Capitol Punishment

Chapter 22

America asked England to drive, he was worried that he wasn't fit to drive after slamming the brakes. That, and he didn't want to ruin the Thunderbird, it's a vintage car and a nice car. On his beach vacations, he was prone to playing the Beach Boys' Fun, Fun, Fun, all the way down the coast through the old music system. Only he was not having any fun fun fun right now, staring despondently out of the car window as the rain dribbled down the glass. It was getting on England's nerves, especially since he was already a little put off for having to drive on the right side of the road. He knew how, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Oh, belt up. We literally just had this talk." He grouched, hands on the wheel.

"Alrighty gramps, chill." America responded, looking instead at the paved road ahead.

England frowned, perturbed but keeping composure for the sake of the occasion. Oh, how he would smack that git…

The car then turned the corner, onto the rain darkened streets, cluttered and barricaded, the blue and red lights blinking and blinding.

"Are those police cars?" America asked, "Oh my God, the Starbucks!" He exclaimed scrabbling for the door handle and opening the car door.

"Bloody hell, America!" England said, slamming the brakes so that the impulsive American would get out of an immobile vehicle. Parking and stepping out of the Thunderbird, England could make out the damage. For the building, it was devastating. England could see that the glass was clearly shot out, the chill in the rain drizzled air killing in the warmth of the coffee shop. He has seen many destroyed buildings, this was clearly not the first scene of destruction he has witnessed, but it was still disappointing to see the hard work of humanity crumbling by their own hands.

But more importantly, the boys may have come here, they may have been in the building when it was shot through, they may have been hurt. He walked towards barricade with purpose, his stomach filling with dread at the news he could receive.

A policeman stepped in front of him, hands out in a stop motion.

"Excuse me, sir, this is a crime scene, you can't come through here. Authorized personnel only."

England pointed at America bustling between many policemen, conversing, asking questions and receiving answers that he probably shouldn't be qualified to receive.

"And him?" England asked with a condescendingly raised brow.

"Uh…" The young policeman gaped, confused by the unknown man behind the lines. He knew that the young man over there with the glasses was supposed to be there, for some reason... "But you… and he…?" Looking back and forth between these men, the cop didn't know how to respond.

Fortunately, he didn't have to, America spotted the interaction and strutted over to them, clapping a hand down on the poor man's shoulder.

"It's alright, Turner, he's with me. You're doin' great." America reassured him, giving him a friendly pat, squeezing his shoulder before leading England past the police lines.

"Alright… uh, yes, sir." Stuttered Turner, confused, yet somehow flattered. He smoothed out his jacket and returned to duty with a puff of pride.

"What have you learned so far?" England asked, straight to the point as they walked closer to the store.

"No one was killed," America said with some relief, "but four people were injured, one male employee and three female customers. Luckily, they are all in stable condition, and they have already made it to the hospital."

They stopped outside the Starbucks, just clear of the glass.

"The perpetrators wore masks, so we have no suspects, but apparently, a bystander took a video from their cell phone. We have a license plate number."

"I have much more than a license plate number, gentlemen."

Both "gentlemen" jumped at the sudden acknowledgment, spotting the familiar Starbucks owner that appeared beside them. America was glad he didn't shriek in surprise, he has screamed at lesser scares.

"I only started recording after they fired," she said as she brushed into their little huddle, "but I think you'll want to see what happened. Now, to be honest, the police don't want me to show anybody the evidence until they have substantial—"

"Miss! You're still wanted for a witness report and we cannot let you share the evidence yet! It's classified until further notice!" Another policeman walked up to their huddle, about to intrude again when Rachel put up a finger in the classic "in a moment" position towards the cop's chest.

"Hush, sir, this is important, their friends were involved. My footage was intended for them."

The policeman was not dissuaded.

"Miss, this evidence is in police custody—"

"No, it's in my hands." Rachel said, giving the phone a little wave.

"Miss—"

"Don't worry, Robert," America, stepped in front of the cop, saving the day as the hero he is, "I can handle this. I'll make sure the phone is back in custody, you can return to duty."

The policeman hesitated, opening his mouth to say something else, but decided against it.

"Yes, sir." And he walked away.

America turned back to the huddle and Rachel sighed, she had a feeling they weren't going to like the news. She wanted the murder the men who shot her shop for stealing her little chickens, but for some reason, she felt it more important for Mr. Jones and Mr. Kirkland to take care of this. She hoped she was right.

She opened the video and gave them the phone.

Landon blinked opened his eyes, vision blurry for a second accompanied by the persistent thumping of a headache. He felt restrained, perhaps his arms were tied. He couldn't move his legs much either. It took him another moment to realize that he was sitting, and he couldn't see much because the room was dimly lit. Not that there was much to see anyway, as far as he could tell there was nothing in the square room except a gray door with a tiny window. There was one fluorescent light on, illuminating the gray floor and the off-white walls. This isn't creepy at all, he thought. Not at all. But where is Danny?

In a panic, he whipped his head around, ignoring the pain in his skull. He as relieved for a second to find that Danny was behind him. Their chairs were tied together back to back, like Indiana Jones and his father in the Last Crusade. Landon went to see that movie because it had knights in it and the word "crusade."

However, his relief was short lived. Danny had no body heat, and he was deathly still. Landon couldn't even tell if he was breathing from his position.

"Washington? Can you hear me?" He tried, "Daniel?" His voice broke.

Nothing.

Landon let his head drop, his hair nearly long enough to fall over his eyes. This went from bad to worse, it was almost like Daniel had shut down. Landon shook his head slightly at the thought, the feelings overwhelming. They had been cornered, threatened, kidnapped, and tied to a chair who knows where. He wasn't even sure if there was hope for rescue. There were so many unknowns, and Landon was trapped in America's country with his new friend, who was unresponsive. Landon was scared. Of course, Danny doesn't even know any of this.

Shutting down is one of the worst feelings for a capital, almost as bad as a coup or dissolution. First, there is immense pain. And then nothing, comatose, lost in nothing but the void. Alone and desensitized. Landon has never experienced it, the structure of his government prevents it, but he has felt things that were very similar, if not worse. Monarchy's, revolutions, and civil wars do that to ya.

But then again, London has had England there with him. To ease the pain. This poor boy has never had that luxury.

He must get them out of here. But how? Strategy was his strong suit, yet good plans take time. How much time do they have? Anything could happen before he has something to work with, and he has one boy he would be no help, more of a hindrance. But he wasn't leaving without him, that's for sure.

Amid his panicked thoughts, one thing did come through. He took a deep breath and looked up at the turn of the door handle.

Keep calm and carry on.

England was struggling between the urge to cry and the urge to kill. His poor capital, his best friend beat up and shoved into a vehicle by assailants. But he was a little proud as well, at London's determination to fight and protect. Stubborn lad would rather stand guard over America's capital instead of run. He's got spirit, he does. The Spitfire.

America was struggling between the urge to cry and the urge to punch someone, a feat that could kill. It seemed at every turn, everyone was trying to keep him from his capital. Death, time, Congress, even his own constitution, and now this. He just wanted his new friend. America was so worried as well, Rachel had told him his Dannyboy had lost consciousness before the fight had even begun. There was something worse going on, and it pained him to see the boy so lifeless, like the one he had lost so many years ago. And like England, America was proud of London. He fought for his capital like a true hero and a true friend. He would have to thank him when this was over.

America was also proud of Rachel, the woman had shown some true initiative, bravely opposing the criminals for the two boys. Risking her own life for theirs, recording the horrific encounter.

But once again, again. Their capitals were gone. Only this time, it was far worse than either country could imagine. As they watched to footage of the struggle, they felt worse and worse, blood slowly draining from their faces and stomachs sinking in fear for their charges.

"Well, what are you going to do about it now?" Rachel stated with hands on her hips.

Both countries looked at her in mild confusion, still shocked from her video. Their glooming was getting on her nerves, she wanted those emotions channeled to finding her chickens. It seems they needed a push.

"Get to it boys, you're not gonna find those kids by standing here gaping." She gave them a shoo, motioning them to get moving. England was the first to respond to her encouragement.

"She is right Alfred," England said, "And I can't find Landon without your help. We don't want war on our hands, especially between our hands. You know what this means."

America hesitated, trying to calm down and amp himself up at the same time. Then he started typing something on her phone.

"Alright, I'm sending this to myself, I need the license plate number to find the vehicle's information. I can put it through the Federal Bureau of Investigation to—"

A policeman from nearby interrupted him.

"Oh, Didn't ya hear? The government shut down nearly an hour ago. The FBI won't be doing much until the shutdown ends."

A moment of silence.

"Oh dear," England said, "that's not good for Daniel."

Now America was just struggling with the urge to cry.