How Does Your Garden Grow?
Copyright© 2017 by Mark Gander
Chapter 65
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 65 - 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
1000 hours, local time
Friday, 3 July, 2015 (23 months since Fireball Day)
Dubuque County Courthouse
Dubuque, Iowa
“Prophet, sir, word has arrived from Saint-Georges that Brother Antoine has personally surrendered to Brigadier Ivan Warner of the Maritime Provinces Coalition Expeditionary Force. The Sacred Dominion has been officially dissolved. Saint-Georges has fallen under direct military occupation now, with Warner as the military governor of the final Sacred Dominion capital,” Staff Sergeant Brandy Gort, a staff courier, told the Prophet David Howard, the Governor of Iowa Free State.
“So, what happens to that lunatic monk next?” the Prophet inquired.
“He has issued a recantation of his claims of apostolic authority, resigned his civil offices, formally dissolved the Church of the New Grace, disbanded the remaining armed forces, and agreed to go into exile in France. He has consented to submit himself to the discipline of his monastic order, the Dominicans. He is still excommunicated, so he will have to do penance to be absolved of his heresy and apostasy,” Sergeant Gort clarified now.
Tozroman, the demon who served as Secretary of War, leaned forward with a dry chuckle, his claws tapping the polished oak table. “We allowed the Sashimis and their New Covenant cult to go to Arkansas and General Russell Rao to banish himself to Texas. Brother Antoine is merely following recent precedent.”
Everyone present chuckled now in response, the tension in the courthouse war council chamber easing like a coiled spring released. The Prophet’s lips curled into a thin smile, though his eyes remained sharp as flint.
“France,” he mused aloud, drumming his fingers against the map sprawled across the table. “Seems fitting—let the new Vatican in Avignon deal with its renegade priest. He’s a Francophone like most of them, surviving Italian cardinals aside. The main thing is that North America has one less faction warring for hegemony. The post apocalyptic chaos and anarchy is gradually fading on this continent in favor of more law and order, if still very much a problem elsewhere in the world.”
Lieutenant Governor Casper Novak cleared his throat, “In the meantime, atrocities from Memphis have been confirmed and refugees are now pouring into eastern Missouri and western Kentucky from that area. The Real Government of Tennessee forces have been pretty brutal toward anyone who resisted the invasion too effectively or courageously.”
He slid a stack of photographs across the table—black-and-white surveillance prints of mass graves, charred buildings, and women being raped in broad daylight. The Prophet didn’t flinch, but his fingers stilled against the map.
“Memphis was always going to be messy,” Colonel Felix Mendoza, the Chief of Intelligence, said, examining the photos upside-down with detached amusement. “But the Tennessee boys are getting sloppy. Leaving evidence is bad optics—even for fanatics and politicians.”
“These aren’t the old days, when people did something about atrocities. Havenites like us are almost the only ones who act to correct such horrors. Clearly, the RGA troops believe that they can act viciously with impunity. And for now, they’re right about that,” Major General Raines Seltzer, Chief of Staff of the Iowa Free State Militia, reminded everyone.
The Prophet sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “For now. Their time, their day of reckoning will come someday. Just not soon enough for my taste.”
“They’ve raped six Romany women in one day in front of the old City Hall ... after shooting their husbands in the back of the head,” Andrea Howard, the Prophet’s first wife, shuddered.
The Prophet’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists against the map. “Six? In public?”
“That must be the entire Romany population in the whole Volunteer State,” Karen Howard, another of his wives, a lovely black woman, quipped.
“Not exactly, but statistics won’t be reliable at present, for obvious reasons,” Denise Howard, the Prophet’s niece and second wife, clarified, taking the jibe at face value.
“What’s their beef with Gypsies?” Tom Howard betrayed being a little behind the times with that name choice.