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Some people say that not all abnorms are evil. Maybe. But this is a time of war, and while not every abnorm is an enemy, all our enemies are abnorms.

If there are good ones out there, patriotic ones who stand by their country, by our country, yours, Dave, and mine, then I say, fine, they’re my brothers.

But my feeling is that there are ninety-nine decent, honest, normal people for every one of the twists—oops, the FCC will ding me for that—and it’s time we remembered. So if our government is too weak, too soft, too tangled in gridlock, and too fat on pork to do anything, well, maybe it’s time we acted ourselves.

Thanks for calling, Dave. Next up we’ve got Anne-Marie from Lubbock, Texas . . .

CHAPTER 3

“You can go in now, sir,” the assistant said. “Can I get—” The ripping whine of a circular saw cut him off. When it died, he said, “Can I get you—” Again the saw screamed through lumber. The moment it stopped, the man opened his mouth to try again.

“I’m fine.” Secretary of Defense Owen Leahy rose and walked into what had been the Speaker’s office.

From behind a desk of heavy wood, Gabriela Ramirez nodded at him, held up one finger, and continued talking on the phone. “I understand. Yes. I’m trying to get you that assistance now.” A pause. “Well, Governor, perhaps if you had declared a state of emergency when the Children of Darwin first attacked, you wouldn’t be in this position. Yes. You’re welcome.” She tugged the headset from her ear and tossed it on the desk.

Leahy said, “Madam President.”

“Owen,” she said. Out in the hallway, a pneumatic nail gun went thunk, thunk, thunk, the sound only slightly more muffled here. “Sorry about the racket. You’d think that the Speaker’s office would have been pretty secure in the first place, but evidently the Secret Service disagrees.”

In 1947, Congress had codified the line of presidential succession to seventeen places, although in the decades since, there had never been a need to go beyond the VP. Then in a span of three months one president was impeached and his successor murdered, and now Gabriela Ramirez, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, had become the president of the United States.

“I think the Secret Service is right,” Leahy said. “You should relocate to Camp David for now.”

“America needs to know their government is still functioning.”

“America needs you to stay alive.”

“What do you think about the yahoos in the desert?”

“Seriously, ma’am, Camp David is a fortress—”

“Wyoming, outside Rawlins. This morning’s security briefing said there are a couple of thousand now?”

“About five thousand,” Leahy said. “With more arriving every day. They’re chartering buses, coming in pickup trucks with gun racks in the back. The camp is a mile from the New Canaan Holdfast fence line. Tri-d news picking up the story hasn’t helped. May as well be running advertisements.”

“All civilians?”

“Depends what you mean. They’re survivalists, right-wingers, that sort of thing. Plenty are former soldiers. But there’s no structure. Just disparate groups keeping to their own. Drinking beer and yelling anti-abnorm slurs. Firing guns in the air.”

“You’re not concerned.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“What would you say?”

“That I’m monitoring the situation.”

“Fine. Mind if we walk and talk? I’ve got an AFL-CIO thing.” Gabriela Ramirez stood, took a charcoal suit jacket from her chair back, and slid into it. “What’s the status on the military retrograde?”

“On schedule. All nuclear warheads were secured following December 1st. As of this morning, all ground-based missiles have been deactivated. Those carried by—”

“I’m sorry, but when you say ‘deactivated’—there’s no way that Erik Epstein can reactivate them?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You’re sure? His computer virus launched a missile that destroyed the White House, and no one thought he could do that.”

Leahy fought the urge to grit his teeth, said, “They’ve been physically disabled. Like removing the spark plugs from a car. Nothing a computer can do about that.”