Chapter 7: The Fall of DC

That night, urgent knocking wakes me from a dream. A guard rushes in: the populists are here, their army at the city’s outskirts.

“So fast?”

I’m instantly awake. It’s only March, the city was supposed to fall on March 17. Why early?

The guard grits his teeth: it’s Foster! Not only did he not resist, he let the rebels in, acted as a guide, and stabbed us in the back. With Foster as traitor, the rebels enter unopposed.

Damn! My million bucks are gone!

If not for Homeland Security’s improvement, and their warning, the rebels would be at my door before I knew. Suddenly, I understand the source of my unease. Confiscating the politicians was the butterfly that caused this early disaster! The politicians, dissatisfied, colluded with Foster to let the populists in. History has changed! My memories can’t be fully trusted!

Boom! Gunfire sounds; I jump from my chair, open the door, and see the sky red in the distance. The attack has begun!

“Drums! Troops!”

The city is full of traitors, the outer city won’t hold long. We must retreat now!

Boom boom boom! Drums sound, troops gather. I had drilled night alerts many times; after months, the agents sleep in uniforms. At the alarm, they jump up, and in five minutes, assemble.

“All units!” In body armor, I stand on the command platform and shout.

“Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta teams: take the fastest route, evacuate the listed officials and families from assigned points! Follow the plan! If anyone resists, knock them out and take them!”

Homeland Security shouts: “Yes!”

“Move!”

Most of the agents scatter, orderly. The training pays off. They will quickly reach the homes of listed officials, drag the obedient into vans, those who resist—knock them out or tie them up, still take them.

“Echo and Foxtrot teams, follow me to the White House to protect the President!”

“Yes!”

Now, speed is all that matters. With the rest, I rush to the White House, use the President’s badge to force open the gates, and lead the way in. The White House is chaos. Ignoring protocol, I rush to John’s quarters.

“I knew you’d come.” John is already in plain clothes, his face a mix of relief, gravity, and regret. “Didn’t expect the populists to come so fast.”

Chief of Staff Williams is also in civilian clothes, looking at me. Ignoring them, I ask: “Where’s my sister?”

“I had them change.”

[As long as my sister isn’t forced to do anything drastic.]

[I’m really afraid this old guy would do something stupid, like fire my niece’s favorite teacher again.]

[After all, I stole—no, ate the girl’s Pop-Tarts, I must save her.]

I relax. Didn’t notice John’s guilty look. My sister comes with her kids and staff, all faces full of fear.

“Lillian, don’t worry, your brother can get everyone out safely.” I pat my chest, trying to look confident. Ruffle my niece’s hair, look at my nephews: “Kids, don’t be afraid, uncle will protect you.”

Luckily my brother-in-law isn’t a womanizer; fewer staff than me. If there were three thousand, I couldn’t take them all.

John personally carries a duffel bag, takes my sister’s hand, looks at the kids, full of guilt: “It’s my fault.”

The First Family, now like refugees.

“It’s my fault I couldn’t help, Dad.” My nephew bites his lip, holding back tears.

“Good kid, once we’re out, I’ll let you help your father!”

Seeing the agents bring SUVs, I stuff everyone in. Sentiment can wait till we’re out. I lead, with the convoy, out the south gate, then race on.

The air outside smelled like burning tires and fear. Sirens wailed in the distance, and every shadow looked like a gun barrel.

Just out of the White House, a scout rides up: “Report! The main gate has fallen! Someone opened the gate for the populists!”

The outer city is lost! The Capitol can’t hold long. I frown.

John lifts the curtain, face desperate: “Derek, after all this effort, is this fate dooming America?”

“With me here, America won’t fall yet!” I shake my head, order, “Everyone, speed up! Follow the plan!”

[Good thing I left backup plans.]

The convoy sped south, taillights vanishing into the night. Behind us, DC burned—and ahead, the future was just as dark.