A new story I'm writing for one of my english classes. Kinda long, and graphic in places, and I lost my indentations when I copy/pasted...sorry. But, if you're into action stories with the "V for Vendette/Fight Club" type setting, I reccomend this to you. I'm still working on it (it's not due till next Friday) and if you guys are interested, I'll post the rest as I finish it up.
In a nutshell, high profile senator running for president is abducted and forced to help underground army overthrow government.
I've probably lost alot of you by now, but for those interested, I hope you enjoy!
* * *
“Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. This is not a way of life at all in any true sense. Under the clouds of war, it is humanity hanging on a cross of iron.”
The blood pooling in his mouth choked Grant to consciousness. What the…his thoughts slurred together, what’s going on? He was all but naked, wearing only his wrist watch and boxer briefs. The room was lightly dimmed, his surroundings foreign. Something here is definitely not right. Grant’s mind slowly clicked back to normal speed. His jaw hurt, his body was bruised, and he had no idea where he was. This is bad.
First things first, how did I get here? Grant sat against a wall, and in his dazed and confused state, his mind went through damage control. What is the last thing I remember? Grant strained his mind, thinking back to earlier today. How did this day start? What was I trying to do? He recalled waking up this morning…
* * *
“In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of.”
He remembered the sun rising over the pine trees guarding the east side of his massive home. Slowly, he recalled his morning routine. Light peeked through the silk curtains and into Grant’s eyes. Squinting, he pulled back the several layers of blankets and dragged his body out the bed. Leaving his wife undisturbed in the bed, he made his way to the bathroom. The large shower beckoned to his tired, worn body while he twisted the ivory knobs. The shower sprang to life, and Grant began to concentrate on the busy day ahead.
The bedroom that was quiet and still only 10 minutes ago was now crawling with activity. Children where entering and exiting while his exasperated wife tried, to no avail, to keep order in the room.
“Mom, can I borrow the BMW today?”
“Mom, can we go shopping after school? I need to look at the…”
“Hey, where’s dad? I need to ask him something”
“Mom! Where’s my cell phone charger?” Even though Grant counted only three children, the room reminded him more of a press conference with all the questions rather than his morning routine of directing kids around.
“Kids, please…I just got out of the shower. Can your mom and I get ready too?” Grant pleaded with the mob. All three of his children sighed and exited the room, leaving behind an already stressed Glenda and a dripping wet Grant.
The tired and dripping man staring back at Grant in the mirror didn’t exactly give of the air of the senior New Hampshire senator he was, but after he parted and slicked his hair, slapped on the golden watch he received as a graduation gift from his dean at Harvard, and slipped on his red power tie, he looked more than qualified for the job. The 5”10’ frame and dark brown hair almost seemed painfully stereotypical for your standard politician, the only thing separating him from the crowd was his crooked nose, the result of a stray polo ball to the face.
Clipping on his American flag lapel pin, he navigated through the million dollar-plus house to the breakfast table. He entered the kitchen to a still riled mob, the family maid, Guadalupe, frying bacon, and his wife sitting in the thick of it attempting to read the stock market pages of the Wall Street Journal.
“Kids, come on now, sit down and eat…we all have busy days today.” The kids knew something was up, dad was eating with them. “If you remember, today I start my trip through the mid-west.”
“Oh yeah, you’re thinking about running for president aren’t you?” His youngest son, Grant Jr. asked. “Cool.”
“Well, I’m thinking about it. The trip is going to let me talk to the public, and seeing if they want to run. You don’t want to run of nobody likes you.”
“Hmm, nobody liked you when you went there last.” His 16 year old daughter, Katherine, chimed in. “You almost died last time.” Grant wanted to correct her snotty behavior, but technically, she was right.
“You see, the people that shot at me last time didn’t even like America. They didn’t have anything against me, just the country,” was his only reply.
“Oh, well I’m sure you helped by co-authoring the Patriot Act. Nothing like taking away first amendment rights to get people on your side. Smooth, Mr. President.” Was Katherine’s reply to his usual answer. Grant tried the usual explanations of how the Patriot Act was supposed to stop people like this, and how it wasn’t his fault those people tried to kill him…twice. But Katherine wasn’t having it, Grant tried to think how his own daughter could have such thoughts, considering she was brought up by one of the most conservative men in Concord.
“Dad, we fight about this all the time. Just forget it.” And with that, Katherine was back to her cell phone.
“Well, anyways, what I was going to say is I’ll be gone for awhile. So, you need to listen to your mom, and stay out of trouble. Keep your rooms clean and when I get back, maybe we can fly to Costa Rica for the weekend…” Grant paused.
“Really? You’re just going to come back and buy us all plane tickets so we can go to Costa Rica, during the school year?” Richard, Grant’s oldest son, asked.
“Well, I figured we could take our new private jet.” Grant smiled.
* * *
A plane! The previous thought unleashed a fresh set of memories. He recalled kissing his wife good-bye and boarding the plane heading from his house to his office in Washington D.C. Okay, things are coming back to me now. The plane departed from Concord and made its refueling stop in the private hangar in D.C. He trotted out of the plane, stretched, then proceeded to make calls regarding the day’s plans while the fumes from the refueling truck filled the hangar.
One by one various limousines and black SUV’s made their way to the hangar. Grant’s small committee was arriving as planned, and soon they would land in O’Hare International to begin their round trip tour of the mid-west. Remembering his last venture to these parts of the country, he had to admit, he felt a little unsure of his safety. But, he figured, who wouldn’t feel a little uneasy when you’ve had two attempts at having your life taken in this same exact area.
“Grant, buddy ol’ pal, how’s it goin?” His best friend and future campaign manager, Frank, approached him.
“Oh, not too bad. Do we have all the locations plotted and reserved?” Grant wasted no time getting to business. “Is the motorcade set up and waiting? The drivers put through a high priority background check?” Grant pummeled Frank with numerous questions.
“Don’t worry about it, everything’s taken care of. You just need to relax and think about how you can get all these dumb-ass farmers on your side. Hey, whose plane is this? This yours?” Frank asked genuinely curious.
“Oh, I just got it a couple days ago…a birthday present from Dad. It’s one of the company’s newest models. It’ll get us there and back before you can start one of your patented whining sessions about the Democrats taking back the majority.” The plane was indeed a gift from his dad, the retired CEO of Boeing Aerospace and Defense. Along with the plane he received a brand new Acura TL, compliments of Exxon Mobile (in exchange for sliding in and passing an alternative fuels tax, preventing independent energy researchers from gaining too big a foothold in the business).
A now jealous Frank replied “Oh yeah, happy birthday. What are ya, 60 now?”
“Funny. 44, actually.” Laughing it off, Grant walked up to his pilot. “Are we ready to go yet? We’ve been here almost half an hour.
His pilot didn’t even look up from inspecting the plane. “We’re just finishing up pre-flight inspections. We’ll be ready to take off here in about 5. If you and your party wanna load up you can start now.”
Grant and his small committee started making their way one board. One by one they took their seats, pulled out their laptops, and got to work.
“Sir, we should arrive at O’Hare in about one hour,” one of his directors started, “when we land, the motorcade will meet you at the hangar. From there we exit Chicago and make our way towards Cedar Rapids, Iowa for your first fund raiser.”
“Where the hell is that?” Grant had no clue.
“Well, it’s a couple hours away from the Iowa/Illinois border. The trip shouldn’t take much longer than planned.” The director stated.
“So my vehicle made it to Chicago alright then?” This was one important part to Grant’s travels.
“Yes sir, it arrived last night and will be waiting for you along with the other four vehicles for the rest of the committee.” The director provided answers without hesitation. This was a very organized group.
“Good.” The special vehicle was Grant’s armored Lexus GX470, not only was this his daily driver, but his favorite vehicle, beating out his three other family cars and even his 154 ft. yacht. This was the vehicle that saved his life the last two times he was here, hopefully, he thought, I can bring it back without bullet holes this time.
* * *
Oh god. Things were clearing up now. He felt his lip beginning to scab over, and the sight of his blood and the thought of bullets flashed recent memories through his head that rivaled those of the Vietcong execution tapes. Now Grant didn’t want to remember what happened. He knew all to well what was happening now. He tried to block the images from his head, but his last few hours leading up to his captivity forced their way back in.
“Mr. Jacobson, have you finished the list yet?” Grant jolted at the sound of the director’s voice. “We’re just crossing into Iowa now, we should be arriving in a couple hours.”
“Yes, yes…” Grant’s mind was stirred back into action after slipping into a daydream somewhere in the middle of Illinois, “I’ll have it sent to the folks waiting for us at the Convention Center.”
The tread of the tires created a soothing hum on the pavement. Grant’s nerves were still a little frayed from the flight, and trying to enjoy the last few hours before starting a tedious and restless trip across the heartland was becoming more and more of a task.
“Okay, let’s start discussing the schedule.” Frank sat up in the leather seat, flipping open his laptop. “Grant, we’re going to need you…” His sentence was cut short by a sudden lane change and a blast of the horn. “*****! What was hell was that?” Wiping coffee from his face, he looked through the glass divider towards the driver.
“Jesus!” The Lexus’ passengers heard from the front. “Hang on everybody!”
Grant looked out the window to see they were swerving back and forth erratically through the lanes of the bridge. The moment he noticed the river below, an explosion was heard from all corners of the vehicle.
“Stop the goddamn car!” Frank was screaming from beside him. The wheels locked and a sharp jerk of the wheel to the left sent the party in the back crashing into each other. The sudden change of momentum at highway speeds lifted the left side of the SUV dangerously high, flirting with a rollover. The SUV smashed into the bridge’s side barrier, coming to an abrupt halt with neck-twisting G-forces. Grant’s companions were screaming, and he began to panic too. All he could do was quickly buckle his belt and watch with horror the scene unfolding before his eyes.
“Echo Team to control, this is Party Leader Two…” The driver started barking into the radio, but before he could finish, another set of explosions went off around the motorcade. This time, Grant and the party could hear the cracking of concrete, and the screech of twisting metal. He forced his eyes open to see the first SUV of the three car motorcade burst into flames after being hit with what looked like a RPG.
“What the hell is going on?” Grant heard Frank yelling, “Where the hell are we? Get us backup, now!” They were helpless to the attack, and while the driver twisted the knobs on his radio, Grant looked behind to the 3rd SUV.
“Tell Party Leader Three to get his passengers out of that car, now!” Grant demanded. “They’re blocking off a path to escape! They’re next!” But before the driver could twist back to the correct frequency, the party looked back with horror while the motorcade’s third vehicle was hit with a second rocket. The large SUV flew 10 feet into the air, spewing flames and thick smoke. It landed, and Grant saw the front passenger door fly open.
“Sweet Jesus,” was all Grant could stutter while he watched a young man jump from the vehicle, on fire. He wanted to close his eyes, but they were stuck open with horror, he couldn’t turn away from gruesome sight of his companion burning to death on the fiery bridge. This can’t be happening. Why am I not waking up? I should have gotten the hint the last two times that I need to stay the hell out of here.
“We have to stay put, we’re safer in here than out there…have you radioed the police yet!?” Frank was yelling frantically.
“No sir, the radio was knocked out in the impact. I’m trying contact help with my phone right now.” The driver’s shaking hands fumbled with the phone, trying to call anybody for help. While the passengers watched their only hope try to dial, an eerie silence came about the bridge.
“Guys, why haven’t they fired at us yet?” Grant whispered. He watched Frank raise his head to look out the window.
“I dunno, but I don’t think they’re gone.” Frank replied. Still straining his eyes, looking for any signs of where they were. Grant saw the fear in Frank’s eyes as they surveyed their surroundings, but Grant couldn’t have imagined what was about to happen next. As Frank looked over and behind Grant’s shoulders, a sudden pop of the glass caused him to flinch. He opened his eyes to find his best friend with an exit wound between his eyes.
“Oh my god…” Before he could wipe the warm ooze of brain matter splattered on his face, he vomited. Now the party was in sheer panic mode.
“Jesus Christ! They have armor piercing bullets! Everybody down!” The driver yelled from the front. Frank’s body slumped into Grant’s lap…his lifeless eyes staring blankly towards the sky. All Grant could do was shove the body to the floor and watch the horror unravel before him.
That's it for now!