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  “You look suspicious, dressed like you are, and no one walks in this area,” said Officer Rassan, his eyes darting back to the other officer before staring Arthur down. “Do you have ID, and can you tell me how you got past the gate? Be honest. If you lie, I’ll know.”

  “I very much doubt you’ll believe me, Officer,” said Arthur with a small smile as he began, “but I’m willing to try. I came here from Nantucket. I was visiting family there. On my way to New York, the aircraft I was flying ran out of fuel, so I had to ditch it in the Atlantic and swim the rest of the way to shore. The water was damn cold, to be honest. Since then, I’ve been walking along the road here, minding my business.”

  Officer Rassan narrowed his eyes. Arthur could see him struggle with everything he had just heard, not sure if he was being truthful or just a nutjob. “You know what? I don’t want this to be my problem today. You got no ID, and your face doesn’t scan to any database,” he said, holstering his weapon. “Officer Jefferies over there is gonna cuff you, and that .50 cal on the roof is connected to the reflex sight on my Beretta here, so one wrong move and I tear you a new feeding hole. We’ll take you to the wall and let you be their problem.”

  As if responding to the officers’ thoughts, the heavy machine gun on the roof of the Humvee adjusted its facing, aiming directly at him. “Well, I was tired of walking anyway,” said Arthur, lowering his hands and placing them in front of him, waiting to be cuffed. The police grabbed him roughly, pressing him face-first against the armor plating of the police truck. Arthur didn’t bother to resist while they patted him down, taking his pack. Once satisfied, the officers promptly shoved him in the back of the Humvee, ignoring him for the rest of the drive down the coast.

  ***

  The sun setting over the ocean as they drove down the empty highway was one of the most beautiful things Arthur had ever seen, made more impressive by the palatial estates they drove by. He caught faint glimpses through the massive gates designed to keep out the unwanted—tennis courts, swimming pools, entire fleets of cars. It was like another world beyond anything Arthur could ever have imagined.

  By the time they arrived at the gate, the sun had almost set, the twilight sky a deep inky blue-black with only hints of pink cresting over the horizon.

  The gate itself looked more like a border crossing than an actual wall, with a chain-link fence that stretched from the sea to deep inland as far as he could see, attached to a set of gates that blocked the main road, and guarded by a small fleet of Humvees similar to the one he rode in. Soldiers patrolled back and forth, armed with automatic rifles that Arthur didn’t recognize, each dressed in full combat gear as though they were deployed on enemy lines far away from home.

  Looking beyond the fence, Arthur began to grind his teeth and ball his fists. Even in the fading light of the days end, he could see thousands of people: an entire camp of white tents gone brown and gray, beyond counting.

  “What’s all of this?” asked Arthur, no longer able to keep his mouth shut.

  Officer Rassan turned in his seat, speaking to him through an opening in the scratched and worn plastic barrier that separated the front from the back. “You don’t know? You been living under a rock or something?”

  Arthur could only shrug. Not sure what to say, he told the truth. “I haven’t really paid attention.”

  Rassan barked a laugh as he climbed down from the vehicle. “Yeah, you and the entire world, it seems.” He came around back and casually threw open the door, waving him out, his hand resting comfortably on his sidearm. “This riffraff is all from New York City: refugees who should’ve known better and headed to the camps down south where they belong.”

  Looking out over the mass of humanity, Arthur felt his blood boil. He ripped the plastic restraints off, throwing them at Rassan’s feet. “Why are they on the other side of the fence? Why hasn’t anyone tried to find them homes?”

  “Hey, the people that live here pay big money to have their privacy, and I’m just doing my job,” said Rassan, taking off his mirrored glasses, his eyes twitching to the .50 cal on the roof of the Humvee. “They don’t want these kinds of people here; that includes you.”

  Arthur swallowed hard, looking back and forth between the policemen. “I know you’re just doing your jobs, but there has to be a better way. These are Americans and they deserve better,” he said as Rassan led him away from the truck, directing him toward a small chain-link door beside the larger gates. “I mean, how long have they been here—all these people just living like that?”

  Rassan gave him a shrug, frowning at the massive crowds. “Like I said, not my problem. No one told them to come here.”

  As they approached the small door, he could make out dirty, haggard faces: Women, children, most wearing clothes that were more rags than anything else, some of them not much younger than himself. Officer Rassan gave a quick nod to a pair of men standing guard, waving for them to open the door. Before Arthur could walk through, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “You got lucky today. I’m in a good mood. If I catch you on this side again, I won’t be so nice. Understood?”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t see me again,” said Arthur through gritted teeth. He stood patiently while one of the guards leveled his assault rifle at a cluster of hungry people near the fence, ordering them back. Rough hands shoved him through, Officer Rassan throwing his pack at him before slamming the door loudly behind him, vanishing into the evening without another word.

  Taking a moment to rummage through his things to make sure everything was there, he watched the desperate group from the corner of his eye, each one of them looking at him with wide eyes that he knew so well, eyes that not so long ago had been his. “I don’t have anything: no food, no drugs, no booze,” he said, opening the flap on his bag to show them.

  Seeing there was nothing for them, most of them faded back into the night without a word, all except one. A young woman a little older than him with blonde hair once curly, now gone flat, heavy with dirt. She reminded him of Gwen, with pale skin and green eyes that seemed to glow. Like everyone else he had seen, she was dressed in little more than old clothes that looked more like layers of rags. She stared at him, narrowing her brows and opening and closing her mouth, her hands twisting and tearing at the threads of her top.

  “What?” said Arthur, annoyed that she kept looking at him. “Just spit it out.”

  She pursed her lips, taking a step toward him. “Did you see my mother in there? She looks like me, just a little older, some people say we look more like sisters,” she said finally, the words spilling out of her like a torrent.

  Arthur shook his head slowly. “I wasn’t on the other side for long, just today,” he said with a shrug. “Didn’t really see anyone except the police. I thought they didn’t let anyone through?”

  The girl nodded, hunching her shoulders. “Not usually, but sometimes they need domestic staff— maids, cooks, you know, people to do the physical stuff.” She looked back to the fence, the stain of hope on her face. “My mom went through a few days ago. She said she would send someone to get me, I was just…you know.”

  “Sorry, I can’t help,” said Arthur, moving past her. “I have places to be.” The girl stared at the fence for a moment longer before hurrying after him, picking at her cuticles.

  “What was it like over there?” she asked, skipping past him and walking backward. “I’ve had friends work over there, and they say it's beautiful, with more food than you can imagine.”

  Weaving his way through the maze of tents, Arthur had to cover his nose, the odor of unwashed bodies and open toilets making his stomach turn. The camp was little more than a chaotic mess of tents and lean-tos, with many people living in little more than sleeping bags, huddled by the occasional campfire to drive away the shadows. He stopped in his tracks, locking eyes with the girl. “Is it all like this out here?” he asked, wrinkling his nose at the piles of garbage scattered around the camp. “I mean, are all these people just waiting to be let
in the gate?”

  The girl looked around, her head moving like it was on a swivel. “Pretty much. The government set this place up, told us they would move us to more permanent housing, but that was a while ago, so we’re kinda stuck here.”

  “And they don’t ever let anyone in?”

  The girl cocked her head at him, twisting her lips. “Oh, they did at the beginning, at least that's what my mom and I heard when we got here, but now they just let people in when they need workers.”

  “What about food? Who gets—”

  The echo of heavy weapons fire in the distance forced Arthur down, pulling his new friend with him. “Are there attacks here? I thought the Russians had no interest in this area beyond Manhattan,” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

  The girl peeked up, squinting to see what was going on. “No Russians here. The soldiers do that. Some people get desperate, hungry—they rush the gate. They fire over our heads to scare us, say it keeps us in check.”

  Arthur returned to his feet, stretching to get a better view beyond the haggard crowds.

  The wall had become a nightmare of thousands of bodies pressing against the chain-link fence, bending steel, threatening to overrun the wall with their sheer numbers.

  “This is your final warning. The next shots won’t be over your heads,” crackled a disembodied voice over the PA system. Over the static, Arthur heard the unmistakable mechanical whine of automated weapons systems coming online.

  Cursing under his breath, Arthur grabbed the girl by the shoulder, making sure she was looking into his eyes. “You run, far and fast, get away from here and don’t look back.”

  She swallowed hard, hesitating only for an instant before nodding with her entire body. Seeing that she understood, Arthur gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before racing toward the fence in the dark, his long coat trailing behind him. He ran on instinct, bounding over the uneven terrain like a wolf chasing prey, every breath bringing him closer to the flood of lights and people threatening to tear down the gate.

  He began to make out details. Above the surging crowd, the dull steel frame of the wall was decorated with .50 caliber machine guns running along the top of the structure, Humvees like the one that had picked him up today sitting with bright spotlights facing outward, turning night to day, the matte-black guns on their roofs aiming outward.

  Arthur had just reached the back ranks of the throng when the night exploded with the sound of a belt-fed machine gun piercing his ear, the blood-curdling screams of those hit urging him on faster. He found himself bracing against a stampede of flesh as people surged back in a desperate attempt to get away from the onslaught. Along the top of the gate, automated weapons belched thousands of rounds into the hapless throng, the muzzle flare from each weapon like a dragon’s breath, bullets tearing through blood and bone without slowing. Planting himself against the wave, Arthur raised a hand, reaching out to the weapon control systems, his mind worming its way through layers of encryption, tearing down walls of cipher in a heartbeat. Closing his hand into a fist, he brutally tore away control of the weapons from the men who were controlling them, silencing the heavy-caliber machine guns.

  In the next breath, he plumbed the simple computer system that controlled the PA, connecting it to the comm system built into his tactical vest.

  “Enough!” shouted Arthur, his voice crackling over the loudspeakers. “I won’t allow this slaughter to happen.”

  With a surge, Arthur leapt over the crowd to the top of the gate in a single bound, smoothly balancing himself at the top. He thrust out his closed fists, letting his rage guide him. The .50 caliber machine guns rained fire down on the unsuspecting forces guarding the gate in a storm of fury, thousands of rounds tearing into the line of the assembled vehicles, piercing fuel tanks, sending gouts of flame and steel high into the air, filling the night with blazing shrapnel. Arthur destroyed every light, every piece of machinery, plunging the night to darkness, the only sounds coming from those behind him fleeing and the police beneath him whimpering.

  When it was over he stood atop the fence, sweat pouring from his temples, his rage spent.

  Glaring down at the police, he locked his arms behind his back, daring those watching him to do something.

  “I said you were lucky I was in a good mood today,” said a familiar voice. “I told you I wouldn't be so nice if I caught you again.”

  He locked eyes with Officer Rassan, who struggled to his feet, a deep cut on the side of his cheek. Without a word, the officer leveled his Beretta at him, pulling back the hammer of the weapon.

  With a cock of his head, Arthur aimed every weapon he controlled at the officer, the electric whine of their gears sounding pleasant to his ears. “There are a dozen M296 .50 cal machine guns aimed at you, Officer Rassan,” he began, his whispering voice echoing over the loudspeaker, “each capable of firing out six hundred rounds per minute. I wouldn’t make threats if I were you.”

  Rassan snorted, biting the inside of his cheek. “I still got the drop on you. I don’t know how you did what you just did, but unless you want to taste a bullet, you’ll back off, and get the hell outta here.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Arthur with a shake of his head. “If you want to take a shot at me, you’re welcome to it, but you might not like the results. You are going to let all these people through, and—”

  “Are you out of your mind!” he shot back, his jaw clenched. “Those people back there don’t belong here! They’re just filthy illegals. They’ll overrun everything; ruin this place inside a week.”

  “You should be protecting these people, not shooting at them like they were animals. You should be better than this. We should be better than this,” finished Arthur, his voice soft over the loudspeaker.

  “You’re living in a fantasy; people like you always do. I’m a realist. I’ve seen what happens when you let these people in. It's never pretty.”

  Arthur could see it happening before it occurred, the sad look on Officer Rassan’s pained face, the twitch in his hand when he squeezed the trigger, the blinding flash from the muzzle of his Beretta. Arthur pivoted in place, spinning on his heel to avoid the bullet, then with a step forward he let himself fall. Watching the ground approach, he returned his focus to the machine guns, seeing the entire field at once. When he attacked the first time he had aimed only for machines, vehicles, wanting to preserve life. Not so this time. These men and women who were supposed to be protecting the refugees would pay the price for the pain and suffering they had wrought, and Arthur would be the vehicle of destruction for it all. With a wave of his hand he cut down every living soul on this side of the fence, the cold hard earth steaming with hot blood, the screams of the dying a symphony to his ears.

  By the time he landed and rose to his feet, there was only wind in his ears, the dead and dying silent.

  He turned to face the gate, barely noticing that most of the refugees had fled with only the bravest of stragglers cringing at the edge of his vision. Flexing his hands, Arthur grasped at one of the posts holding the fence in place, straining to uproot it from its mooring. Taking a deep breath, he tore it from its concrete foundation buried beneath his feet, ripping down parts of the chain-link fence with it. He continued to pull, dragging the dull metal behind him, opening a massive gape in the barrier. When he was done, he threw the twisted post to the ground, gathering his things and striding through.

  He had gotten only a few meters when the girl found him again, her dirty face wide with shock. “How did you do that?” she asked, her breath coming in rapid spurts.

  Arthur continued walking, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

  With a feather-light touch on his shoulder, she stopped him. “You know they're just going to come back, right, send more troops. They don’t want us here, they call us trash bags, use us as target practice. But if you stay, we can—”

  He raised a hand to stop her, pursing his lips. “I can’t stay here,” he began, “but if I can accomplish what I
’ve set out to do, I promise you you’ll be able to go home. New York will be safe again, free of all the bullshit. You’ll have a fair shot. Understand?”

  Her eyes narrowed in confusion, not really understanding. “Ok, so what do we do in the meantime?”

  “Go find your mother, stay alive, and I’ll see you on the other side.”

  She gave him a brief nod, surprising him by reaching up and gently touching his cheek before stepping aside.

  With a smile, Arthur brushed past her, knowing the price of failure, his thoughts a maelstrom of worry.

  Chapter 4: Thoughts of Violence

  May 2076

  Rowen spent the next few days in a fog, her bravado fading fast to fear and confusion as time dragged on, made worse because she didn’t understand what they had done to her or why. Without access to the net, she spent every day as if she were missing part of her brain. The city was a dead zone as far as all communications, and that included the web. The greatest source of human knowledge and insight was lost to her, and she felt dumber than a box of rocks. How had kids learned anything in the past, she wondered. Her other option was to talk to someone about what had happened, but she was smart enough to take Ariel and his siblings at their word. They would hurt the people she cared about if she spoke to anyone, and despite it all, the person she wanted to talk to most of all was her father. Just thinking of him brought her a sense of pride as she wandered the once-dark-and-dreary subway platforms. The platforms were mostly clean and bright now. They were a bustling group of survivalists despite their recent losses.

  Her father had made something from nothing over the last year, recruiting and outfitting ‘the lair.’ She did not know why she insisted on calling it that, but it just felt right, and the name had stuck with the folks that had joined them over the last few months. With Gibbs taking the lead, they had managed to integrate the thousands of small thermoelectric batteries FEMA had left in storage to create a substantial energy grid, allowing them to have heat, light, and many of the creature comforts that she used to take for granted—hot food and showers being the real draw for most who had joined them. The extra power meant manufacturing. Her father had organized groups to scour the city for the 3D printers that most local stores used to produce all sorts of goods, the blueprints for many items thankfully stored away in their hard drives. Most of the printers were small, used for little everyday items that people needed, but they had managed to find larger ones. Factoring in an entire city of abandoned materials to recycle, they could build almost anything they needed. The end result was a military-style barracks spread out over the east platforms and a central kitchen, mess hall, and communal area on the west, with Gibbs having a lab on the tunnel floor and the manufacturing facilities somewhat deeper in the tunnel entrance to the subway. All in all, the place was clean, dry, and oddly felt more like home every day.