Escape From New Orleans (part 7)
by Edgar J. Steele

June 25, 2006

Caution:  not for children - rough language and graphic scenes

Part 6:  http://www.conspiracypenpal.com/columns/escape6.htm

    Bobby Edmonds looked up at the sound of voices approaching and saw tents flaps pulled roughly aside.  Two men stepped through - his right-hand man, Jake Charles, and an old fellow who now stretched out one grizzled paw toward Bobby as he leaned heavily on a scarred and battered cane. 

    "My name's Zeke Williams," said the man. "You must be Robert Edmonds, head of the NDR.  My pleasure, sir."

    "Hi.  What's going on, Jake?  We've got to get moving on this."  Bobby gestured at a the mismatched set of drawings splayed out before him on the makeshift desk fashioned from a door and two packing crates.

    "Mr. Williams helped to build the underground base thirty years ago.  Says he knows a way in, using the ventilator shafts."

    "Is that right?  Well, Mr. Williams, you might be just the right guy at just the right time and place for us, now that we've gotten things up here under control."

    "I am, sure enough.  I'm an HVAC engineer by trade and I know that installation down there like the back of my hand.  Never figured to be helping plan an assault on it, though."

    "Well, times are tough, but the evidence is pretty solid that our own government set off the New York and DC nukes itself, at minimum.  Apparently, as part of a renegade military coup attempt.  Our best information is that the ringleaders are headquartered here.  We have to move fast, though, because we've seen a buildup of security near the main entrance.  They might getting ready to move elsewhere." 

    Word had filtered out that rogue elements of America's own government had been behind the nuclear detonations, which were designed to eliminate political opposition and mobilize public opinion in support of an America in full war paint.  What hadn't yet been disclosed was that it was America's own official government conducting the "coup."  After seeing to Shrub's abduction through Secretary of State Rice's connections, Dick Chains himself had implemented martial law, then installed a civilian dictatorship in the vacuum created by elimination of both houses of Congress and the Supreme Court.  His first course of action:  Summary execution as traitors of all top military officers who refused to get on board with Chains assuming direct power indefinitely and suspending the upcoming mid-term Congressional elections.

    The old man smiled broadly, then asked, "Is it true what we've heard, that you've got units in other cities, too?"

    "Well...affiliations, anyway.  This is all pretty new stuff to most of us and we're just now establishing contact with other groups that have stepped forward to restore order wherever the race wars have broken out.  The police have been worse than worthless, of course.  Like here in Denver, they ended up being on the wrong side by choosing to defend the rapists and the muggers."

    "And is it true what we hear about North Idaho?  Did they string up every elected official from light poles in the cities and then place the heads of Blacks and Mexicans on pikes at border crossings as a warning to others?"

    "You know as much as we do.  We haven't been able to talk with anybody up there just yet."

    A man burst through the tent flaps just then.  "They're moving out!  An armed motorcade just broke through our barriers, headed for Buckley Field.  They closed the metal blast doors as soon as our guys woke up and launched a couple of RPGs."

    Edmonds cursed under his breath.  "Okay, we've got to go in there, anyway.  Mr. Williams, using these diagrams, show us how to do it."


    It seemed to take forever for the moron who answered the phone to fetch Crawdaddy.  Congo Lisa watched as sagebrush and the occasional refugee hitchhiker whipped by the darkened windows of the Lincoln, sailing down the highway at over a hundred miles per hour in convoy with twelve other vehicles.  Hope they've got the damned plane ready, she thought distractedly.

    "Well, as I live and breathe, is it Madam President already?"  The voice crackled as it leapt out at her from the speaker embedded in the car's ceiling.

    "Crawdaddy!  Thank God."  Congo Lisa paused for a moment.  "I had to move up the timetable.  Seems that Chains' Chief of Staff had his own little coup all planned out.  It was close, but that little faggot is just dog food by now."

    "Good.  I knew you could pull it off.  And where is Chains?"

    "His Secret Service contingent closed off one whole end of the bunker, but he's in no condition to do anything, anyway.  Good thing, because he wanted to nuke New Orleans next."


    Snake had gone up two levels with Tonic bringing up his rear.  And doing a good job of being quiet about it, too, he thought.  Time is running out.  The extra thought came involuntarily.  Though Snake had completely lost track of time during his time in the coffin, he felt sure that the deadline must be near.  Without the watch, though...

    A voice then, drifting down the staircase at the end of the hall.  He couldn't make out what was being said, but it sounded like Crawdaddy.  He looked back and motioned for Tonic to follow as he headed for the stairs.  Looking up, he saw a pair of boots near the top landing.  Tonic took in the problem at once and, momentarily placing one index finger on Snake's lips, she stepped into the light spilling down the staircase while simultaneously opening her blouse.

    "Hey," Tonic said loudly, "Who do I have to f*** to get a drink around here?"  Two cackles broke out simultaneously above her, followed by the sound of boots on the steps.  Snake ducked back under the staircase. 

    "Lawdy, lawdy.  Now, lookee here, if it ain't dat white bitch sister of Crawdaddy's new girlfren.  I got yo sumpin' to drink righchere, sho 'nuff."  The huge Black grabbed his crotch with one hand, while slinging his M-16 rifle over his back with the other.  His companion followed close behind, also carrying an M-16.

    As both Blacks moved in on Tonic, now backing into the corner near the bottom of the stairs, all the while tugging her blouse back into place, Snake stepped out and soundlessly closed the ten-foot gap. 

    "Hey, boys!"  Both Black heads swiveled, as if on pivots, eyes widening as they focused on Snake, just within reach.  It would have been comical except that, two seconds later, both were desperately clutching at their throats in a vain attempt to stanch the gushing blood. 

    One fell outright while the second dropped to his knees and fumbled with his rifle.  Snake's knife, taken from the barracks room along with the pistols that both he and Tonic now carried, flashed out again and, this time, the man's head came off cleanly, sailing a good six feet, to land at Tonic's feet.  His eyes rolled wildly back and forth, coming to rest looking directly at Tonic while his mouth vainly worked at saying something.  After a few seconds, the man's eyes glazed over.  A few feet away, his body still thrashed out its death throes on the shabby carpet, now soaked with blood in all directions.  The other man's body already was still, lying in its own ever-widening dark stain.

    God, but I feel good, thought Snake.

    Tonic's smile told Snake that he needn't worry about her reaction.  Ice water, he thought.  I like her better all the time.

    Together, they silently stole their way up the staircase, seeing the hallway empty above them.  The voice was louder now and coming from behind the closed door across from the upper landing.  Apparently, the goons now lying on the floor below had been posted as guards.

    "Je$$ie just left," came the now-booming voice from behind the door.  "Says you promised to make him Secretary of Defense."

    Also listening, but from a bedroom just off the room in which Crawdaddy now was talking was the President's other daughter, Ginna, whose head hung over the edge of the oversize bed, staring at the carpet's spiral patterning in a drunken stupor.  Naked and oblivious, Ginna had serviced Crawdaddy exclusively ever since the Presidential party first had been seized and brought before him.  Endless alcohol, together with a steady supply of cocaine and weed had turned it into a first-rate party from her point of view, in fact.  Daddy must be dead, she thought listlessly.  Oh, well, he was an asshole, anyway.

    Crawdaddy's intercom beeped just then.  "Hold on, darlin' - I got a call I gotta take here."  He pressed the intercom's talk button and rasped, "This better be good.  I've got the new President on hold, just to answer you."

    "Boss, you betta git on down heah.  Plankton's escaped and dey's dead guys all ovah de place."

    Cursing, Crawdaddy put the intercom back into its holder at his waist and turned back to the satellite phone case open on the table before him.  "I got trouble here.  When you gonna arrive?"

    "What kind of trouble."

    "Nothing I can't handle.  Just get your butt down here."

    Hearing this from behind the closed door now in front of him, Snake glanced both ways and gestured for Tonic to follow him.  The first door he came to was locked.  Swearing softly, he moved on to the next just as he heard Crawdaddy open the door into the hallway.  Snake pushed on the next door, then both were inside, with the door being silently closed, just as Crawdaddy reached the head of the stairs and saw a pair of legs on the floor below in a pool of blood. 

    "What the..."  Crawdaddy was down the stairs in two bounds, pistol out and gagging at the sight of his two best men, one of them actually decapitated.  At a dead run, he raced to the end of the hallway and started down the next flight of stairs.

...to be continued...

Copyright 2006, Edgar J. Steele

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