Chapter Twenty-Eight
A few hours later...
Alberta smiled.
She could feel their hate. She could feel how angry they were, how much they wanted to rip and burn and slaughter and tear and destroy. They wanted to slaughter their foes, or better yet, capture them in their untold hundreds and open their eyes to the truth. Prisoners of war to be freed from their mental shackles; a kindness, really. But most of all, they wanted to beat back the occupying forces that even now squatted on Lethbridge like a repulsive tumor.
The people of Calgary wanted war.
And she would fight with them, shoulder to shoulder, as they beat back the demons and vampires and parasites of the east. They would be free.
The sun was rising over the glimmering skyscrapers as the untold thousands who had been sleeping there with bedrolls and blankets made their way down to street level, an endless human tide pouring onto the streets with weapons clutched in hand. Some had brought their supplies with them, others hadn't so as to be more mobile for the battle ahead.
Construction crews were erecting barricades of wood and scrap concrete and junked cars, plugging off each street in the downtown core on one end. There was only going to be one entrance to each street, and only one exit; the same ones.
The only exception was Seventh Street, because that was the one with the train tracks; blocking that off would be suicidal, since more and more hate-crazed Calgarians were pouring in, trainload after trainload of construction workers, white collar oilmen, nurses, welders, teenagers, university students. It was a human tide, a human tide intent on one thing and one thing only- protecting their city.
Alberta stood on the steps of the old town hall, watching as the humans scurried to and fro. Gunnar had given her his own gun, and she'd brought a few weapons of her own- a buck knife and a steel hockey stick. Useless for actual hockey, fantastic for breaking skulls. She really wasn't a gun sort of gal; she'd certainly use it in a tight spot, but breaking faces was just soooo much more satisfying.
Alberta watched from her perch as humans scurried to and fro, setting up the final preparations for the counterattack. Humans were already grouping themselves into squadrons, each one assigned a score of police officers and a handful of armed soldiers. The loosely defined platoons came in two flavours: civvies with bludgeons, blades, swords, and claws, and the ones who'd thought to pack a firearm. The gun squadrons were far fewer in number, since even getting ahold of a gun license was a pain in the ass- they also seemed to get more cops assigned to them than the others.
A pickup truck honked its horn, prompting a group of people who were standing in the middle of the street to part for it to pass. The truck trundled slowly along, and in the truck's bed- a kettle drum, or timpani, as well as the drummer to play it. It trundled to its assigned intersection and parked, the drummer standing up and sitting on the roof of the truck's cab as she waited. It was just one of a network of loud kettle drums that had been set up- one at every intersection. Their purpose was...unclear, but Alberta wasn't about to ask questions. The coalition was coming in prepared for a riot, not an organized, heavily armed mob.
It was almost heartwarming watching the city co-operate to erect the barricades, block off the bridges, ready the guns; civilians helped run shells from the army supply trucks to the artillery pieces where they'd been set up. The military-grade weaponry was a final safety net; Gunnar had stated he would only authorize its use if all else failed and if they had no other options left.
Crews with keys were running to and fro, locking up the entrances to the +15 network- it presented a risk, an overhead sniping risk. The +15's were a network of aboveground walkways or tunnels that connected the vast majority of the downtown's buildings and allowed for one to get from one end of the city to the other without ever going outside- a unique feature of the city's architecture. It was also a confusing rat warren that was easy as all hell to get lost in, and perhaps that was why they were locking it up- not everyone knew how to use the network or which way to go, and the odds of people getting lost were very good. But there was another reason, or so Commander Gunnar had said to her when she'd come to discuss the plan. But that other reason was Cal's job, Calgary's duty; her job was to fight to the last man, and take out any personifications who might have joined the coalition.
That wasn't a concern. Ontario and Canada were somewhere in the downtown core, a few blocks over; she couldn't tell precisely where, but she'd leave them be for now. There was still the overwhelming desire to slit both their throats for daring to set foot on her soil, of course there was, but on the other hand, letting them live would be so much sweeter.
She wanted them to understand the true meaning of fear. Of hate. And she wanted Canada to see what neglecting her people had truly sown in all their hearts.
Alberta decided that if they won the battle (for it certainly wasn't a foregone conclusion) she was going to personally hunt the two of them down and drag them into the streets for the people to do as they pleased. That would be a nice reward for all involved, she was sure.
But she'd let them cower like rats in their warren for right now. What she was mildly concerned about was the fact that her twin, as well as BC, Manitoba, and that fucking frog had moved from Edmonton to somewhere in the middle of Red Deer, a city located between Calgary and Edmonton. Then again, the Premier's house and his riding were located in that area, so perhaps he was merely transferring them to a separate cage in his own home for privacy reasons? A little strange, but she had bigger fish to fry, so she contented herself with that particular theory.
Alberta hopped off the raised ledge she'd been idly sitting on, walking up to a particularly angry-looking crowd that was being herded to the front lines by the loose group of soldiers and officers in back. They wanted to go in that direction, certainly; the front line was the best place to be, after all. That was where the blood would be spilled, and that was where the fools would be broken before them by their righteous fury. But they all seemed to have a different idea to get there, and Alberta rolled her eyes, raising two fingers up to her lips and whistling very loudly to get their attention.
"HEY! THIS WAY, FOLLOW ME!" she hollered, raising her hockey stick over her head and pointing it like a sword, "LET'S FUCK SOME SHIT UP! WHO'S WITH ME!?"
And the gathered mini-mob roared in agreement, walking after her as she marched the crowd towards the end of the street. They parted to walk around the truck with the kettle drum, and the drummer just smiled and waved; she knew her place, she knew her role.
Soon there would be nothing but hate in every mind, nothing but bloodlust and a desire to rip and tear and destroy.
Soon.
And Alberta smiled happily.
It was so nice to have her people all on the same page for once.
Ontario peeked around the alleyway's corner, immediately ducking back in and scurrying to join Canada in huddling behind the filthy, reeking dumpster that even the city's homeless wouldn't go near.
"We're fucking surrounded. On all sides. We're not getting out of here." He whispered grimly, running his fingers through his hair. They were milling around, and the ones on that street all had guns. If they were found...
Ontario didn't want to know what would happen if they were found.
They'd driven from Shelly's home, and attempted to leave the city; Canada had suggested fleeing to Saskatchewan or BC, and Ontario had picked a direction and started driving, only for them to be turned around by a police officer who was stopping anyone with Alberta plates. He told them to get back into the city to help with the defence effort or he'd arrest them for treason; Ontario was just glad the man was too busy to run their plates or check their ID's. That had been the most terrifying ten minutes of his entire life.
Canada was massaging his temples, but he did acknowledge Ontario's statement with a token nod. He was trying to scan for Alberta and Calgary, but it wasn't working very well; they were both somewhere in the downtown core; that was all he could be certain of. Calgary could have been standing right next to him and Canada's sense wouldn't have told him that much- at least until he opened his eyes. There were downsides to being the second-largest of them all.
They needed a plan. A plan to get the hell out and to survive this horrible ordeal, without getting dragged into the street and beaten to death by some hell's angels bikers, a few bankers, and some teens playing hooky. Since that seemed to be the main group comprising the gun mob- Ontario didn't want to know where the teenagers got those firearms, he really didn't.
"What's the plan?" He whispered to the nation, and Canada looked up at him, brow furrowed.
"The plan, is...Well...I really don't know." he whispered back, wincing as the crowd in the adjoining street started to scream, getting themselves psyched up for the battle ahead. Someone was yelling about gassing the parasites out, and someone else roared about hanging them- and soon the whole mob was yelling and screaming suggestions, the riot police with the mob banging their shields with their batons to stir them up even more. And Canada swallowed deeply.
"I...I think our only option...is to join them." He said quietly, "Join them and surrender to the coalition immediately...you still have your wallet on you, right?"
Ontario nodded. "Never leave home without it. I always have my ID."
The nation looked at the filthy ground, face solemn and serious.
"..We're going to have to play the part. We're going to need some hockey sticks or some weapons or SOMETHING of some kind...and we're going to need to join the mob as soon as they arrive. And then, we can...we can run across and surrender."
Canada whispered the words desperately, looking Ontario right in his brown eyes. Province and nation both knew exactly what it was that he was proposing. It was suicide, plain and simple.
But it was their only option.
Ontario reached up and undid his now-dirty red silk tie, carefully folding it up and slipping it into the pocket of his grey suit jacket. This he slipped off and tied, with the utmost care, around his waist, rolling up his sleeves and mussing up his hair.
"...I suppose we should wait for the coalition to arrive, then." He whispered, "Perhaps we can join a mob from the back-"
"HEY!" someone from the opposite end of the alley yelled, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU FUCKERS DOING IN THERE?! GET OUT HERE! WE GOT SOME ROACHES TO SQUASH!"
Ontario and Canada shared a look.
And Canada whispered, "...We're screwed."
A/N:
Things are heating up, aren't they?
Don't worry, the crazy really comes out to play next chapter. :D
Also, you know what's a good song? Counting Bodies Like Sheep, it's by A Perfect Circle. You should give it a listen, but like...not with the lights off. Hoo boy. I listen to some fucked-up shit when I write.
Anyway, delightfully pointless author diatribe aside, let me know what you think of this chapter, eh? Gives me that extra kick in the pants to write faster.
