paces the locomotive, on the south side. They see the co-pilot seat peering at them through binoculars.
Slowly it passes and then picks up speed and flies off ahead. They watch it receding into the distance and then, a few miles away, it becomes obscured by a hill.
"What the hell was that?" Ryan asks. "Was that one of Mark's or just someone curious about a lone locomotive running at high speed?"
They shrug their shoulders and return to scanning the horizon to their rear.
Mark's radio squawks and he hears, "It's them, I saw Munson in the cab. We're going to try to stop them."
"Roger, we're on our way."
As the locomotive rounds a small hill, the engineer shouts, "Oh Shit!"
They all turn to look and, ahead, they see the copter has landed across a grade crossing, about a mile ahead.
"What now?" asks Munson.
"Brace yourselves. I couldn't stop this thing if I wanted to."
"What's gonna happen?"
"They're gonna need a new helicopter. That one's gonna be tinsel in a few seconds."
"What about the windshield?"
"Not a problem. It's designed to take a 24 pound cinder block at high speed. Anyway, the impact will pulverize that toy."
The pilot and SS agent sit in the copter, rotor slowly turning, watching the train approach.
"It doesn't look like it's slowing down?"
"No, it doesn't. You think they see us?"
The engineer pulls the air horn cord giving the two long, one short, one long warning signal.
"I think they do. We better get the fuck outa here. Lift off."
"Can't, engine won't rev up fast enough. Jump."
With a few seconds to spare, they jump out and run terrified away from the impending impact.
In the locomotive all duck as it smashes into the copter at 100 miles an hour. The copter disintegrates into a million pieces. It's tank of kerosene ruptures and detonates in a massive, orange and black cyclone of a fireball that swirls behind the unstopped, undamaged but scorched, locomotive receding down the line.
Mark's agents, only about a hundred feet away, burst into terrified screams as the splashed burning kerosene fries their skin. They fall and roll to fight the flames as shards of metal begin to rain from the sky. A fragment of the falling rotor neatly severs the head of the pilot while a chunk of engine slams into the other, mashing his chest cavity. Only debris and burnt copses remain as the diesel continues to speed west.
Several miles east, Mark and his approaching formation see the distant explosion and initially are hopeful that it's the locomotive. But the radio and cell phone silence dampens their optimism. They press on.
The engineer chuckles, "Always wanted to do that. But the company frowns on it. Though, I did take out an old Studebaker once."
"Holy crap!" exclaims Mike as he and the others gape at the flames and column of sooty black smoke diminishing in the distance.
However, a moment later, far behind them, they spot three more approaching copters, just coming into sight.
"There's the rest of them. They'll be here in about a minute or two. They must be the other SS security choppers from campus."
David looks and says, "At least they're not military copters, just security."
They watch as the copters gradually converge, certain that a new road block is unlikely. They lose sight of them as the viewing angle be comes too oblique.
A few moments later, however, they hear the thumping of blades above. They are low.
"Anyway they can get on the roof?"
"Nah, not likely at this speed The radiator fans would blow them off anyway.
Then gunshots and metallic pings.
"Sounds like hand guns," says Ryan. "How thick is the steel roof?"
"Pretty thick," says the engineer. "I'm not worried."
Andy begins a video cast of their predicament through his cell phone. No need for radio silence now. He gives Munson a Bluetooth headset and Munson begins narrating what's happening.
The video stream is fed to FAXNEWS which transmits it live. Other cable and Internet sites pick it up as well. The commercial networks, Munson's speech now over, are back in control of their satellites. While normally loyal to their government masters, they can't ignore it. Moreover, they can smell a change in the wind.
David's phone chirps and he answers it. This time he looks very grim.
Holding the phone in one hand, the call still connected, he says to the others, "Todd says they're sending the Apache helicopters they were hiding near Mason City. They're on an intersecting course."
Turning to the engineer, "Where are we now?"
"Just passing Denison."
David turns back to the phone and says, "Denison."
Nodding several times, he says "Yep, Got it. Ok," then flips the phone closed.
"Todd says they're about a hundred miles behind us. It should take them about 20 minutes to reach us. They're armed to the teeth. DeWitt's gone nuts. Now that her cover's been blown she's not taking prisoners. Are we going as fast as possible?"
"I've got it wide open. We're doing a little more than a hundred."
Munson says, "If we can just make it to Omaha, we'll be ok. Nebraska is a Free State. DeWitt doesn't control much there."
"What about Offutt Air Force Base?"
"Well, that could be a problem."
David interjects, "From what Todd just told me on the phone, DeWitt ordered military units still loyal to her in the Free States to seize the local governments, politicians, and declare marshal law. Some units are obeying but most aren't. Where she's being obeyed, there are pitched battles going on with local Guard units. Todd's trying to figure out what's going on at Offutt. He says the governor is trying to get the base general to defect."
"How many minutes until Omaha?"
The engineer replies, "About 40, more or less."
Mark's copter pulls along side the locomotive and Mark tries shooting at the side windows of the cab but, at the speed they're going and the headwind, accurate aim difficult.
But now the engineer is seriously pissed off. He quickly reaches down into a compartment and pulls out a menacingly large flare gun. Sliding the side window open, he braces the gun on his left arm, aims and fires.
A flaming phosphorous jet rushes towards the copter. They witness Mark's momentary last look of terror, terminated when his copter promptly explodes in a massive, wind distorted, comet shaped ball of fire.
A second chopper, a few hundred feet behind, engulfed in the flame and debris, explodes as well. The third chopper veers upward and slows. The locomotive forges ahead.
"Nice shooting," says Munson.
"All in a days work."
Minutes pass as they search the horizon. The sole remaining copter stalks them, but at a prudent distance.
As they crane their necks, ominous black dots rise above the horizon to the east. The Apache's have arrived. They creep ever closer.
David says, "I don't think a flare gun is gonna help us now."
"Nope," says the engineer as he adjusts the diesel mix.
"I guess we done for," says Munson as they all stand watching the prowling Apaches edge ever nearer.
David's phone chirps. He answers it. A moment later he exults, "YES!" and flips it closed.
"We got company," as he points southwest.
Far in the distance they see fighter jets, on a supersonic course intersecting the Apaches.
"Offutt f'ing flipped! Those are Air Force jets. Say goodbye, NSA!"
They cheer in unison. The Apaches see the fighters and break formation. They fire a few air-to-air missiles but these miss their mark, the fighter jets have electronic counter measures against 'friendly' fire.
The fighters, on the other hand, return cannon fire and the Apaches explode, one by one, until all that remains are blackened stains, randomly littering the otherwise sunny, light tan prairie. Sooty pillars of smoke mark their final landings.
The jets make
a low victory pass over the engine and roar back towards Omaha.
The entire battle is captured and uploaded in real time and seen by nearly the entire country.
A while later, speed now reduced as the threats have passed, rolling south, parallel with I29, the engineer shouts over the engine, "We'll be in Council Bluffs in a few minutes and I need to slow down a bit more 'cause there are a lot of curves. My board is showing all signals and switches are lined up. Seems they might be expecting us. Ya'think?"
In Washington, D.C., panicked bureaucrats, knowing their days are numbered, ransack their government offices of anything of value. Ramshackle processions of over laden SUVs, retreat to the gated Maryland and Virginia enclaves of the former government agency overlords.
Rioting quickly breaks out in Boston, New York, Washington and Philadelphia. Limousine liberals flee in fear of the underclass they once exploited and ruled.
Looters, intent on stealing copper wire, detonate bombs on high voltage transmission towers leading from Niagara to New York City. The resulting power instability cascades violently throughout the interconnected transmission networks of the east coast causing what few power stations are still running to trip off line. There is no electricity from Virginia to Maine. Water systems began to fail, food begins to spoil. Millions, the fat, drunk and stupid, without the opiate of state television, stir from their squalid tenements. The bread and circus machine is broken.
As fires break out all around Manhattan and the approaching night advising flight, the last of the progressive elite, in crowded caravans, abscond to rural retreats far beyond the city. The roadside is littered with abandoned luxury vehicles stalled for lack of fuel.
Time: 5:30
DeWitt is apoplectic. She watched the dog fight and the