Soren glanced at the other weapons. The sword was too long and heavy for Toril. The dagger, though, might be of use. He took it down and hastened upstairs to the living room. The others were in the bedrooms, getting ready. He paused in front of the TV.
“… asking all citizens to remain calm. The United States military is on full alert. The National Guard has been mobilized. Police forces and sheriff departments are coordinating with state and federal officials to ensure our streets are safe. Stay in your homes. Stay off the phone unless in an emergency.”
Toril was throwing clothes into an open suitcase on the bed when Soren walked in. She ran a hand through her hair and said in mild exasperation, “I need more time. I can’t seem to think straight. You said this place is in Minnesota, right? Should I go into storage and get some of our winter clothes?”
“It’s the middle of the summer,” Soren teased, and then saw her eyes. Setting Mjolnir on the bed, he took her in his arms. She pressed her forehead to his chest and trembled.
“I’m sorry. I’m scared, Soren. I’m worried about Mother, and I’m worried about us.” Toril looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “Most of all I’m worried about Freya and Magni. They’re our children, Soren. They shouldn’t have to go through this.”
“No one should,” Soren said. He held her close, her body warm against his, his heart filled near to bursting.
Magni dashed into the bedroom, yelling, “Dad! Mom! Come quick! There are people outside. People all over.”
Soren grabbed Mjolnir. His long legs brought him to the picture window ahead of the others. Freya was there, horror on her face. He looked down, and his skin crawled.
Trudale had been breached. Defying all reason, the mob had broken through the gate and was running amok through the development. Residents were being attacked, car windshields smashed, windows hit with bottles and rocks. Down the block several men threw their shoulders against a door and it buckled.
As they disappeared inside, a woman screamed.
Toril’s hand found Soren’s arm. “What do we do? What happens when they reach our house?”
Even as she spoke, half a dozen human wolves came bounding up Wyndemere Circle.
Aerial Roulette
Arizona Airspace
To Dr. Diana Trevor, the seconds it took to disengage the autopilot were eternities of dread. The plane bearing down on her was an older Beechcraft. She couldn’t imagine why the other pilot didn’t realize their peril. She went to dive out of danger when the other plane sheered off, passing uncomfortably close to her wing. She tried to call it on the radio. Angry, she watched it dwindle in the distance until it was a speck in the sky.
Diana returned to the routine of her flight. She had a long way to go. Her flight plan called for stops at small private airfields where she was less likely to run into the problems she foresaw for the larger public fields once panic set in. She’d worked it out in meticulous detail and was confident she would reach Minnesota, barring the unforeseen.
The reports on the airwaves painted a disturbing image. The attack on the task force had shattered any complacency people felt about the onset of the conflict in the Middle East. For more than a century there had been minor wars and terrorist attacks and political upheavals; this time it was all or nothing, the war to end all others. On Diana flew.
Eventually Arizona was behind her. She made it across Colorado. Each stop was routine. She stayed well away from large cities like Colorado Springs and Denver.
The news reports grew more and more alarming. Panic was spreading. People were beginning to realize that things they took for granted wouldn’t necessarily be available. Simple things, such as where their next meal was coming from. The illusion of security was being shattered.
Diana had long wondered why so many of her fellow citizens took so much for granted. They assumed that filling their bellies would always be easy, that the corner grocery would always be open and their favorite fast-food orders or restaurants would always have food for the buying. They assumed they could always get fuel for their vehicles. They assumed the police would always be a phone call away, ready to serve and protect.
Now they were learning the depths of their delusions.
Civilization was a house of cards. Knock away one card and the entire house came undone, collapsing in on itself of its own pretensions. That was her opinion, anyway, and it was a view Kurt Carpenter shared.
Diana made it to Nebraska. Flying over the state stirred memories of her childhood. She had been born and raised in Elkhorn, outside Omaha. Her childhood had been apple pie and Sunday school. Her parents had been surprised when she announced that she intended to enlist in the navy after high school. They didn’t understand her desire to see something of the world.
Her hitch had opened her eyes. She had served onboard a destroyer that called at various Pacific ports. Some— Australia, for instance—were a lot like home. Others—Southeast Asia—showed her how wretched human existence could be. She saw people living in abject misery. People so malnourished, they were literally skin and bone. She saw children swim in water contaminated by human feces. She saw bodies left to rot.
Diana had realized a great truth. Life owed no one a living.
Life owed no one their next meal, or a roof over their head, or even the clothes on their back. Life owed them nothing but life.
The rest was up to them to procure any way they could.
So-called basic human rights were not part of the natural order. A person wasn’t born with the inherent right to free speech. A man-made document made that possible. The “right”
was
