American Dreams | Book 1 | The Decline Read online

  The Decline

  American Dreams

  Book 1

  Written by

  BRIAN PARKER

  Illustrated by

  AJ POWERS

  Edited by

  AURORA DEWATER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Notice: The views expressed herein are NOT endorsed by the United States Government, Department of Defense or Department of the Army.

  The Decline

  American Dreams, book 1

  Copyright © 2020 by Brian Parker

  All rights reserved. Published by Phalanx Press.

  www.PhalanxPress.com

  Edited by Aurora Dewater

  Cover art designed by AJ Powers

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Works available by Brian Parker

  Five Roads to Texas

  Five Roads to Texas ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B07CV411SH

  After the Roads ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B07FPWD1L7

  The Road to Hell ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B07N9563CV

  The Days Before (a prequel) ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B07W94Z32T

  Easytown Novels

  The Immorality Clause ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01HWOH1VC

  Tears of a Clone ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBDUZSH

  West End Droids & East End Dames ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B07436C21L

  High Tech/Low Life: An Easytown Anthology ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B0787D6ZY6

  The Path of Ashes

  A Path of Ashes ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00XATPU9E

  Fireside ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B015ONZOU8

  Dark Embers ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01CPSAI1A

  Washington, Dead City

  GNASH ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01ACTBBZQ

  REND ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01AYEQRUI

  SEVER ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01C7VEMG2

  Stand Alone Works

  Grudge ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B06Y5QS6J6

  Enduring Armageddon ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00XZA2UQY

  Origins of the Outbreak ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00MN7UFBW

  The Collective Protocol ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00KUZDY4O

  Battle Damage Assessment ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00PCND2RI

  Zombie in the Basement ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00H6DUXY2

  Self-Publishing the Hard Way ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00HNQCZ9I

  Plus, many more anthology contributions and short stories.

  PROLOGUE

  Martha rushed down the hallway to the Senator’s office. She’d been summoned suddenly in the middle of her spin class and was still sweating profusely underneath her suit jacket. The pictures of past Congressional members flew by as she walked as quickly as professional decorum allowed for in the Hart Senate Office Building. Anything faster and she might draw attention to herself or fall. Her prosthetic allowed her to walk quickly and run, but power walking was dicey. She’d made a career out of shifting the attention to others so she could work behind the scenes.

  She was the special assistant to Senator Edgar Bradley, a position that confounded his professional staff to no end. They didn’t really know where she fit into the hierarchy of the staff, except that she didn’t answer to anyone but the senator himself. Martha knew where she stood, or at least she had a pretty damn good idea.

  Senator Bradley had plucked her away from JTF-Bravo to work directly for him when he was the lieutenant governor for the great state of Texas. She’d shown a certain…aptitude that he admired and she’d been ready to leave the field work behind due to the physical demands upon her body that she couldn’t take after an Afghan IED had blown her right leg off below the knee, thankfully saving the joint.

  Nothing, and no one, got in her way when the senator sicced her onto a target and she was ruthless when it came to dealing with outside threats against him. If there was a weakness to exploit, she’d do so. There was a reason Edgar Bradley had never been embroiled in a public scandal, after all. People who had dirt on him tended to get in accidents or commit suicide before they had the opportunity to go to the authorities or the media. Shit happens.

  She burst into the senator’s outer office. “I’m here,” she stated breathlessly to the secretary.

  “Senator Bradley is expecting you.”

  Martha suppressed a nasty reply. It wouldn’t have helped her already strained relationship with the staff. Of course the man was expecting her. He’d had the damn secretary call her and say it was a matter of national security that she get there immediately. She knew what those types of summons usually entailed.

  She smoothed her jacket and took a deep breath to compose herself after the hasty walk through the corridors. A quick glance in the mirror revealed a thousand blonde flyaways that had escaped her bun during class and she hadn’t had time to readjust it. She was sick of her hair anyway. Maybe it was better to just cut it all off like so many women of power seemed to do these days.

  There was nothing she could do about her hair short of removing the bun and starting over, but the senator was not a patient man. When he summoned someone, he expected them to arrive immediately, regardless of where they were. And a matter of national security? Well, that meant he expected her to get there before immediately—whatever that was. She ran a hand along her hair in an attempt to at least press the flyaways down and then huffed at the mess on top of her head as they sprang back away. Oh well, she thought and turned to enter the office.

  “Holy geez, Martha!” Senator Bradley said in greeting. “You look like you’ve been out fighting tornadoes.”

  “I was at—”

  “Never mind. You look fine. Get the door, will ya?” She closed the door behind herself, oblivious to the secretary’s glare. “Have a seat.”

  She walked over to the chair he’d indicated across from him. As she did so, she noticed an empty tumbler on his desk. The remnants of an amber liquid rested on the bottom. He stood and picked up the glass as she sat, turning his back to her as he refilled the glass.

  The senator asked, “Drink?”

  “No, thank you, sir.”

  He sat down heavily, then looked at her for a moment before picking up the glass and downing the contents in one long gulp. It was going to be one of those types of meetings, she decided.

  “Martha, we have a problem.”

  “I’ve always helped to take care of all of your problems, Senator. You know that.”

  He waved her off. “No, this is bigger than a hooker looking to blackmail me or some dickhead trying to investigate illegal payments made to pipeline officials. This is a problem on a national level that affects us all.”

  She nodded in understanding, even if she wasn’t entirely sure where he was going. “Okay…”

  He swiveled in his chair and picked up the crystal decanter from the bar behind his desk and poured another three fingers of the dark liquid into his glass before setting the decanter on his desk. He was obviously planning on hitting it a few more times during their discussion.

  “You see, we are a nation of the haves and have nots. I’m not okay with that, are you?”

  “You’ve always been a champion of social reform, Senator. Your stance on—”

  “Cut the bullshit, Martha,” Senator Bradley barked. “I want to know what you think about the state of America right now.”

  She wasn’t sure what his game was. Why did it matter what her personal opinion on anything was as long as she continued
to do the dirty work for him? “Well, sir, I think that it’s a shame that we have so many billionaires and multi-millionaires, while at the same time we have millions upon millions of people here in the US who don’t know where their next meal is going to come from.”

  He jabbed a finger in her direction. “You took that from one of my speeches. And I’m absolutely right that it’s a shame. The gap between the poor and the rich has widened into a giant chasm. When I was a boy, the American middle class was the heart and soul of the nation’s economy. Hard-working men and women who had just enough disposable income to buy frivolous crap from the mom and pop store down on the corner. Over time, the middle class got squeezed, some of them moved up into the wealthy class, but most of them were relegated to poverty like the rest of the masses. And that mom and pop store? That got bulldozed and replaced by a mega retail chain store or some other corporate bullshit.”

  He took a deep breath and another pull from his glass. “We’ve tried to help families through programs like WIC and giving out EBT cards to those in need. Tried to help those with children, to allow their kids to get the proper nutrition and clothing they need, but how many stories have you heard of where people are selling their government-funded foodstuff for cash just so they can pay their electricity bill?” Martha nodded in agreement, although she personally thought those types of people were probably selling their items for money to buy drugs. She wasn’t nearly as idealistic as her employer.

  “Kids these days can’t afford to go to college without taking out tens of thousands of dollars in student loans. Do you know how demoralizing that is as a twenty-two year old entering the work force so far in debt that they can’t even see the ending?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “And healthcare,” he scoffed. “Don’t even get me started on that debacle. We tried. We really tried to make it available to everyone, but all the damned riders that my quote-unquote colleagues attached to it made it astronomically unaffordable for the common family. Imagine that. We tried to do the right thing and give people free healthcare. It backfired and the cost of annual premiums skyrocketed. Hell, you even have to pay a penalty if you don’t have healthcare because you can’t afford it. What kind of damn sense does that make?”

  “Yes, sir, it seems a little backward.”

  “A little backward? Martha, the entire damn system is backward. Capitalism is backward. It started out as a good idea, and can even be practiced responsibly to give individuals a little bit of freedom to exercise their entrepreneurial spirit—like they do in China.” He paused for another drink. The senator seemed well on his way toward a full-on drunk at 1 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. “Do you know that I spend half of my time reviewing bills that are designed to tax the individual and give more tax breaks and loopholes to corporations and special interests? Maybe even more than half my time. It’s ridiculous. The government should be responsible for providing for the people, not figuring out new ways of stealing from them.”

  “The old ‘taxation is theft’ argument?” Martha asked a little taken aback by the man’s statement. “I didn’t think you were a Libertarian, sir.”

  “I didn’t use to be,” he said, chuckling. “And I’m not, by the way. You know better than that.”

  “Yes, sir.” In truth, a lot of what he was talking about seemed more in line with Libertarian ideals than his own party’s line.

  “Well, Martha, I’m not gonna lie to you. I never have, and I’m not gonna start now. My colleagues and I have an opportunity. An opportunity to do good for the people of this nation. We can reshape her into the land of opportunity that it once was advertised to be. We can level the playing field and bring everyone out of poverty, provide free education, and healthcare for all. Every bit of it within the next couple of years.”

  Martha blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not following. Do you mean after the next election?”

  “No,” he replied with a sly smile brought on by the beginnings of his day drunk. “I’ve got a career proposition for you, Ms. Goodman. Once this all moves forward, I want you in Austin.”

  “I’ll go wherever you need me,” Martha replied. “However, you skipped the part about how you plan to bring about social reform in the next couple of years.”

  “Have you ever heard of the H5N8?”

  “Sounds like one of those bird flu viruses,” she stated.

  “Exactly!” he said excitedly. “You’re such a smart little lady.”

  “No, Senator. Not happening,” she said, feeling the need to remind him that their relationship was, and always would be, platonic and non-sexual. “Back to the H5N-whatever. I haven’t heard of that particular one.”

  “H5N8.” Senator Bradley poured himself another drink. “What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room, do you hear me?”

  “Of course, Senator.”

  He lifted his glass. “You sure you don’t want one? What I’m about to tell you is a doozie.”

  She frowned, then acquiesced. If it was a matter of national security, like his summons had stated, maybe it was better to hear the news with a drink in her hand. Once he’d passed a tumbler of the same liquid across the table to her, he leaned back and put his feet up on his desk. His signature cowboy boots looked brand new, as if he’d just broken them out of the box this morning for the occasion.

  “Remember how rapidly everyone changed their entire way of life during the quarantine? Our society basically went into hiding and gave up their freedom over the coronavirus. Companies went out of business by the thousands and people became even more dependent upon the government for support?”

  “Yes, of course I remember.”

  “With H5N8, we have a way of doing that again. Permanently this time. We can ensure the population remains under our absolute control, dependent upon us for their every need.”

  Martha took a larger gulp from the glass than she meant to and choked. “Why though?” she asked when she’d cleared her throat.

  He gestured around his office. “Power, young lady. Power.”

  PART ONE

  ONE

  As far as apocalypses go, this one sucks balls. I’d hoped for zombies, expected an alien invasion, and anticipated either a life-ending meteor or an eruption of the Yellowstone super-volcano. What we got was another shitty global economic recession with everyone afraid to go outside because they didn’t want to catch the Crud.

  Just like when I was a kid and missed the entire second half of eighth grade, the Crud started with some strange rumors from disreputable websites, and then the main stream media began carrying footage of Asians in masks, fleeing from the cities like they were running away from an actual, physical enemy seeking them out. My girlfriend and I watched the videos with a detached sense that we were witnessing history, something that we’d be able to tell our grandkids that we lived through. I likened it to how my Grandpa talked about watching the moon landings. He didn’t do a damn thing except sit on his ass and watch a poor black-and-white broadcast, but by God, he always made sure to tell me where he was when it happened. The Crud would be my moon landing—I sat on my ass and watched the Far East implode.

  Then it came here to our shores. Of course it did. Everyone in DC was too concerned with not offending people to block flights and the shipment of goods until it was too late. You see, the Crud, technically H5N8, is airborne. It’s another variation of Avian Flu, a bullshit virus that jumped from chickens and pigeons to humans. Go figure that it started in Asia, right? H5N8 has been around for a long time, and used to be considered basically harmless, but it’s strengthened over the years into the current strain with a fifteen-to-twenty percent mortality rate…

  Oh joy!

  After the US hit the dreaded one million people infected mark, the president ordered a nationwide quarantine, expanding what the states had already done on their own to stop the spread of the virus. The schools and most non-essential businesses had already been closed at the state level, but the declaration of martial law was
something else entirely. That didn’t even happen with the Coronavirus back in middle school.

  The National Guard rolled into town about two weeks ago to enforce the quarantine and make sure that businesses followed the closure edict. There was even—

  “Seriously?” Cassandra said from behind me, making me jump. I hadn’t heard her sneak up behind me on our apartment’s carpet.

  I turned and my eyes opened wide after having squinted at the laptop screen for so long. She stood less than three feet from me, completely naked except for a pair of low-cut grey socks on her feet. As I glanced from her toes back up to her face, taking in the entire view, the soft scent of flowers drifted from her. She’d been heading to the shower when I started this little journaling exercise. I must have been at it longer than I thought.

  Cassandra was a P.A.W.G.—phat-ass white girl for those of you without access to the Urban Dictionary online. At five foot five, her proportions were simply stunning. I’d had that old Violent Femmes song “36-24-36” stuck in my head for weeks after I’d learned that those were her actual measurements when we began dating. Her light brown hair framed an incredibly beautiful face with full, naturally red lips, and brown eyes. My girl’s natural coloring had made her popular with the Hispanic guys in high school. How she’d ended up with a white, Irish-German-English mutt like me was anybody’s guess. Maybe she just liked a challenge. Her skin was unmarred by blemishes from childhood acne or bicycle accidents, the only deviation from that was a large lower back tattoo of a pair of hands holding a heart in flames surrounded by roses and a crown of thorns with the words “Cor Jesu” in script above, meaning “Heart of Jesus.”

  Cassandra leaned down, her face right next to mine as she read the lines I’d written on the laptop screen. I inhaled the scent of her hair as her lips moved slightly. “Well?” I asked.