The Preservation Plan - Book 3 of 3

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

"Open the damn door! Open the damn door! This is an emergency! We need help—somebody please open the door! My wife's about to give birth!" Dr. Jack Ahar shouted as he pounded the front door of what was supposed to be a hospital. It was a bitter cold morning. The pavement was a giant ice rink, and the streets were strangely silent.

He stepped back in defeat when his wife gripped his arm tightly. "Come on, Maria, let's head back to the car."

Jack fought panic. Her struggle was apparent with every heavy footstep. By the time they got back to their vehicle, Maria was shivering uncontrollably. The doctor tried to open the sedan's passenger-side doors, but they wouldn't budge. He scurried around the car and tried the passenger door there, then the driver door. "Damn it! They're all frozen!" he cried, his voice rising in fear.

Maria sagged against the car; Jack eased her to the icy pavement. "Just hold on, honey, I'm here for you."

***

While speaking at Summit University as President Westgale's executive director, I once referred to America's War Within as "the perfect dinner gone wrong." In this incredible country, there is no reason why all of our appetites can't be satisfied. The problem is, there are so many disagreements over what dishes to make and what ingredients to use. Too much of this. Too little of that. Too tender. Too tough. And of course the hungry become impatient, as the politicians—or "the chefs of life"—fail to find a way to satisfy the varying appetites of those they've been summoned to serve. Maybe there are too many chefs. Maybe the dinner guests should focus on what they need, as opposed to what they want.

How much government is too much government? Can civility and absolute liberty coexist?

***

A lady came running from a nearby building. "Sir, my name's Anya. Here, take these blankets. There's a hospital right over there. I'll get you some help." She thrust a bundle of blankets into Jack's arms.

"It's no longer functioning as a hospital," Dr. Ahar sobbed as he tucked one of the blankets under Maria and draped another over her contraction-wracked body. "This war will be our final undoing," he murmured under his breath, his anger growing by the second as he bent over his laboring wife.

Minutes later, he delivered a newborn girl and swaddled the crying baby in the last blanket. He sagged with relief when a passing car stopped to help. Handing off the baby to the driver, who quickly placed her in their car, the doctor turned back to frantically tend to his wife. She lay so still. Stifling a sob, he checked Maria's vital signs.

"Nooooo!" he wailed. He checked again, and again, his movements urgent, frantic. "This can't be—no!" he sobbed. "My beautiful Maria." He wept, wild with shock. His hysteria abated to violent trembling, and he lifted the edge of the blanket covering her body and lowered it gently, slowly, over her face before collapsing to the pavement beside her.

***

As I continue preparing for my presidential campaign, the extreme challenges I'll be facing have become very clear to me. Sure, the discovery of the VX drug has greatly aided the cause of the PBA. The recent energy deal President Westgale has made with Pinia will enable us to eliminate the debt owed to the Outer Commission, thus restoring our complete independence. However, uncertainty and tension are high throughout the land. I truly believe a new war is on the horizon.

My campaign manager rushes into my office. "Nicole, I think you should tune into UCIT," Beth says.

I comply. The screen displays Gerald Levin standing outside the Militant Alliance headquarters, part of which was recently destroyed by extremists believed to be part of AXE.

"How dare these extremist punks think they can create such mayhem in this country and get away with it?" a furious Levin almost sputters. "And moreover, how dare the Westgale Administration stand by passively and let it happen? These pathetic excuses for life hide under disguises. They set buildings ablaze and run away like the cowards they are." His scowl deepens with each breath. "They claim they want a voice. They want to be heard. Well, if that's the case, then take off those masks and face the world like real men and women. I guarantee you that under my leadership, you will be dealt with in the most..."

"This isn't good. This isn't good," I say to Beth as I listen to Levin's rant. "He's throwing fuel on the fire."

As the Peace-Bringers and the Militants prepare to clash in this current political arena, it has become obvious that America's rebellious youth, with Anya Ahar as their symbol for the rebirth of a new age, have emerged as a third major player.