The Preservation Plan - Book 3 of 3

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

I enter the living room early in the evening to find my fifteen-year- old daughter, Tiffany, sitting on the sofa, reading a book. "Hey, Tif, what are you reading?" I ask.

"The Book of ZeZ," she replies, showing me the cover. Because of her recent interest in the mysteries of the universe, I'd bought her a copy while in Vexton.

"So, what do you think?"

"It's fascinating," she answers, barely able to lift her eyes from the page. "I love the part about when these birdlike demons tried to fly over Moon Shade Bluff and the Moon Lords destroyed them with lightning bolts." She sets the book facedown on the side table and says, "If you ask me, Moon Shade Bluff is definitely a healing temple."

"Well, I didn't ask, but thanks for enlightening me anyway," I respond with a chuckle, then turn as Lowell and Tiffany's thirteen- year-old sister, January, enter the room.

"Hey, Mom, when we live in the Freedom Home, will I be allowed to decorate my room the way I want?" Tiffany asks out of the blue.

"If you are, they'll have to change the name to the Freaky Home," January quips.

Tiffany sneers at her. "At least my walls won't be pink and covered with pictures of cute little bunnies."

"Okay, girls, that's enough," Lowell says with a laugh. "If you keep this up, I'll be the one decorating both your rooms—and trust me, you wouldn't want that."

"Now, now, let's not get carried away; the election is—" My flash-pad buzzes. It's Hunter.

"Nicole, I think you'd better tune in to UCIT," he says anxiously.

"What's going on, Nicole?" Lowell asks as I turn on the flash-screen.

"Central Park... Look at them," I say in a hushed voice. What appears to be thousands of people dressed in black, all wearing balaclavas, have gathered peacefully around a flagpole bearing a giant American flag.

"My Lord. It looks like five times the number of the prior gatherings," Lowell says.

Seconds later, in unison, those gathered pump their fists into the air, and for the next minute or so they chant, "Free Anya! Free America!" Then, simultaneously, at the count of three, everyone gathered removes their mask.

"Wow—unbelievable," I exclaim.

The camera pans across the gathering, then closes in. I see young Americans of every ethnicity and color. There appears to be an equal number of males and females. Seconds later, the group separates into smaller groups, once again chanting, "Free Anya! Free America!"

"This should be interesting," Lowell says as Cryptic begins moving through the crowd. The robot's green eyes shift from oriental to occidental. Its chest displays a flashing neon image of the Statue of Liberty.

"Excuse me, ma'am. May I have a moment of your time?" the robot asks a young lady with a shaved head who's wearing an excessive amount of purple eyeliner.

"Ask away," she replies excitedly.
"Who am I speaking with?" Cryptic asks.
"My name is Monica."
"Would you mind divulging your age?"
"I'm twenty-two."
"What brings you here to Central Park on this splendid evening?" "I'm here to celebrate the coming of a new age."
"A new age?"

"Yeah, America's rebirth."
"Would you kindly enlighten me?"
"We are tired of being dictated to, of being told how to live. To our government and our corporate leaders: you don't speak for us. You're not America! This country belongs to its people!" Monica says with passion, staring into the camera. "We will continue to send out our message until we are heard and America is a country that permits all of its citizens to have a voice."