It was a shambling group of stragglers being led along, up that ridge.
Smoke and fog mixed, and the noise of explosions could be heard in the distance. As they were led out of town, the cries and screams died down, left behind in the distance. This was a dark day for the human race. Coyotes and raccoons and squirrels seemed to mock them, periodically, which made the whole thing weirder.
“Can I take a break?”, Carl asked the sasquatch in charge.
Carl was tired, in shock, still hungover and high as fuck. It was him and about a dozen other humans, all in bondage, being led up some random mountain game trail – going deep into the Olympic National Forest. They began this march around 2 AM, and now Carl could see the sun coming up, he guessed it was 6:30 now.
“Break for water”, the bigfoot in charge said quietly, he pointed towards a stream nearby.
Carl looked around at the group in chains, so miserable. Carl thought it was funny how easily his human brethren took orders from these ape-like giants, “It didn’t take much”. Carl was thinking about his old preacher and the times of Egypt. He had thought of his fellow beings as “slavish” most of his life, but it was at this tense moment that the clarity of human obedience came into full view.
“We stop a short bit, get rested, a few more hours till camp”, said HOOBOO the sasquatch leading the column of what were, apparently, prisoners of war.
Carl could hear gunfire in the distance, they could all smell smoke and not just forest fire smoke, they could smell the dark rancid creosote smoke of small towns, cities, villages, gas stations, military equipment, crashed planes, burning. Up and down the west coast, from the Pacific Ocean, to the Atlantic, and around the world: humans were being hunted, killed, their homes were being set on fire. The richest, the poorest, the sasquatch did not show compassion or deference, they didn’t care. All would feel the punishment and death, some more than others. When the attack began most governments and journalists believed it was a hoax, a joke. Within the first 15 minutes it became obvious that there was no joke.
“We have to get going”, said HOOBOO and the tired and dirty humans were pulled further up the trail, deeper into the woods.
To the south of them, near the naval base at Roort’s Point, things were awful. The base commander, Admiral Jansen, had been out late partying with his executive officer and command staff. They had just gotten back from a long mission and spent 6 weeks undersea, continuous silent operations; this kind of operation was hard on submariners. They had only been back one day when the attack commenced.
Roort’s Point is a ballistic missile submarine base, part of the nuclear triad, and on that day there were 2 of 5 nuclear submarines in port, all of them armed with nuclear missiles and only requiring codes and command authorization to launch. All the nuke subs that were AT SEA received orders to stay at sea and to maintain the highest readiness – these orders were sent through a more secret channel via ELF networks and did not get transmitted to the naval bases directly. Admiral Jansen felt as if he was the last to find out they were under attack, but it was clear to him too, when he saw that strange force before him, that no one could foresee this day.
Hundreds of sasquatch riding orca whales, armed with rifles and pistols, attacked from the sea down Hood Canal. Thousands of coyotes and raccoons storm attacked the gates of the complex, overrunning the security outpost before the SP guards at the gate could notify base HQ. The entire assault lasted no more than 30 minutes; for Admiral Jansen, a NAVY SEAL combat veteran, the attack seemed to last hours.
Admiral Jansen tried to reach WA DC, but cell towers, fiber cable, even COMM-sites for satellites were being set on fire, torn up, and literally shat on. Sasquatch, raccoons, squirrels and coyotes were having fun SHITTING on various forms of human tech, tearing it up, biting into cables and wires, and this made the situation even more aggravating. The orcas that were not being used as attack boats by the sasquatch tore up underwater cables and controls for the sub pens near Roort’s Point and blocked the harbor by dragging wreckage from the deep up to the opening. It would take a day, but by the end of that day no sub was coming or going any longer from that location.
Jansen was able to set up a shortwave radio set, an old AM outfit, from the cold war. After about 3 hours of messing around, a young NAVAL seaman was able to pick up the same useless message that was blasting over TV, RADIO, and what was left of the WWW.
“THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST, THIS IS NOT A TEST. STAY INDOORS, GO TO THE LOWEST POINT IN YOUR DWELLING. SEEK SHELTER IN YOUR TOWN’S BUNKER OR THE SUBWAY SYSTEM. REMAIN HIDDEN. HAVE WATER AND FOOD FOR 3 WEEKS.”
That noise could be heard everywhere around the world, Jansen heard it as he ran up the hallway to his office – it was 3 AM. Sasquatch were running loose all over the base.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”, an explosion near the docks and chaos. Sailors and civilians were running for their vehicles, gunfire and muzzle flashes were everywhere. One sailor had managed to get on an M2 .50 caliber machine gun before he was killed and several bigfoot were shot to pieces as a result. The standard sidearms (.9mm and 40 caliber) and rifles (5.56) were nearly useless against the sasquatch – in some cases the bullets simply bounced off. A few of the sailors mixed tracer rounds in, but found this only enraged the bigfoot and made the outcomes worse for them.
The sasquatch had disabled the remaining submarines in port, tearing large holes in their titanium armor. Luckily, the nuclear containment held up and the reactors went into SCRAM – but the subs were now useless, filling with water, sitting at the bottom of the sub pen.
By 6 AM Admiral Jansen, and what was left of his command, surrendered to the sasquatch war leader TOOGS and his cadre of furry invaders. The NAVAL personnel, civilians and military, were rounded up and taken to the trails, to the woods, and they too were being led up to the camps where Carl was heading.
In WA DC everything was falling apart …
At around 4 AM WA DC time, the first wave of bigfoot attackers hit and hit hard. 10 cohorts of sasquatch, each 1,000 strong, came from the northwest. The sasquatch rolled through Darnestown, Maryland, and only a small group of Capitol Police and local sheriffs put up a fight and it wasn’t enough. One cohort split off to attack the White House, but by this time President Jordan and his staff were evacuated via Andrews AFB and luckily they got off the ground and arrived safely at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex (NORAD) near Colorado Springs.
3 cohorts, 3,000 sasquatch, attacked the House of Representatives – given the time of day and the legislative calendar, there were almost no congress people there and very few support staff. Congresswoman Grenna Deare of N. Dakota had just finished giving a CSPAN speech to an empty hall, and she noticed that 50 bigfoot were at the doors, barely, before she feinted and fell to the ground unconscious. She was ignored by the beasts.
The sasquatch proceeded to dismantle the House of Representatives, the Senate, the White House, the Pentagon. Soldiers and sailors and other folks made a brave stand at the Pentagon, but it took less than an hour for the bigfoot to breakdown the barriers and take full control. Squirrels and raccoons ran roughshod over the Capitol Mall, urinating and defecating on the Lincoln Memorial, pissing into the reflecting pool. Coyotes, completely out of control, ravaged the cities on the “loop” just outside of WA DC, fully occupying the time and resources of local cops and sheriffs.
General Yates, Chief of Logistics Command for US Forces CONUS, was the senior officer on duty that day and the highest ranking officer left alive in the DC area; he surrendered the last forces of WA DC at 9:15 AM, local time, October 13th, 2026, a Tuesday.
The United States government was in disarray, every state capitol, every locality or county, every townhall and city office was on its own. Around the world, militaries caught off guard were going into hiding – in basements, under schools and hospitals, the places they had bemoaned in the past as a “refuge for cowards and terrorists”. They, the “good guys”, were in hiding, like the terrorists.
The United States used 3 nuclear weapons early on that Tuesday: one was used to block the movement of sasquatch in South Carolina, this was a 15 kiloton tactical nuclear weapon used on a gathering of sasquatch near Myrtle Beach. To the west, 2 nukes were used, 1 megaton each, to create a no man’s land along the principal avenues approach to the NORAD complex in Colorado. It was an effective deterrence, and the sasquatch stayed away. The combined use of nukes that morning killed almost a million Americans.
In Berlin, NATO forces were holding down their positions on the west bank of the Spree, but they were only able to mobilize a brigade of troops. They had a lot of ammo and rocket launchers that were intended for the war in the Ukraine, and this allowed them to make an effective stand. Nearly 50,000 sasquatch from Romania and Bulgaria attacked Berlin, almost 200,000 attacked Paris. If the numbers had been smaller, it would have been hard, but this seemed impossible. NATO A-10 close-support aircraft were authorized to use depleted uranium ammo on the European Theater sasquatch and this did make a dent.
Everywhere around the world militaries were confronting the impossible, the fog of war, the unknown unknown. It was “impossible” that these savage freaks were reeking havoc on the most powerful and technologically advanced nations in world history. It was “impossible” that they, the sasquatch, simply didn’t give up, running headstrong into heavy machine gun fire and anti-tank missiles and even artillery being fired at point blank and flat trajectory. SP-155mm artillery were firing continuously at the waves of bigfoot attacking in Oklahoma, and the sasquatch kept coming.
A significant portion of the world’s naval forces scrambled to sea during the first hours of the attack, along with air forces moving what was left of their aircraft to forward operating airfields and refueling sites, off the beaten path, as far from the mayhem as they could get and still provide air support. Forces were doing the only thing they could do, according to worst case OP-PLANS: evacuate, scatter, communications silence.
The various world militaries that were pinned down were fighting to the last man, the last woman, the last military contractor. Civilian workers were given pistols, rifles, and very brief instructions on how to use them. It would be remembered as the most frenzied day in the military history of the world. Some were saying “aliens”, but a few in intelligence circles knew better.
The CIA had been aware of the “Sasquatch Threat” since its inception in 1947. NAZI paperclip scientists, “rescued” after WW2, understood this issue better than most and provided a full briefing to the CIA in 1952. Colonel Rolf Kadner of the SS had been in charge of experimental programs and apprehensions under the Third Reich. At first the NAZIs had great luck capturing bigfoot, but no luck holding on to one of them. For whatever reason, they could escape and did so quite easily. As with much the CIA did, the CIA kept this secret for their own protection.
ALL OF THIS was happening, and Carl knew none of it; he knew he was tired, scared, confused, and “too fucking old for this bullshit”.
It was almost noon when the column of human prisoners made it all the way to the makeshift POW camp. The campsite was a small assemblage of cobbled together cabins and tents, some barbed wire and ramshackle fencing. It was at the site of an abandoned mine, not far from Boulder Creek Falls.
The site was strange: there were people already there when Carl and the other beleaguered prisoners arrived, but they were carrying guns. Carl recognized one of them, a man named Jon Shadow. Jon Shadow was a member of the Twaclom People, a Salish Tribe who’s lands used to be where Port Townsend, Washington, is today. Jon was a childhood friend of Carl’s, they went to the same elementary school.
“WHAT THE FUCK CARL?”, Jon yelled, and then he ran over to his friend to greet him.
Jon unlocked Carl from the makeshift chains and with a nod from HOOBOO took Carl to a small tent near the shelter of the trees, with the noise of the falls washing out most of the racket. No one was being tortured or killed, humans were being placed in holding areas, but the sick and wounded among the prisoners were being treated well and given food and medicine and medical attention.
Jon took Carl to his tent. There inside was a small propane stove boiling hot water. Jon grabbed some instant coffee from his backpack and made Carl a cup. Jon had a thing about adding a spoonful of chocolate milk mix to the coffee, and this did not bother Carl. Jon and Carl sat down, cups in hand, staring at each other.
“What the fuck Jon?”, Carl quipped.
Jon shook his head.
“Remember that time when we were in school and I told you about my cousin going to special ED classes at the Native School?”
“Yeah.”
Jon spoke slowly, deliberately, with a somber look on his face.
“She went to that school, run by the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT and the Catholic Church. She went to bed most nights hungry, she woke up most mornings to a beating. There were things done to her that she told me about later that I cannot speak of ever again … She had 4 abortions before she was 18, and this was an all-girls native school run by nuns and male Indian Affairs administrators. She killed herself 3 years ago after dealing with alcoholism and depression her entire life. Because I like you I am not going to punch you in the face.”
Carl looked down at the ground, it occurred to him, in that moment, that he never really understood the anger of many natives until that Tuesday, that October the 13th. Down in Port Angeles, women were being killed, men were having large chunks of rebar shoved up their butts, children were being taken away to the camps in the hills. The sasquatch were not bloodthirsty by nature, but this conflict had been a long time coming and they were never about half-ass action.
A historical digression, as crows are allowed.
In 1915, General “Blackjack” Pershing led US Army forces into Northern Mexico, chasing after Poncho Villa, delivering what would later be called a “chastisement”. A “chastisement operation” has a singular purpose: to punish and humiliate. With a chastisement, the goal is NOT to occupy territory, the goal is to punch an enemy in the nose, knock them to the ground, and then when they are trembling, shaking? – walk away. Carl didn’t know a lot about military operations, but he did understand bullies. If the USA had become the biggest bully in world history, then it would take one hell of a bloody nose to teach IT a lesson.
“That’s not me Jon, that’s no my folks.”
Carl’s response made Jon a bit angry.
“No, it’s not YOU. It’s never any one of us, good or bad. But it’s enough people Carl. Enough people chose not to care, chose to look away. Enough people became giant assholes in the last few decades CARL … And the rest? – STOOD BY AND WATCHED IT. Sorry friend, there are no innocent people today.”
Secretly, prior to the attack, WAR LEADER DIRG of the Sasquatch sent emissaries to the shaman of the several North American tribes. By the end of September, nearly 300,000 Native Americans (and their allies) in all 50 states had joined forces with the sasquatch and were preparing for war. Some of these were already enlisted in the US military, and they were willing to violate their “oaths”, noting that this was the case with the great white father (various presidents of the USA) on many occasions. “Oaths and agreements don’t mean much to them, and our oaths to them don’t mean much to us”, remarked a Native American Chief at the Battle of Toledo.
“What’s gonna happen now?”, Carl asked meekly.
“Buddy, it’s going to be okay. This battle was never supposed to last more than a few days. Once the governments of the world surrender …”
“SURRENDER, WHAT THE FUCK?”
“Once they surrender, then this will be over.”
“What happens after?”
“After what?”
“After this fucking war is over?”
“Well, let’s think …”, Jon pondered Carl’s question. Jon was a fairly low level operative in this adventure. He knew HOOBOO and a few other local sasquatch, he didn’t really know anyone who KNEW anything, other than the basic plan.
“I think, Carl, the sasquatch will go home. They will count their dead. They will make their peace. They will leave every human government and community with a warning. It will be over.”
“Just like that.”
“Yes.”
“What if humans are stubborn and crazy?”
This caused Jon to pause once again. Jon contemplated Carl’s question, and began thinking about SITTING BULL and LITTLE BIG HORN. There were several potential lessons in this line of thought. What if General Custer possessed humility? What if the US military had respected the tribes, and their ability to make war? Lots of what ifs and hypotheticals. Jon knew that all life was CRAZY to live, and stayed alive in states of madness. “Sitting Bull” was CRAZY for his cause of justice, Custer was CRAZY for his weird beliefs in inherent white superiority over natives. This made Jon worried.
“I don’t know.”
HOOBOO came by the tent, “you have the prisoner?”.
“You can stop with the scary voice pal”, Jon smiled at HOOBOO. HOOBOO laughed.
“HEY, your friend want something? Some food?”, HOOBOO was checking on the prisoners and they weren’t really prisoners to the sasquatch. Until this “war” was over, the prisoners were merely guests, not hostages, not targets. Sadly, sasquatch that fell into human hands that day were mostly not treated so well.
HOOBOO brought by some smoked salmon and biscuits. Jon made another cup of coffee and gave Carl a water bottle. Jon had to leave and so Carl was alone, in the tent, eating, still in a state of shock but the mortal terror was wearing off. Jon laid out an extra sleeping bag so that Carl could sleep, and Carl did sleep for about 5 hours.
It was near 6 PM when Carl awoke. The tent was still empty, but there was noise outside, and “music”. “Fucking music?”, Carl muttered under his breath. He got up and opened the lip of the tent to peer outside. He went outside, and walked around camp. And then, as he was walking about, he heard a new voice …
“You like my biscuits sugar?”
“What?”, Carl was caught off guard. A sasquatch, about 11 feet tall named REETAH, was watching over a large caldron. She was making a northwest Salish stew of venison and potatoes and all Carl knew is he could eat the whole thing.
“The biscuits sweetheart.”
“They were the best I’ve had in a while.”
“Well, I don’t use seed oils.”
“How do you speak English?”
“Well, I manipulate my vocal cords and cusp my lips … what do you do honey?”
“I mean where did you learn?”
“OH … where and WHEN did I learn … I learned from a nasty old Jesuit, about 170 years ago. At the time I was living on Vancouver Island. Some Canadian troops with British Army regulars were patrolling the island, surveying for natural resources, when they encountered us and well … I mean … it was a bad day for them. We killed and ate them. Who doesn’t like British cooking?”, Carl didn’t get the joke.
“You eat people?”
“Not all people, but some people.”
“What about the English teacher, the Jesuit?”
“Oh, I lose track all the time sugar. After that skirmish a Jesuit priest was left alive, and our clan captured him. He taught classes, but he was kind of nasty. We caught him doing some not so nice things, so we ate him too, eventually.”
“Are you going to eat me?”
“Nope, I don’t eat people any longer.”
“That’s nice”, Carl said wryly and REETAH smiled.
Carl stepped closer to REETAH and the caldron she was stirring, he gulped and asked: “… are there people in the stew?”
“No … just love and venison and some other herbs and spices.”
Jon came up from behind and startled Carl.
“You too getting along?”
“I guess, I’ve never had a conversation with a bigfoot and my first encounter today wasn’t so good.”
REETAH laughed again, “Child, it’s been a hard day for all.”
“Okay, we’re not keeping anyone prisoner here, at least not yet. You are welcome to stay in my tent to sleep and to stay at the camp. I think you’ll find we’re not your enemy.”
“Jon, I don’t have Stockholm Syndrome … my friend Trevor is dead …”
“Trev?”
“Yeah … impaled last night or early this morning.”
“He was a good guy.”
“He was …”, Carl’s voice was quiet and trailed off as he said this. He hadn’t thought about Trevor much in the last 15 or 16 hours. He didn’t really know how long it had been. But in that time he hadn’t taken pause or a moment to think about Trev, in that open pasture, near the woods, with a large wooden spear the size of a small tree piercing his chest.
It was nearly dark, given their location and time of year the darkness starts falling around 4 PM, and the light is gone by six.
The day had been long. Towns and cities around the world were given a pause, a moment to breathe, because DIRG had given his stand-down order, and his hums and clicks and messages were heard and acknowledged around the globe. The sasquatch went back to secure bases in the woods, mostly. In some locations, as the sasquatch retreated, they were harassed by human troops, strafed, fire bombed. Some of the humans were more circumspect that day, too many, enough, were simply angrier and crazier than they’d ever been and filled with hate for the bigfoot and desires for revenge. DIRG did not fully realize that human war and sasquatch war were not the same.
It was nearly 8 PM in the woods, on the Olympic Peninsula. The sasquatch were around a fire telling stories with the local Salish men and women present. They were laughing and singing. They were happy. Jon motioned to Carl to join them, and Carl did. Carl didn’t talk much. They ate and drank, Carl had several helpings of REETAH’S stew.
Nearing midnight, one of the sasquatch patrols came back to camp and JIBLIS, the sasquatch that killed Trevor, was with them. JIBLIS was carrying a knife, a skinner, that Trevor had custom made from old chainsaw blades and part of an elk’s antler, it had Trevor’s initials on it and it was covered in blood. Carl, tired and enraged, screamed at JIBLIS.
“BLOODY MURDER, BLOODY MURDER … YOU FUCK … you killed my friend … you killed him. He didn’t have anything! He didn’t know anything! He never wanted much and he would help when he could. TREVOR WAS A SIMPLE FUCKING MAN AND YOU KILLED HIM! MOTHER FUCKER!”
The whole camp grew silent, only the wind and the torrent of the nearby falls could be heard.
JIBLIS, who was young, only 45 human years old, walked up to Carl and handed the knife to him. JIBLIS didn’t know Trevor, he was simply doing the work of war. War is dirty work, for filthy people or for humans who let the demons into their hearts. Crows don’t go to WAR because CROWS aren’t that fucking stupid, but humans are so clever they invent new levels of ignorance.
Carl was shaking, he had zero chance killing a bigfoot – not without a heavy weapon, the very least a .454 CASULL with armor piercing bullets or a full size STIHL chainsaw.
Carl was exhausted and breaking, mentally. He reached out with his shaking hand to grasp the knife, knowing what he wanted to do next.
REETAH came up to Carl, and grabbed his hand.
“Hon, I’m going to take you back to your tent.”
Carl grabbed Trev’s knife from out of JIBLIS’ grasp and let REETAH take him back to Jon’s tent. REETAH smiled and left him there, It took about 30 minutes of shaking and sobbing for Carl to finally go to sleep and BOY did he sleep. As he drifted off, he imagined that the whole day had been fake, that he was having a “bad trip”, that the University of Washington “chemist” who sold him the LSD might have been a jerk. Carl played pretend, in his head, and went back to sleep again. This story was repeating itself around the world, in a myriad of different forms. Some call this denial.
World governments were organizing again – talking to each other. Messages were being relayed using shortwave radio and the few satellite comm-links that functioned. Fiber cable was being patched and mobile emergency cell towers were deployed. Many, even in rural communities, had several hours of working internet and so families connected, to let each other know “I am alive, I am safe”.
The “military professionals” were planning their counter-attack. They’d learned a few things, and began rounding up suspected indigenous military personnel to close one of the most gaping security holes. Sure, many were rounded up and had nothing to do with that day, but this never mattered before in military history so it didn’t really matter that day.
Militaries had learned that small arms were mostly ineffective against the sasquatch, but .50 caliber M2 machine guns worked quite well, and 20 mm BUSHMASTERS with sabot rounds made great work of the furry commandos. The various armed forces were rapidly deploying next-gen explosive rounds for their standard rifles, and engineering new designs for standard sidearms and rifles capable to taking out a sasquatch. The M-14, a 7.62mm rifle from the 1950’s was BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE, and with some modification redesigned to fire a modified .50 caliber round. Most of this work would take days, weeks, but it was good to know the bigfoot were not immortal or impervious.
At NORAD, Cheyenne Mountain, the remaining political and military leaders were licking their wounds and issuing orders to forces still capable of action.
President Jordan organized US FORCES CONUS (continental United States) from NORAD and a working and secure communications network was finally established the next day. Jordan met with the few cabinet officials he could save from the “Massacre of Washington”, or what they would later call it. Jordan took office during a time of division, and now it seemed the division had split open and the depths of Hades and its demons were escaping through. He had a son in the US Airforce, stationed in Japan, he had no idea if his son was live or dead.
Vice President Linda Wahl was not at NORAD. She had been visiting US forces in Hawaii when the attack started. She was native Hawaiian, and like many from her home state she had issues with the “USA” and its attitude towards places like Hawaii, or Guam, or Puerto Rico. She once called these places the “margins”, because no one cared unless margins mattered and they rarely did, till that day. Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico, became virtual safe zones for the US military and high command. Their indigenous people did not join with the sasquatch, and they were happy to keep that “axe to grind” in the closet, for now.
The 101st, 82nd, and 10th Mountain divisions redeployed to Puerto Rico.
The 25th division stayed at Hawaii, luckily they were just back from a deployment.
Various US Marine Corps units were attached to the carrier groups in the pacific after being loaded on transports. For now they would assemble at secret locations in the Pacific, Atlantic and Indian oceans.
A safe-zone was established at an unknown and top secret complex in Antarctica. Families of senators, corporate leaders, and other American splendids were sent to this base, “Camp Coolidge”, to wait out this conflict in relative safety.
President Jordan had already begun conversations with the Chinese and Russian militaries, and the world powers were forming working groups to put together a plan: a major counter attack to take out the sasquatch threat “once and for all”. They had poor intelligence, too much confidence, and not enough respect. A British scientist during one of the ZOOM CALLS said “maybe we need to pause, and listen, and try to talk to these … beings”. Everyone was silent, and then the facilitator, NATO General Doog-Stolz, smiled and continued the meeting. They simply ignored it, they could not hear it, this was not a time for reason or logic or commonsense. This was a time for revenge.
By the end of 10/13/2026, over 2 billion humans were wounded. Between 400 and 500 million, worldwide, were assumed missing or dead. The sasquatch were not some homogenous mass following standard order, every clan and gang had their own culture and ethics as it applied to WAR or conflict. Some of the clans, like the clan that captured Carl, merely wanted to “teach a lesson”, and only a few humans were killed. Other clans, more feverish and bloodthirsty, killed as many humans as they could. Sasquatch, generally, were not into torture per se, though they could conceive of clever punishments as ghastly as any Torquemada might imagine. Humans were great at torture, and by Wednesday, the next day, there were already hundreds of bigfoot, around the world, at black sites being tortured. The sasquatch felt this the way the crow knows the winter will be cold.
“Mr. President …”
“Yes.”
“Your son took part in the defense of Tokyo, he was wounded and died 4 hours ago.”
“Get out of here please …”
“Mr. President I have …”
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
President Jordan cried, sobbed, as Carl had, as so many others had that terrible day. But he took the job understanding the obligation and he knew the deal: he didn’t get to lose it, he didn’t get to fall apart.
President Jordan needed his rest, the next day they would begin planning the human counter attack.