The final strains of the anthem played on seemingly oblivious to the thick black smoke billowing out of the small floating island that contained the locally owned grocer.
"Someone shut that damn thing off!" There was a loud clunk as the tip of a boot struck the side of the small record player, sending it spiraling down to land somewhere in the Midwest.
"Check the houses. Call a chopper if the sky lines are down." He didn't think the city would have lasted so long. Everything looked so old, like it belonged back during the World Fair, but it didn't look aged. He watched a fellow soldier of his company knock on a door and bark something about his affiliation to the USMC. Without a response to stop him, he kicked the door in and was met by an empty room. Was the whole city empty, and who the hell was this "Father Comstock" he kept seeing plastered up on walls and street lamps? Was he the leader? It didn't really matter by this point.
"Call in the strike and be done with it." He called to the soldier who had kicked the door in earlier.
"Aim for the balloons." he said without certainty. There was no way four weather balloons could hold up a bank. The soldier nodded, pulled out his satellite phone, and gave a helpless shrug.
"No signal!" he said.
"How the hell is there no signal?" he looked up into the deep blue sky above him and groaned. Without air support they couldn't get off of this damn city. Another soldier came over carrying a tourist map advertising Battleship Bay and cotton candy for a nickel. He looked it over and showed the markings he had made indicating the businesses and homes they had destroyed.
"Maybe we weren't supposed to get off this damn blimp. What if that flashing thing was some type of jammer or somethi-"
"Man, shut up!" the door kicker yelled. "Nobody knows what that flash was, but whatever it was, it wasn't no jammer. It was like a window or something." the rest of the company had assembled during the argument, and they joined in, offering their opinions on the strange light and sound they had seen and heard.
"I told you we needed those scientists to come up here and check it out. This place is crazy," Said one soldier. The group agreed without further comment. "Let's get to work on getting this signal back online. Height and clarity shouldn't be an issue, although those flashes may be a part of it." He looked at door kicker to see if he had a complaint. He didn't. "If anyone stands in your way, kill them."
They nodded, and looked for signs of the flashes. He walked over to the gun store in the area that served as the rendezvous point that was labeled "Finkton Proper" on the sky line map. Under the crack in the door he saw a blue glow. That might be one of the flashes. He pushed open the door and the light grew more intense. He couldn't see anything. After the light faded, he looked with surprise into the barrel of a large shotgun. The man behind it wore rags that were dyed red. On his face he had red face paint. Or was it blood?
"Who are you?" He asked.
"Sergeant Davis." The soldier said. It was all he needed to say under Geneva. There were about 30 other people dressed like the gunman assembled around various tables in the shop. All of whom were now staring at the soldier in the doorway. The gunman pushed the barrel of the gun to the soldier's head.
"I know you ain't Vox, and you sure as hell better not be one of 'Colombia's Finest.' "He said with a scowl.
"I'm neither!" Davis said, a little fearful and confused.
"Well you gotta be one of the two." The gunman said back. Davis looked up at the man instead of in his gun.
"I'm from America!" He said, looking down at the floor and then back up to ensure the gunman knew were America was relative to where they were standing. "Oh really?" The gunman said.
"Who is the president?" He gave Davis a sly smile.
"Obama" Davis said. The gunman smiled wider, looked around at the men seated around the tables, and began to laugh. The other men laughed with him. This made Davis uncomfortable.
"What kind of name is 'Obama'?" the gunman said, not lowering his firearm. I'll be sure to tell President Wilson this little story after we liberate Columbia." Wilson? Davis wondered. He was in the presidency in the early 1900's… That couldn't be right… "Tie him up." The gunman ordered. He swung his hand forward and struck Davis with the butt of his gun.
"Davis!" Static crackled over the line, then there was silence.