travelled over the lined-up residents, or were they holidaymakers? Maybe prisoners? Whatever they would call themselves, there were perhaps two hundred people here. Another group gathered along the shoreline, maybe a mile away. This isn’t the only camp, she thought. It was many years since she’d attended a school roll call, but this was similar. Names were read out, and the residents shouted, “present.” After the role was concluded, the owner of the Sergeant Major voice stood in front and handed out tasks for the day.

* * *

They sat in the back of an uncovered truck, heading West along the highway. Ben and three other men were assigned to team 64. They all introduced themselves, but Ben was terrible with names and had forgotten all three. An older man with thick glasses sat opposite.

“I have a bad back. I’m really not fit to work,” he said.

Ben tried to look sympathetic. “Well, we don’t know what they want of us yet.”

“Whatever it is, I probably won’t manage,” the man complained. Ben already disliked him. They hadn’t travelled far when the truck pulled into a farm road. It stopped at a huge pile of ammunition hidden amongst trees,  about a hundred yards along the bumpy track.

“I will never be able to lift those boxes.” Said Mr Moan, as Ben had christened him.

They jumped down, and the two soldiers in the front came round. “Just stand back, guys.” Ben and the three others stood and watched as the truck was loaded using a forklift. They must need us here to unload, he thought. On completion of the process, “Back in, guys,” the truck-driving soldier said. Doing as instructed, they took their seats atop the shell boxes. The truck pulled away more slowly this time.  As they drove along the road, they passed about a dozen other trucks, each with four men in the rear. This time, they went by the camp entrance and headed further down the road to Buffalo. When they stopped again, Ben recognised the guns as those he had first encountered yesterday.

“Hey, Ben!” Connie waved from the beach nearby. She stood chatting with a group of other mothers while keeping an eye on the kids that paddled at the lake’s edge.

“Is it okay to go talk to my wife?” he asked one of the guards.

The man nodded. “Don’t go far. We will set off in two minutes. The truck was again being unloaded with a forklift.

“Hey kids.” They ignored him. They were having way too much fun. He kissed Connie on the cheek. “What have they got you doing?”

Nothing.” Connie ran a finger through his stubble. “You need a shave, Benjamin Shulmann.”

Ben took her hand and held it. “We are not being asked for much either. So far, I have just sat on the back of that truck and watched them load and offload.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go complaining. They might find some work for us. They treat us pretty well, all in all,” Connie said. Ben just shrugged.

All too soon, “Back on the truck,” The soldier shouted. Ben kissed Connie and jogged back over. They set off for the ammo dump once more. Each truck they passed was now fully loaded and had men on top. It was only when they reached the dump, and women and kids were playing on swings nearby, that he figured out what was happening. He turned to Mr Moan.

“You don’t have to worry about your back, chum. We are not here to work,” Ben said.

“What do you mean? Mr Moan smiled for the first time.

“We are human shields. The Northern army can’t fire back with us here.”

* * *

For the third time today, Maria, who’d been allocated clean-up duties, was asked to move to another hut before finishing the floor she currently mopped.

“But I am not halfway through,” she told the Sergeant.  It wasn’t that she loved cleaning, but when it had to be done, Maria liked things to be done right. There was nothing more exasperating than a job half finished.

“Looks fine to me, Mam,” said the stocky soldier, who resembled a bank clerk more than any sort of fighting machine. “Now, please go do the children’s play area. The kids are all out and about at the moment. You will have peace to get it done.” She looked askance at the idiotic man but then shrugged, retrieving the bucket. As she walked to the play area, one of the other resident women was ushered into the quarters she just left.

At supper that evening, Maria told Ben and Connie the story of her day.

“I hardly get started, and they move me to another building. I really don’t know what they are thinking, but at least it is easy work. In the last three places they sent me, I didn’t even bother having water in the bucket. No one seemed to notice.” Maria chuckled.

“The kids and I just travelled around and played in various areas. It was great. The kids loved it. There are a lot of nice people here, too.” Connie shrugged and took a mouthful of her cold meat.

Ben sat quietly, eating his meal. The way they were being used was insidious, but it wouldn’t help either of them to know.  He knew they would figure before long anyway. He also knew Connie would want to talk to someone about it. Then the trouble would start.

Falmouth VA, Sunday 16^th March 2025

Zoe’s walking boots left a trail in the dew soaked grass as she strolled along with the dogs for their morning exercise. The sun had been up for hours as it prepared for the vernal equinox, yet it struggled to warm the skin on her bare arms.

A Sunday walk usually involved a trek up the hills behind the house, stretching to four or five miles when Zoe was in the mood. Today, she was sticking to the gardens, but the decision wasn’t that confining. The grounds of grandfather’s home were extensive. Zoe and Dad decided to move in with Grandad a week ago. The intention was now to stay for the duration of the curfew. Grandad had to call in a few favours to allow Zoe and Cled to drive over to the house. Out here, on the outskirts of Falmouth, the curfew wasn’t being implemented that strictly, and she enjoyed being able to get outside again.

She spotted a neighbour, Mrs Pardew, with her chocolate brown Labrador. Bouncer and Tosh strained at the leash, and Zoe had little option but to follow the pair to the fence.

“Did you hear about the shootings?” Betty Pardew launched into gossip, forsaking any welcome.

Zoe watched as Tosh and Bouncer sniffed Stonewall through the fence. Mrs Pardew’s dog returned the greeting. With the power being out these last few days and lacking a hot shower, Zoe was glad people didn’t welcome each other this way.

She returned her attention to her neighbour. “No, what shootings?” Betty described an epic tale of looters, police, and army units.

“.. and two of the varmints ended up being shot.” Zoe nodded as if she’d paid attention. Mrs Pardew was the local gossip, but Zoe liked to let her talk. It made the woman happy.

“Are your family all safe?” Zoe asked. It turned out that the Pardews were spread to every state in the union. Mrs Pardew took the query literally, so after fifteen minutes with hardly a breath taken, Zoe knew the entire clan’s fate. In the main, the Pardew’s were safe. A “Yes,” would have sufficed.

 “That’s good to hear,” she said, now preparing the dogs for retreat. Neither Stonewall nor Betty Pardew was for retreating, though.

 “Watch out for out-of-state military units,” said Mrs Pardew. “The local Police are fine, but if the army catches you on the street during curfew, they take you into custody. Several locals were picked up last week and nothing has been seen of them since. Mrs Cody has lost her husband. No one will tell her where he has gone.”

Zoe shook her head. “That’s not good. I will ask Grandad if he can do anything.”

The woman waved a hand. “Oh, please, dear, don’t go bothering Ramsey with that. I am sure he has more important things to get on with.”

Zoe stemmed a laugh. When she left the house, Grandad was ‘busy’ repainting his powerless train set. “I am sure he will be able to do something,” she said. She watched as Mrs Pardew’s eyes twinkled. It was an open secret she had a huge crush on Zoe’s grandad, her own husband having passed a few years back. Unfortunately for her, Ramsey Duncan showed no interest at all.

Seeing Zoe preparing to move off, the older woman spoke. “Are you going to tough this out here?” She pointed to the house.

“I guess so. Grandad suggested we take the helicopter up to Canada, right at the start of the trouble. Dad and I thought it would blow over in a week or two and so we talked him out of it.”

“You wouldn’t be allowed to fly now,” Betty cut in. “It’s military only, I believe.”

Zoe knew this but thanked her anyway. “We also have the yacht down in the marina. If it gets too bad, we may use that to get away.” She saw the woman frown. “But we are going nowhere for now.” Betty’s face lightened once more.

“Oh, thank goodness. There are so few people to talk to here. I don’t know what I would do if Ramsey left…. and you too of course.”

Zoe pulled Tosh and Bouncer from the fence. “Well Mrs Pardew. I better get on. See you later maybe?” It was hard to decide who looked sadder, Bettey or Stonewall. Stonewall barked loudly and Zoe guessed Mrs Pardew would have done likewise were she able,

As she walked back toward the house, she could hear the distant gunfire. It sent a shiver up her spine. She also heard the house generator kick in and guessed that Grandad really needed those trains moving. The power was out often but they seldom used the back up. Lights on a darkened night may attract the wrong type of attention. If the power was off during the day, they would sometimes use it to catch up with radio or TV news. Zoe found it all too depressing. By the sound of things, what they had here was none too bad. She wondered how Kit was coping up in Washington. “I hope you are okay, my love,” she said to no one, but Bouncer looked up as if to reply. “You would tell me if you knew?” Zoe said to the dog.

More of the story will be added soon.