The Descent

Then  the  suburbs  lit  up,  and  no  one  was  prepared  for  that.  From  Silicon  Valley  to Highlands  Ranch  to  Silver  Spring,  bedroom  commuters  went  rampaging.  Out  came the  guns,  the  repressed  envy,  the  hate.  The  middle  class  blew  wide  open.  It  started with  phone  calls  from  house  to  house,  shocked  disbelief  twisting  into  realization  that death  lurked  beneath  their  sprinkler  systems.  Strangely,  suddenly,  they  had  a  lot  to get out. They  put the ghettos to shame with their fires and violence.  In  the  aftermath, the  national  guard  commanders  could  only  say  that  they  had  not  expected   such savagery  from people with lawns to call their own.

On Branch's TV,  it looked like the last night on earth. For many  people  it  was.  When the  sun  rose,  it  illuminated  a  landscape  America  had  been  fearing  since  the  Bomb. Six-lane  highways  were  choked  with  mangled,  burned  cars  and  trucks  that  had  tried to flee. Pitched battles  had ensued. Gangs had swept  through the traffic jams, shooting and  knifing  whole  families.  Survivors  meandered  in  shock,  crying  for  water.  Dirty smoke poured into the urban skies. It  was a day  of sirens. Weather copters and  roving news vans cruised the fringes of destroyed  cities. Every  channel showed havoc.

From  the  floor  of  the  US  Senate,  the  majority  leader,  C.C.  Cooper,  a  self-made billionaire  with  his  eye  on  the  White  House,  clamored  for  martial  law.  He  wanted ninety   days,   a  cooling-off  period.  He  was   opposed  by   a  lone  black   woman,   the formidable  Cordelia  January.  Branch  listened  to  her  rich  Texas  vowels  cow  Cooper's notion.

'Just  ninety  days?'  she  thundered  from  the  podium.  'No,  sir.  Not  on  my  watch. Martial  law  is  a  serpent,  Senator.  The  seed  of  tyranny.  I  urge  my  distinguished colleagues  to  oppose  this  measure.'  The  vote  was  ninety-nine  in  favor,  one  opposed. The  President,  haggard  and  sleepless,  snatched  at  the  political  cover  and  declared martial law.

At  1:00  p.m.  EST,  the  generals  locked  America  down.  Curfew  began  Friday  at sunset  and  lasted  until  dawn  on  Monday.  It  was  pure  coincidence,  but  the  cooling-off period  landed  on  the  ecclesiastical  day  of  rest.  Not  since  the  Puritans  had  the  Old Testament  held such power in America: observe  the Sabbath or be shot on sight.

It  worked. The  first great  spasm of terror  passed over.

Oddly  enough,  America  was  grateful  to  the  generals.  The  highways  got  cleared. Looters  were  gunned  down.  By  Monday,  supermarkets  were  allowed  to  reopen.  On Wednesday,   children  went   back   to  school.  Factories   reopened.   The   idea  was   to jump-start  normalcy,  to  put  yellow  school  buses   back   on  the   street,   get   money flowing, make the country feel returned  to itself.

People cautiously emerged  from  their  houses  and  cleaned  their  yards  of  riot  debris. In  the  suburbs,  neighbors  who  had  been  at  one  another's  throats  or  on  top  of  each other's  wives  now  helped  rake  up  the  broken  glass  or  scoop  out  ashes  with  snow shovels.  Processions  of  garbage  trucks  came  through.  The  weather  was  glorious  for December. America looked just fine on the network  news.

Suddenly,  man  no  longer  looked  out  to  the  stars.  Astronomers  fell  from  grace.  It

became  a  time  to  look  inward.  All  through  that  first  winter,  great  armies  –  hastily buttressed  with  veterans,  police,  security  guards,  even  mercenaries  –  poised  at  the scattered  mouths of the underworld, their guns pointed at the  darkness,  waiting  while governments  and  industries  scraped  together  conscripts  and  arsenals  to  create  an overwhelming force.

For a month, no one went down. CEOs, boards of directors,  and  religious  institutions badgered  them  to  get  on  with  the  Reconquista, anxious  to  launch  their  explorations. But  the  death  toll  was  well  over  a  million  now,  including  the  entire  Afghani  Taliban army,  which  had  practically  jumped  into  the  abyss  in  pursuit  of  their  Islamic  Satan. Generals cautiously declined to send in further  troops.

A  small  legion  of  robots  was  commandeered  from  NASA's  Mars  project  and  put  to use  investigating  the  planet  within  their  own  planet.  Creeping  along  on  metal  spider legs,  the  machines  bore  arrays  of  sensors  and  video  equipment  designed  for  the harshest  conditions  of  a  world  far  away.  There  were  thirteen,  each  valued  at  five million dollars, and the Mars crew wanted them back intact.