The Sons and Daughters of Liberty

Chapter One (His Daughter: POV of Andrew Iberi)

In the cold, dark rooms of the hospital, I can only see what’s become of my daughter by dim candlelight. I don’t want to think about what she would look like fully illuminated. Her chest still rises and falls to the beat of the bombs that fall around us, but barely. The power has been out for three days now in New Seattle, ever since the war began, since my predecessor Nicholas Jenson had taken over. The thing about relying on a single nuclear plant instead of a dozen small ones, is that it only takes one wayward engineer. One determined saboteur and the whole system collapsed. So here I am, faced with a decision no father should ever have to make. It’s an easy one though. The backup generators had kicked in almost immediately, so the nurses were able to get her on life support. Her skin was covered in burns so dark they were nearly black, the rest of her as red as the blood that leaked from every orifice, staining the bandages. I guess she was a necessary sacrifice, but I can’t help but wonder if this is what my predecessors felt, watching what they had done to Hiroshima and Nagisaki. If this was what a small firebombing campaign could do, I don’t want to know what could happen if another nuclear war broke out, how mottled the victims would look. But to know that I caused all of what my daughter and countless others had suffered is the worst pain imaginable. And I’ve known far more than my share of pain.

Of course, I’d seen the victims of firebombing before in my time in the service, but only in photos. And as realistic as that virtual reality was, it did little to prepare me for the stench of burning flesh, disturbingly similar to a barbecue. It might be enough for me to swear off meat for the rest of my life.

“Don’t you dare look away,” my commanding officer had said, with the voice of someone who was used to being listened to and obeyed. “If you can’t stand to watch, you have no business being an officer. How can you inflict suffering if you won’t even observe it?” And I had heeded his words, watching the destruction, hearing those screams without flinching. Did that make me a monster? Perhaps, but the evil that wormed its way inside me was made, not born. It has been trained into me since I was a child. If that makes me the villain, then so be it. There is no story if nobody plays that part. And I played it so well. It came to me as naturally as altruism came to better men than I.

I allow myself a moment to gently press Josephine’s eyes closed, whispering a goodbye to my dead daughter that I know she can’t hear. And then I pull the plug, without hesitation or remorse, because there was no good that could come out of pointless suffering. Because for all the darkness that wraps around my heart, I am never one for pain without reason, without excuse. I would happily go through it myself if it made me stronger, but that was a reason in it of itself. I feel content in the knowledge that nothing could ever hurt my daughter again. I watch her heart stutter to a stop, feeling almost nothing for the girl that I frankly never knew well enough to care for her.

I was beginning to regret starting this war. Almost.

And just like that, I’m out of time to mourn. I’m whisked into dozens of back-to-back meetings. Strategy sessions, we like to call it. We stick pins into deerskin maps, like children playing some kind of twisted board game. It was a cold thing, representing hundreds of young men ready to throw their lives and their souls away with red dots. As red as their blood would be, sacrifices to the greater goal. It was easier to think of them this way, as pawns instead of people. Think too long about their faces and their families back home and you lose direction, lose focus. After the UN had collapsed, governments became free to use any manner of torture, chemical or biological weapons, or even nuclear weapons. Some used all four, which I thought was rather crude. Asia didn’t exist anymore, for all intents and purposes. Any and all treaties went out the window when life became about survival rather than pleasure. Now that the polar ice caps had melted, swallowing entire islands, releasing plague after plague that we are just now managing to get under control through antibiotics and vaccines. Just as smallpox ravaged the Native Americans, our bodies are unprepared to fend off these ancient plagues. The worst of them is called Icarus-103, for the year it was released and for the way it seems to melt away your flesh. It was a grisly sight, eerily similar to what I saw happen to my daughter who got a little too close to a bomb.

If you’re reading this, feeling guilty that you couldn’t stop climate change, don’t be. Past 2040, it was already too late. There was truly nothing to be done.

New Seattle is at the edge of what is now the West Coast, a place that used to be mountainous and has gotten much closer to sea level. There is still protection offered by the mountains, and by the gnarled oaks and pines that now grow easily in the altered climate, but less. Much less. If we thought climate change would be bad, it was nothing compared to this. And so quickly too. The human population has shrunk to a little over two billion, ravaged both by war and disease. But enough about the world, about war. Let’s discuss a more pleasant subject: Me.

After graduating with a political science degree and a minor in economics, I was a shoe-in for Yale. Law school was tough, but nothing compared to the rigors of military life. I quickly climbed the ranks to become the Secretary of Defense. And defend America I did. By staging a wildly successful coup. I had the military and the people on my side, and we were all sick of Nicholas Jenson anyway. He’d started as president, but was practically a dictator, thanks to Unitary Executive Theory which somehow managed to gain popularity even among scholars. Something about giving the president more power during times of war. We weren’t at war with anything but Icarus and the ocean, but whatever the Supreme Court said went at that time. The federal courts and state governments had been dismantled by now, which would have had Washington rolling in his grave. Every decision came out of the capital, so no one was surprised when Jenson formally declared himself a king.

So yes, I am a traitor and a liar and unbelievably clever. I’m also wanted in 37 countries, but that’s unrelated. Mustard gas doesn’t win you any friends, I guess. I also played a part in dismantling the UN, not that they had any power to begin with. But is it really a crime to take power from a brutal and repressive dictator? At least I have fashion sense instead of wearing a black suit every day. Sometimes he even had the audacity to wear a uniform, despite not spending a day in boot camp. It was part of his strong man persona, as if the man could even grow a beard. He was weak. I am not. He is dead, and I survived all of this. End of story. I’d also slitted Veronica Lewis’s throat, but that was more of a personal vendetta. The Secretary of Education’s worst sin was wearing too much perfume and being unbearably irritating, but that was enough to me.

“There is no country if it cannot defend itself.” My personal motto which I had tattooed across my forearm, only slightly smaller than my daughter’s name. I would have to get the latter lasered off. I can’t be strong if I flinch looking at my own arm. Already I am starting to forget what she looked like in life, and all I can see is the burnt out mess my recklessness had made her.

So yes, I was a populist dictator, but at least I was popular. I didn’t have to be violent, because I brought security and food and vaccines to my country. I do everything for my people, I pour out my sweat, blood, and tears for them, and I do it gladly. I would do it all again, everything, even when it cost me my only child. I didn’t mean for her to be the sacrificial lamb to my war, but the loss was an acceptable one. How could I bomb other children and then weep for my own?

And it was my war. I’m going to let you all in on a very dangerous secret. But before I do, please remember what I do to people who betray me. I might not prefer senseless violence, but I am more than willing to dole it out if the need ever arises. Just keep that in mind, alright? Nobody can ever find out what I’ve done. Your head and mine depend on this secret remaining a secret.

Alright, enough preamble. It was I who orchestrated the beginning of this war, as I alluded to before. I paid the engineer to sabotage that plant, to take the fall for it and spend the rest of his life in prison. That’s right. And I had ordered the very bombs that took the life of my daughter. I would do it again, over and over until this “rebellion” had been stomped out. Why? It’s a show of strength, of course. But the unfortunate thing was, there really is a rebellion brewing, and they are more than happy to take credit for this bombing. They call themselves the Sons and Daughters of Liberty, and they have amassed in the South, just as the old separatists had. Originally, they had been nothing more than a thorn in my side, one that had long shed its rose, devoid of anything that had once made it beautiful. Because it had been beautiful, or at least useful. They had provided a scapegoat, a reason that my programs were failing. They aren’t Jenson’s loyalists, though. Those don’t exist. They also aren’t my greatest fans, but they have the decency not to shout about it during their very public protests.

Perhaps they are afraid of me, but maybe a part of them respects me too much to insult me to my face. Delusional, I know. Freedom of speech had flown out the window when Jenson took charge, and I see no sense in bringing it back. Some words were illegal and punishable by death. What good are rights when you can’t eat, when your flesh turns liquid from that horrible disease. Nobody has the gall to complain out loud, thankfully. Probably because it is illegal and punishable by death. A lot of things are punishable by death these days. I have no qualms about a bit of blood, but I was practically bathing in it by now. First, most members of Congress who had been stealing the money they were supposed to be putting into social programs. Then I executed 13 officers who had refused to join me in the days leading up to my coup, and killed their families too. The others were eager to join me after that.

All in all, 231 people had met their death at my command, and I’m sure I killed at least a thousand when I destroyed the power plant. Probably even more during the bombing. I am the villain, yes, but somebody has to be in this world that would fall apart without one. I’ll bear the burden, I’ll commit the sins, because somebody has too. And why pretend otherwise, a part of me enjoys the power. The darkness wrapped around me grows with every passing day, and I let it. I welcome it like an old friend. I have no regrets in this life, because every decision I make, cold and calculated as they might be, is for the benefit of my people. My land that shrinks with every inch the ocean grows. But it is slowing, the laws I created healing this land. Soon it will stabilize, soon we will be rid of the diseases and wars that plague us. But first, I’m going to have to spill some blood. Blood is not so beautiful as roses are, but it has its place in the circle of life we all choose to participate in.

Chapter Two (The Sun Will Rise Again: POV of Lucy Oliver)

When news of the bombing first reached us from the North, I couldn’t believe our luck. Iberi had staged some kind of terrorist attack and let us take the credit for it. All of it was quite the performance, and I’m sure the angel of death had the time of his life on that day. Here in Carolina, it’s all we can do not to celebrate in the streets. Most everyone here hates Iberi just as we hated Nicholas Jenson. But this is a different kind of hate, a more personal one. If Jenson was an actor pretending to be a dictator, Andrew Iberi really was one. Even though he was popular enough in the North, enough that most people followed him willingly, he is a cold man. An evil man, even. I don't know how a person can become so twisted, what sort of pain can cause that, and I don’t intend to find out.

Since the headquarters of the Sons and Daughters of Liberty is located underground, any light or joy we can muster is well worth it. And there was joy aplenty today. But before I can share the news with anyone else, I notice something strange. Everyone in the milieu is wearing massive gas masks. My hand instinctively goes to my belt, but comes back empty. All the sudden, a sickly sweet smell fills the air, stinging as it enters my nostrils. My eyes start to grow heavy, and I hit the ground hard.

I wake up on the floor, a sharp pain in the back of my head where I fell. Captain Lewis is standing over me, who has since shed his mask. His lips are twisted in a smirk that turns into a dazzling smile.

“Good morning!” he says cheerfully.

“What are you playing at, Lewis?” I say, glaring up at him. He takes my hand and helps me to my feet.

“Testing you, of course. You failed miserably.” He’s still smiling. “How many times do I have to tell you to carry your gas mask with you at all times?” He chastises me as if he’s speaking to a child who’s been misbehaving. “Now, what if that had been Iberi? You would be dead or taken hostage. Probably dead to be frank, you aren’t worth much.”

“I’m a Senator,” I say, scoffing. “And gas masks ruin my outfit.”

“You were. Did you know there’s a bounty on your head? Everyone’s calling you a traitor. Only 2 thousand dollars, though.” He doesn’t sound impressed. Apparently that isn’t much to him. “I’m half-tempted to take you out myself.” Or maybe not. He laughs when I look at him with horror. “Kidding! I don’t kill for two thousand dollars. But you really do need to be more careful. If I were to break into this fortress, the first thing I would do would be pumping gas through the air conditioning.”

“That’s stupid. I would just kill everyone.”

“You and what army, ‘Senator’? It's better to keep enemies alive.” He laughs again, and I hate myself for enjoying it. The sound reminds me of a time when I didn’t despise him, and that line of thinking never led to a good place. If Hailey could hear my thoughts, she would be livid that I’m still not over him after everything he’d done. Hell, he had just drugged me as a “test”. But I’m not sure where Hailey is right now, or even if she’s still alive. A lot of senators had been put to death for their financial crimes. But she’s not corrupt like that. Not that I know of, at least. And I know everything there is to know about her.

I retire to my rooms and try to pull myself together before heading down to yet another meeting. As the only person in the rebellion against Iberi who knew how the old democracy had worked inside and out, I am a part of almost every strategy session. I shed my wrinkled dress and replace it with a white undershirt and a navy blazer and skirt. I wear this outfit almost every day, and it has become a sort of uniform. I like the consistency, enjoy having the same polished appearance. I try not to let flickers of emotion cross my face, but nobody is that strong. All I can do is maintain my composure even when I want to murder my fellow rebels. They are quite insufferable, Lewis more than most. The thought of shooting him had occurred to me multiple times, but I’m not sure how I would get my hands on a gun. I am a diplomat first and foremost, and I firmly remind myself of that truth as I examine myself in the mirror, searching for cracks in my appearance. There aren’t any. There never are. Because those would be a liability, a weakness I can hardly afford.

I appear in the meeting room, and everyone goes silent. Then Lewis is clearing his throat.

“Former Senator Lucy Oliver,” he introduces me. Then he salutes, but the gesture feels more like mockery rather than respect. The other officers follow suit. Only two generals are with us, the only two that don’t have any family to threaten. The others we call cowards, but I know I would make the same choice if I had children or a husband. I never managed to achieve either, but at least I had my ambition, my power. That was plenty enough to sustain me.

“What was so urgent that we’re having a meeting so late?” The hours had ticked by since I had gotten ready, and it was now nearing midnight. Perfection takes time, and I will never settle for any less. Half-ass something in this line of work, and people die. A million-dollar fleet of planes goes up in smoke. Soldiers get captured and give up all your secrets. There is simply no room for error. It isn’t a choice or a personality flaw, it’s born from necessity.

“We have a mission,” General Trunden says in his baritone voice that cuts through the room.

“We need you to help us break into the Senate building. No one else knows the escape routes built into it, the secret tunnels.” Those were how I had escaped Iberi in the first place. I wasn’t corrupt, but I know he would have been more than happy to hang me on some trumped up charges. I was his biggest critic before his coup. I hate war and everything that vile man stands for, yet here I am leading one. Funny how life turns out.

“Oh, that’s clever,” I say, smiling. And I mean it too, as much as I hate to give credit to Jacob Lewis. Because it is his idea, of that I was certain. It’s written all over his face, unmistakable pride. He’s practically glowing. He always was the crafty one between us.

“But first,” Lewis says. “We need to know whether the ‘president’ knows about them.”

“He doesn’t. Or I would be dead right now with the others.” They had blindly trusted the system, believing they would be safe with American values and the abolition of the death penalty. How foolish, how wrong they were. I almost wish I could possess their naivety. But I knew better then and I know better now.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by Lewis’s wide grin. His face is handsome in a boyish sort of way, especially when he smiles like that. Not that it stops him from being an unbearable ass. But I had loved him once, hadn’t I? I still haven’t quite pieced together why I would do such a thing, why I would betray myself so. A pacifist, who fell for a soldier who kills as easily as he breathes. How ironic.

“I can draw you a map,” I say. “But only if you let me into the mission.”

“Absolutely not!” at least five voices say in unison. But the commander in charge of training me, who is so rarely loquacious, speaks up.

“She’s not a bad shot at all,” Johnson admits grudgingly. “Fast learner, that one.” And then he goes silent again, his typical self. An argument breaks out and it’s impossible to tell what anyone is saying. Then Lewis bangs his fists against the table.

“Shut up and listen!” he shouts, and they do. “Under no circumstances is she going into combat!” There he went again, being an asshole. I shoot him a withering glare.

“I’m not a child, Lewis.” This time I can’t keep the anger from my voice. “And it’s more like spying than a battle.”

“It’s still dangerous,” the other general, Lyla Crow, says. Her voice softens. “However, Oliver is the only person who can get us through those tunnels. A map isn’t good enough, and you all know it.”

“What’s the goal of this mission in the first place?” I ask.

“Spying, like you said. I want to figure out what our noble president is thinking. What he's up to. Something is about to happen. He didn’t fake a terrorist attack and blame us for nothing.” He doesn’t put president in air quotes this time, it’s implied at this point.

“He needed a reason to destroy us, once and for all,” Johnson says.

“But he doesn’t know where our base is…” I say, trailing off. “Oh no. Shit!” We had been allied with three generals originally, but General Yarrow had gone missing last month on a mission. We have no idea where she went, but we suspect she had been captured by the opposing forces.

“No way,” Crow says firmly. “I knew her. She had a cyanide pill, and she took it. She’s dead. She can’t tell anyone anything.”

“You don’t know that,” is all Lewis says.

“I’m certain, and I outrank you by far, Captain.” She’s practically hissing the words.

“You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment,”  I say, not bothering to make my voice gentle. I am barely capable of it these days. “The only way to be certain is to break into Iberi’s office in the Senate building. I’m coming.” I say the last words as firmly as I can muster. Lewis balks, but doesn’t say anything. Good. He so rarely has anything valuable to contribute. Except for this plan, which I must grudgingly admit is brilliant.

We spend the next few hours carefully planning how this is going to go down, every detail accounted for. There is a back up plan for the black up plan. I’d get a gun, and I will have to resist pulling the trigger in Lewis’s direction. Or in his face, perhaps. I’d love to wipe that smirk off of his face. But unfortunately, I do need him alive. He is my personal guard on this mission, after all. So it would have to wait, then.

I’m joking of course. What he had done to me doesn’t quite sentence him to such a gruesome death. I’m merely blowing off steam, since I so rarely get to do so out loud. I had been wearing a mask since my first election, mayor of New Seattle when I was 22. I was quite the rising star, so I had to keep my traitorous thoughts to myself. I saw flaws everywhere, even in the old democracy, but back then I still believed they could be resolved peacefully. And maybe they could have, before our lovely and democratically elected president had seized power. I won’t pretend that I didn’t enjoy the thrill of making other people's decisions for them, but I kept the demon inside me on a leash. She only wormed her way into my ear on occasion, and those few instances had taught me swiftly not to trust her.

So here I am, Senator turned soldier, ready to give my blood, sweat, and tears for my country. And I pray I wouldn’t have to. I prefer my blood inside my body, thank you very much. But I probably don’t have a choice. War is a bloody affair, any way you slice it. All I could hope for is that it wouldn't be mine. A wish so unlikely to be fulfilled.