Overthrown: The Great Dark (Overthrown Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Our courtship was frenetic, and we were engaged in a matter of months. We got married in the small chapel at her parents’ farm, then honeymooned in Mexico. It was a goddam fairytale. But it didn’t take long for the tragedy in our story to appear.

  The Wednesday after we came home from our honeymoon, Meg’s mother passed away. She had gotten out of bed at 7 that morning, eaten two eggs and a bagel, dressed for a workout, and died in one of her living room chairs. The coroner told us the massive heart attack likely caused no suffering. She never felt it coming.

  Meg was devastated. It took her months to recover, if she ever really did. Her mother had been a guiding force in her life, raising her only daughter virtually on her own while Meg’s father was on the road or in the sky most days of the year. The two of them were best friends, and I don’t think Meg ever imagined a world without her mother in it. Maybe she was trying to fill that void, or maybe she was trying to prove something to herself in her competitive way. But when her passion for life finally returned, it was stronger than ever. Except it became a passion for creating life.

  ◊◊◊

  Meg and I had worked on a baby for three years. The miscarriages were emotionally draining, for both of us. But we powered on, we talked, we kept trying. We went through all the motions that struggling parents-to-be go through. Ended up in a fertility expert’s office hoping for an answer. But there wasn’t one. We had no fertility problem. And Meg’s body was built for reproduction – the doctor had a much more tactful way of explaining that part. But the truth of the matter was that we should’ve been parents by then.

  So when the next pregnancy test came up positive, there was no celebration. After all, getting pregnant was the easy part. It was time for patience and fortitude and all of the hardest things to be.

  Meg did everything the books told her. Take these vitamins, sleep in this position, chant this or that mantra at such and such time of day. It was exhausting to watch her want that baby so badly. Then we found out there were two. Double the exhaustion.

  Jessica and Henry are fraternal twins, meaning they were growing in two separate sacs in Meg’s womb. The fragility of the matter was overwhelming. Not only did we have our unsuccessful pregnancy history, but now the stress of twins on Meg’s body would be that much greater. We found ourselves talking more than we ever had.

  As the days became weeks and the ultrasounds showed nothing but health and growth, our stress became excitement, hope, and happiness. We couldn’t help ourselves. Meg was getting more and more tired as the pregnancy progressed, but that was to be expected. Especially with twins, right? It was on the day that she couldn’t get out of bed that I began to worry.

  ◊◊◊

  The doctor had given us a short list of warning signs to watch for during the second trimester. Bleeding, early contractions, depression. None of it applied. Meg couldn’t place it, but something wasn’t right. Maternal instinct already kicking in, I suppose.

  We arrived at the hospital at 7:33 that night, two days before Thanksgiving. I remember the time because later I calculated down to the minute how long Meg spent in a hospital bed without sitting up, without standing or stretching or walking. 37 days, 14 hours, 21 minutes. The will of a mother is remarkable.

  The doctors diagnosed Meg as having an incompetent cervix. I thought it was such a ridiculous adjective for a body part, as if it had a mind of its own. What it meant was that Jessica had started descending into the birth canal with nothing to stop her. I don’t think they ever knew what was really happening. As advanced as they may have thought they were, science could only take them so far. I had never seen educated guessing more at work. We all believed that Jessica would keep descending over the next few hours, but she stopped. No reason for it. She just decided, in her barely-developed 20-week-old brain, to stop. The conviction of her mother transferred through amniotic fluid. It was miraculous. She not only saved herself, but her brother, too. Another thing she never let Henry forget.

  Getting through the first few days was agony. We talked, cried, grieved. Then, much like the early part of the pregnancy, days turned into weeks. And each week meant a better chance for Jessica and Henry. And in the end, that’s all we could hope for – a chance.

  ◊◊◊

  Christmas morning that year was white and sublime. Big, puffy flakes. The contractions that had subsided for so many weeks resumed around nine o’clock. Meg knew it was time. We all did. And so we prepared ourselves to deal with the next act of this next tragedy. But it wasn’t tragic at all. It was beautiful. Our children, too soon and so tiny, were beautiful.

  9.

  T he weekly online videos that ANTI- created were meant to look raw, unproduced. But there was a lot of work that went into them. Film experts began breaking each one apart after the terrorist silencing. See the way it cuts here, look how they edited this together there. From a media standpoint, it became obvious that ANTI- had professionals involved. The viral videos were viewed by hundreds of millions.

  And the grassroots part of the movement grew exponentially. Protests continued. Environmental, financial, civil rights issues. They called themselves “ANTs,” a reference to both the ANTI- name and the way in which they operated throughout the world. On the ground, almost invisible, but always working. It was like they were pushing against everything that seemed to be moving in the wrong direction in society.

  In Moscow, there was the desecration of the Russian constitution on the steps of the Kremlin by a small group of ANTs. According to the video released following the incident, ANTI- opposed the current political direction of the Russian government. It was true that Russia was returning to its Cold War mentality of isolationism, and recent reports had told of in-country atrocities against its own people. ANTI- was applauded by forward-thinkers throughout the world, and human rights groups demanded the release of the arrested ANTs involved.

  The rally in Athens and ultimate Greek government shutdown that followed showed us that ANTI- was a larger group than anyone had imagined. Greece had been struggling for years financially, with its leaders demonstrating incompetence in every decision they made. The unemployment rate was double that of any other European country. And when the Greek president announced national restrictions on wage rates for hourly workers, ANTI- struck back. The number of individuals involved in the protest was estimated at more than 10,000. All in those blank-face masks and black-cloaked clothing. It was three days before the military was able to disperse the crowds and end the madness. And again, universal sympathy for the ANTs and their cause was reported throughout worldwide media outlets.

  People even began to wonder about ANTI-’s involvement in significant changes from the recent past. Rumors about the last pope transition began swirling in the global ether. Typical conspiracy theory stuff. After all, there was no way a group like ANTI- could be involved. Or could it?

  The Roman Catholic Church, as powerful an entity as the world had seen, rarely saw a pope leave his position before his death. In 2,000 years of papal supremacy, only a handful of popes had resigned. And none since the 1400s. The new pope assumed his position on a wave of religious excitement and vigor. He was humble, liberal, and Spanish-speaking. His universal appeal was greater than any of those who had come before him. And he affected change within the establishment immediately. Church bans against gay marriage, contraception, and divorce? No more. And the Vatican Bank? Disbanded. It was revolutionary. The ever-growing part of the population that supported the societal and cultural shift that ANTI- was promoting began to believe they were behind it all.

  10.

  A fter the coyote incident, our traveling dynamic changed. I knew that Jessica could handle more responsibility. And she had created another layer of protection. But it still wasn’t enough.

  I had determined early on in the expedition that I would include the kids in all decisions regarding our group. I needed them as much as they needed me. If, for any reason, just to keep ourselves sane. If any of us started
thinking too much about our situation, we might not be able to continue.

  The morning after Jessica saved Henry, we were all a little groggy. I’m not sure any of us slept very much that night. As soon as we had some breakfast in our bellies, I called for a family meeting.

  “All right, guys, first things first. Where’s everybody’s head at?” I always liked to talk like a coach in these situations. Try and keep us motivated.

  Henry spoke first. “I guess I’m okay. Tired, but okay.”

  “Jessica, how about you?” I asked. She was the one I was most worried about.

  “Dad, I’m fine as long as you are. But I gotta ask, don’t you think it would be better if we found some other people to travel with?”

  Wow. She was on the same page already. I was proud, but also a little sad. Growing up too fast, but maybe that was for the best.

  “I agree,” I said. “Henry, what do you think?”

  He mulled over his response for a while before he spoke. “I think we’ll have trouble finding people we can trust.” Then he hesitated. “And I don’t want to be left behind if something happens.”

  He was on the same page, too. But I didn’t want to tell him that his concerns were exactly the same as mine. More than anything, I wanted to reassure them. Besides, Henry didn’t acknowledge the problem with his leg that much, so I knew that he was worried. Probably more worried than he let on.

  Jessica spoke before I could think of what to say. She turned to Henry, took his hands in hers, and looked him in the eye. “Henry, I will never let anything happen to you. And I will never leave you behind. Triumphs forever.” Then she turned to me. “Right, dad?”

  It took me a few seconds to overcome the lump in my throat. “Of course, Jess,” I tried to say with confidence. “Here’s what we’ll do. We head out today with a new temporary mission: find a group of people moving in the same direction. A group that can help us. Then we get back on track.” I put my arms around both of them. “We’re gonna make it through this thing, guys. Triumphs forever.”

  And so it was decided. We packed our things and cleared the campsite. We would need to start moving toward a highway or interstate. There certainly weren’t any vehicles left, but people still tended to use roadways. If we were going to find ourselves a pack to join, it would be there.

  I pulled out my map from so many years ago. Meg always made fun of me for keeping one in the glove compartment in the days of GPS and iPhones. “I told you so, Meggy,” I whispered to myself. The closest road was 19 miles northeast. A long highway that cut a path across the southern part of the country. It would take us the better part of two days to get there. So we walked.

  11.

  T he general public believed that ANTI-’s motive was simple: revolution. Global revolution. But that was impossible. Sure, they could disrupt a city government for a few days, or cause a corporation some financial embarrassment. But to flip the world as we knew it on its axis, to destroy the system that we had unconsciously become so dependent on, that was so much bigger. Not too big for ANTI- as it turned out, even with the world’s powers trying to stop them.

  Once ANTI- neutralized the terrorist influence, the governments of countries across the globe woke up. Yes, it was something to celebrate. But here was the thing about superpowers: if they weren’t the ones in control, they rather preferred the status quo. Even if the status quo meant war, genocide, and human suffering. Developed countries were insulated from that stuff in the 21st century anyway, right? So we thought.

  The concerns about ANTI- were so elevated that the United States’ CIA and Europe’s Interpol formed a joint task force to investigate the whos, whats, and wheres. Some committee in some back room came up with the name. The International Security Agency, or ISA as everyone came to know them. Very creative. They spent months interrogating imprisoned ANTs. They raided all kinds of neighborhoods, barrios, and villages. Spain, South Africa, Sri Lanka. The media reported what they knew, but that wasn’t much.

  When ANTI- had their ISA mole leak the tactics of the organization, documented with memos, emails, and approvals from the heads of governments, the uproar was deafening. ISA was tapping everyone. You, me, everyone. And the small details in conversations that led to home or business invasions didn’t even make any sense. Just a mention of “hacking” or “code-breaking” could get someone arrested and held for questioning. Once in custody, the interrogation techniques were downright frightening. Sleep deprivation, water-boarding, electric shock. Real torturous kind of stuff. The stuff we as a civilized society would never do.

  Universal reaction to the leaked information was dramatic and, at times, violent. Support for the ANTI- movement reached an all-time high. Tens of millions took to the Internet to express their disgust with the current state of our governments. Either they felt that their seemingly anonymous usernames could hide them from retribution, or they just didn’t care. The world had come to a virtual breaking point, but no one thought it would truly break. No one but ANTI-.

  12.

  M eg and I didn’t treat the twins any different than we would have had they been completely healthy. To be honest, we didn’t know what the hell we were doing anyway. Any first-time parent will tell you: it’s trial by fire. But we did make the conscious decision before their first birthday that they wouldn’t have any limitations in life. Long, late-night talk on that one. In the end, we decided – we could never predict how success and failure would affect our children. We would let experience guide them, as it should.

  Jessica was athletic from the beginning. In the female genes, I guess. She was walking months before Henry. And there wasn’t a tree she wouldn’t climb. We enrolled her in year-round soccer at age five just to get some of her energy out. She had the proverbial on/off switch, and just get out of the way when it was on. But it wasn’t just spirit and skill. Jessica also possessed that innate characteristic of trailblazers, motivators, and influencers. From the ball field to the classroom, she was a natural leader.

  We were warned by doctors early that our kids may be smaller than other children their age. And it took some time, but eventually Jessica started showing more signs of her mother’s genealogy. Tall and lean, with a long blonde mass of hair. She was pushing 4 feet by age six, then 5 feet by age ten. She had been defying the odds since before she was born.

  Henry’s growth was different. First of all, there was his leg. Often with premature infants, there is a lack of oxygen to the brain, resulting in a level of cerebral palsy. Some kids are so debilitated that they can’t control a single muscle. We were thankful every day that it was just Henry’s left calf. But it did prevent him from being as involved in sports as his sister was, even though he pacified us by trying every one. Soccer, baseball, basketball. He put his time in with them all. He was never very good, but he never complained. One thing about Henry, you couldn’t rattle him, couldn’t make him feel insecure. He carried the same confidence as his sister, just quieter.

  And what he lacked physically, he made up for with his intellect. He had learned the alphabet by the time he was two. He was reading full sentences when he was four. And so that became his escape from the long summer days. Instead of swimming and running and biking for hours on end like the other neighborhood kids, he would spend most of his time buried in books. He would find novels on the den shelf that Meg and I had barely cracked, and he would devour them. His appetite for reading was insatiable.

  The other issue Henry struggled with as he slowly grew was his speech. Yet another common preemie problem. He knew the words, so many words. But his mouth and tongue fought against his brain to form them. He had been social and outgoing in those first few years, but his speech impediment pushed him further into the fantasy world that books provided. I would often find him still awake late at night, deep inside some author’s imagined universe. I would rub my hand through his dark shock of hair and kiss his forehead.

  “This brain of yours is going to explode, Henry,” I would joke.
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br />   “The mind will journey as far as one is willing to carry it, Dad.”

  I told you he was smart.

  13.

  T he first governments to collapse were in the Middle East. The region was ripe for rebellion. Many of the Arabian regimes were dictatorial and corrupt. And when ANTI- took the terrorists’ power away, the people grabbed the chance for change. Egypt, then Libya. Syria and Iran soon followed. The problem was the power vacuum left behind. There wasn’t a domineering force strong enough to take control of these countries, which led to brutal in-fighting between rival insurgent groups. In retrospect, it couldn’t have been set up for ANTI- any better.

  The revolutions of the Middle East were certainly newsworthy, but not surprising by any means. That region had seen uprising after uprising throughout its centuries-long history. But when the Spanish government fell, the world took notice. The revolt there was decisive and startling. It occurred with such ease that it must have taken months of planning. Never underestimate the element of surprise, especially in a large-scale attack. Spain’s government had no response and was in shambles within 48 hours.

  Spain had been suffering the same problems as other countries in the European Union since the financial collapse a few years earlier. High unemployment, especially at entry-level positions of companies. Well-educated young Spaniards couldn’t find jobs, and the Spanish tiered occupation system led to massive attrition of the lower-paid workforce. Add that to the decreasing value of the euro, and government approval ratings in the country were at their lowest ever. Maybe they should’ve seen it coming. But even if they could have predicted an uprising of sorts, the details of what actually happened revealed how elaborate the operation truly was. The whole thing was disturbing.