Cooper Wyse looked over to Imran and then back to Mac.
“Fort Wilfrid is where Imran lives. It’s about a hundred miles from here give or take. Slow going getting there though, especially in the colder months, which up here, is most the year. The godfather is the name of the guy who started up the whole place – Fort Wilfred. He’s been out there for about fifteen years or so. Been told he’s a bit different, but as far as how things are done in Canada, about as good as you’re gonna get. And Imran’s right. From what I understand, the godfather can’t stand Muslims. So in a way, he’s a big part of keeping them out of Alaska. And I’m serious there, if they were allowed to just walk in and take over, that’s what those Muslims would do. Nasty bunch. At least the ones I’ve run into, which admittedly hasn’t been much because I tend to try and avoid that kind of trouble whenever possible. In fact, don’t think I’ve been as far out as Wilfrid in almost two years now.”
Mac pressed Cooper for more answers.
“Ok, but what about this invasion thing he’s talking about?”
Cooper shook his head and shrugged.
“I don’t know anything about that. Imran, tell us what you mean by invasion.”
Imran’s eyes grew large as both hands flew out in front of him.
“Yes! An invasion! There are rumors, many rumors of late. From the East. A large Muslim force sent to destroy Wilfrid and then enter Alaska. They wish to overtake Alaska! And so soon after you defeated the New United Nations! With so much resistance to their authority elsewhere, the Texas Resistance…instead of using resources to do it themselves, it is said the New United Nations is telling the Muslim warlords they can have Alaska.”
Bear took a step toward Imran, his right hand reaching out to grasp the front of the much smaller man’s winter jacket.
“Bullshit! That can’t happen!”
Brando exposed his teeth and snarled at Bear, warning him to release Imran.
“Goddammit! What is with that stupid dog?”
Cooper Wyse stepped between Brando and Bear, and gently pulled Imran out of Bear’s grasp.
“He knows Imran better than he knows you, Bear, and it looks to him like a real big guy picking on a little guy and Brando don’t like that much - nothing personal.”
Bear pivoted toward Cooper, looked down at Brando glaring at him, and thought better of it.
Dublin spoke up, wanting to return the subject to the threatened invasion of Alaska.
“Imran, do you think these rumors are credible? Is the invasion something that could actually happen?”
Imran nodded his head enthusiastically.
“Oh, yes! The godfather would not be doubling the defensive personnel, or imposing travel restrictions, if they were not credible. Such restriction harms trade, and trade is how we all…that is what the economy up here is based upon. I have seen Muslim groups with my own eyes, just outside Wilfrid, traveling in vehicles. And just the other day, I and some others saw an armed drone fly overhead. That has not been seen in years due to the agreement between the New United Nations and the Muslim warlords that there are to be no drones inside of the former Canadian provinces.”
Dublin looked at Mac.
“That might explain the drone that tried to kill us, Mac. Maybe they are trying to prepare the area for the invasion. If the New United Nations is helping out these Muslims to invade Alaska, that’s something that needs to be taken very seriously.”
Reese added his own thoughts.
“That drone that came at us, that was for us specifically. It wasn’t a random thing that happened related to this possible invasion scenario. The timing was too good. They knew where we were. It came right for us. Somehow somebody, somewhere – it was no accident. That said, if there’s some radical Muslim group wanting to march on into Alaska and they’re getting help from the New United Nations, Dublin is right, we need to do something.”
Bear’s fist slammed against the wall behind him.
“We need to get back to Alaska and help prepare to defend it! I need to protect my kids and my wife. No damn Muslim scum are gonna threaten my family. There’s no way---“
Mac cut Bear off.
“We are doing something, Bear. We’re doing something that might bring this whole globalist government down. That’s what we agreed to do. That’s why we are out here. That’s why we are going to keep going until we get to that priest. I can contact the Alaskan militia, Franklin Thomas. Let him know what Imran just told us here. I’m sure they can handle themselves fine against a bunch of Muslims even if there are a few drones helping them out. My guess is the New United Nations is actually using these Muslims as a test run to see just how good Alaska’s defenses really are before they send in the serious firepower. Well, I’ve personally helped prepare those defenses. We got all kinds of anti-aircraft, even some tanks and a few naval vessels that are back up and running. Your wife and kids are as safe as anyone can be right now in this world, I promise you that.”
Imran whispered a warning to all of them.
“Not just drones. Other weapons. Other…things.”
Cooper leaned in to better hear what Imran was saying.
“What was that Imran? What other weapons? You mean missiles, tanks, that kind of thing?’
Imran’s dark eyes looked through a window to the blackness outside.
“People are saying they have seen things. Creatures. Shadows of things. And that they are somehow linked to the New United Nations. A kind of experiment. Genetic manipulation. They are making…monsters. I have heard the godfather speak of it from time to time. He says the globalists are playing God, turning the unborn into something else. The population controls, the millions of abortions, some of it is being used to create things no longer human.”
Mac disregarded Imran’s story of creatures born from New United Nations genetic experiments.
“What the hell is this bullshit, Coop? Your guy here shows up early, in the dark, so he can tell us about some Muslim invasion of Alaska and people seeing monsters running around that are some kind of new genetic weapon of some sort? What’s his game? Is he trying to get us afraid enough to turn tail and just head back home? You keep talking like this and I’m gonna let Bear take his frustration out on you, boy. You see how agitated he is? That’ a hell of a lot of hurt he’s ready to lay on someone and you’re getting real close to being on the receiving end of that.”
Reese held up his hand to get the others’ attention.
“I don’t know if what Imran is saying is the truth or not, but I do know, back in Dominatus, Dr. Miller told me about fetuses being used for experiments. That all of the abortions helped provide the resources for these kinds of experiments. He didn’t say anything about genetic weapons, but is that really so far fetched given what we know about the New United Nations? It could be true. Imran, do these things, these weapons…do they have a name?”
Imran’s eyes were still focused on the murky blanket of night just outside the window as he uttered his response.
“Seekers.”
XI.
The man who had once been President of the United States was not mad. So he told himself over and over again in the cavernous confines of his private residence atop the massive New United Nations building in New York. It was inside this residence the Great Consulate had remained for the last seven years, locked away from the world outside, his only human visitor being his personal assistant what’s his name. The Great Consulate could not recall names anymore, not even his own. So too were the memories of faces of those he knew now fading into some distant past within the tightly locked rooms of a mind long ago past its expiration date.
But he was not mad. So he told himself…over and over again.
The skin had gone an ashen grey. Almost inhuman in appearance, and covered in open, oozing sores that filled the rooms of the residence with an odd, fetid stench, that skin hung off the Great Consulate’s skeletal frame, gathered in layers of loose fitting wrinkles around the neck, elbows, and knees. For many years he had taken to wearing a single garment of clothing, a once pristine white toga that was soon after stained dark from the remains of his own bodily functions and the blood of himself and others. The toga was an idea he formed after watching an old film titled
Caligula
that became a favorite of the Great Consulate’s years ago when he entertained the idea of calling himself Emperor of Earth. That idea eventually faded – but the toga remained.
What little food he ate was left for him by the assistant. Once a week the large open bowls in the kitchen were restocked with the candy corn that had become the Great Consulate’s favorite in more recent years. These candies had been banned by the New United Nations health mandates of course, which in his mind, made the taste all the better. He ate those candies by the hundreds every day.
The greatest pleasure though, besides the killing, was the cigarettes. Like the candies, tobacco had long ago been outlawed. The Great Consulate had crates of cigarettes stored in entire rooms of his residence. Empty cartons lay strewn about, the ashes of the tens of thousands of smoked cigarettes giving the floors of the residence the appearance of an ever moving, dust-cloud carpet. His lips had become a deep yellow-purple and paper thin from the years of smoking, and due to malnutrition, his once glorious white dental implants had long ago fallen out leaving only blackened gums that had receded to the point of near extinction.
But he was not mad. So he told himself…over and over again.
Trembling, bone-thin, nicotine stained fingers reached out to scoop up several more candy corns. He let them sit in his mouth and dissolve across his painful, abscessed gums. The familiar taste made the Great Consulate grin, as a line of sugar-sweetened drool hung from the right corner of his mouth. His left hand, his dominant hand, brought yet another burning cigarette to his mouth from which he took a long, deep, satisfying drag. As the smoke entered his one remaining lung, the Great Consulate closed his eyes and snickered.
Cigarettes and candy corn. What more could one want, or ever need?
“Killing. Don’t forget the killing. You have the power of life and death over all things.”
His right hand brushed his groin, the area where the tools of his gender had once resided. Three years ago, in a fit of deep depression and self-loathing, the Great Consulate had mutilated himself in this very room. The by then familiar voice in his head had convinced him of his superior nature. He was no mere human being. No…he was truly a god. Something beyond human, something far better - more evolved. At least he would be, so long as he was willing to remove the evidence of his gender specific humanity. And so, after days of no sleep, no food or drink, the Great Consulate concurred with the advice of this wise voice. He took a simple butter knife from the kitchen and proceeded over the course of several hours, to remove his manhood, leaving only tattered and bleeding remnants from which no reformation was possible. It had proven difficult, though ultimately gratifying work.
The assistant found the Great Consulate three days later, passed out on the floor of the main room, his toga balled up between his legs drenched in the blood and torn skin of his mutilation. By the time he was discovered, the area had already become infected - the act almost killing the man who once called himself by a name he no longer remembered. For a week the Great Consulate of the New United Nations lay in the medical room housed inside the residence, as the most powerful antibiotics available were pumped into his body. The gaping slash that was his groin was cleaned and stitched, with a small plastic straw-like tube left exposed just outside his skin to allow him to urinate.
Upon waking, and seeing the results of what that voice in his head had demanded he do, the Great Consulate openly declared himself a god to his assistant and the medical nurse overseeing his recovery. He shouted constantly during this recovery, exclaiming he had finally been freed from the chains of gender slavery, and this freedom was certain to make him an even far more effective leader.