The real purpose of this book is to reveal the true nature of the culture of death that has come to pervade over every major decision we face. The many groups that make up the culture of death have made America more the land of the freak and the slave than the free and the brave. I have not written this novel with pride or bitterness. Rather, it has been penned to warn a great nation that a land is nothing without the care and mercy shown to its less fortunate. It is submitted to you to underscore that the measure of a great nation is not in its GNP or its S&P but in its TLC. On the contrary, the words written here have been tempered with fear and trembling for the nation I love.
The indisputable facts laid out herein are written in shameful disgust over the failure of the moral base of America to adequately speak out and stand up to be counted. No great nation can long endure under the strains of the obtuse who seek to systematically destroy those whom our nation has so long defended.
America shed her fear and marched its youngest and brightest into WWII to fight an intolerable tyrant and the idea that only the State could decide who was worthy of life. We fought and died to bring Adolph Hitler and his regime to an utter end because of his disrespect and utter disregard for life. Now, today in America we have Judges seated in a leather chairs behind some large desk not making choices to help someone live but rather deciding who should die.
America stood tall and brave against the forces of Communism because of just such an evil philosophy as this, which religiously and progressively marched its people to a dreaded drum right to the very precipice of death and defeat; a defeat based on the loss of our commitment to freedom and life. Yet, today in America, decades after the Great War, are we really better than those we destroyed? Are we really different?
Perhaps the Nazi movement and the Communist ideals are not so much dead as they are renamed and recast in more benign and more beguiling silhouettes; wrapped up in a tattered swath of red white and blue and empowered by a document that no more represents and no longer resembles the original Constitution of the United States of America than did the Communist Manifesto or Mao’s Little Red Book. The diabolical forces at work in America must be rendered powerless.
We cannot stop them from speaking out, lest we defeat the very freedom we seek to preserve, but we must always be vigilant and ready to work against them by recognizing the forces at work, and the masters they serve, which make up America’s emerging culture of death.
Lest none of us have any quality of life, it is imperative that we take another look and reaffirm the words of Philosopher, Francis Schaeffer when he said that there is no life that is not worth living. If we believe thusly, then we should pose ourselves the same question he most profoundly and often posed, “How shall we then live?”
The Second Republic
by Steven Clark Bradley
Somewhere over Minnesota
March 6, 2011, 12:58 p.m.
“We want to thank you for choosing American Airlines. We’ve reached our cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet, and we’ve got an hour and twenty more minutes of flight time. I have turned off the seatbelt sign, but try to stay buckled up when seated. Thank you.”
For Fred Lockridge, an unbuckled seatbelt was the least of his worries. Earlier in the morning, he had not thought a thing about that dead pig that Elmer Risner had dragged into the feed store. To him, it was another dumb hillbilly showing his stupidity. He had forgotten that he was one of them hillbillies, himself. So, he got out of there and headed home quickly because he had a plane to catch.
Fred had found a deal of a lifetime. Some old farmer in southern
.He squirmed in his seat when changes began to take place over most of his body. Maybe it was all that walking and climbing steps that before he headed to the airport in
After he left the feed store, he packed for the trip and noticed that some off that slime from Elmer’s pig had landed on his shoes. “I pulled off the shoe and washed the damn stuff off.” he shouted.
Everyone close to his seat stared at him and several asked him if he was all right. After assuring everyone, he touched one hand with the one that had come into contact with the toxic material. Blisters covered that hand and red marks announcing the irritation’s moved up his arm and across his chest.
Fred unbuckled his seat belt and walked back to the lavatory. He could hear people talking and several covered their noses and others asked anyone who could hear them what that terrible smell was. He shut the folding door behind him and unbuttoned his shirt. In the mirror, he examined his face and neck area, and his back and shoulders when, without warning, blisters popped open and that same slimy stuff oozed out and began to form all over his body. It reminded him of a few horror films he had seen, but this was no movie. It was real and he was living it. He tried not to, but against every bit of strength he could muster, he let out a bloodcurdling scream that everyone in the plane heard.
Fred’s reflection in the mirror terrified him as the skin on his face literally dropped off into the sink. Then a fire raged in his stomach and throughout his internal organs. Smoke rose off his body with a smell so strong that it consumed the plane’s entire ventilation system.
“Sir, are you all right? Can we help you?”
“No, you don’t come in here, you hear me? If you want to live, stay the hell away from me. Tell the pilot that you …” He screamed again and then managed to get out a few words. “Tell him that you have an emergency, and it is as bad as hell.”
“Sir, we’re opening the door.” The hostess said in a panicked voice.
“No. I told you. Are you stupid or what?” Fred’s eyes melted and he crumbled to the floor with a hole in the middle of the slimy ooze that had once been his body. The hole that had been his mouth opened and closed quickly, and he moved no more.
“Sir, are you okay?” There was no response. “I’m opening it,” the chief steward said.
“I don’t think you should,” the other hostess said. “He warned us, and we should listen.”
The chief steward knocked on the door again. Still no reply. He then picked up the phone and called the pilot.
March 6, 2011, 1:35 p.m.
“Doctor, tell me what you’ve learned?” President Tate asked.
“Mr. President, we have been able to determine the compound rather easily.”
“Is that good?” Fisher asked.
“It is neither good nor bad. It is a common flu virus. You see, there is not much difference in original viruses that cause the flu. As they spawn, they are powerful, but quite treatable and susceptible to known vaccines.”
That means we can stop it?” President Tate asked.
“Every virus can be stopped, but this one has undergone some very exotic mutations. Mutations in viruses are almost always natural. A bird with flu virus dies and then is ingested, let’s say, by a swine. When this takes place in nature, that is the time that dangerous mutations take place, like the great pandemic of 1918. The mixing of species with the same virus cause radical mutations that strengthens the virus and makes it harder to defeat, because it takes on an ability to mutate into different forms much more easily. I hope I am not losing the three of you.”
Secretary Blake spoke and nodded. “I think we’re following you just fine, Dr. Marks.”
“We do controlled mutations all the time in the laboratory so we can develop specialized antibodies that cover most of the mutations that lead to new strains of flu. Those can become very violent and powerful forms of flu, but of course they are kept frozen and later destroyed to use as dead viruses that can be used to prepare a vaccine. This one is different.”
“Why did I know you were going to say something like that?” President Tate said in dismay.
“I am sorry Mr. President, but this virus has gone through a myriad of mutations, most of them, if not all have been controlled and for the purpose of making it so deadly that no vaccine could be found soon enough to stop the spread. We have not completed all the preliminaries, but I know enough already to tell you that this will spread incessantly, and it will kill literally millions of people before we can develop that vaccine and inoculate those not yet affected.
“As I said, we have not completed our testing yet, but we can already count DNA trails of forty-seven different species that were infected to create new mutations, and all of them are mammals, with the exception of the bird virus, which was the original host. That is the worst part.”
“Worst part? What does that mean?” Tate asked.
“The mutations that affect humans the most are those that have resulted from mammal hosts. Whoever developed this evil thing knew what they were doing and purposely made a flu virus that can kill and waste away its victims in minutes.”
“Give us a second, doctor.”
Fisher hit the mute button so they could talk together.
“Mr. President, we have to invoke HR8791.” Secretary Blake insisted. “We are anticipating a large number of dead, and we have to have the ability to dispose of them, as inhumane as that might seem. Something like this is so catastrophic.”
“What did they call it? Ah, yes, the Second Republic Bill. Fisher, what do you think?” President Tate asked. “What will be the political fallout if I invoke this bill that will turn
“Mr. President, it is totally unconstitutional. Excuse me, Secretary Blake, the hell with the political risks, what about freedom? It is wrong to start that monster. You invoke that and you’ll have two demons to kill: one biological and the other political, each as deadly as the other. It will not withstand the scrutiny of the American people, nor the Supreme Court, in one day’s time. Chief Justice Saul will render his decision tomorrow, right? If it is ruled constitutional, then the country’s gone anyway.”
Tate let the debate go on, but he agreed with Fisher Harrison.
“Mr. President, of course, you’ll be ridiculed and maligned, perhaps burned in effigy, in my opinion, quite justly, if you invoke HR8791.”
Tate responded, “My veto has already been overridden, and I might be impeached, if I do not.”
Tate spoke to both Blake and Harrison. “Gentlemen, that’s why we have these jobs; never anything but the truth. Thank you for that, I think.”
They all found it funny.
“I wish I had a happy lie to tell you, Mr. President, but we have to preserve sanity and security and most of all, freedom.” Fisher declared.
President Tate hit the mute button again.
“Doctor, are you in a position to give me an idea of the rate of spread?”
“We have it contained in that small town, and that should slow it down.”
“Actually doctor, we have one potential victim who is in a plane over
“Mr. President, if that person gets away from you or if the plane crashes, the spread will increase in speed, exponentially. You must get those passengers in a secure and sealed location.”
“Our men are in place in
Thank you, doctor.” President Tate ended the call.
“Sam, I am appointing you Secretary of Defense, which means you running everything for few days. I know that’s a tall order Secretary Blake, but you’re a tall man.”
Fisher focused on the man he’d give his life for and who had broken a pledge. The news landed hard on Fisher for a second, but he seemed to absorb the blow. Since coming back alive from
I think I’ll play along, Fisher told himself. The President’s pretty good at that perception thing, too. I trust this guy.
“Sam, you need to get an escort up there with that airplane. I know we have to get info to the pilot, and we don’t want a panic, but there’s plenty to panic about, right now.” President Tate said. “Make the necessary connections, and get that done. You can draft up any request, except HR8791, for the time being, to this effect, and I’ll sign it. Let’s get that going. Are there any questions from anyone?”
“Absolutely not, Mr. President; it’s an honor to work with you at a time like this,” Sam Blake said.
“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate your words.” President Tate escorted Secretary Blake to the door. “Sam, I hope you don’t think I’m rude.” Tate said, as he reached for the door knob. “But I’ve given you the job I promised Fisher. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. He won’t try to kill you or nothing.”
“He’s a great man, Mr. President. It’s an honor to work with him, too.”
“You are right. I have something else I need from him.”
Blake thanked the President and glanced over at Fisher.
Somewhere over Minnesota
March 6, 2011, 1:58 p.m.
“This is the pilot of American Airline 2211 to ground reporting an emergency.”
“AA 2211 what is your emergency?”
“There is a very powerful something happening here. I can’t explain it, but I have a dead man dead in the toilet and others feel sick. Some are having some strange reactions. Requesting emergency landing and you should call the CDC. We may have a biological. I repeat we may have a biological.”
The ground officer in
“Sir, I got a call on the emergency channel from AA 2211. They are en route to Pierre, South Dakota. He’s requesting an emergency landing.”
“So, why are you calling me? Get the man down.”
“Sir, you need to get over here right now. He said they had a biological on board.”
“A what? Sweet Jesus, I’ll be right there.”
* * *
Back in coach, terrified passengers cried, shouted angrily for the plane to land. Sickness over the smell of rotten flesh that exited through the air conditioning vents above their heads created spasms of fear. Rumors spread throughout the cabin about the sick man in the lavatory who had melted into a mixture of rotting, stinking flesh.
The pilot’s cabin phone rang.
“Yes, Julie, you got that thing under control?”
“Control, we’re all going to die back here. Do not come back here. You have to land this plane. Do you understand? You had better get it down, now,” the hostess shouted before the line went dead.
Throughout the cabin, passengers screamed as they caught their image in hand-held mirrors at the boils that had begun to form on their necks and across their chests.
“Julie? Julie, pickup, please.” The captain spoke to his co-pilot. “I’m gonna check it out.”
“Sir, you heard Julie. She warned you to stay away. Maybe you should do as she said.”
The pilot thought about it for a second. “I have no choice. I have to do this. It’s my duty.” He unbuckled his belt and stepped over to the cockpit door and opened it. “I’ll be right back.”
A mist, a hot something floated in the air in the otherwise silent cabin. At first it had not bothered the pilot, then, after he had inhaled the putrid stuff, his nose burned, and he scratched his hot skin through his uniform. He located a flashlight at the service section, but so much smoke or hovering haze drowned out the cabin lights. He covered his mouth and nose with one hand and waved the light beyond him as he rushed through the cabin. No noise, no heads in seats. How did they all disappear? Was it the rapture? He felt something gooey under his feet and his shoes seemed to stick to the floor. The pilot shined the light to the floor, and that’s when he saw it.
One of the first-class passengers was indeed in his seat, but his body had melted away, and all the pilot could see that made the man’s humanity verifiable was his face, which continued the dissolving process. His mouth contorted inward and the pilot heard one last hopeless bawl from the passenger, as his body turned to liquid, and that left a gaping silent hole that wanted to scream another last blistering cry of agony, but remained silent. The pilot reached out to help him, but jerked his hand back. Then the wasted-away passenger, in one last-ditch effort to live, seemed to jump or bubble upward and the greasy film that covered him flew into the air and landed on the pilot’s face. Instinctively, he wiped off his face. But he felt the searing heat of the material, and it had become so virulent that it had already started tearing at his face, as the 757 flew about fifty miles from
The pilot radioed his co-pilot. “Peter, the aircraft is yours.”
“Sir, I could barely make you out. Is everything okay?”
“Do not … come ba … back here. All is lost. Everyone is de … dead. Save yourself. Land this…” The radio died.
The co-pilot called out, “Mayday, Mayday.”
The pilot felt his body going numb, and then the feeling returned with terrible pain blisters appeared on his arms, large festering, oozing blisters. The same material he had wiped off his face started to spread across and up his arms, and he felt searing pain in his legs and across his chest, and on his face. “Please, Jesus, take me.”
The radio startled the co-pilot, and he jumped.
“AA 2211, you do not have clearance to land. Continue on course to Pierre, North Dakota. I repeat, do not land, continue…”
The co-pilot switched off the radio and started a descent.
“AA 2211, you are five thousand below your assigned altitude.”
The co-pilot heard the tower’s communication, but he set his flight director for approach and his altimeter at four thousand, the descent pitch at eighteen hundred, and the flaps to descend automatically.
“AA 2211, you are ten thousand below your assigned altitude. You are not cleared for landing here, AA
The airport appeared to be thirty nautical miles ahead. The co-pilot set the GPS. “This bird can land itself,” he said.
The captain felt his skin sizzle and then large chunks of flesh fell from his face to the floor, and he screamed one last time.
“Captain? What’s happening?” He heard a thud at the cockpit door when the captain’s body fell against it. He hoped the captain was trying to enter the cockpit. The aircraft now flew itself, as it descended to five thousand. The co-pilot stood and gripped the cabin’s doorknob.
* * *
The tower technician ran to his supervisor’s office. “Sir, I told AA 2211 that they could not land.”
The agitated official asked, “What’s the status?”
“Now, their radios have been switched off, and they’re descending.”
“What? I’ll have his license for that.”
“Sir, with all due respect, that is not what we need right now. It is my estimation that we have plane full of some kind deadly biological material that is highly toxic. Do you think it’d kill us all if it’s allowed to land?”
“If that’s the same stuff they’ve had all over the news today, yes, you may be right. I’ll notify the FAA, Homeland, the CDC, and I’ll get the White House in on this, too.”Coming Later This Year...
You Can Get All Steven Clark Bradley's Books, Nimrod Rising, StillBorn! & Probable Cause and Patriot Acts Now!
Have you ever felt that the world was guided in ways that are beyond man’s control? The constant changes in the world since the time of Nimrod 4000 years ago until today and all the events that have shaken the world have been to bring the universe back into the hands of the Prince of Darkness, Lucia, a world that he had ruled with his Watchers before it was all ripped from his grasp when man was created. Nimrod Rising paints a diabolical picture of how the Prince of Darkness executes his evil plot to take the world back by force and destroy civilization in the process. From the Great Builder Nimrod in 4000 BC to today, 666 generations later, you can ride the storm of Nimrod Rising and experience the death of a world and the birth pangs of another. You will swear it is really upon us!
ebooksonthe.net barnesandnoble.com bordersstores.com booksamillion.compowells.com copperfields.com
Find a common, good man; even a Pastor, a man known more for his good deeds than for any mischief. Take away everything from him. Take away his life, his history his future, his faith, his wife and you’ve created a monster, a desperate man who wants payback from those who destroyed his life. Greg Bradford is a victim of infidelity, man who wants revenge, a man prepared to do anything to get his life back. Imagine, you’re a well-known Police officer, in a state-wide position, and you have to investigate a murder at a State Mental Facility in Logansport, Indiana, a vindictive crime that Chief Inspector Corbett (Core) Mandeville has swirling around in his past also. Both Core and Greg know why they did what they were both sworn to prevent. Corbett Mandeville is well known in Indiana, having investigated some of the worst murders in his state. Now, an escaped mental patient, who has a vengeful score to settle, is on the loose, and Core has to stop him. This adventure is not like many others, since Corbett Mandeville has a closet full of suspense, of his own. This killer and Mandeville both had similar reasons for stalking their prey, for stepping out and taking justice into their own hands. Get into the mind of the killer and the cop, as both find a connection that makes for a lethal thriller of profound actions of vengeance and justice.
at any of these blogs listed below:
From The Mind of Steven Clark Bradley
Steven Clark Bradley @ Inspired Author
Steven Clark Bradley - Nikki Leigh Virtual Book Tours
Steven Clark Bradley @ The Power of The Written Word
Steven Clark Bradley @ Communati.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Blogtalk Radio.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Facebook
Steven Clark Bradley @ Twitter.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Xanga.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Amazon.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ yuku.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Bookmarket.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Published Authors.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Word That Work
Steven Clark Bradley @ Goodreads.com
Steven Clark Bradley @ Myspace.com