How Does Your Garden Grow?
Copyright© 2017 by Mark Gander
Chapter 48
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 48 - David Howard is fed up with his life in the Mafia-controlled state of New Jersey, even if it is the only state with a working government in the post-apocalyptic world that exists since Fireball Day. Between his mob-loving (literally) wife Andrea and his psycho gay ex-friend and boss with benefits, Steven, David is more than ready to call it quits. He just won't get to do it alone.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Fa/ft Ma/Ma Mult Consensual Gay BiSexual Heterosexual Crime Humor Science Fiction Post Apocalypse Paranormal Demons Cheating Sharing Slut Wife Incest Uncle Niece BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Rough Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial White Male Hispanic Female Indian Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Squirting Voyeurism Menstrual Play Public Sex Nudism Politics
0815 hours, local time
Monday, 25 May, 2015
Dubuque County Courthouse
Dubuque, Iowa
“So, the process of reunification is well underway,” Mayor Casper Novak reacted to the latest news about a proposed state convention to draft an interim charter for a unified Iowa Free State under growing Havenite influence.
“To be held here in Dubuque, it seems,” the Prophet David Howard observed.
The war council convened in the courthouse’s vaulted jury room, oak table strewn with reconnaissance photos and intercepted radio transcripts. David Howard’s wives and husbands leaned over the latest reports with the rest of the inner circle. The fact that the women were all nude was something of a recent development, but the men focused on the urgent political and military situation, as they had gotten the orgy out of their system for now and the stakes were high. Women in the local, Havenite elite increasingly favored public nudity as a matter of principle.
“The delegations from each city already want to create a provisional state government with you as Governor, Prophet, to select a temporary cabinet as part of the transition toward reunification,” Tozroman, his demonic companion, informed him.
David Howard traced a finger over the map spread across the table. “Dubuque controls the Mississippi crossings. That gives us leverage. But Cedar Rapids holds the old munitions plants.” His gaze lingered on the strategic points, ignoring the soft shuffle of bare feet as Abigail Novak, the Mayor’s secretary and newest wife, refilled coffee cups. Abigail was fourteen and pregnant, starting ninth grade in the autumn, but with summer vacation, she worked for her powerful husband. Her Mennonite upbringing, while abandoned in favor of Havenism, prepared her to embrace early motherhood.
“As Governor, albeit provisional, you can lay the groundwork for the future state government of Iowa and oversee elections for at least some offices. The state department can be recreated as well, albeit skeletal, of course. It’s the first step toward badly needed unity in the face of threats,” Mayor Novak remarked.
The Prophetess Serena Kurtz Howard, David’s German half-sister and one of his wives, leaned forward abruptly, her pale skin stark against the dark oak table. Her eyes, sharp and analytical, scanned a radio transcript clutched in her hand. “Unity is vital, yes, but we cannot ignore the inferno raging just across the Mississippi,” she stated, her accent clipped and precise. “The Justice Party militia remains entrenched in Cook County. They are launching renewed assaults against the North Illinois Liberation Front positions near the ruins of Chicago. Their desperation grows as Havenite influence spreads; they see Illinois slipping away and are determined to crush any spark of resistance before it ignites. Another attack on Cicero could well lead to its capture by the Justice Party forces.” She tapped the transcript. “Our scouts report they’re mobilizing heavy artillery—former National Guard howitzers, of course —near the outskirts of Cicero.”
The implications hung heavy in the air: Cicero falling would solidify Justice Party control over Chicago’s western approaches, potentially cutting off Havenite supply lines into Illinois and threatening Dubuque itself. The North Illinois Liberation Front was increasingly under Havenite influence, but it was in danger of annihilation before it could be brought into the fold. That was clearly the objective of the fascists in the Justice Party, to eradicate the NILF before its members could turn Havenite and add its strength to the rising new religion.
Tozroman shifted his massive, horned form, the leathery wings rustling faintly against the ornate courtroom chair. His crimson eyes glowed with predatory intensity. “Prophet,” he rumbled, the sound vibrating deep within his chest, “this artillery concentration is their hammer. Smash it, and their fist weakens considerably. Grant me leave. I will lead a strike force across the river tonight. We will infiltrate their positions near Cicero, sabotage those guns, and sow chaos among their ranks before their assault can begin.” His clawed hand gestured towards the map pinpointing the artillery emplacements. “Disruption is achievable. Their discipline crumbles under unexpected terror.”
David Howard’s gaze remained fixed on the map, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, thick with the tension of impending violence and the faint scent of Abigail’s lavender soap. “Approved,” he finally said, his voice low and decisive. “Take the elite Saber commando team. Infiltration, sabotage, maximum disruption. Ensure their artillery is rendered useless before dawn. But Tozroman,” David’s eyes lifted, locking onto the demon’s, “avoid direct confrontation unless absolutely necessary. Your primary objective is the guns. We cannot afford losses among our best warriors on foreign soil.”
Tozroman’s jagged teeth flashed in a feral grin. “Chaos is my specialty, Prophet.” He rose, his shadow engulfing the corner of the room as he moved toward the door with unsettling grace. “By sunrise, those fascist cannons will be molten scrap.” The heavy oak door groaned shut behind him, leaving a palpable void in the room.
Unspoken was the idea that if all else failed, Tozroman could breathe literal Hellfire on the enemy howitzers.
“Meanwhile, Cairo and Wheaton are preparing to work closer toward a pincer maneuver directed at outflanking the Justice Party from both north and south. If they can capture more territory in central Illinois, they can attempt to create an Illinois state government as well,” the Prophet added.
The Mayor nodded thoughtfully. “That would certainly strengthen our position. But what about the refugees? We’ve got thousands pouring across the bridges daily from Illinois, fleeing the fighting. Our resources are stretched thin.”
“Recruit and arm the male refugees, ages fourteen and above. They can earn their keep and that of their families. The women can be put to other work, according to their marketable skills, in service to their new communities,” Andrea Howard, David’s first wife, encouraged them.
David Howard nodded curtly. “Implement it. Draft notices posted at the refugee centers by noon. Those refusing labor conscription forfeit rations.” His gaze swept the room, landing on Serena.
“Coordinate with Cairo and Wheaton. Offer them surplus rifles from the current armory cache. Their pincer maneuver must succeed.”
Serena scribbled notes, her brow furrowed.
“Meanwhile, the Evansville Convention has produced a rudimentary state authority, albeit not recognized by anyone in northern Indiana yet. An Executive Council exists now, but they still need more infrastructure and institutions, as well as requisite forces and supplies to launch an offensive northward against Indianapolis in particular. Meanwhile, the fighting between South Bend and Fort Wayne on the one side and Gary and Indianapolis on the other side continues with full force and momentum,” Amanda Howard, another wife, spoke up as well, her no-nonsense New Jersey Jewish attitude showing in her tone as well.