SleepingKings's Xanga

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 14:32:09 GMT

I hope you enjoy.

Series Update

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 16:42:48 GMT

Over the last year, I've done a lot of updating on my actual blog, but I haven't copied any of it here.

That's probably a good thing, because I've changed my plan repeatedly during that time. Now that things have settled down a bit, I can describe clearly where the series is going.

When it is written, it will look like this:

Sleeping Kings: Golden Age
When disaster threatens to end the quiet prosperity of the United States' long golden age, four college friends gathered together in the nation's heartland get to see it happen firsthand. Terrorist attacks on major media outlets in Oklahoma City threaten to bring the widespread chaos to their hometown, but these young heros won't allow it. Braving riotous mobs and deadly bombs, the four fight to provide a message of hope and unity to the beleaguered city.

(Trust me, it's a better story than that last sentence lets on.)

Sleeping Kings: The Wolf
Called into service by the President's right-hand man, Josh leaves his friends to try his hand at fixing the world. He meets the President and his staff at a fortified Camp David, where he also encounters the conniving Jeremiah Payne, acting as the President's cultural advisor on the violent Hiz'ammat movement. Josh has his doubts about Payne's loyalty, and sets off on his own mission to discover the true identity and motives of the terrorists, and along the way he builds an army of castoffs and runaways, soldiers of all stripes anxious to defend the nation they love.

Sleeping Kings: The Shepherd
Returning home to Saint Louis, Sarah finds her home a war zone, caught between the rival gangs that have taken over the city and the National Guard troops besieging it. In the midst of it all, an enclave of Hiz'ammat faithful thrives in violent isolation. Desperate to help the poor and defenseless most injured by the fighting, Sarah returns to her clinic at the heart of the battleground.

When the gangs' in-fighting brings the battle to her front door, Sarah finds herself in a fight for authority at the nearby Saint Jude hospital, and eventually pits herself against the vicious Colonel Davis as she strives to bring some glimmer of hope to the dying city.

Sleeping Kings: The Poet and the King
Despite the best efforts of heros like Josh and Sarah, the damage is already done. In the wake of the United States' collapse, Nate and Dave work together to bolster the relatively stable state of Oklahoma against the chaos swelling all around it. Nate's grandiose vision thrusts Dave into the public eye, and Dave's charisma and wit help him secure Oklahoma's place in the world, the lone state thriving while those around it flounder.

Even as Dave rises to power, Nate's faith falters as all his other efforts fail. In the end, it's the support of his friends and his own dedication to community that leads the way to a final, binding voice capable of healing the world. Something like that.

As you can see, the first half of Josh's story -- as posted on this blog -- becomes the first half of book one, Golden Age, and the rest becomes book two, The Wolf. I've got most of the rest of book one written now, longhand, but it'll take me some time to get it typed, and it's not quite long enough as it is. I won't know how much more it needs until I get it typed, though.

Sarah's story, The Shepherd, is already written. I did that for National Novel Writing Month last fall, and got surprisingly positive feedback on it from Trish and Nicki, who read it in December. I haven't even looked at it since then. Partly that was out of laziness (or burnout), but mainly because I want to get the full layout of books one and two down, at least in rough draft, before I do my serious rewrite of book three, since the former could well impact the latter.

And that layout of books one and two is a little tricky, because there's a lot of Josh and James stuff early in Josh's story that should really be moved to book two, but it will leave some holes in book one that need some sort of filler. I also have to come up with good transitions at every place that I make cuts, and that's not necessarily easy.

Then again, no one ever said writing books was easy. My goal is to have books one and two in a definite first draft state by the end of July, then get a good rewrite of book three done in August - September, and then go back and polish up one and two before I start whatever it is I do in November this year. Maybe I'll take a stab at The Poet and the King, but it's my most ambitious SK novel, so I wouldn't mind holding off a little longer while I get my thoughts straight.

Anyway, that's what I have planned for the series. If you're interested in reading copies of any of the first three books, contact me directly. I feel more and more like this is a real, marketable series, so I doubt I'll be posting any more of it on blogs.

Afterword

Tue, 10 Jul 2007 17:30:32 GMT

Spoiler Warning! The following post is a review and discussion of the finished book, and I assume throughout that anyone reading this post has already read the whole story. Please do not read any of this Afterword unless you've already finished Josh's story.

Also, if you're really touchy about spoilers, there are some extremely mild hints about what future books in the series will be about in the "Going Forward" bit at the end of this article. The rest is safe, though, as long as you've finished Josh's story.

Intent and Purpose
I intend this more as a post-mortem of Josh's story than as an actual afterword that might appear in the book. Mainly, I wanted to take an opportunity to talk with everyone who's been reading Sleeping Kings, and give you an idea what to expect. I'm also going to detail some of my own thoughts on the experience of writing the story in this format. I would welcome your feedback and discussion in the comments to this post.

One of the things I've said from the start is that, for me at least, a good book depends on reader feedback. That's why I chose to post Josh's story on a blog in the first place. And over time, reader feedback has had a big impact on this story. It's why Adrian Romero ended up being a girl, and why Carlos didn't have to die. It's why James decided to wear a bullet-proof vest, and why that didn't help him any. Those are just a couple examples, there's a ton more. More importantly, it's why a lot of stupid, unexplained things in the story got clarified and explained (and, hopefully, made less stupid). In every way, I consider the blog-post-with-comments experiment here a complete success.

Now it's time for a rewrite. This was a first draft, and it shows throughout the text. It shows in the comments section, too, where someone would say, "No, wait, that's stupid," and instead of fixing it, I just said, "I'll change it in the rewrite." Here's hoping I stick to that promise. Lucky for me, I still have all those comments handy, as I go into the next stage of writing the story.

I've mentioned this to several people, but my goal is to perform a really quick rewrite, and finish that before the end of July, then print out a bunch of reading copies and distribute those to friends and family. I can get different feedback that way, than what I got from people reading it a page at a time as it was written. I also think there's a different psychological effect between reading a blog post and reading a bound manuscript. I guess we'll see, in about a month.

If you don't get a printed copy, and you want one, email me. Someday I'll be a published author and people will have to pay to read my stuff, but that day hasn't really come yet. If you're one of the people helping me make this a better story, I'll be glad to hook you up.

Cutting Scenes
On the topic of rewrite...it's not a small task. Right now, the book stands around 550 pages. That's hefty. It's not bad for a Stephen King novel, but I'm not sure I could entertain a Stephen King crowd. I need to cut a lot of stuff, and that'll be tough. Off the top of my head, I can think of half a dozen scenes that I love, that aren't really necessary to the story. The hard part is deciding when a scene that does "character building" is worth leaving in. As a general rule, it's better to just get the character built within scenes that also serve the plot. Those usually aren't as fun, though.

Some scenes I know I intend to cut: after the characters all gather in OKC, Adam leaves, and then several days later Josh gets a call from Jack, and decides he's going to leave. When I wrote that, I didn't yet realize this book was going to be Josh's story. So Josh leaves, and I have two long scenes from Nate's point of view (when he goes to preach at his hometown church), and then a lunch scene back at the guys' apartment, and then a couple long scenes as Sarah heads home (and you can see the devastation in the world during her drive), and then I go back to Josh for the rest of the book. Well, until the epilogue, anyway.

All of that (Nate's church, lunch, Sarah's drive) probably needs to go. I'm going to save it, and maybe use those scenes to introduce the next two novels, but it doesn't belong in Josh's story. Then again...when I was writing the book, I used those scenes to describe to the reader what the world had become. Later, Josh goes stumbling through nightmare scenes, but I described those scenes on the assumption the reader already knew this stuff was happening. So, y'know, it could be said that those scenes serve a useful purpose. I think, though, that now that I'm focusing on Josh, it's important to get rid of them just to avoid confusing or frustrating the reader.

The Book's Structure
Actually, the focus on Josh throws a lot of things into question. The book starts with Adam meeting Sarah, and then driving to OKC to talk with Nate. Josh doesn't even show up until what I'd consider chapter three. He's mentioned before that, but he's not on camera at all. I could easily cut the Adam and Sarah scene, except that it so perfectly establishes their relationship (I'm really proud of that scene). I could make a good argument for Nate and Adam's walk-n-talk as that establishes the world setting (it might even take the place of the prologue, if I tweaked it enough).

Anyway, that's a lot of stuff I'm wrestling with. I could almost break the book in two, and have a book called Sleeping Kings which is about all five of them during the first days (basically what I cover in the first half of the book), and maybe have it end with Josh leaving....

I dunno. I don't think that really works, though. For one...I wanted to write a series about Sleeping Kings -- about regular people who wake up and become heroes during a time of crisis. I didn't really want to write about the crisis. That was just secondary. But without that, I don't really have an interesting story until Josh starts doing his thing. That's what I'm wrestling with.

In a very real sense, I'm doing exactly the same thing James did, in the story. I don't care about American Islam. I don't really care about what causes the end of the United States. I just need something doable, to get things rattled up enough that the world really does change. Then I think things will become interesting.

Plot Changes
There are some specific things I need to change, that came up during the course of the first draft. One major one is an item I alluded to earlier, when giving credit to reader feedback: James's body armor. I decided, some several months ago (so, well after Josh had left Camp David) that back at the time of the assassination attempts, James got cautious and decided he needed to start wearing a bullet-proof vest. Then he took Josh asside and explained all that to him, for no apparent reason. It only matters (and only to the reader with a good memory) during the epilogue, when Adam pulls out a gun and shoots James twice in the chest.

James falls back in his chair, and says something to the effect of, "Adam, don't do this, I'm so close!" That's not just desperate pleading (although Adam doesn't know it) -- if Adam stops there, James can make a full recovery. He's got bruises and broken bones, but probably nothing too serious. Adam doesn't know, though, and it doesn't matter. For a reader who remembers that James is wearing a bullet-proof vest, there's probably a sense of frustration and suspense, since Adam chose to shoot James in the chest. For half a page, you don't know how much good that did.

Then Adam raises the gun six inches, and finishes the job. When you know that James is wearing a bullet-proof vest, that's a much more dramatic sentence.

More important than that, I like it from an artist standpoint. It matters that Adam went up against James and shot him twice in the heart with no real effect, then once in the head and ended him. It defines what it is about James that makes him so dangerous.

But, to anyone who had finished the book so far, none of that happened. That's because I didn't come up with the idea of having James wear body armor until after Josh had gotten out of earshot for it. One of the drawbacks of publishing a serial novel. I'm saying this now so all of you who have read the story as it came out can understand that, and it'll be a little bit of a warning when you get to the rewrite. Long before Adam shot James, I intended the body armor part. It'll be a little bit of foreshadowing in the rewrite, but you weren't lucky enough to have it when you read through.

Probably more confusing was the issue of Henson's helicopter. The first time Josh shows up at Wright-Patt, the general offers him a helicopter crew. Then Josh leaves heading toward the crazy governor near Pennsylvania, but the helicopter isn't quite prepped yet, so it's going to catch up to them on the road. When it shows up, it's a big deal. Josh's convoy is getting fired on by some thugs up on an overpass. Suddenly Henson arrives to save the day.

If you go back to that story, it says something like: "Josh had expected some lunky helicopter, maybe with a mounted machine gun in the back, but this was something altogether cooler. It was a gunship, with heavy machineguns on both sides, and it made short work of the bad guys."

But (since you've been reading the end of the novel, you'll remember this), by the end of the book, I'm making a clear distinction between Henson's helicopter, and "the gunships" which refers to the other two that they picked up (on their return trip through Wright-Patt, if I remember correctly).

There's a simple reason for that. Hensons was never planned, and air support was never really intended for Josh. It just sort of happened. When I had the helicopter show up, I immediately thought how badass it would be, in the movie, to have a Blackhawk or Apache or whatever suddenly crest the bridge from behind and blow the baddies away. Sweet, so I wrote that scene in.

Then, a couple pages later, Josh and his crew are trapped in the crazy governor's military base, and need to make an escape, and the most expedient way to do that is for them to pile into the helicopter and fly away. Unfortunately, that means that Josh was wrong back at the bridge -- it was a big clunky passenger transport helicopter with a machinegun mounted in the cargo section. *Sigh*

It makes no real difference to the story, and it's a lot easier to make that change (and then give Josh a couple gunships as soon as he gets back to Wright-Patt) than it would be to write a whole scene where they abandon Henson's helicopter on the landing pad and pick out another one better suited to their needs in the middle of a hectic escape scene. So I made the decision (and Henson's sexy Blackhawk became something a lot less cool), and went on with the story.

But I never actually changed it in the text, because it was just rough draft. So Nicki's sister Lindsey, for example, who's just now reading the story, went through exactly the same confusing transition as the people who read about Henson's awesome attack chopper the day I first posted it. That's really my fault, because it would have been an easy edit, but I just put it off until I'm done.

There are a few things like that, artifacts of rough draft that I've already corrected in my head, but haven't changed in the text, but those two are the most egregious.

Factual Changes
There's likely to be a lot more issues that need changed that I don't know about. Some of them, I may already be questioning. For instance: what's the actual airspeed of a helicopter? Are any of my timeframes reasonable? Is there actually any spot on the perimeter of Fort Knox where a breach like the one I described could occur? I've seen the defenses of some military bases, but never Knox specifically.

In fact, there's a lot of stuff in this novel that could easily be game-breakingly wrong. I'm not used to that. When I write my fantasy novels, all I have to keep track of is myself. That's...well, it's a colossal task, but I have a knack for it. I can hold thousands of years of fantasy history in my head, and pick out a single thing and make sure it fits. That's what fantasy writers do. And if I need a setting for a certain scene, I just pick a place where I've never written anything about before, and describe it however I want to.

This is the first story (since fifth grade, anyway) that I've tried to set in the real world. And the one I wrote in fifth grade I got humiliatingly wrong. So there you go. And I'm not only writing about real places, but a real military culture which, frankly, I know nothing about. Luckily, I have a surprising number of friends who know a lot about it, and I've been calling on them frequently for material, but I could still easily have tons of stuff that's just glaringly unacceptable, throughout the novel.

One thing that several people have pointed out: I need to figure out Josh's rank. It makes a big difference. For one, I could avoid a lot of the arguments in the story by giving him some significant level of authority, and then nobody will argue with him leading men into battle. Then again, one of my big goals for him is to show that what he's doing, he's doing by personal will, not by some external chain of command. That's why I had him go through Air Force ROTC and then enlist in the Marines. It fits his character, but it also serves my purposes.

But, even if I'm not going to make him a Second Lieutenant or whatever, I need to know what he is. It makes sense that it would turn up in conversation (and there's several places in the dialogue where it's conspicuous that it isn't mentioned). I didn't write it into the rough draft, because I needed to take some time and research to figure out what would be appropriate. It's something I have to resolve, though.

I came up with the Pontchartrain Bridge ambush scene about two months ago, and spent two weeks actively developing the scene in my head. Then it occurred to me to worry that there might not be a bridge over the lake that stretched as far as I needed it to. Or, more importantly, it might not be connected to a highway leading to Florida. By the time I thought to worry about that, I dreaded doing the research, and collapsing the sine wave (as it were). In my fantasy world, I can just make up a bridge, and a highway (and a map direction, if I want). Not so easy, here.

I caught a lucky break on that one. I picked out the scene I described using Google Maps, and zoomed down to pick out the actual rooftop that Josh was sitting on to watch the fireworks.

Actually, that whole description applies to the ambush in Indianapolis, too, now that I think about it. I figured out what I wanted to happen a long time before I bothered to check and see if it was possible. In both cases, I caught a lucky break (and made some flexible changes to my storyline to accomodate technicalities).

I don't know how much else there is to do, though. I'm sure there's stuff in there so wrong I'd have to scrap the whole book. I'm hoping that my reading copies, and my astute readers, can sort out most of that. What I miss, I'll miss, and history can judge me for it. For now, though, I'm just trying to get the story told.

I do want to thank each and every one of you, though, for your feedback and interest in the story. They're the only reason it's done, today.

Going Forward
Of course, the story isn't really done. I didn't end it on a cliff-hanger, by any means, but I did end with a promise that there was more to tell. Specifically, I promised that Sarah's story was next.

I just want to let you know, Sarah's story won't be starting tomorrow. Or this week. Probably not this year.

For one, I haven't really been thinking about it. I figured out the really broad strokes, but I haven't been working on the details even a little. I prefer to let a story stew for a while (generally a year) before putting it on paper. I gave Josh's story two or three years, actually.

Actually, at the same time I decided to make book one be Josh's story (about a year ago -- right around the time he got to Camp David in the story), I also figured out what I wanted for the rest of the series. I decided to make book two be Sarah's story. She's in St. Louis, now. If you were paying attention (and have a moderate grasp of geography), you'll guess that that puts her square in the Hiz'ammat corridor. That means life on a day-to-day basis is more stable than elsewhere, but there's also a much stronger presence of American Islam in it. Should be an interesting story.

So, I plan to write Sarah's story next. It doesn't take place within the same time span as Josh's story; it's a true sequel. The first chapter or two should sum up everything that happened to her during the months that Josh spent in the first book. The short answer: not a lot. It'll just be an overview of life in the city immediately after the revolution.

Then the bulk of the book describes what she does to change or shape the world, and it's on a much longer timeframe than Josh's. I'm toying with the idea of ending all the books on holidays. I'd like for hers to be Christmas, but six months isn't long enough, so either I'm changing holidays, or you can expect the second book to cover an eighteen month span.

Then the third book will cover Dave and Nate, who stayed in Oklahoma City. They work together, and from a more stable starting point (the heartland didn't suffer nearly the same effects as the rest of the nation), but they achieve the most dramatic effects (although, by the end of the series, Josh is in a pretty interesting position, too). And, of course, they're working on the longest timeframe. Their story probably covers somewhere between two and five years.

So that gives you an idea what I'm planning for the series. I don't plan to sit on Sarah's story for a year. I'm going to be starting on a collaborative fantasy novel with Daniel sometime in September, and that'll be my top priority, but I generally do work on multiple projects at once. I might work on Sarah's story as a background project and build up a buffer of stories before I start posting here. That seems like a good idea. My goal is to wait six months before I start posting, but I might not make it that long.

Of course, I also intend to do a full rewrite or two (or three or four) of Josh's story. I'll post updates on the progress of that here. And, as I said, if you're interested in a reading copy let me know. I do encourage you to keep your subscription to this Xanga if you're interested in Sarah's story. While you may not get any sort of updates for six months, as soon as I do start posting her story, you'll get an automatic email. So at least there's that.

In the meantime, reread Josh's story a dozen time and make lots of comments. That'll make it a better book, and the world will be better for it. Really. I'd love to hear what you have to say.

And, once more, thank you.

Author's Note

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 05:40:39 GMT

Josh's story, the first novel in the Sleeping Kings trilogy, is finished.

Happy Birthday, Nicki.

Epilogue

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 05:39:19 GMT

In Toronto, it was raining -- torrential downpour, and already talk of flooding. Adam darted under the overhang of a public library, ducking out of the driving rain, and tried shaking himself like a wet dog. It didn't have much effect. He brushed the water from his eyes (his ball cap hadn't been much help), then pulled open the library's front door, and made his way in.

The librarian at the front desk considered him with barely concealed disgust. He noticed, but didn't blame her. He looked awful. Worse, even, than when he'd met with Josh in Georgia. It had been a long trip in only a few days, and he'd had to pull several tricks to get here. His racing thoughts skipped ahead to his intentions here, and he nodded. It would be worth it. Drops of water spattered the ancient carpet at the motion. He paid it no mind.

Off to the left was the children's section. More contempt there, in the eyes of young mothers, but Adam ignored them, too. Just beyond the children's books, bright colors and goofy stuffed animals, stood a wall lined with doors that let into reading rooms. He knew which one he needed -- the second from the left.

James was waiting inside, fancy in a dress suit. His appearance was manicured, managed, and the weasel look was nearly lost beneath the fancy haircut and fine attire. He was seated behind a plain, cheap table as though it were a fine mahogany desk. He had that air about him. Adam had noticed that even over the phone.

"Adam!" he said, and his excitement quickly melted into that same disgust. "Ugh. You look like hell."

Adam shrugged. "I don't know if you've noticed," he said, "but Hell isn't far off."

James considered him for a moment. "So," he said, "why the cloak and dagger stuff? Why'd you want to meet here, instead of in my office?"

"I wanted to be able to speak freely," Adam said. "I'm here to talk to you about everything that's going on." He hit James with a meaningful look. "Everything. And your part in it."

James grinned. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you said you were on to me, huh?" He nodded to a kid-sized chair across the table from him. "Have a seat."

"Thanks, I'll stand."

James shrugged. "Fair enough," he said. "What did you want to talk about?"

There was a big map spread out on the table in front of James, but upside down -- clearly there for Adam's benefit. It was of the United States and Canada, but it had the look of a medieval map of Europe. Adam recognized the style, but it was more than that. The land was divided up into kingdoms and duchies, territories that had the feel of the Old World to them. Adam pointed to the map, "Really, I'm here about that."

James grinned. "It's working, Adam. Just like you said it would. Everything is falling into place."

Adam shook his head. "I never said anything about this--"

James shrugged, but his grin only grew wider. "Nonsense. I'm making a new world here. I'm changing the whole history of the world. You taught me about that. Remember? You said that four hundred years ago, the world was six thousand years old. Then the scientists got together and destroyed the world of the Hebrew bible, remade it, so that today, four hundred years later, the world is four-point-five billion years old. It's the same thing as that."

"That's not how it works, James. Social Constructionism..." He winced. He didn't like to admit this. "It's about perception. It's about behavior. It's not really magic, it just behaves like magic."

James laughed at that. "A year ago, you could have told me that and I'd have believed you. Hell, a year ago, I was probably arguing exactly that." He shook his head. "You showed me different, though. Look!" He waved at the map, waved at the walls to indicate the world without. "I've done it. You always said that the thing that killed the old magics was people's comfortable acceptance of an ordered world."

He leaned forward, frighteningly intense. "I've broken that. How many times did you explain that that was what it would take? 'Somehow, we'd have to make everyone lose faith in the world as they know it.' That's the first ingredient in making a new world."

Adam stared. "So, you're taking credit for all of this?"

James nodded, enthusiastic. "Sure," he said. "I mean, by all means, if you want your share, I'll certainly give it to you. You've earned it. You taught me everything I know."

"No," Adam said. He wanted to shout, but then, it was a library. He didn't want to attract attention to this meeting. "For the love of God, James, no. This is not the behavior of a sane man."

James waved that away with a casual gesture. "Sanity is going along with the socially constructed world as it is. Screw that. Insanity is magic. If you can get others to believe it, it becomes sorcery." He frowned. "You know all this. Why are you making me say it?"

Adam shook his head. He turned his back on James. "It's ideas. It's philosophy. You're not supposed to apply it like this--"

"Damnation, Adam, this is the only way it can be applied. You've known that from the start. Without shaking things up, we can't really do anything. Without breaking the existing order, it's all just talk."

"'Shaking things up,' James? That's what you call this? Millions are probably dead by now." He turned back, to meet James's eyes. "How much of that did you really influence?"

James's eyes went blank, as he tried to recall. After a moment, he started nodding. "I didn't create Phillip Al-Jabi, or his little joke. I read Arlin's story in the paper just like everybody else." He stopped, and then laughed. "You know," he said, "I did get his book published. I mean, I wasn't working on the project at the time, not deliberately, but I talked to the guy at Doubleday about his a week or two before he submitted the manuscript, and that's the main reason they picked up his book." He smiled, reminiscing. "Wow...."

A moment later, he focused on Adam again. "After the last election, when they used the assassination and fear mongering to get another one of their guys into the White House, I thought it was time. So I started pulling strings and making speaking engagements, and the more work I put into it, the easier everything seemed." He spread his hands out before him, "And here we are today." He looked to Adam, as if he was expecting some words of approval.

"James," he said, "do you realize what you're saying? Do you have any idea?" He stopped short. "Why Beth?"

"Ah, Beth," the same wistful tone in his voice. Then he met Adam's eyes and frowned, shook his head. "She wasn't right for you, Adam. She was too simple. Too easy."

"She was kind. She was perfect. She was happy." James didn't notice the animal growl in Adam's voice.

"Beth was stupid, and you know it." He shrugged. "Most happy people are, I guess. She was too easy to manipulate, though. She's always hated me, so when I started saying out loud that Hiz'ammat was a wicked, dangerous cult, she immediately believed the opposite, and began researching them with such a sympathetic heart." He laughed. "She got me the contact information for everyone I needed to know. She showed me examples of the good and kind people, and how all they wanted was a place of their own, and she showed me how the wicked and cruel and dangerous people were just rare exceptions." He grinned. "And she got me their names. It was beautiful."

Adam said, "And Josh? Dammit, James, I thought you liked Josh."

James nodded. "I did. But he made himself a sheep. He believed in the old system so much, I couldn't have ever brought him to our side." He sighed. "There was a power there, though. Things...happen around him."

"You'd be surprised," Adam said.

Something in his voice caught James's attention, and James said, "He's not one of us?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Yes, he's one of us. Everyone's one of us, James. We're not super heroes or secret wizards--"

"Oh, we are." James grinned. "We're becoming them, anyway. This boring old world is yesterday's news. But, you know what I mean. Maybe everybody can do what we do, but most people don't. Most people want to be sheep until the day they die."

"Well, Josh is a wolf. He wouldn't believe it himself, but he's a powerful one. And right now he's pulling the fangs on your pet beast."

James looked flat astonished at that, his eyes wide. "I never imagined." He shook his head. "No matter," he said. "There are more where that came from. At this point, I could raise up a new army like that!" He snapped his fingers. "And, hell, with you here, maybe we can bring Josh in line after all. If he's turned himself into a hero, so much the better."

"I'm not going to help you, James. What you're doing is evil."

James laughed at that. "Evil, Adam? Really? You're the one who taught me just how fluid that word is." He shook his head. "Yes," he said. "Yes, these last few weeks have been ugly. We've made some sacrifices. All of us had to make some sacrifices. But that is the price of change. It's not my fault it took such a dramatic step to fix things. Blame it on Science, the cannibal magic. Blames it on capitalism or consumerism or humanism, but for whatever reason, this whole world had become so abominably and uniformly petty, that it had to be shaken up."

He leaned back. "None of it is real anyway." A shiver went down Adam's spine at that, but James pressed right on. "None of this is real. And it's less real today than it was a week ago. I'm undoing that boring world, to create us one right out of fantasy. We'll have our old magics again, Adam. We'll have myth and legend. Two weeks from now, no one will remember the world that was, or the birth pangs necessary to make the new one."

Adam said, "You're shrugging off the deaths of millions. Human lives are real, James, no matter what else you may believe. You've killed enough men to label you a monster in any world."

James shrugged. "You've got to break some omelets to make an egg." He grinned at that. "Adam, Adam, Adam. Chum. Calm down! I understand you're upset. I'm sorry about Beth, okay? I said it. I'm sorry I gave Josh a bad reputation. It worked so well, though! Can't you see? This was all just theory a couple years ago. I didn't even really believe you. But it's working! Look around you! I'm making a brand new world, just like we always talked about."

He nodded, shrugged. "I get it," he said. "I had to get my hands dirty. That was the cost of things, and yes, it has been more...unpleasant, than I really expected. But that's done, now. That's almost done. One more big push, one dramatic event, and we can shatter what left of the old reality. Everyone, world 'round, will lose their grasp on it, so shaken by the nightmare their world has become. And in that moment, the universe will be so soft even a child could shape it."

Adam sighed. "A child would not do the things you have done."

James shook his head. He looked proud of himself. "A child couldn't dream as I have. It will be glorious, friend. Do you want to ride a gryphon? Do you want to face a dragon? We can make the world whatever we want it to be." He met Adam's eyes. "I know, I know, you're here to confront me about this, but don't." He pulled out a walkie talkie from his pocket, one of the toys you buy for five dollars at Wal-Mart. It was neon green. "With a push of this button I can call an army of secret service guys to defend me."

Immediately, he looked like he regretted saying that. He grimaced. "Not that that matters," he said. "Adam, I know you once talked about power, about magic, but now I'm the one who has it. With what you know, you could probably be a worthy adversary. But you'd be an even more valuable ally." He leaned across the table. "I know you would never do what I have done, because you're too...good. But it's done now, okay? Get over it. It's done, and the world is ready to be remade. Take a place by my side. I'll make you a god-emperor too. Gladly."

He leaned back, waved a hand over the map on the desk, "Or you could be king. You could be king of the world, if you wanted." He smiled. "I'm really starting to enjoy this power-behind-the-power gig. It's way more fun than I would have thought."

Adam met James's eyes. "You're a cancer, James." He shook his head. "I gave you a glimpse into how reality works, and you twisted it into a nightmare." He sighed. James furrowed his brow, uncomprehending. Adam took a step forward, reaching out a hand toward James, and in that moment James's frown turned into a smile. He half rose from his chair, glad he'd convinced Adam to change his mind, and stretched out a hand to shake....

And then he noticed the gun. Adam understood myth and symbols, and he believed in the sure power of faith, but he understood cold reality, too. He raised the gun and fired twice, and both bullets caught James square in the torso. He fell back into his chair, eyes wide, agape. Adam leaned close, "I'm sorry, James. I don't dare allow you to shape the world I'm going to live in." He heard the shouts and screams in the library outside. He ignored them, focused so intently on James's eyes.

James raised the walkie talkie again, but Adam flicked the gun and knocked it out of his hands. James coughed, then said, "Don't do this Adam. I'm so close." He gasped for air. "Tomorrow, I could have the world of my dreams."

Adam said nothing. He took one step away, then raised the gun six inches higher and put an end to James's machinations forever.

And though there comes a time when heroes rise again, when kings wake from their slumber and legends become real, even in those times life is not a fairy tale. With three shots in the beast, the world would no longer warp under Jeremiah Payne's twisted magic, but the terrors he had wrought weren't instantly cured.

America's glorious Golden Age was done, shattered, and by that point all the world was in chaos. It would take new heroes, men and women of greatness, to decide the future for the world. It was, as James had said, soft. Malleable. The future would be shaped by those strong enough to impose sheer will on chaos, and from it make a world.

Adam had faith that they could make it a better world than James would have. Maybe even a better world than it had been before. Certainly less boring. It would require heroes, but he knew there were heroes out there, even in this quiet time.

In that day, Josh had played his part, and Adam his. Sarah's, though, was just beginning.

THE END.

Author's Note

Tue, 03 Jul 2007 17:07:24 GMT

How absolutely fantastic! An esteemed physicist arguing that the laws of nature are established through, essentially, Social Constructionism.

http://www.salon.com/books/feature/2007/07/03/paul_davies/?source=whitelist

A key quote from halfway down the page:

"What Davies proposes is truly mind-bending. Drawing on the bizarre principles of quantum mechanics, he suggests that human beings -- through the sheer act of observation -- may have helped shape the laws of physics billions of years ago."

Today's Story

Tue, 03 Jul 2007 12:14:51 GMT

Josh shouted, "Take cover," as he turned back toward the line, but the barricades seemed a mile away. Halfway to it, he saw the prisoner cop take four rounds to the back and go down hard. His escort lost a big chunk of his leg, and went down beside him. Josh got low and made the run, focused on nothing but speed, until he dove over the low wall and hit the ground hard. He could hear heavy rounds burying themselves in the concrete above him.

And in that moment he knew why he'd survived. The helicopters weren't really after his men. They were making a run on the tanks. He could hear Carlos shouting, trying to coordinate a response. But there was little they could do. This was unexpected. He rose up a little, fired off a few rounds at a helicopter passing overhead, but it had no effect. He sighed, "They finally got wise to our tricks, Henson."

"Yeah, but a tad too late, sir." Josh didn't have time to wonder what that meant. He rose up, cautious, trying to get a feel for the state of things, and off to the north he heard the tell-tale moan melting into a whine. Out over the lake, he found the source of the sound, eight fighter jets in tight formation. Josh watched as they adjusted course, coming straight for him.

They tore through the helicopters, dropping four of them on the first pass, then banking back for a return run to clear them out. "Thank God for that," Josh said.

Carlos said, "Thank General Haye. He really didn't think they'd be her in time."

The tanks boomed again, then, though one of them stayed silent. Again, death rained among the entrapped terrorists, and again it silenced their guns. Josh got on the comm with Henson and Carlos. "They use CB radios to communicate. We can get the channel from one of the prisoners. Henson, get those jets out on patrol. I don't want any more surprises." And just as he said that, he saw one of the jets swinging wide out over the bridge, and two missiles seemed to fall almost lazily away from it, slamming hard into the north end of the bridge. From his position, Josh felt the impact of the explosion, as a huge segment of the bridge fell away into the lake.

"Dammit, Henson, what the hell was that?"

Carlos answered him a moment later. "Probably a smart move, sir. Alpha Team has its hands full. It'll do good to cut off the retreat." He sighed. "There's still a lot of work to do."

Josh nodded. A lot of work, yes, but the day's job was done. As long as they didn't pull a bomber out of their hat, it seemed he had the enemy subdued. "Get Alpha Team some support, then," he ordered. "And we need some people to see to our injured on the bridge. Bring Epsilon up to support me, and put them on my comm channel. Let's get these guys processed."

There was still much work to be done. When they found the right channel, they sent out the orders for surrender, and those who had radios passed the information to those who didn't. Gradually, the prisoners made their way to the front of the line, to wait for processing.

It took hours. Josh brought in nearly all his men just to oversee the process. Every prisoner was carefully checked before he was restrained and allowed to join the others. They had trucks already waiting, and they loaded them swiftly and started them running constant trips to the nearest airfield, loading C-130s with prisoners. They would be divided among the bases participating in the action. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it would work for today. Josh oversaw the process until he was comfortable it was running smoothly.

Then, against the objections of everyone involved, he gathered a team to start searching the wreckage, finding holdouts and retrieving the injured. That was a dangerous job. Four miles of wrecked cars, some of them still bearing prisoners willing to surrender peacefully but not yet ready to go stand in line. Worse, of course, every step of the way was lined with the risk of suicide attacks, or snipers firing from within the wreckage. Around noon, Josh took a shotgun blast up close and personal, but his flack jacket protected him from the brunt of it. He dropped the guy with a left hook, and one of his soldiers saw him roughly back to the line. Two of the men on his team weren't so lucky, but even with the loss of the gunships that brought his casualties for the day just over two dozen.

Two dozen lost, and a thousand prisoners taken. Their jaws dropped when they counted up all the explosives carried in the trucks they'd stopped, all the rocket launchers and heavy arms the enemy possessed. They found property from Pensacola and Mountain Home, and some stuff that was unlabeled but clearly military issue. And, of course, they found the maps of New Orleans, and of the refineries in the area. In half a dozen places, they found headshots of Josh, with unflattering descriptions and calls for his death. He smiled at those.

Late that night, back at the base in Anniston, he sat back in the plush leather chair in the office he'd borrowed, and drank a glass of Scotch the base commander had offered him, and he looked down at a handful of those pictures on his desk, and he smiled. He'd won today. Tomorrow, he would look into occupying New Orleans. He wanted to make sure the locals would welcome him there, but he saw real promise in going that route. Carlos was busy reading every scrap of paper they'd recovered from the cars in the convoy, trying to figure out future plans, and Haye was busy trying to figure out what to do with all the prisoners.

In that moment, though, Josh just sat in the silence, and sipped his Scotch, and smiled. It had been a good day's work.

Today's Story

Mon, 02 Jul 2007 18:40:19 GMT

Carlos said, "Alpha Team, the enemy is coming in hot. Hold your position until my signal."

Josh twisted and stretched to peek over the barricade. He raised his binoculars, but he didn't need them to make out the growing glow of light to the northeast. Morning was coming on, but this false dawn was born of a thousand blazing headlights, racing full-tilt toward him.

He'd been receiving regular reports throughout the night, but it was something else to see the charge in person. He said to his team, "Steady," trying to calm his own nerves with the word. Through his binoculars, he could see the tiredness in the eyes of the lead driver, at the wheel of a big semi.

He had lots of intel already, and as he scanned the line he was able to confirm it. The convoy consisted mostly of sedans and minivans -- vehicles that would go entirely unremarked when the cell split up. Here and there among them, though, were the U-Hauls and loaded trailers, packed with munitions and equipment. From his position, Josh could see the boxy brown of a UPS truck, flanked on both sides by Hondas.

Staring as it came on, he imagined what it would have felt like facing a cavalry charge a thousand years ago. He held his position, helpless for the moment to do anything but wait. The enemy, a screaming column of steel and fire, charged blindly on.

Back then, the answer to a charge of horse would've been a phalanx of men with long spears. Today, it was a handful of chains tossed across the lanes of the highway, each one packed with strong, sharp spikes to shred the tires of any vehicles that tried to pass. They were stretched within firing range of Josh's crew, here at the southwest foot of the bridge. It churned his stomach to crouch, half-hidden, and wait. Chances were good their position would be in sight of the lead drivers before they hit the spikes. That had been a tough call to make.

Now he waited, and he had his doubts. He eased the safety on his rifle. With luck, he wouldn't have to fire it, but he wasn't counting on that.

A hundred feet short of the chains, the convoy was still pushing seventy.

Henson said, "We're clear. They're all on the bridge."

Josh said, "Carlos, send in Alpha Team. Now."

Then came the boom, thundering explosion as the first truck in the line hit the chain of spikes. His tires exploded, and the truck swung wildly. Josh clenched his teeth against the whine of metal as the truck's tires stripped away, it's wheels scraping on the cool asphalt.

And a moment later, the painful crunch and scream as the first cars in the line failed to dodge the careening truck. Their tires would be tatters by that point, too, but that had to be a secondary concern, as they plowed into the stricken trailer. It rolled at the second impact, and landed on its side, scraping to a halt a hundred yards from Josh's position.

There was a moment that felt like silence. It felt like the world was still, waiting, and Josh was lost in it. Then came another crash, another loud bang, and a pair more behind it. A pileup was occurring, and their predictions for the last half hour, monitoring the convoy's speed and density, suggested the accident would involve nearly fifty vehicles. They were hoping none of the trucks involved carried excitable explosives.

The sound of it all was overwhelming, tires squealing and cars smashing together, and soon the voices rose up, too, screaming in pain or calling out in confusion. Already there would be casualties, among the pile of cars. Josh wasn't happy about that, but his commanders really liked the strategy, so he'd stuck with it.

Josh was about to remind Carlos, but he didn't have to. Carlos said, "Charlie Team, fire your warning shots."

Behind him, the tanks fired a volley. Krakoom that shook the ground beneath him, and a terrifying plume of fire and smoke. It was a gesture, and Josh had meant it to subdue their prey. It didn't work.

Immediately, answering fire arose among the cars, the crackle and pop of small arms, the sharper crack of rifle fire. Josh rose up on his toes, still crouched behind the barrier, and said to his team, "Hold your positions." Then to Carlos. "We've got return fire."

"Dammit, Henson--" he cut off. He'd been about to ask about the gunships. They were supposed to subdue a response in this situation. They were gone. He took a deep breath.

Henson said, "I know, sir."

Carlos hesitated only a moment. "Charlie Team, fire on the convoy. Alpha Team, what's your status?"

Josh covered his ears as the tanks boomed again, and this time their shells landed among the stricken convoy, well behind the line created by the pileup. Josh cursed. The damage would be horrific, gaping craters within a packed traffic jam, where vehicle and man had been ripped to shreds. He could picture it too easily. He'd seen similar things, in the last week.

He nodded. That's what they were here to stop. And then, he realized the sounds of gunshots had died down. That volley, then, had done its job. "Carlos, call off the tanks," he said. He waited, in the sudden, eerie silence, listening.

The next thing he heard were voices, calling out. He imagined he heard the word, "Surrender." That's what he wanted them to be saying, anyway. "Beta Team," he ordered, "move out. Keep sharp."

He hopped the barricade, and pushed forward, a wary eye on the twisted line of metal ahead of him. Men were pushing through it, around it, and rushing to meet him. He raised his gun to eye level, and they got the hint. They slowed. Maybe a dozen men, and his team had them well outnumbered. He gestured for some of his men to keep moving forward, then took the megaphone from the man to his right.

"You are surrounded, outmanned, and outgunned. You are hereby ordered to stand down. Throw down your weapons, and begin advancing slowly, in single file, to be process by our men. You will be treated as prisoners of war, with all the rights and safeguards that grants you." He lowered the megaphone, then changed his mind and raised it again. "Your war is over."

Now he met the eyes of the men closest to the front of the line. The first of them nodded, then held his hands out to his side, and approached Josh slowly. The others behind him fell into line, and imitated his stance. Josh nodded and beckoned them forward.

Josh appointed three guys to meet with the prisoners as they approached and process them. They had an area set up down below the bridge and off to one side, to keep people until they were confident the matter was settled. These few would be taken there and questioned, before Josh was ready to do anything further. First they were frisked for weapons, their hands lashed behind their backs. Most of Josh's men ignored them, alert for action beyond the wreckage.

The first handful were pitiful, terrified middle-aged men or high school kids, one of them burned so badly from the wreck that half of his shirt had fallen away, but he moved as deliberately as the others, readily surrendering to Josh's men.

The fourth in line, though, had the look of command, and Josh went straight to him, jerked him away from the line and set him out in the open. "Stand here," he ordered sharply, then backed off as a pair of soldiers ran up to pat him down. When they were satisfied, they nodded then returned to their position. Josh returned to stand right in front of him. "Keep your hands where I can see them," he said. "What's your role in this?"

The guy shrugged, but his eyes were cold, defiant. Josh backhanded him. "What's your name?" Josh kept his voice level, quiet. "What's your rank? You look like a man of some importance."

He shrugged again, but opened his mouth before Josh could strike him. "I'm a cop," he said. He had a thick Brooklyn accent that caught Josh off guard. "I was a cop. Here, I'm just a driver."

Josh considered him for a moment. "You're here for New Orleans? You're heading for the refineries?"

He shrugged again, palms up, but he nodded, too. "Yeah. Yeah, that was the plan."

Josh nodded. "The plan has changed. Your people are trapped. We want to bring them in peacefully. Can you do anything to help me with that?"

He scowled. "How do you mean?"

"We don't want to kill any more than we have to. If your people will surrender peacefully, this can all be over soon. Is there any way to get that word to all of them? Do you have walkie talkies? Some kind of radio? Or do you just drive?"

"CBs," he said. "Most of the cars in the convoy have them by now. Yeah, we can get the word out." He jerked a thumb back toward the fallen semi. "You don't want me to go back there?"

"No," Josh said. "Turn around." He quickly secured the cop's hands behind his back with zip ties, then turned him to face forward again. "Just tell us the channel." He pointed. "You're going to go over there and talk with one of my comm techs, and we'll get the word out." He nodded to the nearest soldier. "Get this guy back to the techs in Charlie Team."

They started on their way back to the line, and Josh had a moment's satisfaction. So far, everything was going according to plan. Then Henson cursed, the strongest language Josh had ever heard from him, and said, "Josh, you've got trouble. Coming in fast, on the deck."

Josh whirled. The scene froze in his mind. The sun was rising, now, dancing fire across the choppy waves of the lake to either side of the bridge. There was a strong wind, and it carried the burning rubber smell of the wreckage, and the sounds of pain and fear of those still trapped beyond it. There was another sound, too, and Josh barely had time to place it, the pounding thrumm of the rotors, before the first helicopter climbed into view, rising up off the lake.

There were twelve altogether, gunships like the two he'd just lost outside Baton Rouge, but these were jet black, painted with a logo that certainly wasn't U. S. military. They had probably belonged to a private defense company, but now they were part of the enemy. They climbed in formation, rising into view just as they passed the point of the pileup. And as soon as they cleared the bridge, each one opened fire with two heavy mounted guns, spraying the bridge and Josh's men with gunfire.

Today's Story

Sun, 01 Jul 2007 17:03:27 GMT

There were seven teams, assigned various roles. Josh had claimed personal command of Beta Team, who would be the only team directly closing with the enemy. Every one of the generals, Haye included, had protested that, insisting Josh should be coordinating at Operation Command. Josh couldn't do it, though. With every encounter he grew more confident in his command, but he still couldn't bring himself to send men into combat if he wasn't right there with them. That, he thought, was the one part of a general's job he couldn't handle.

So, in the wee hours of the morning, he left Carlos to the job that should have been his, and joined his team down on the asphalt, at the southwest foot of the bridge. By that point, all the pieces of the trap were in place, all the teams in place. At his position, they'd set up concrete highway barricades for cover, four lines making a pair of V's pointing to the center of the road. A hundred feet behind them stood the line of tanks, Charlie Team.

On his way to his position, Josh stopped to chat with the men he passed, asking after any unexpected problems, offering a word of praise or encouragement. Steeling his men for the action ahead. Then he took his place behind the forward barricade, sitting on the rough gravel, listening to the noises of his men settling in, lost in the deep darkness of the early morning, with hours yet to go before the fight.

During that long wait, his mind wandered. He thought about the city of New Orleans, crouching so close by. Scene of so much devastation, and now, in many ways, the nation's best hope for rebirth -- or resurrection. He shook his head, silently counting up all the damage done, but this one city's production capacity could keep half the country running. How could he thank them, for thwarting the enemy's attempts this long?

His thoughts ran to daydreams, then, and long-term plans. After the dawn, after the day's conflict, he would set up permanent residence in New Orleans...if they would have him. He decided it, then and there. This one blow would cripple the enemy, but it wouldn't kill them. He had plans for that, though. From here, he could put together a counter-strike -- a methodical process of uniting and organizing the many military bases, coordinating them to defend the populace and protect the shattered infrastructure. He had allies already, and he was learning how to bully base commanders. If he could secure the New Orleans refineries, he'd have all the authority he needed.

These thoughts were interrupted by a sudden chirp in his headset. Henson said, "Hey Josh, we've got activity on the northern front." Josh started at that. This late in the script, he'd given up on anyone coming from the C cell.

"How many?"

"That's not clear yet," Henson said. "About a hundred. A couple pilots out of Little Rock just noticed a burst in traffic on I-50, headed toward Baton Rouge. These guys were a lot more subtle than A cell. I'm sending the gunships to get a closer look."

Josh nodded. "Good," he said. "Keep me posted." Then the silence descended again, and Josh sat back to wait. Eventually his thoughts returned to the city below. There was a National Guard unit maintaining order already. Josh had coordinated this action with them, and they'd proven themselves enthusiastic helpers. That would make his occupation easier.

Henson interrupted him again, sometime later. "Josh," he said, "I've got...news." He went silent, probably listening to a report form his pilots. "Okay," he said. "I've got the surveillance planes going back to keep an eye on things, but the choppers report a relatively small convoy. Probably the same people who hit us--" he cut off suddenly, then said, softly, "Oh damn." A moment later he shouted, "No! Dammit, Drew, no. Back off. That's an order." His voice was shrill by the end.

Josh waited as long as he could, then said, "Henson, what's going on?"

"They got Caleb's ship," he said, his voice empty. "Shoulder-mounted rocket. They just got lucky."

Josh sighed. How many men was that? And the gunship was a precious loss, too. He cursed. "What's Drew doing?"

Henson didn't answer right away. When he did, he sounded calmer. "Okay," he said. "After the first ship went down, Drew's opened fire on the convoy. He tore them up. Josh," he said quickly, and he sounded like he was trying to defend his men, "these are the same guys who made the massacre at Knox. The same ones who hit our camp outside Memphis." He took a deep breath. "Not everyone can be as calm about it as you are."

Josh gaped. Him, calm? Maybe he'd faked it well, but he hadn't felt it. He shook his head. "Hey, more power to them," Josh said. "As long as he doesn't get shot down."

"No," Henson said. He sounded distracted. "No, actually he got them to surrender. He's..." he paused. "He's reporting to me now. They've thrown down their weapons, and Drew is moving in now to--" he cut off again. Then, almost a whisper, "God in Heaven."

"What?" Josh said. "Henson, what's happening?"

"They..." He couldn't speak. Josh could feel it. He didn't know what had happened, but he knew it was bad. Henson said, "They went quiet, Josh. There was a bang, and I lost contact. Just a sec." Silence again. Then he came back, his voice thick. "Surveillance planes saw it, Josh. Big explosion. I think there was a pickup packed with explosions. They blew it when Drew's crew got close. There's a crater now."

Josh nodded. There was nothing to say. A suicide attack? Had they actually seen that yet?

"I'm sorry, Henson." He said. His mind raced. "Carlos," he said, "you hear all that?"

"Yeah."

Josh said, "Send Delta Team to check out the scene. There might be survivors."

"Josh," Carlos said. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I heard the pilots' reports, and there's not much of anything. Meanwhile, we've got an army of thousands arriving any time now--"

"Dammit, Carlos, don't argue with me on this. We had a contingency plan for C cell making an appearance, and Delta is in reserve just for that. Get them moving. I need to know exactly where things stand." He let his head fall back against the concrete barricade behind him. It hurt. "Damn it all," he said. "Henson, I'm sorry."

Henson answered him a moment later, all professional. "Josh," he said, "you're up. We've got incoming at seventy miles per hour."

Today's Story

Sat, 30 Jun 2007 04:20:23 GMT

By mid-afternoon they had a plan in place. Most of the base commanders had already placed calls to their respective bases by then, setting things in motion, but they agreed then to split up. They set up a conference call for 5:30 to further coordinate their actions.

An hour before that, Josh got a report from Parker. Already, they were seeing action in exactly the areas he'd predicted. Traffic on I-10 westbound from the Pensacola area had swelled in the short hours since his call to James, and the flow of traffic toward the highway was visible, too. Parker promised to pass the word along, and officially confirm it at the 5:30 meeting, and then got off the line to continue his preparations.

By that point, the transport planes were already waiting on several bases. As word spread, the massive bellies of the C-130s began to fill, with men and machines.

Josh's satisfaction at being proven right was tempered with a sudden, burning anger. Dammit, someone wanted to kill him! They'd been counting on that, but it irked him to face it so openly. He growled as he made his way to the conference room, where two base commanders, Carlos, and Henson were still hunched over maps of the area.

"We've got confirmation," he said. "Let's start moving out. Henson, can you drop us at Ops?"

With the massive A cell already building up steam, they were focusing most of their efforts in that direction. The generals had agreed unanimously on the site on the site of their ambush -- a six-mile long bridge over Lake Pontchartrain, at the east end of town. They planned to trap the cell on the bridge itself, cut off their retreat, and force a surrender. They'd picked a tall building near the bridge as their site operations center. Carlos was going to be running coordination from there.

Henson shook his head, wearing a wry smile. The Anniston base commander looked up sharply and met Josh's eyes with a frown. "Man, you've got a coordination call coming up in an hour. You can't move out until we've got everything in place."

Josh cursed, but he said, "Yeah, that makes sense. Okay, I'll be back up here before the call comes in. Right now, I'm going to go organize my men." He stopped at the door. "Have you got your guys ready?"

The base commander put on a wry smile to match Henson's. "They've been instructed they're under your command. Feel free to hand out orders as you please." Josh nodded, and slipped from the room.

An hour later, he sat through the conference call. It was nothing more than a repetition of what they'd discussed earlier. Everyone affirmed their role, and confirmed their resources were already moving into position. Parker officially announced what his surveillance had spotted, but by then everyone already knew. Josh was anxious for the meeting to end, so he could get out there.

"Still no sign of C cell," Henson reported. He was coordinating the scouting on the northern front. "We've seen some movement in several places, but none of it resulted in the sort of accumulation we're expecting." He looked to Josh. "They may not show."

Josh nodded. "As far as I can tell," he said, "they're doing in the corridor exactly what B cell did in Pennsylvania. Just more diffuse." He thought for a moment, nodding absently. "Okay," he said. He flipped through several pages in his notebook, now thick with notes on their plan, and all the contingencies the generals had insisted on. "Okay, we're going to go ahead with the primary focus on A cell," he said. "If something develops between now and midnight, we can consider moving back to the dual trap, but for now, let's go ahead with this plan. I need some roadblocks set up along I-50, at the points we'd discussed, to try to filter C cell toward our primary trap in case they materialize unexpectedly."

He flipped his notebook shut. "Other than that," he said, "I think things are moving along quite well."

The generals took their time signing off, discussing this or that possibility, and Josh fidgeted until the last of them hung up. Then he turned to the Anniston base commander, and nodded. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said. "I'm out of here. I'll see you when it's all over."

Even by helicopter, it took them a while to get to New Orleans. Josh and Carlos spent most of the time reviewing their plans. As they got close, they looked out the side doors and could see their men moving into position, all across the board.

It did feel like a game board, now. He'd been staring at the same maps for three days now, placing imaginary troops, moving them around. Now he looked out the windows and the vista fit neatly into the rectangle he'd printed out and marked up a dozen times. Far off to the north he saw the flatbed trucks bringing his tanks from the nearest airfield. He looked to the southwest foot of the bridge, where they'd be stationed, and saw the spot they'd picked out for the artillery line.

There were trucks that Josh recognized parked here and there among the surrounding buildings. They were trying to be subtle, to keep word from making its way east, but they could only do so much to conceal a troop movement on this scale. Clouds were thick and grey overhead, the light already tending toward dusk, and Josh was thankful for that. Some rain would be an inconvenience, but it would keep curious eyes away, too.

The building they were using had a helipad on its roof. They'd chosen it for that. As the helicopter touched down, Josh and Carlos piled out, accompanied by a handful of communications techs, laden with expensive equipment. Carlos would be in constant contact with all of the bases, as well as the team leaders in the field.

They'd divided Josh's force into seven teams, each one a part of the mousetrap they'd planned. Alpha team was setting up at the northeast end of the bridge, well off the road. They were to lie in wait until the entire cell had passed them, then cut off their retreat.

Charlie team was his artillery line. Josh moved to the edge of the roof and looked down to watch them set up. They would be his trump card. The way this enemy moved, if he could catch them unsuspecting, a handful of tanks would making any real resistance impossible. He wasn't counting on that, but he was hoping it would work out that way.

Henson was coordinating all his air units. He'd asked for fighters, or bombers to play the same role his tanks would, but he couldn't get anyone to commit them. He had the gunships, though, and high altitude surveillance planes from two different bases, covering all the routes into the city. During the actual action, Josh would be on the comm with Carlos and Henson, and the members of his own team. Everything else was delegated.

He watched, as cloudy dusk settled into real evening. Through high-power binoculars, he watched his pieces take their places on the board below. He checked in with Henson periodically, mostly out of curiosity about C cell. The bane of his existence for weeks, and now there was no sign of them. A cell was making slow but steady progress. Everything was moving on schedule. At sunset, it was ten hours to contact, plus or minus one. He settled down to wait, and watch, and worry.

Then, at a quarter to ten, his phone rang. The Ludacris ring tone shattered the stillness of the night, and broke him from his study of the distant Alpha team placement. He pulled his phone from his pocket out of habit, then stopped to stare in surprise. It showed a weak signal, but clearly it had one. The caller id was gibberish.

He flipped it open and said, "Hello?" Several seconds passed, with no answer. He repeated, "Hello? Hello?" He thought he heard something in the background, some vague shuffling, and he shouted into the mic, "Who's calling? Hello?"

And then a frantic voice came over the phone. "Hello? Don't hang up." Rapidly, and barely audible within the sudden crash of sound in the background. "Hey, hang on, this is..." another pause, "this is Josh, right?"

Josh frowned. He definitely didn't recognize the voice. Was this one of James's aides? Had they been discovered? "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that's me. What's going on?"

The kid still sounded distracted. "I'm supposed to get in touch with you for someone else," he said. "Can you hang on a sec?" Josh's heart was pounding in his ears. Had he ever given James his phone number? Then the kid said, "Just a second. I'm paging Nate now."

"Nate?" Josh shouted the question. "You're calling for Nate?"

"Yeah, hold on." He was silent for a minute, then came back. "Yeah, he's been trying to get in touch with anyone on a long list of people. He's got this whole system set up, and it's wardialing constantly--ah, here he is."

The line went silent for a moment, then he heard his name spoken softly in the background, then a rustle as the kid passed over the phone. A moment later, Josh heard the familiar voice. "Josh? Is it you?"

"Nate." he said. "You're the last person I would have expected. What the hell are you calling about?"

"I've been trying to reach you for five days now. You, Sarah, Adam, my parents, Dave's parents, Sarah's parents...." He trailed off. "Cell phone service is basically dead. I think I've rigged something pretty cool, but this is the first time it's actually worked."

Josh shook his head. "You've rigged something? You've got cell towers working, or something?"

"Things have gotten bad, Josh--"

Josh laughed. "Tell me about it," he said. "I'm about to go to war."

For a moment Nate didn't answer. Josh thought maybe he'd lost his connection, then Nate said, "Really?"

Josh grinned. "Yeah. I've been tracking the bad guys ever since things went down. Right now, I'm hours away from a bid to really cripple their operation. If this works, I think I'll be in a position to stop them making things worse."

Nate's answer was rich with hope. "That's amazing, Josh. That's exactly what I would have expected of you. I had no idea, but that's just perfect. You're stopping them from breaking things." His voice grew quiet. "And I'm trying to fix what's broken. Josh," he barely paused between thoughts, "have you heard anything from Sarah?"

"Sorry, kid," he said. "I spoke with Adam, though. He's pretty messed up, but he was alive two days ago."

"That's something, then."

Josh nodded, in the dark. After a moment, he said, "Adam told me I could fix the world. Basically, he sent me here." He hesitated, looking for words. "You guys always saw eye to eye on that sort of thing. Do you...can it really be done?" He couldn't wait for Nate's answer. "God, Nate, I've seen so much madness since I left Oklahoma City. Is there anything left to save?"

"Yes," Nate said, and Josh was glad he didn't hesitate. "Yes," full conviction in his voice. "That's what Adam and I have been telling you all along. This world is what we make it. Somebody just turned it into this hell. If we try hard enough, if we believe, we can turn it right back."

Josh nodded, his gaze far off. "Thanks, Nate."

"Josh," and now he hesitated, uncertain. After a moment, he said, "Josh, would you like me to bless you?"

"What?" Josh laughed as he said it, and then immediately regretted it at the sudden awkwardness in Nate's reply.

"It's just a thing," he said. "I mean, you're going into battle to save the world, right? I think that's a fitting motive. I was thinking, like, the old testament kings would receive a blessing from the prophet or priest, before they headed off to war. I thought maybe I could--"

"Nate," Josh said, "I cannot imagine anything I need more, right now, than your blessing. If you would give it."

Seven hundred miles away, Nate smiled. He was silient for a moment, composing, then he prayed, "God of heavens, Lord of kings, bless your soldier, Josh, as he goes into battle. Guide his hand, guard his heart, flood him with wisdom. Watch over his men, Lord, and see them safely home. Bless his plans, to ripe fruition. And God, for all of us, grant him the power to move mountains. Through his sword, make the world what it ought to be." He took a deep breath, then sighed, "Amen."

"Thank you, Nate," Josh said.

"Godspeed, Josh," he said. "Be safe. Fix things."

Before Josh could say more, his phone beeped once. Signal faded, call lost. He waited, through the night, for it to ring again. It didn't.

He checked in with Carlos, but nothing had changed. Same with Henson. So he was left in the silence and the dark, alone. After a while, he reached for his binoculars, but in that moment he heard a sound, a soft report down in the city below, a deep base thoomp, and while he was looking in the direction it had come from, he was blinded by the sudden brilliance, deafened by the boom. He turned his head and saw the blossom of fire and noise as it turned to dust, to rain on the city.

A heartbeat later, there was another. Fireworks, big blooming fireballs in the sky, red and blue and glittering gold. He couldn't stop himself grinning at the sight. He'd always loved fireworks, all his life. Then a thought gripped him, and he pulled his phone out one more time, flipped it open.

The date read July 4. A little over an hour left to it, and he never would have known, except that someone -- in a massive town lost in darkness, probably shattered by chaos -- someone had made arrangements for an Independence Day fireworks show. It went on for well over forty minutes, and shortly in the techs arrived, with Carlos at their heel. One and all, they were amazed by the display. They took seats on the roof, and watched explosions that filled the whole wide sky, close enough it seemed they could reach out and touch them.

When finally they fell silent, when darkness returned, the techs bled away. Carlos hung around to say, "That was just amazing."

Josh nodded. "Carlos," he said. "We're going to win this. Tomorrow, we'll take the country back."

Carlos smiled. "Amen to that," he said, and then he returned to his post.